DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BLACKLIST!
Discipline II: Wants and Needs
The plot bunnies just won't stop! Save me!
Lizzie was thankful for an excuse to see Reddington, to go to his 'house', to lay her hungry eyes on his person once again. When she thought back to when she first met him, the annoyance, anger and distaste she had felt towards him…She didn't recognise herself. Only twenty-four hours ago, she had still felt those emotions towards him – he was vague, he invaded her privacy and personal space, and he never answered her questions about her life, even after hinting at her that he had knowledge of her husband's secrets. What had changed? Her body answered that question for her; he had spanked her. So hard and for so long that she had been rendered in a whimpering quivering mess of tears and numb body parts. Her profiles of him had never once foreseen any of those aspects of human sexuality. Of course, she knew that he could be violent and aggressive, he was a murderer after all. But that spanking…That was something else. And she couldn't understand it. But she knew one thing; she needed it again.
After she had awoken in Reddington's arms after the spanking, he had let her compose herself, and then gave her more information on the Courier. As she'd turned to leave, his voice had stopped her.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being honest. In my line of work, it's not something I encounter frequently." She gave him a small nod and then started to leave again. Once more, his voice stopped her. "Lizzie." She turned back. "Behave yourself."
She had left Frederick Hempstead's house with a clear head, much clearer than it had been when she entered the building. She had felt…Liberated. She didn't understand it. Even her profiler mind couldn't unravel the complex feelings she had experienced. She was in pain, obviously. But there was something about that pain that comforted her. The pain hadn't been administered by a cruel man for malicious reasons, or just to hurt her. She couldn't interpret exactly why Reddington had spanked her, or why she hadn't even fought harder against him; she only knew that as she had staggered back to her car, her heart had felt lighter and she had a certain kind of clarity to her thoughts.
That was why when Assistant Director Cooper told her to go and see Reddington to consult on their latest case – a corporate terrorist called Gina Zanetakos (a woman who Reddington claimed was Tom's lover) who seemed to be planning something big involving a bomb – she was grateful for a reason to talk to him again. They had already met twice that day – once when she had gone to see him about Tom's arrest (Tom had found the box hidden under the floor in their home and she had been forced to call the FBI so they could investigate fully) and was too in shock to talk to him about their 'encounter' the day before, and then again to discuss a development in the case, but that had ended with Liz shouting at him and storming off. Hopefully this time she could talk to him about a more personal matter.
Liz drove to Reddington's latest base of operations, a townhouse that was currently being refurbished. Killing the engine to her car, she took half a dozen deep breaths before climbing out and heading to the front door. She knocked and waited. Dembe answered the door and let her in. He led her upstairs and down a corridor to a room at the end. From inside Liz could hear Reddington's voice. He sounded angry. Dembe opened the door to the room for her, stepping aside to let her in. She entered the room, looking around at the covered furniture. Dembe followed her into the room, but remained in the shadows as usual. Reddington's back was to her, his right hand held a phone to his ear as his left held a glass of scotch by his hip. He was in his usual style three-piece suit, minus the jacket.
"…Listen, Hakim, shipping is my business! Once I receive the payment, the merchandise ships. That's the deal! According to my man in Houston, the payment's not there – it's been diverted to New Orleans, which is entirely unacceptable! ... I don't care if the wedding is Saturday!" He turned around and saw her. He gave her a smile, carrying on his conversation as he walked slowly towards her. She didn't shrink away, she welcomed his closeness. She now craved it. "All I care about is my payment. Hakim, this conversation is over." He hung up the phone, fluidly tossing it to Dembe. "Hello, Lizzie." They were now toe-to-toe. "What can I do for you?" He whispered, his breath gently hitting her lips.
It took her a second to clear her head enough to remember. "Uh…Maxwell Rudinger."
"Thank you, Dembe." He said, never breaking eye contact with Liz. She heard the door close somewhere behind them. "Shall we?" He escorted her to one of the armchairs in the room, waited for her to sit down before doing so himself. "Maxwell Rudinger, you said? Yes I know him. Tremendous bomb-maker, though haphazard as Hell. Terrible drinker, too."
"We've traced a wire payment Zanetakos made to an account of his about a month ago."
"So he's the link." He nodded thoughtfully. "He'll get you Gina, and she'll get you Tom."
"Will you help me find him?"
He smiled and gave a firm nod. "He operates in Germany, I'll need to go and see him personally." He looked at her for a long time when she didn't immediately get up and leave. "Is there anything else, Lizzie?" She nodded. "Well?"
