Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. If I did don't you think the movie would have ended with naked flesh and man kisses? For serious people.

Warnings: See original chapter for a complete set of warnings. Chapter contains mild swearing, adult themes, smut, and mushy stuff.

Authors Note #1: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

*This is the final chapter of this work. (OMG My blood pressure) And I wanted to say a big thank you to all my reviewers. You really made this story worthwhile to write, so thank you for all your support! I try to respond to all my reviews, but if you were anonymous, or I somehow missed you, I just want to let you know that you seriously rock my socks. Every review was central in helping my complete this story. Long story short: I adore you.

Words will Always Retain their Power

Chapter 8 –"Ad infinitum"

He was startled awake the next morning by the unusual, but certainly not unwelcome feel of another persons skin brushing against his own. From there on awareness returned slowly, flowing back in that unique, almost surreal way that only comes about when you are still more asleep then you are awake. It is a time when reality turns fluid and subjective, and where the odds are weighed more by your subconscious then anything else. He breathed in slowly, gradually allowing reality to inch back until the memories of the past twenty four hours reeled past. Running compressed and slow, like the slide of homemade molasses as it escapes from the rim of the jar.

Thick, sweet, and sinfully good.

And for a long indulgent moment, despite the sunlight streaming in through the small gap in the drapes he kept his eyes closed, concentrating instead on the expression of the moment. This was the moment for which he had waited for nearly thirty years, the moment were instead of the dark, haunting memories of the events of the previous day, his mind was already skipped forward to the possibilities that could exist only moments away. Because instead of the past, his mind now dwelled on the growing possibilities of the coming future, the thought alone was almost intoxicating. It was akin to a surreal sort of ungodly continence, uninhibited substance, and pure impossibility.

And he couldn't help but wonder if this itself was the true nature of hope..And that somewhere along the way he had simply forgotten..

But to be fair, he had to admit that it was not just hope that had ensnared his attention. No..it was also the easy slide of warm, sweat slicked skin that had brought his mind back from the furthermost reaches of slumber. It had been a very long time since he had woken up to this, and despite the maudlin nature of such thoughts, he wanted to savour it. He had missed this, the softer, more languid side of intimacy.

He had missed it all, everything from the subtle mix of comforting lulls to the heady moments of vivacious anticipation. So very different from the desperate, awkwardly uncertain moments they had endured the night before..

It was tempting to simply open his eyes as his slowly waking mind fully grasped exactly what he was firmly pressed into. But for the moment he refused to give in to temptation. Settling back into the pillows as let his fingers skim along the edges of the blanket, tracing the contours of Dominic's side, and realizing rather suddenly that this was the first time he had slept straight through the night in just about as long as he could remember.

And really, didn't that just beat all?

After a long moment he finally gave in, blinking the remnants of sleep away as he realized in quick succession that he was lying on the opposite side of the bed then was his habit and sleeping on his stomach to boot. With one arm hanging clear off the bed, his fingers tangling around the power cords that ghosted side of his bedside table as the limb dipped and swayed.

His back was going to be screaming by the afternoon…He was getting too damn old for such daft acrobatics!

Yet somehow, even with the dwelling certainty of protesting muscles and aching bones in his near future, he couldn't muster the energy to be even as much as irked, because as if on cue, Dominic shifted in his sleep, making a series of quiet, contented sounds that could have melted even the most sinister of hearts. Their legs tangling loosely as Dominic moved, arching up with a tingling prickle of leg hair as the wayward limb slid sleepily down to anchor atop him. As if the man were at loathe to stop touching him, even if it was in his sleep.

..And wasn't that just a boon for the ego..

The man beside him slept like the dead. Exhausted in more ways then one, of that he was certain. However in this case it was the sheer depth of it, the extent to which the man beside him slept on, that struck him as being all to vunerable..trusting. He still wasn't sure if he deserved such blind, easy going faith. It was yet another thing about Dominic that made him all too aware of the years that lay between them.

But regardless, those thoughts certainly didn't stop him from letting his palm ghost down the length of man's flank. Flirting with the arch of a deliciously solid hip before letting his eyes wander. He had to admit that it hadn't quite sunk in yet. The fact that the sight of Dominic's hair, now thoroughly mussed out of its accustomly strict part was now his. He smiled at his own foolishness as his fingers itched to brush away the gelled strands, now softened by sleep and trickling down to frame the skin at his temple.

