End of the Tunnel

XIII

Soft, golden sunlight was shining through the open shutters the next morning, a bright beam shining onto the lovebirds' faces until they were fully roused from sleep. Enchanted champagne had left them without hangovers and love had left them warmer than the sun ever could.

Hannah nuzzled closer and George pulled her tighter. Her eyes were only half open, lips parted as she breathed in the warm autumn air. Her hair was a mess, spilling out of the braid her drunken fingers had weaved the night before. She was wearing nothing but red lace underwear and his quidditch sweater, the one he had promised months ago, the one he had finally been able to pull out of the trunk. It was very much too big for her, and the sleeves were frayed but he was sure she had never looked more lovely (an impressive achievement when she always looked lovely).

"I love you," he whispered, interrupting the silence of the morning.

"I love you, too." The butterflies in his stomach spun loops, still thrilled by those words, even after months of whispering them to one another. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I wouldn't have been able to sleep here without you."

"Yes, you would have," she muttered.

"No, you make me strong."

"You're strong without me." The butterflies remained still for that, burnt by the sudden warming of his heart. He leaned over her and kissed her. It began soft, a silent thank you he couldn't verbalize, but the warmth from his heart quickly fueled the heat between their lips. He pinned her beneath him, lips attacking her pulse, fingers sliding beneath the knitted fabric of his sweater.

"Your mum's downstairs," she weakly protested, but he only laughed, abandoning her lips as he slip down her body towards the apex of her thighs.

"You'll have to be quiet then." With quick, eager fingers he yanked the lace down her legs, tossing it to the floor before returning to the soft folds that glistened for him. He dragged his tongue down the center, relishing in her taste as she gasped.

"George," she whined, torn between propriety and need. He paused but when another whine slipped from her lips it seemed she had chosen the need. He returned to her center, painting erotic messages with the tip of his tongue until biting her palm was all she could do not to scream. The hand that was not suffering in the name of silence was tangled in his hair, urging him further and further until her legs were shaking beneath him. When she came heavens opened, and he didn't hesitate to drink every ounce of manna. He continued to taste, and she bucked her hips as she passed the peak of pleasure, but he wasn't about to let her escape, not when he so loved dessert for breakfast.

When she had completely fallen from her high, he slid his boxers down his legs, creeping forward to enter her, but she rolled the pair over until she was straddling his hips. He rested his hands on her hips, groaning as she sunk down onto his hard on sinfully slow.

"Holy fuck, Hannah," he moaned as she began to move, hips picking up a lazy roll as she rode him past the capability of his senses. He dared to look up at her as his lips parted, whispering moans of prayer as he stared. The sun reflected off her hair until she was surrounded in a halo of sunlight. He was sure she was an angel that encompassed everything good in his world, sure until he felt the small heartbeat between her thighs caressing him.

That was too damn sinful to come from an angel.

She smiled at him and he almost finished right there, so completely in love that it felt impossible to remain contained. He flipped them over and snapped his hips into her entrance, thumb rubbing the bundle of nerves that drove her wild. He swallowed her moans with his lips until they finished like the crescendo of a great symphony.