"I, uh, I want…Well I-I need…" She waved her hands around as she tried to find a way to ask him for the favour she desperately needed from him.
They shared a burning look. Liz's whole body tingled when she realised by looking into his eyes that he understood what she was asking for. But still he said, "Yes, Lizzie? What do you need?"
"I can't say it…"
"Well if you don't say it, how am I supposed to know what you need?"
"Because you always know." She whispered.
He hummed thoughtfully, and then stood up abruptly. He turned his back on her as he drank from his scotch. "I believe I understand what you're asking for, Lizzie."
"Then…Will you?"
"No."
She shot up out of the chair. "What do you mean 'no'?"
"It's quite simple. No."
"W…Why not?" She demanded, walking around to stand in front of him.
"Because you haven't asked yet. Ask and it's yours." She flustered for a second. "Come now, Lizzie, you've always been articulate before. What's holding you back now?"
"It's hard to say it out loud!"
"Well you have to try." He insisted, putting his glass down on a table. He stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets. "Say it, Lizzie. One word at a time if it helps."
Liz cleared her throat, straightened up and summoned all her courage. "Red…I need you to-"
He held a finger up in front of her face. "Hold it there, Lizzie."
"Why?"
"There's a difference between 'want' and 'need'. Do you want me to, or need me to?"
She hesitated for a second. "I want you to…Sp…"
"Speak? Spell? What do you need, Lizzie?"
"I want you to…Do what you did yesterday!" She finished in a hurry.
"That's not at all clear, Lizzie, I did many things yesterday."
There was a glimmer in his eye that made Liz angry. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying her discomfort. As usual with her quick temper, she lashed out at him, hitting his chest with her fists. In another display of age-defying speed, he grabbed her wrists, spun her round and pulled her back against his chest. With her arms crossed over her chest and held tightly under his left arm, hope sprung up in Liz's chest. This was it. This was what she wanted! He cupped her jaw in his right hand, holding firmly.
"A lesson for you, Lizzie; lashing out at me will never get you what you want."
"I just wanted you to…"
"Yes I know what you wanted, Lizzie. But as I said before, all you had to do was to ask. And you couldn't even do that." He said in a deadly hushed whisper against her ear, squeezing her right wrist in his left hand. It hurt. She whimpered. He squeezed harder. "What do you think I'm going to do now?" She shook her head, suddenly scared of his cold whispers. He shocked her by releasing her jaw from his right hand, and slapping her across the face. "Another lesson, Lizzie; when we're in a situation like this, when I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer. Understood?" She nodded frantically. He slapped her again. "Lizzie."
"Yes I understand!"
"Good. So Lizzie, what do you think I'm going to do now?"
"I don't know, Red."
"Third lesson, Lizzie," He pressed his lips to her ear, sending amazing shivers down her spine and drawing a low moan from her, "When we're in a situation like this…Call me Raymond." She moaned again, louder this time. "Say it, Lizzie."
"Raymond." She whispered breathlessly, her eyes closing.
"Now answer me again, Lizzie. What do you think I'm going to do now?"
"I don't know…Raymond."
He pressed his right palm flat against her stomach, ever so slowly drifting it downwards. "Care to take a guess?" He teased, reaching her belt buckle. She gasped, her hips arching out towards his fingers. "No? No guesses?"
"No, Raymond."
He hummed against her ear as he slowly unfastened her belt, pulling the tan leather out of the loops of her jeans. The sensual tugging sensation left her skin tingling, a familiar ache starting to form between her legs. She knew this was wrong. It had to be; anything this good had to be wrong. When her belt was free from her jeans, he held it in his hand as he wrapped his arm around her stomach, holding her close. He nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose, breathing in her scent. He walked them towards a wall slowly, Liz only vaguely aware of the movement.
"Raymond, please." She clenched her thighs together, wanting to both savour and quench the feelings that were growing there.
"What was our first lesson today, Lizzie? Hmmm? Lashing out will never get you what you want."
A second later, Liz was half bent over, propped up by her hands against the wall. "Raymond, wait!"
"Who's in charge here, Lizzie?"
"You are."
"Exactly. You may have come here voluntarily, but now you have to be punished."
"Punished?" She breathed out. No! She didn't want to be punished!
"You lashed out, Lizzie. Instead of following a simple command, you struck at me. If you'd only focused a little harder, this could have been so much more pleasurable for you." He lamented. "Pick a number."
Liz's mouth opened before she could think. "Fifty."
