Just One Glass

Liz Keen was tired, her eyes bleary as she yawned over a thick stack of paperwork. Just one more form, she thought, forcing herself to focus. One more and we'll go home. It was a lie and she knew it, but it was comforting so she pressed on. Her pen danced lazily, checking off all the appropriate boxes.

Suspect apprehended? Check.

Any agents lost? "Nearly," she muttered, remembering how close Cooper and Connolly had come to death at the hands of The Judge. But nearly didn't count, so she checked off the right box. No.

Assets accounted for? Yes.

She snorted at the word, thinking of the Post Office's secret weapon. Smug, conniving, manipulative Red. He'd given them the lead and helped the case along, all the while answering her calls with a chipper "Lizzie," like he knew her. But he did—knew things she couldn't have even fathomed—and it was that very knowledge that sparked her anger at the mention of his name.

"Your husband isn't who you think he is." And of course he was right. Tom, their marriage—all of it a candy-coated lie she'd happily swallowed for two years. All those times he'd laid her down, whispered sweet nothings in her ear...lies. Her pen fell out of her shaky hands, clattering to the floor.

"Keen,"called Cooper's familiar voice, jolting her. "Why don't you go home? It's Friday, and you've done more than enough work."

"Yes sir," she sighed, knowing she probably looked worse than she felt. Gathering her things and switching off her laptop, she started for the elevator.

"Night, Keen," said Ressler, giving her a little wave as she strode past him. "You alright? You look stressed."

"I'm fine, really. Goodnight." In no time, she was in her car and halfway to her house, all of it a series of blurs and beeping cars and Friday night gridlock—not that she cared. There was nothing for her to rush home to. Tom was in Orlando at his teacher's conference and there really wasn't anyone for her to call.

Ressler had been talking about his date with Audrey all day; Meera had two kids and she didn't want to intrude. Left with no options, Liz's mind drifted to him, dressed in a three-piece suit and sipping scotch in his borrowed palace; she shuddered. Even though she didn't feel like spending another night alone in a dark empty house, visiting Red was out of the question.

Or so she thought. There was a certain disadvantage to knowing where an asset lived, namely that she'd driven there so many times it became habit. She didn't even notice where she was going until DC's metropolis disappeared, replaced by sprawling homes and manicured lawns.

Turn around, turn around, said her brain, but it was too late—she'd arrived at the whitestone mansion and the lights were on. His Mercedes was parked in the driveway which meant he was home. There's nothing for you here.

True as that was, there was a magnetism about the house she couldn't ignore, like he was waiting for her inside. Before she could talk herself out of it, Liz got out of her car, crossed the rose garden courtyard, and knocked on the elegant wrought-iron door, praying he wouldn't answer. There was silence for a minute, and she had just started to turn around when Red opened the door, mild surprise on his face.

"Hello, Lizzie."

"I'm coming in," she said, stepping past him into the foyer. Moonlight streamed through the enormous windows of the bare-bones mansion. This place—its soaring ceilings paneled with gold leaf and marble floors so rich they sounded like money when she walked—was Red's latest acquisition, the tiny "villa" of a crooked investor who was under infinite investigation by the SEC. Nearly all the furnishings had been seized, but it still retained an air of elegance, the likes of which Liz had never seen.

"Make yourself at home," he replied, trailing after her. Liz could hear the curiosity in his words but refused to address it. Just one hour, she said silently. Enough to take the edge off of going back to her empty house.

"Where's your scotch?" she quipped, plopping onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.

"You don't like scotch," he said, watching her carefully. She scowled at the hesitance on his face, warning him against probing.

"I do now." There were no words between them for a while, only the distant tick-tock of an old grandfather clock. Red poured their drinks slowly, his back to her; Liz ran a hand through her hair, fighting a surge of something that bubbled in her throat. She could feel the air thickening with every passing second, her anger and his curiosity threatening to choke them both.

He slowly crossed the distance between them, his blue eyes locked with hers. There was amusement and slight confusion on his face. Not today Reddington, she thought, holding his fiery stare. She hated his games, the way he could unravel her with a glance and a few choice words.You're not getting in my head.

He stopped just in front of her and held out the glass. Liz raked her defiant gaze over him, starting at his face; a pair of unreadable blue eyes weathered at the corners, a tapered nose, and a thin mouth always quirked in some sort of smirk. Then to the half-open dress shirt and grey vest, then finally to his outstretched hand. He oozed charisma, the kind that made him so successful and charming—the same one she refused to give into tonight.