Tempting..

It almost didn't seem fair that Dominic should be saddled with him and all his hang-ups. He was broken goods and he knew it. Yet, for some reason the man didn't seem to notice. Indeed, if he was being perfectly honest, it was Dominic who had pursued him quite ardently, seeking him out, and not the reverse. He supposed what it all came down to was the fact that Dominic knew him all too well. Perhaps too well.. Either way, whether it was for the good or the ill of them, he was done second guessing himself. This moment was his. And he planned to have it.

He shifted contentedly, careful not to wake his companion as he moved around so that he could see him without craning his neck. And for what felt like the first time in over three decades, he felt a small smile stretch across his lips. It certainly was a sight to savour. The younger man was half covered by the duvet and as stark naked as he. With his slightly dimpled bottom rucked up over the covers and on proud display for all the world to see. One arm shoved underneath the pillows, while the other lay splayed across the bed, resting overtop the sheets just inches away from his naked chest. It was an innocent, yet entirely tantalizing sight that had him tempted to burrow back under the covers and have the both of them just simply sleep the day away.

Indeed it seemed like the perfect day for a lie in…

But after a long while old habits began to reassert themselves and he found that he could resist the urge to be up and active no longer. Carefully he untangled himself from Dominic's sleepy embrace, eliciting only a somewhat disgruntled sound from the man beneath him as he quietly reclaimed his leg from their jumbled mess of limbs and slid slowly out of bed with a soft, covert sort of grace he had half forgotten he had.

However, it seemed as though this day was one for breaking just as many habits as he was used to following, because instead of immediately dressing he took a moment to revel in the freedom of his nudity. Working the kinks from his sore muscles, he stretched leisurely, standing stock still in the middle of the room and letting his bare feet curl contentedly into the carpet as he arched from side to side.

He didn't know why, but despite being as naked as the day of his birth and in the presence of his sleeping subordinate, he didn't feel even the slightest bit venerable. He didn't feel uncomfortable. Nor did he feel the pressing urge to lose himself in the covering protection of his clothing, arraying himself in the detached professionalism that his work clothes inevitably wrought. As if a mere suit and a common black tie could be moulded into a shield against everything he feared, everything he had to lose. But now he no longer felt as though he had something to lose, something that could be taken from him and ultimately destroyed.

…And Christ did it feel good. He felt remarkably as though after thirty long years he could finally breathe in his own skin again…

With a curious and somewhat self satisfied air, he suppressed a snort of mirth as he surveyed the damage the events of last night had wrecked upon the bedroom. They really had done a number of on the place, it had to be said.

He spotted Dominic's gun belt shoved halfway underneath the dresser. The blinding sheen of the metal barrel glinting blindingly in the late afternoon light, melding strangely with the faux gold of his badge, clipped midway up the attaching suspenders, while something that looked suspiciously like his own shorts clung tentatively along the armrest of his dressing chair, the seat itself almost overtaken by the splayed legs of Dominic's work trousers. And that wasn't all; even their socks and shirts were thrown thoughtlessly across the carpet, crumpled in together with Dominic's work suit that lay just inside the arch of the door bedroom door, still spread wide, like an invitation.

And just because he felt like it, he let another grin stretch across his face, welcoming the strange pull of muscles and tendons that accompanied the long unused expression. Shaking his head at the foolishness that comes with such feelings, the passion and inconsequential frivolities that always seem to arrive with the beginning new romance, an aspect of himself that he thought he had lost with the last years of his youth. He picked his way over to the bureau, slipping silently into a worn pair of long forgotten jeans and a simple long sleeve navy coloured shirt, something that would have usually been followed by a work suit and one of his many restrictive ties. But not today. Today he stopped buttoning at the second last hole from the top, as though in some small act of personal rebellion.

The hall way wasn't much better, littered with fallen clutter and more then one shattered picture frame. His lips twitched in amusement as the sight reminded him of something his mother had been fond of saying. 'A house is not a home until at least one lamp has been broken.' A reference no doubt to their own household as he had grown up, where more then a few lamps and picture frames had been nobly sacrificed in the wake of hordes of adolescent boys, and overly rambunctious play.

