So here we are, the end is near. Thank you for reading and reviewing – an artist always likes to feel appreciated. Thank you again.

In the days that followed that fateful day, Harold and John watched it all from the penthouse, locked in their own bubble of happiness. John walked onto the balcony from the kitchen, a glass in each hand. He was dressed purely in grey linen, his bare feet tapping the balcony floor. He stopped and looked at the man before him.

Harold Finch. A smallish man clad in a silver suit with a dark burgundy tie, thick black framed glasses resting on his nose, a frowning brow with a thin black cane clasped tightly in his right hand and on his fourth finger a large silver ring with Master carved into it.

He stood on his balcony gazing over the dystopian world beneath him. His eyes carefully searched the ruined streets and smouldering grey concrete block buildings below: the scene familiar to that of an uprising, like those centuries before. He smiled. He loved this world. This was real, this world was… free. Free to feel: free to love, to hate, for happiness, for sadness. Free to feel. Harold was a rich man, the richest, although he was not in control of the world physically his money and wealth, he now shared with people of the State of Reconse. His infleunces stretched into the very DNA of the State. The warming spring air was pleasant on his joints; the warm seeped into the very core of them and gave him a new lease of life. He looked down at the cane in his hand, he lifted it up and snapped it in half. He didn't need it, he didn't want it. Now when he walked down the street, civilians greeted at him and smiled. He liked that.

Today was an important day, a few years ago he heard of a former military Larrelle: John Reese. A dangerous man who'd sacrificed all he could for his job, everything including his wife, one Jessica, executed for sense offence back in 3724. Back when the world was wrong. Harold loved John Reese. He looked down at his hands again and chuckled, he ran his thumb over the ring, feeling the letters under his skin. He took it off. John stood beside him.

'Lovely morning.' He said.

'Yes it is.' Harold agreed. 'The first of many.'

John looked down at Harold's hands and the ring.

'We can still do that y'know.'

'I don't know John. I mean, it's still part of me, it always will be. But it's not what I want right now.' John carefully put the two glasses on the balcony rail and leaned on his elbows, he frowned slightly but didn't say anything. Harold continued. 'This was something I had in a world without love, when love wasn't allowed to exist and now it is, I don't need it anymore.' He looked up at John and thought deeply. He threw the ring into the streets below. He brought his gaze to John's eyes. 'I don't need it anymore because I have you. You are the most courageous, selfless, handsome, broken man that I have ever known and every fibre of my being aches to be with you, to love you, to share with you this new world and all it had to offer.'

John smiled, a true, honest smile that reached his eyes. He leaned down and cupped Harold's head and kissed him. The world disappeared around them. All they knew were the smell of each other, the taste of each other, and the soft wet lips that moved as one. John pulled away but kept his head close to Harold's.

'You saved my life and gave me a purpose. I was staring death in the face and you saved me. Harold, I am forever in your debt, I can never repay you. You mean everything to me, and I would do anything for you. You are the most important thing in the world to me. I love you.'

For a moment, neither of them moved, and then Finch shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. John reached into his pocket and took out his collar. He kissed Harold again, reached up and clipped it around his neck. They broke apart. Harold looked up into John's grey eyes, completely complacent, completely submissive.

'Yes sir.'

John opened the heavy door, his chest bare and his legs clad in a pair of soft denim jeans. He stood just inside the door and looked over his left shoulder to the man crouched next to the door. A small smile pulled at John's lips then the dominance took over again. Harold was knelt on the floor in nothing but silk boxers, his legs were apart and his hands on his knees. His head was bowed and he was silent. John looked back at the room and sauntered over to the hard wood chest, he opened the top draw. Inside, laid out on black velvet were an array of toys and implements. The top draw was full of clamps: various sizes, pressures and colours. The next draw down, a range of plugs and dildos and the bottom draw was full of straps and cuffs, all laid out neatly. John's eyes wondered over them, marvelling in their magnificence. He cast a glance backwards at Harold, still knelt by the door, he hadn't moved an inch. He kept his back to Harold as he ran his fingers up and down the plug, over the curves and dimples.

'Up.' Harold stood up immediately, his shoulders relaxed and his arms by his side.

'Lay on the bed, hands behind your head.' John watched as Harold climbed onto the bed and put his hands behind his head. 'Close your eyes and don't make a sound till I say, you are not to move your hands, is that understood?'

'Yes sir.' Said Harold quietly. He shut his eyes and relaxed onto the bed, absorbing the atmosphere of the room.

John smiled, he leaned over Harold and caressed torso, running his hand over Harold's slight stomach and matted chest hair, tweaking his nipples as he went. He felt Harold shudder underneath him, but he made no sound. John moved around the bed to Harold's legs, he picked up his good leg and started gently kneading Harold's calve, he kissed the instep of Harold's foot. A small 'mhph' escaped through Harold's closed lips. John stopped immediately and lowered his leg back onto the bed. He stood up and walked around Harold, feet tapping on the floor with each slow step.

'You promised me you wouldn't make a sound.' John sat on the bed near Harold's head, he ran his gnarled fingers along Harold's hair line. 'What do you have to say for yourself?'

Harold's chest rose and fell steadily. 'I'm sorry sir. I don't know what came over me.'

John leaned in quickly and laid a trail of kisses up Harold's neck and jaw. 'I do.' He whispered in-between kisses, his voice low and husky. 'You're so incredibly turned on right now and you are completely powerless to do anything.' Harold moaned and writhed beneath him. 'You will do anything to please me.' John pecked the corner of Harold's lips and took a loud deep sniff, smelling the musky, sandalwood smell that was purely Harold. 'Absolutely anything.' John pulled back sharply leaving Harold without his touch. Harold moaned in frustration and writhed some more. John watched him, eyes gleaming like a predator. 'Remember our agreement Harold.'