"Thanks," said Liz, offering a smirk that bordered on snarl and settling back in her chair. She sipped at the scotch, grimacing as it burnt her throat and dimmed the pit of loneliness in her stomach. He nodded and sat at the other side of the couch, stretching his arm along the back.

"So what brings you by, Lizzie? There are a thousand other places you can go on a Friday night," he questioned smoothly, his voice deep and low.

"Sure," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I thought about going to a bar, but given that you know absolutely everyone in DC, it wouldn't take long before someone reported back to you about all my 'dirty deeds.'"

He chuckled and Liz glared, her gaze sliding down to the exposed bit of chest that peeked out from his shirt. Catching herself, she snapped her attention back to his face, scowling as his mouth twitched into a slight smile.

"Contrary to your belief, Lizzie, I don't keep tabs on you all the time," he said over the rim of his glass. "Besides, your dirty deeds are your business, dear."

Liz blushed, caught off guard by the visions his words conjured. Skin on skin, the engulfing heat of tangled sheets, fingers that ghosted over—Get a hold of yourself! she scolded, trying to ignore the knots in her stomach. Since finding out about Tom, she'd had more fantasies that involved a mystery man. Someone suave, who charmed her into bed with honeyed words, who took her without mercy.

And sitting on that couch, she came to the horrible realization—that man was Red. It didn't surprise her too much, not really—she'd been unwillingly drawn to him since day one. From his impeccable style, to the ever-ready anecdote, and even his ruthless ability to shoot on sight, Liz knew but always denied it. He was a line she wouldn't cross—couldn't cross, and here she was, drinking scotch with him on a Friday night.

"Not since you came into my life," she hissed, downing the rest of her drink; she was venomous, refusing to crack a smile. For once, she wanted control, wanted to render him silent. The scotch's warmth spread, loosening her tongue and heightening the latent stirring in her core. "You show up and my whole world implodes."

Red eyed her, his head quirked to the side. He didn't say anything for a while, still trying to discern exactly how to approach her. Liz could see the gears turning and suppressed a smirk, happy with her handiwork. Without missing a beat, he asked her the most asinine question she'd ever heard in her life: "Did I ever tell you about Bogota?"

"Bogota?" she drawled, not believing her ears. This man...

"Yes," came the chipper reply as if she'd asked to hear the story. "It was 1997 and I was brokering a deal between the local Bogotan mafia and the Colombian cartel—nasty business as you can imagine..."

He kept talking, but she stopped listening. Every word tried her patience, pushed her limits until she couldn't take any more. Frustrated, she slammed her glass on the coffee table, effectively ending his rant.

"What am I to you, really?" she asked, voice clear as day. Though outwardly confident, inwardly she trembled, afraid to hear the answer.

"You'll have to be more specific, Lizzie," he said, savoring the last of his scotch. Liz watched him as he swallowed, unsure just why she found the hollows of his neck so enticing. "You're many things to me and—"

"Am I your daughter?" she quizzed, effectively cutting him off. It was the one thing that held her back, the one thing she needed to know. "I know I asked you before, but it bears repeating."

Red's face clouded over as he seemed to reach a conclusion about her intentions. He crossed his legs and looked her directly in the eye, voice deadpan. "No, I am not your father."

She looked him over once more, searching for any sign of a lie. His mouth twitched into an impatient frown, and he pulled at his collar, clearly uncomfortable about the topic.

"Prove it," said Liz, a mischievous look on her face. She toyed with the ends of her hair, the pit in her stomach progressing to a ball of fire that nagged at her for attention. Suddenly, the line between couldn't and shouldn't became a lot fuzzier.

"Via what, a DNA test?" he snorted, eyeing her incredulously. "That's a bit maudlin, wouldn't you say?"

She laughed, a humorless chuckle that played to her dark mood. "Oh, I don't want a DNA test," she confirmed, false innocence in her voice. His brow wrinkled in confusion and she relished the feeling of backing him into a corner." I want you to have sex with me."

Red's mouth dropped, and for a moment he couldn't say anything. The great Raymond Reddington, rendered speechless—it was the first thing to make her smile all day. She stalked to the lit fireplace on the other side of the room, deciding to capitalize on the moment. Starting with her shoes, she began to strip off her clothes.

"Lizzie, I can't do that," he hoarsed, watching as she kicked off her black heels and worked on the zipper of her pantsuit.