He had a cup of strong, Darjeeling tea cooling in his hand before he let himself open the sitting rooms drapes. Hesitant, but determined as he shielded his eyes from the sudden glare, letting his eyes adjust for a long moment before steeling himself and peering out into the foggy London skyline.

He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to see, but nevertheless he was somewhat surprised to see that there was actually..nothing. Other then the sudden and rather stark absence of Parliament there was no mark that anything momentous had even occurred. Even the smouldering plume of smoke from the fire strewn rubble had diminished, tampering off to into pale grey obscurity, shrouded by the darkness of the surrounding clouds as the city continued on in its stead.

In fact, it looked like it was going to rain..

He quirked a brow at his own foolishness, because really, what else would there to be see? This was not so much a physical change..V had seen to that part of the whole affair. Instead, the state of this new day was more an emotional one..a mental one. This was change born out of an idea, not a mere thing, such as an object or a building. This was a change that would be represented through the people, through people like Evey Hammond and Dominic. And yes, perhaps even himself..

Still scanning the view, he raised the cup to his lips, breathing in the tempting aroma as he took a small, cautionary sip, grunting in undisguised pleasure as the warm, aromatic liquid ran down his throat. Swirling the dregs he turned away from the window, ignoring the painful twinge from his injured hand throbbed reproachfully, protesting his every motion.

With a critical, but not regretful eye, his gaze was inevitably drawn towards the gaping hole in his previously pristine wall, somehow managing to look far more vicious then it had only a few hours earlier. Careful not to upset his tea, he slowly stooped to inspect it. It was a sickening mess of jagged angles and punched out plaster, the hole itself almost overtaken by a cloud of puffy pink insulation that threatened to overspill the boundaries of the bloodstained edges. His fist clenched spasmodically in memory, throbbing dully underneath the bandages as though in reminder as he settled down in the chair facing it.

And for a long moment he entertained the strikingly appealing idea of never having it fixed…

The radio, preset for at six am, had been long since switched on, shifting through its usual selection of soft jazz and deep masculine tones. And for a while he sat in silence, only idly listening before the next song took him by surprise. He could help but pause in place, his lips curling upwards as station filled the room with the smoky, dulcet tones of Julie London as she crooned out the chorus to Arthur Hamilton's iconic song, "Cry me a River". He had missed this song. It had been his mothers favourite, and he had many fond memories growing up of watching her flit and sway around the house, hips slowly rocking as she sung along. He had been in the room when Sutler had ordered it to be put on the black list, deeming the profession of saloon singing and pin up posing to be grossly indecent. It had broken his mother's heart.

On impulse he flipped on the telly, not really surprised to find all ten of the channels he actually subscribed to wreathed in static, even the BTN was uncharacteristically silent, displaying only their logo and the message for their viewers to stay tuned for further broadcasting. 'Perhaps the world really had ended after all.' He thought with a detersive snort.

Satisfied he switched it off, turning instead to his land line, blinking in disbelief as he took in the glaring flash of: "34 new messages" emboldened in with an insistent red coloured text. His cell phone was the same story, except the voicemail had been overtopped, and instead the words "56 new calls" met his eyes.

"Bloody hell.."He breathed, shaking his head as he took another long, fortifying sip of tea before settling back into the cushions as he tried to imagine the mood of the night before. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but he supposed that while he had been tramping through the long abandoned tunnels of the underground and watching the world change, everyone who had not been at Parliament must have been panicking. He wondered how many from the party would have simply disappeared by now, drifting back into the wood work and the protection of everyday obscurity. Knowing that with the break of this uncertain, but undeniably new day would bring nothing but pain and retribution for former party members and their supporters. He wondered too, somewhat morbidly, just how many new bodies would be adorning the glinting metal tables of Deliha's old morgue. But he supposed that like many things these days, only time would tell..

He was well into his second cup when he heard it, a barely audible rustling sound from just outside the front door. He listened for a long breathless moment, panic and tension flaring momentarily in his breast as he waited on tender hooks for the bell to ring, or the ominous echo of fists pounding demandingly through the solid oak door. But there was nothing. Slowly the panic and tension began to ebb away, hastened moments later by the small, near silent scuffle that heralds the inclusion of shoe soles grinding down against worn concrete, the noise gradually dying away, swallowed by the return of a breathless silence.