He laughed in his deep baritone. "Oh Lizzie, you're not going to want fifty." He pulled her shirt up at the back, just an inch, and pressed the leather of her belt against her skin. Her skin shivered in fright as she realised why he had removed it; he was going to use the belt, not his hand. She panicked, but never tried to straighten up. "Pick another."
"Uh…Twenty?"
Behind her, Reddington laughed again. "Only twenty, Lizzie?"
"But you're using my belt." She protested.
"Indeed I am, and it is going to hurt a lot more than my hand. But this is a punishment, it's supposed to hurt. Thirty strokes." Liz began to quiver from fear. She couldn't help it. Reddington obviously noticed. "Tell you what, Lizzie, I'll make you a deal. You can have twenty strokes-"
"Yes please!"
"If…You lower your pants."
"What? Red, no!"
"Lizzie what was one of the lessons today? When we're in situations such as this one, you call me…"
"Raymond." She breathed quietly.
"Good girl. Are you worried that I'll fuck you if you lower your pants?" Liz was too shocked by him swearing to answer quickly. "Lizzie answer me. Are you worried I'll fuck you?"
She nodded. "Yes Raymond."
"I'm not going to fuck you. If you lower your pants, the pain will be more intense, but it will be over quicker. If you'd like to keep your pants up, that's fine, but you'll receive more strokes. The choice is yours, I was only offering." He gave her a minute to think. Liz had gone to his house wanting him to hurt her. But would belt hits on her bare skin be too painful for her to cope with? Twenty hits is a lot, particularly by a hard material on naked flesh…But thirty strokes would surely hurt more? "Lizzie, perhaps it would help if you answered a few questions first. How did you feel after your spanking yesterday?"
"I…I felt…Free. Like you'd…Lifted something from me. Something I hadn't even realised I'd been carrying."
"Why did you come here today? Apart from Blacklist business?"
"To feel free again."
"Do you think you'd feel free with thirty belt strokes?"
"Yes."
"'Yes Raymond'." He ordered firmly.
She nodded. "Yes Raymond."
"Do you think you'd feel free with twenty belt strokes?"
"Yes Raymond."
"Then is the issue with you baring yourself to me?"
"Yes Raymond."
"Because you think it would be inappropriate?"
"Yes Raymond."
"Because you're married and shouldn't bare yourself to anyone else? Or because you think I'll fuck you?"
She swallowed thickly. Normally she hated the word 'fuck' in the sexual context. But with him…It sounded so sensual. Like a promise. "Because I think you'll…Fuck me."
He chuckled lightly at her hesitance to say the F word. "I already told you that I won't fuck you if you lower your pants. I give you my word, Lizzie." He let her absorb that for a second, seeing her nod her head. "So Lizzie, which would you like? Twenty strokes bare, or thirty strokes covered?" She didn't answer him verbally. Instead, she lowered her hands from the wall and unbuttoned her office pants, slowly lowering them to her knees. When they were down, she placed her hands back on the wall. Neither of them said anything for over a minute. Liz jumped a little when she felt him lightly touch her hip, his fingertip tracing a soothing circular motion on her soft skin. The only sound in the room was Liz's breathing. Eventually he spoke. "Do you remember the rules from yesterday, Lizzie?"
"Yes Raymond."
"What were they?"
"I count each stroke. If I lose count, we start again. If I say anything that's not the right number, we start again. If I fall over, we start again."
"Good girl. Are you ready?"
Taking a deep breath and giving a firm nod, she replied, "Yes Raymond."
"Count, Lizzie." His touch was gone, and the first blow came. There was a whooshing sound in the room and then a crack. It took a second for the pain to register, but when it did…It was excruciating. Liz gasped on her breath as the pain spread like fire across both her cheeks. "Count, Lizzie." Reddington ordered.
"O-One." She forced out through chokes. Twenty strokes like that? Liz didn't know if she could take it, it hurt too much. Another blow came, the same whooshing sound and crack. "Gah! Two!"
"Because you've never felt a belt before, I'll let that sound go this time, Lizzie. And I'll change one of the rules a little, just this once." A hand grasped her hair and turned her head to the side. Reddington's face came into view. "Starting over however many times may be needed will be too much for your first time. So instead of starting over, it'll just be an extra three strokes. Do you understand?" He let go of her hair and grasped her chin.
She nodded. "Yes Raymond…Thank you."
He gave her a genuine smile and stroked her lips with his thumb. "Good girl. But let me be clear, Lizzie; if you make a sound like that again, we will start over." He released her and moved behind her again. "From 'two', Lizzie."