"Shut up!" she belted, catching him off guard. The scotch had given her courage, and flashes of her fantasies burned her mind, egging her on. Her pants slid off, exposing the light pink thong underneath; cool air mingled with the fireplace flames and tickled her skin."You smug son of a bitch—you come into my life, wreak havoc, and smile in my face like you've done me a favor by tearing up everything I love. My marriage, my friends—all gone because of you, Red! So just this once, you're going to pay me back the way I want you to. Now get over here."

"Put your pants back on," he growled, trying to strike some doubt in her heart. But he wasn't fooling either of them. Shrugging off her blazer, she stared him down and began to unbutton her powder blue blouse. "I can't—"

"You will," she corrected, throwing her shirt on the floor. Reason vied with her for control, begging her to consider the gravity of her actions. He's a criminal, you could lose your job! But that didn't matter right now. All things considered, she wanted him, had to know what he felt like—but on her terms. "Come here, Red."

He shook his head. "Doing this won't change what's happened. Tom was bound to turn on you at some point—it was just a question of when. And your friends were really only friends because you were married."

"Enough!" she shouted, feeling an angry flush creep into her face. "Ever since you told me about Tom, I haven't been able to look at him the same way, much less sleep with him. Which I suppose is what you wanted, isn't it? For me to hate him, get me frustrated and open—well here I am."

"That isn't what I want from you, Lizzie." But his eyes told a different story, feasting on the sight before him. He stared at her near-bare chest, covered only by a lacy black bra, then slowly—ever so slowly—slid his gaze to her taut stomach, then lower to her thin underwear and bare thighs. Liz squirmed at the attention, clenching her legs in an attempt to stave the longing that reared its ugly head.

"Don't lie to me," she argued, watching triumphantly as he shifted in his seat. Liz could see the war on his face as he attempted to stay calm."You watch me all the time, Red. I see the way you look at me when we're out—and don't even get me started on that rooftop party at Floriana's. You...want me, so come get me."

Red swallowed and Liz watched the bob of his throat, wanting nothing more than to suck at it until purplish bruises dotted his skin. He stared her down, eyes searching for any sign of doubt. After an eternity, he rose and Liz held her breath, anxious and eager for what would happen next.

He crossed the floor slowly, a languid purposeful step as he sized her up. Liz dropped the pretense, biting her lip and running her hands along her sides. Oh god, oh god, she thought, nerves getting the better of her. The look in Red's eyes was ravenous and more than a little frightening, like he had the power to tear her apart. And of course he did—that was what drew her to him, sparked a fire in places she thought were long dead.

She took a step forward to meet him, her breath heavier than she wanted to admit. Red brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers hot on her cool skin. His jaw tensed and Liz spotted the telltale twitch of his mouth, the one that meant he was losing control—she took a certain pride in that. He stared at her with a look of pure lust that was almost menacing; Liz shivered.

"Oh Lizzie, I do hope you know what you've done."

There was nothing gentle about their kiss. Liz pulled him into her, hungry in ways she'd never known. Red took her by surprise, lodging a hand in her hair and crushing his mouth against hers. Liz asked for entrance with her tongue and Red readily granted it, growling as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

He pitted his tongue against hers, probing and demanding that she yield; Liz resisted, suckling at his lower lip and kissing her way to his neck. His pulse throbbed hard against her mouth as she scraped her teeth on his skin. Red grunted and tugged on her hair, clutching at her for dear life. She sucked and pulled at him, smiling when she heard the slight yelp of pain he gave as she bit down. They stayed like that until Liz lost her breath, head reeling as she clawed him closer.

"Nothing to say, Red?" she sighed, admiring the bruises that were forming on his throat. "I'm surprised."

He narrowed his eyes at her, evidently not amused. His hands strayed from her hair to her waist, then lower as he cupped her lace-covered mound. She gritted her teeth and glared defiantly, refusing to give him what he wanted that easily. If Red wanted her to unravel—to truly lose herself—he'd have to earn it. Still, it was hard to stay calm when he pressed his fingers against her button, winding in circles to match the sway of her hips. It was so intense, so damned good that she had to push him away if she wanted to last.

"What's wrong, Lizzie?" he chuckled darkly, stroking at her clit once more. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, but it came out as a half-moan. Handsome bastard.

"Not yet, sweetheart," came his clever reply. He grabbed hold of her arm and tugged, leading her back to the couch. "You have no idea what I've wanted to do to you."

She followed, excited and afraid. He tried to lay her back, but she shook her head and gestured to his clothes. "Off."