He counted each and every second until the fifth full minute had passed, and with a slow, deliberate movement he levered himself out of the chair, draining his cup in one scalding gulp before reaching down underneath, his hand disappearing up to the elbow as the sound of rending Velcro echoed throughout the room. The hand returned a moment later, bringing an unregistered handgun, a good sized Semmerling LM4 out from its hiding place. Just one of the many handguns he had shrewdly stashed throughout the house for just such an occasion that his side arm might be out of his reach.

Prudent bouts of paranoia did have it's perks after all..

As quietly as possible he cocked the weapon, descending the stairs cautiously but determinedly, figuring that if someone truly wanted him dead, he would have heard more about it by now. Peering through the spy hole he blinked into the late afternoon light, carefully taking in the empty front step and surrounding street before he finally unlocked the deadbolts and swung the door open in one swift movement.

There was no one there; in fact there was no activity visible on the entire street at all, something that by itself, on any other day, would have come across as decidedly eerie. Instead, resting just level with his sock clad feet was a small, inconspicuous brown paper box. It was neither large, nor particularly small, and bore no identifiable markings of any kind. Indicating credibility to the theory he held earlier that it had been hand delivered.

Pausing for a long moment he listened intently, caution and professional discretion initially winning out as he listened for the telltale tick of an explosive device, cautiously feeling around the tightly wrapped edges for anything remotely untoward. Eventually however curiosity overpowered that of caution and he holstered the Derringer, scanning the street one more time before gingerly bringing the package inside.

He unwrapped it in the kitchen, fingers carefully peeling off the tape rather then ripping until he had uncovered what looked to be a disarmingly normal looking shoe box, much like something you might purchase at the market, or a local chain store. But whatever he might have been expecting when he eased off the lid, it certainly hadn't been what was resting at the bottom, nestled admist a protective layer of crumpled up newspaper. Bewildered he turned the case over in his hands, inspecting the old, dog-eared DVD case closely. The cover was emblazed with an old black and white photo of a moustached, sword wielding gentleman and fine, buxom young woman that was held firmly in his embrace.

"The Count of Monte Crisco," "Starring Robert Donat as Edmund Dantes" the title proudly proclaimed. The back included a short, but descriptive summary that he was sure would have been remarkably helpful, save for the fact that the words had been made barely legible due to an old stain smeared clear across the back. He was almost ready to pass it off as having been a package that had been delivered to the wrong address, but his curiosity got the better of him and as he made to slide off the cover, a small envelope came fluttering out, sliding into the floor at his feet.

Much like the package there was no writing on the outside, the envelope itself standing out as seemingly unremarkable in virtually every regard, constructed out of the same bland, store stock paper that one could easily pick up at any corner shop in London. But it wasn't until he had broken the glue seal to reveal a single page of blurry looking handwriting that he finally understood why.

Dear Mr. Finch,

Firstly, my apologies for the clandestine nature of this correspondence, much like V, I have come to find relative comfort in the protection of anonymity. Besides, if you don't mind me saying so, I think we both know that you needed the extra sleep that would be afforded to you rather then if I were to bother you on a Sunday morning with issues of import that could be just as easily relayed in this letter. As I rather feel Inspector, that this fight is only just beginning..

As discussed..or rather alluded to by myself last night, I wish to aid in the rebuilding of our country in anyway I can. Or at least in any capacity the British public will have of me. Much remains to be seen, but at the very least I plan to set what needs to be done in motion. V left his life's work in the hands of a person that he felt represented the people. And while I put little stock in the political ability of myself, that trust and belief he placed in me will not be squandered. I plan to do my best to fulfill those wishes, in his honour. And in regards to this, god willing, I am set to address the people this evening. Everything has been arranged and it will air on the BTN at 6pm this evening. If you are not otherwise detained of course.

This country is going to need people, good people. People the public can trust, people that have always wanted the best for the nation and its citizens. People with the ability and foresight to rebuild this country and see forward to its future. And not to put so fine a point on it Inspector, but I mean people like yourself. I may not be an adept or even astute politician, but what I can say about myself is that I am a good judge of character, and I think that no matter what you may see of yourself, I believe that you are a good man Mr. Finch. Something that if you didn't already notice, has been in rather short supply as of late.