The third blow was harder, if it were possible for the blows to be harder. Liz pursed her lips together in an effort to keep quiet. "Three. Four. … Eight." The ninth blow was unbearable, making her scream as her knees wobbled. She forced herself to stay upright, taking a few deep breaths as she sobbed. "Nine!"
"That wasn't too hard for you, was it, Lizzie?" Reddington asked with fake concern.
The mockery hardened Liz's resolve. She has chosen to come here. She had chosen strokes on bare skin. She would take whatever he gave her. "No Raymond, it wasn't too hard." She answered firmly. Behind her, he laughed. The tenth blow was just as hard as the ninth, making her quiver again. She breathed out calmly, "Ten."
"Halfway, Lizzie. Would you like to make another deal?"
Liz moved forward slightly, resting the top of her head against the cold wall, sweat trickling down her face and back. "Raymond?"
"We'll call it fifteen strokes…But the last five will be aimed directly between those shaking legs of yours." Liz's eyes snapped open and she instinctively straightened up. One of his hands grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her back down. "Stay down, Lizzie!" He squeezed slightly. "Well? Fifteen, or twenty?" Liz took deep breaths to calm herself down from hyperventilating. Five more strikes, or ten? Five would be better…But they would definitely hurt a lot more, especially if Reddington used as much force as he had done for the last two hits…"I wouldn't hit as hard as I just did, Lizzie. I wouldn't harm you." She couldn't help it; she scoffed loudly in disbelief. "No, I mean it."
"You're using a belt on me, Raymond!"
"Lizzie, sweetheart, has no-one explained to you the difference between 'hurt' and 'harm'?" She shook her head and whispered no. "Then listen to me carefully." He pulled her upright by the back of her neck, whispering in her ear as he nuzzled her hair with his nose. "I may hurt you on occasion…But I would never harm you." Realisation flowed over her like a wave. Hurting her meant things like this, but he would never try to purposefully injure her. Despite the situation, she felt reassured and almost…Comforted. "So…Lizzie…Fifteen or twenty?"
She took a deep breath. "Fifteen."
He placed a soft kiss to her temple, releasing her neck. "Bend over again, and spread your legs wider."
Liz got back into position, spreading her legs as wide as she could with her pants around her knees. He said nothing for a minute. No blows came. But when it did…The strike landed everywhere, all over her crotch. It wasn't as forceful as the ninth or tenth blow, but it hurt just as much. She grunted to herself to keep the pain back. "Eleven."
"Focus on the sensations, Lizzie."
"I a-" The next blow hit, gentler this time with the main force landing on her clit. Having braced herself for agony, Liz was surprised. Pleasantly. It stung, but after the sting had settled down, pleasure rushed through her body. "Twelve." The next blow, again to her clit, was just as exquisite. The pleasure grew, spreading throughout her crotch, warming her whole body. "Thirteen."
"Better?"
She nodded as her eyes closed. "Better." She breathed out.
"Oh dear, Lizzie. You missed something, didn't you?"
His tone of voice made her eyes open. With a panicked thought, she realised. "Better, Raymond."
"Good girl, but that's an extra three strokes, that's eighteen now."
Liz nodded to show that she understood, her damp hair clinging to her forehead. Another blow landed directly on her entrance. The pain hit, but another sensation burned through Liz's awareness. Her panties were damp and sticky. Oh God was she…She was enjoying this! Enjoying it enough to have wet her underwear! Had Reddington noticed? Quickly remembering, she choked out the correct number.
"You nearly forgot, Lizzie, be careful!"
Her wet hole was struck again, Liz's hips arching forward as a low groan was torn from her throat. "Fifteen!"
"Just the last three, Lizzie, you can do it." He reassured.
Liz didn't need reassurance, she knew she would manage the last three, easily. What would happen after those? She couldn't return to the Post Office looking like this! The next three blows came quickly, each one of them hitting her clit. The blows got harder, but not enough to cause more pain than pleasure. With the sixteenth blow, she moan. The seventeenth made her groan. And the eighteenth…She tried to fight it, tried biting her lip to force back the sensations, but it was too much. She orgasmed. Loudly. Her hips rocked, her body shook and she gasped for breath through her moans. Her fingers clenched as they tried to grasp the smooth wall. It took a few minutes but eventually she calmed down enough to school her breathing and straight up just a little with a clear exhale of breath.
"Feel better, Lizzie?"