He stared her down as he undid his vest, torturing the same way she tortured him. She licked her lips as he peeled off layer after layer, impatient to see him completely. He was soon barechested and Liz gulped, her throat going dry. She was pleasantly surprised—he wasn't nearly as soft as she'd expected. Instead, there was a thin trail of grey hair that ghosted its way to the waist of his pants. There was only word Liz could think of—irresistible.

Acting on impulse, she hooked a finger in his belt loops and slid her hand down to the hardness that rested against her leg. His eyes narrowed to slits as he poured every ounce of concentration he had into not moaning for her, settling for a throaty grunt that made Liz smile. Devious, she unbuttoned his pants and yanked them to the ground, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers. She felt his warm hard flesh through the thin fabric and went to pull them down when he pushed her gently onto the couch.

Her pebbled nipples strained against her bra, begging for release; she undid it and tossed it away, relishing Red's appreciative groan as her tits swung free. Following his lead, she laid back and held her breath as he climbed on top of her, capturing her mouth in another passionate kiss. Liz breathed him in, all spice and leather, losing her last traces of inhibition.

His hands found her nipples, rolling and pinching and kneading as she squirmed beneath him. Breaking their kiss, Red latched his mouth onto her breast and sucked, watching for her reaction—and react she did. Liz cried out, tortured sweetly by the heat and swirl of his tongue. She could feel him smirk against her skin and moaned as he switched to her other nipple.

"God," she sighed, looking down at him. He tore his mouth from her chest and grinned.

"No, Lizzie, just me." Just when she thought he couldn't get any better, she felt him tug her thong off, leaving her glistening, exposed sex open to his fingers. Red kissed a trail from her stomach to her navel then lower as he latched his mouth onto her mound.

Her back arched at the sudden contact and her greedy hips bucked as he traced her lips with his tongue. It felt like she'd been punched in the gut, the air snatched from her lungs. She abandoned her quiet nature as he lapped at her clit, trapping his head between her legs with her hand. He stared up at her, eyes bright with pride and mischief as he eased two fingers into her and curled.

"Fuck!" she shouted, unprepared for the orgasm that snuck up on her, or the levee that broke as jet after jet of wetness drenched him, her, and the couch. Her eyes flew open and she clutched wildly at him, afraid if she didn't hold onto something she'd lose herself to the brutal waves that pummeled her.

Red pulled away as she came down, face glistening. "You taste so damn good, Lizzie." Liz gasped as she felt him prod at her still-sensitive opening. "And I bet you feel even better."

"Please," she whispered as he ran his length along her slick lips.

"Be specific, dear—what do you want?" His arms caged her on either side and he breathed hot on her face. Of course he'd make me beg. She gritted her teeth and tried to buck her hips against him, force him in but he pulled back. "Ah ah ah, Lizzie. Tell me or I walk away."

After the miracle he'd worked with his mouth, she needed him inside of her. "I want you to fuck me, Red."

He caught her in a sloppy kiss, her taste still on his tongue; she looked in his eyes and found reverent lust, like her body was a holy experience. "As you wish, dear."

He grunted nastily as he pried her open; Liz tensed as inch after thick inch slid in, proud of the way his eyes fluttered once he'd bottomed out. Red was slow at first as she met his thrusts, but passion engulfed them as Liz locked her legs around his waist, determined to unravel him the way he did her.

"I've wanted this for so fucking long," he rasped, roughly grabbing one of her breasts as he pistoned in and out of her. "Ever since that first day." A wanton shiver wracked her spine at his admission.

"I knew it," panted Liz, pulling him closer in the hopes he'd melt into her. "You're lucky I'm even screwing you, Red—filthy pervert."

Her rebellious streak had returned, toes curling as he stroked her better than anyone she'd ever had in her life. Abruptly he stopped, head tilted and a roguish snarl on his face.

"Who are you talking to?" he demanded, tweaking her nipple; she whimpered, trying to grind against him. "Sweetheart, I'm not the lucky one."

"You," she hissed, gripping his arms. "I could have anyone and I chose you."

"Anyone could do this?" Red thrust brutally and Liz shrieked, throwing her head back.

"No—" she moaned, reaching a hand down to rub at her screaming clit. He swatted it away and pinned it above her head, smiling viciously.

"No who? Say my name and I'll give you what you want, Lizzie." He bucked again, hitting her spot. Liz's eyes rolled back in her head and a spout of nonsense spilled from her mouth.

Defeated, desperate, she gave him what he wanted.

"Raymond fucking Reddington," she moaned, locking eyes with him. He growled in approval and resumed his pace, this time harder and faster.

"Oh, Red," screamed Liz, not caring if she'd declared defeat this round—there'd be other times to get back at him.