Harold calmed and relaxed again. John walked around the bed admiring the man before him: shy, retiring, recluse and… beautiful. Harold had a slight stomach and a smattering of greying chest hair. In John's eyes, the dark pink scars only added his mystery. To John, Harold was beautiful, he was more than perfect. As frustrated as Harold was, John knew he was aroused, an obvious tent in his silk boxers told him so. Harold was calm again, his eyes still shut and lips pressed together. John stepped close again and ran his large hand up and down Harold's aching cock. Harold pushed his hips up off the bed, as much as he hip and leg would allow, into John's hand. The silk between his hot flesh and John's hand created a gorgeous friction and soon Harold found himself fucking John's hand. He tried to stop the sounds escaping from his throat but he couldn't.

'Ah.'

John withdrew his hand again.

'Oh Harold, what did we say?'

Harold moaned in frustration and pushed his head back into the bed. This was torture at its finest, but he found it so incredibly hot. John walked over to the chest and took out a medium size plug and a small bottle of lube. He walked over to the bed and knelt down in between Harold's legs. John leaned forward and ran his tongue along the waistband of Harold's boxers. Harold breathed out through his lips, whistling a little. John bit the waistband and pulled them down over Harold's cock and down his leg. This was so precious: it allowed Harold a freedom he hadn't felt in so many years, a feeling of complete trust, it also allowed John to worship Harold, worship him like the God he was. John took the silk boxers in his hand and put them to his nose and took a long, loud sniff. He let the smell linger in his nostrils, that smell was completely Harold: dark, musky and wholly arousing. John then threw them across the room. He looked down at the naked man before him. He leaned in again and placed a trail of butterfly kisses up and down the inside of Harold's thighs, right the way to the apex of his thigh, inches from his aching member. John drizzled some of the lube into his fingers and gently rubbed Harold's hole, feeling it pucker. Since the day Harold had saved him and shown him this room, he'd always wanted – dreamed of, even – doing this to Harold, the honour and the pleasure. He gently eased a finger inside, feeling Harold tease momentarily then relax, he carefully eased it in and out feeling Harold relax around him. He added another finger. John kissed the crown of Harold's leaking cock.

'I want to hear you.'

John added a third finger and was rewarded with a low, throaty groan. He smiled against Harold's thigh – he now saw why Harold did this. He eased them in and out, rubbing Harold's prostate and pulling more gasps, groans and wanton moans from the man below him.

'You want more?'

Harold gasps, truly and wonderfully exasperated. 'God yes, please yes.'

John withdrew his fingers sharply. 'Yes what?'

'Sir. Oh God please John, please sir.'

John eased another finger in, he reached beside him and coated the plug with lube and drew his long fingers from Harold. Harold whimpered at the loss. John held the plug to Harold's entrance and slowly pushed it in. Harold's moaned filled the room, the eased at which it entered, the fullness it gave and the slight pressure it gave was so fulfilling. John reached up and slowly pumped Harold's cock. The combined stimulation brought Harold to the edge quickly. He laid under John, writhing, panting, hands clenching under his head. He was close. It was enough, but not enough at the same time. John looked up at Harold's face, eyes focused on his lips. They quivered and moved as Harold mouthed words.

'Please John, oh please, I'm so close, so close…'

John stopped pumping Harold's cock and pulled the plug out. Harold moaned in frustration. John shed his jeans and knelt in between Harold's, he rubbed his hole and perineum with his palm, Harold moaned again. John laced his cock with lube and knelt up slightly.

'Give me hands, open your eyes.'

Harold opened his eyes and looked at John, above him, eyes adjusting to the light. He held out his hands and John took them, he held them in his. Harold looked up into John's eyes. The sight that greeted him took his breath away: sincere, honest and truly beautiful.

'I love you Harold.' John pushed into Harold slowly and completely. The dominance gone, love in its place.

'Oh John, I love you so much more, please.' He whispered.

John led Harold's hands as he slowly thrust in and out, they never broke eye contact. John noticed the small change in Harold's face expression as he thrust to the hilt – like a flame dancing in the dark, it was a wonder to see. John's hips sped up as Harold tightened around him, John brought his right and Harold's left hand down and they stroked Harold's cock. Harold tensed as he came, pulling a powerful orgasm from John. John fell next to Harold, their hands still entwined. They panted and looked at each other, John laughed.

'That was definitely something.' He said.

Harold rubbed his thumb over John's hand: his voice was so quiet. 'Yes it was.'

A sharp beeping from outside the room brought both men out of their dream like ravine. Harold bolted up and squinted towards the door.

'What is it Harold?' John asked, not hiding his concern.

'Where are my glasses?' Harold felt around for them. John stood up and walked over to the heavy chest of drawers where Harold's glasses sat, he handed them to his partner and pulled on the soft jeans, commando style. Harold limped over to the wall on the far side and slid a panel across, John looked at him, puzzled.

'You have a wardrobe in here?'

'Yes.' He said shortly, he pulled on a t-shirt and some linen trousers. He heard John load his gun behind him. 'You won't need it.'

John stood behind Harold and took his hand, he lifted it up to his lips, his kissed his knuckles. 'What made that beeping sound?'

'Let me show you.'

Harold pulled the heavy door open and walked out into the corridor with John close behind him. They walked down the corridor, Harold pushed open a small door. Inside the room was no bigger than a cupboard. It housed only a desk, a chair and a computer with a five monitors and a server block in the back corner with hundreds of drivers and cables running out of it. One of the monitor screens blinked at them. Harold entered the small room and sat at a chair, he tapped the keyboard methodically and the whole computer system whirred into life, he turned to John his eyes wide.

'It worked.'

That's an awfully big spanner I've thrown in the works isn't it?