I suppose what I am asking is that I want, no, that I need you to stand with me in this endeavour. I feel that I will need your advice and support in the coming months, and I know England certainly will. We have a great and somewhat foreboding task to fulfill Mr. Finch, but V believed it could be done. He believed that we, as a people could make it happen. And that is certainly a destiny that I wish to fulfill.

V recited an idiom to me once, not long after I came to live in the Shadow Gallery. I didn't understand it then, but ironically at the end of things I finally realize what he meant. And I believe that the definition of the phrase holds true in regards to yourself, just as it did for me. "Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici." And if your Latin is as rusty as my own, it is translated as: "By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe." Because through the acts I have witnessed from you last night and indeed into the morning, in spite of your occupation and status as a leading party member, I have come upon the realization that what you sought all along was simply the truth. Nothing more, and nothing less.

You, Mr. Finch are a paradox to even consider, but I see now that your loyalties, you're true loyalties have rarely wavered from what you believed. And on that note, I suppose I should share this with you. When I came to see him on the day of the 5th, V told me that he had had this entire revolution planned, organized and figured out to the finest, most infinitesimal detail. But for the longest time he remained actionless, held back due to a single missing piece. What he didn't have was you. Believe it or not Mr. Finch, it was you that V ultimately needed to succeed in this revolution. He needed you much like he needed me, because we both knew deep down, long before V and the Old Bailey, that there was something terribly wrong with this country. And despite the choices that we may have made in the past, we were both waiting, whether we knew it or not, for the chance of redemption. Waiting for a chance to make it right..

But most of all Inspector, I believe he needed you, because in a way I represented only a portion of the people. You, through the grace of your status, position, and beliefs represented the other portion. You are the definitive representation of the ideas, and indeed ideals that V stood for. Like the two separate sides of the same well worn coin.. You, in essence Mr. Finch, were the missing piece. Someone who valued the truth, and sought to bring about justice, freedom, and fairness for all. And someone who in the end, despite all odds..all the risks would inevitably fight for what he believed.

In the end, I think V knew it would come down to us. The two sides of this whole sordid affair coming together to bring about the start of this new day. Because from the beginning V knew something that we did not, that ultimately both sides of the people needed to come together and decide this countries future. Together in unity for the sake of difference.

But V's proverb applies to you in another, far different way. As you well know, V wore a mask against the world, and wore it in the place of his own face. And in this year, if I have learned anything, it is that we all wear masks. Some of them however, much like yours, are hidden in plain sight. Forgive me if I come across as blunt, but what I am endeavouring to say is that I hope he makes you happy Inspector. You are both good men and judging from what I can tell, correct me if I am in err, but I believe he loves you just as much as you seem to for him. You deserve to be happy Mr. Finch, and I dare say that you've earned it.

Yours, Evelyn Hammond.

P.S: In the meantime Inspector, if I am not mistaken I believe you will find this film enjoyable. It was his favourite and it quickly became mine. Though, for much different reasons I would think.

He sat down heavily, letting the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding out in a slow, breathy whoosh. The silence that followed it was pregnant and heady. It would seem as though the world would indeed continue turning after all. And yet another chance for redemption had been delivered into his unassuming hands.

He snorted with amused disbelief as he realized just how utterly buggered up and complicated his life had become. Not just in the last year where the hunt for V had all but consumed his life, but all the way back to the day when Councillor Sutler had rose to the party platform, his gloved fist raised high as words of terror and hate spewed like bile from his sneering lips.

And idly, like a voyageur dabbling in the complexities of someone else's life, he entertained the notion of what it would be like to live a boring and exceedingly average life, one where masked men didn't revolutionize a nation and harsh dictators weren't willingly elected by the people. But with a small smile, thinking back through the years to the countless dinners and shared glances, to the moments of victory, tragedy, and trepid normalcy, moments where Dominic had never been far from his side, he decided that the idea of a normal, boring life could bloody well stuff it for all he cared.

He had what he wanted.

It might be more then he deserved. More then he was meant to have considering the things he had done and the regrets he knew he would keep. But here it was a second chance that was his for the taking. And god help him, but he planned to hold on to it.

Indeed, for a man who had just had his entire world drastically change barely twenty four hours ago he felt remarkably content.