Throwing her legs up around his head, he bared down and drilled her for all he was worth. His moans came faster and louder as he watched the pleasure that erupted on her face. Their pace increased and Liz spotted the exquisite agony that suggested he was on the brink of bursting. She doubled her efforts, meeting his thrusts with abandon and clawing her way toward another tremendous orgasm.

It didn't take long. "Lizzie, I can't—" he cried, voice tremulous and skin slick with sweat. "You're so beautiful—shit!"

A savage sound ripped from his throat as he came, shuddering as his face contorted in shock and pleasure. He rode the wave, bucking and clutching at her in hopes it'd never end. Liz guided him through, awed at how sexy he sounded with her name on his lips. She slowly felt his spasms stop and brought her legs down, surprised when he kept them at his waist.

"You too." There was determination in his voice and Liz knew it wasn't a question. She whimpered, unsure if she could weather another fit. He snaked a hand down to her clit and pinched, working his hips in circles. Liz pleaded with him, clawing at his back as she overheated again, moaning wildly for mercy. He kept his gaze on her, confident his hands were achieving their aim.

"Cum for me, Lizzie," he said, a dominant look in his eye. She obeyed, helpless to do anything else. With one last thrust she was gone, calling his name and thrashing beneath him. Tears sprung to her eyes as the pleasure shoved her over the edge and blurred her vision. He held her steady, slapping her breasts and kissing her neck as her orgasm subsided.

They collapsed, utterly spent. Red dislodged himself from her and Liz shakily sat up, body still buzzing. He stood up and held out a hand—she grudgingly took it, legs like jello beneath her. She braced on his arm, leaning her head against his neck. The once-pristine velvet sofa was now a moonlit mess, with wrinkled cushions and a giant wet spot where Liz had lied.

The weight of what they'd done crashed down on her head. Red, she thought with a contented sigh. Conniving, manipulative, and an amazing kisser. It hit her all at once—the guilt, then terror at the thought of her co-workers finding out, and finally the post-sex haze that wiped it all from her mind. She could feel him staring at her, trying to deduce how she felt about it all.

Liz had only one thing to say. "Sorry about your couch."

"It wasn't mine," he said back, eyes still focused on her. She looked at him and found the same satisfaction she felt. But there was something else there, a certain surprise at her gusto, respect for the true force that was Elizabeth Keen. "I never thought you had that in you, Lizzie."

A devilish smirk curled her lips. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Red."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," he replied, leaning in for a quick kiss like it was totally natural.

Liz was right—there was a dark side to her that he wasn't sure of, volatile and demanding. A glance at the grandfather clock told her it was almost midnight and exhaustion hit her like a ton of bricks. She yawned and began to pick her clothes up off the floor. "I'll see myself out."

He didn't object, only put his boxers on and watched her. Liz tried to ignore the wounded look on his face like she'd broken a piece of him she didn't know existed. Way to do-and-ditch.

"You sure you don't want to stay? It's late and cold out." He asked after a time, something like lonliness in his voice; Liz felt a pang of guilt stab her. She'd come over to escape an empty house and here she was, abandoning him in a house twice as big.

You already had sex with him, she reasoned silently, putting her underwear back on. What's the worst that could happen?

"I guess I can," she conceded, putting on his dress shirt and buttoning it. "But so help me, Red, if you tell anyone about this—"

"You're safe with me, Lizzie," he said, tone markedly lighter, like she'd lifted a weight off his shoulders. Red caught her in an embrace and kissed her deeply; she sighed happily, unsure of just why she trusted him so much or why her chest fluttered at the intense look in his eye. "My lips are sealed, and I've got to say—that shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me."

She laughed, a giddy sound that made him smile. "Enough, Cassanova. Where's your bed?"

He led her through the stately house to the enormous bedroom. It was just as beautiful as the living room, a four-poster in the center with mahogany floors and classic paintings on the wall. They quickly settled in, Red turning on his side and Liz nestling into the space between them, pulling his arm across her waist. Her eyes drooped and she could already feel sleep's grip on her.

"Night, asshole," she yawned quietly, thinking he was already asleep. After all, he was still Raymond Pain-in-the-ass Reddington—even if he was the best lover she'd ever had.

Red chuckled, a deep rumbling laugh that made her blush. He pulled her closer, smiling into her neck. "Goodnight, Lizzie."

A/N: Some sweet and sour Lizzington smut. The idea was tossing around my head and I just had to write it. Hope you enjoyed it, lemme know what you think.

~L.L.