He shook his head minutely, barely missing the ghost of Big Ben as the hour passed him by unmarked, the first time in longer then he could remember where the iconic clock's deep, dulcet tones failed to echo throughout the chill city air. In a way, its absence made him wonder. What monuments would they build in its stead? What could ever be created that could accurately portray the nature of the horror people had committed on one another here? How could a monument sum up on the power of a single, written word, or the significance of a strong, immoveable silence? And in relation, how does one portray such emotions such as weakness and strength? Hate and love? Of that he could not even begin to fathom. But he hoped in some small way that it might include the words of a woman, a woman so strong and so full of love that with her final breath she sought to reach out and pass on that lesson. That the power of love in all its forms will always negate the perceived power of terror and hate.

In a way, Valerie had merely purported an idea. But it was an idea that in some small way lived in the hearts of millions. And unlike so many rallies and protests that had come and gone in the years before, her message was the only one that offered the people what this country had so desperately needed. The hope for a better future. He would contact Miss Hammond after the broadcast with his answer. It was time to make things right. The people needed to know.

It was time for change.

But for now, despite the encroaching nature of the tasks that faced them all, there was somewhere else rather important that he was meant to be. He left the missive atop the open box, ignoring the hesitant, and somewhat halting tone of the radio host warbling out from the stereo as he crossed the room and made his way down the hall. All else considered he figured that the gloomy forecast predicted for the next week was surely the least of their problems.

Dominic was right where he left him, laying spread eagled across the sheets; his spine rolled back, limbs supine and lazy, still flushed with muted arousal. The sight reminded him of a John Donne poem. Lyrical, complex, and inherently sensual. He couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation..

Stripping quickly, he pulled back the covers; having to do some seriously intricate yanking and unfolding to dislodge him from the mummy-like shroud Dominic had managed to form in his absence. And as he slipped back into bed, his return elicited a few partially legible, sleep laden sounds. The words muffled entirely as Dominic squirmed around restlessly, his face mashed determinedly into a mound of stolen pillows even as his long fingers skittered blindly across the surface of the bed. He could only grin, watching with unveiled amusement as Dominic's hands skimmed across the covers, deliberately seeking him out until they fell across his naked skin.

He allowed the man move as he willed, letting his hand rest across the breadth of the man's shoulders as Dominic's fingers curled contentedly around his forearm, huffing indignantly when he let the cold air in as he settled into the blankets, straightening out the mess with a few well timed flicks and pulls at the duvet. Dominic however, was somewhat less impressed.

He was tempted to point out that this was his bed, and that they wouldn't be facing this problem if the man hadn't somehow managed to half strangle himself amongst the covers in the first place. But he didn't, getting distracted somewhere along the line as he arranged the last cover around them, the movement wafting an enticing back draft of scents towards him. And he felt his face flush as he realized it was their scents that were now infused into the fabric. It had been a very long time since his bed had smelt of another. Far too long in fact..

There was a few beats of near silence, accompanied only by the ever present rustling of linen sheets whispering across naked skin before Dominic emerged. Levering himself up from a particularly cushy section of the worn blue duvet, apparently oblivious to the fact that while he had been mucking up the sheets and stealing pillows, he had been busy having several epiphanies, or near heart attacks, (he wasn't quite sure which) out in the living room.

"What was that all about?" He muttered sleepily, finally raising his head to peer at him blearily through a thatch of mussed brown hair, the dishevelled strands hanging over his eyes in a way that really had no business being as endearing as it actually was.

For a long moment he remained silent, simply smiling up at the ceiling as the man fussed about. Letting himself get pushed and prodded around as Dominic settled back into the covers. It should have seemed impossible, him having all this. Yet, somehow, even with all his doubts, all his insecurities and regrets, out of everything that seemed the least likely, this..the feeling of Dominic shifting in close, the length of his side coming up to press against his, somehow seemed the most real. Almost as if his life had finally come full circle..

"The future I should think." He replied with a stretch. His eyes dancing with silent laughter as Dominic made a vaguely unimpressed noise and hooked the down curve of his hip with his calf, dragging him deeper into the muddled sea of skin and coverlets, making no apologies for his wordless demands as he towed him snugly to his side, bringing him down for a slow, but decidedly sensual kiss that made him forget all about masked avengers, exploding buildings, and the unprecedented nature of their new future. Because at long last, the events of his present was the only place he ever wanted to be..

And for some time, that was all that was said on the matter….

Glossary: Chapter Title is Latin for: "To infinity without end"

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!