Oh God…She couldn't hide her embarrassment, blood rushed to her face in a furious blush. She'd just had an undeniable orgasm…Caused by, and in front of, Raymond Reddington. Determined to be brave, she straightened up fully, pulling her pants back up around her waist. She nodded. "Yes…Thank you…Raymond."
Footsteps approached her and her belt was held in front of her. "You'll need that back. But you can't return to the Post Office looking like this." He moved away from her, heading to the door she'd come through earlier. "Follow me." Her legs moved without her thinking about it, following him out of the room, down the corridor and into a bathroom. It was like the rest of the house, in the middle of being remodelled. "Don't fret, Lizzie, the water does run hot. Take a shower, I'll get you some towels." With that, he left her in the room and closed the door behind him.
As she stood in the cold bathroom, she contemplated her situation. It was true; she couldn't go back to work in the state that she was in – damp and sweaty hair clinging to her face, her make-up undoubtedly a total wreck…She looked around the room. It was bare but looked functional. Limping over to the shower, she slid back the plastic door and turned the water on, testing it with her hand. It was a little cold but at least it was clean. Slowly stripping her clothes from her sore body, she stepped under the spray and relaxed her body under the now warm spray of water. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and rinsed her hair. Shaking her head free of excess water, she turned off the water, and then paused. She didn't have a towel. What was she supposed to do?
Her question was answered by a knock on the door. "Lizzie, I've got you some towels and supplies."
She cautiously opened the bathroom door a few inches, standing behind it. A pair of folded towels were held out through the gap. On top of them lay a pack of make-up wipes, some make-up, a hairbrush and a bottle of lotion. She put her hands under the towels and took them out of Reddington's, her fingers brushing against his. With an unexpected reluctance, she pulled her arms away and closed the bathroom door. She dried herself and then redressed, choosing not to put on her wet underwear. She blushed when she thought of what to do with it. She couldn't leave it there! Definitely not! Instead she tucked them into her jacket's inner pocket and set about removing and then reapplying her make up. She dried her hair as much as she could, though it was still a little damp. Checking herself over in the mirror, she braced herself for what would happen on the other side of the door. Picking up the towels, she draped them over her arm as she opened the bathroom door.
Reddington was stood directly outside, making her jump a little as the door widened enough for her to see him. He looked as calm and collected as ever, his hands in his pockets. "Feel better?"
Her mind immediately filled with memories of what had happened only ten minutes ago, and she blushed. "Yes thank you." He held his arm out for the towels. She passed them over. "So…You'll see Rudinger? About the bomb?"
He nodded. "I'll fly out in an hour or so." She hesitated in leaving. "Lizzie, that feeling of anxiety that you're feeling now," How did he always know what she was feeling? "That's normal. It's a kind of separation anxiety. You'll be fine. Go back to work, and I'll talk to Maxwell. It's a ten hour flight, so you'll probably hear from me some time tomorrow." She nodded, still not being able to bring herself to leave. "Lizzie." He took a step forward, putting his towel-free hand on her elbow. "Go."
With a heavy heart, she did. And returned less than twenty-four hours later with a completely different purpose.
The Blacklist case had been solved. The bomb had been found and although there hadn't been time to diffuse it, they had put it in water when it exploded so there was no airborne contamination. They had caught Gina Zanetakos alive and she had confessed to the bombing attempt, and also the assassination of Victor Fokin, the murder that Tom had been interrogated over. Tom had been cleared, and everything had seemed fine. But as she and Tom had reunited in the War Room in the Post Office, her life had taken another turn for the worst. Tom recognised the picture of Grey, one of Reddington's 'assistants' and said that he had been the one who had called him to meet in Boston at the hotel where the murder had taken place. Suddenly everything made sense. The passports from the box under the floor were forged. The money from the box had been tracked back to an overseas account of Reddington's. He must have put the box under the floor! Why? To frame Tom? To ruin Liz's life?
Liz had told Tom to go home, that she had to sort something out first. Meera had tried to stop Liz from going to Reddington, from the look on Liz's face alone. She looked, and felt, murderous. And she felt ashamed and stupid. Reddington had lured her in, making her crave his attention enough to seek him out so he could spank her! Why was she surprised? He was a criminal! In his own words 'criminals are notorious liars'. She should have seen this coming! How could she be so stupid? She drove to Reddington's house again, hammering violently on the door until Dembe let her in. Storming past him and up the stairs, she surged down the corridor and burst into the room where he was sitting. How could he look so at ease after everything he'd done?
"Please come in, Lizzie." He smiled at her.
"We're finished."
His smile faded in an instant. "I heard that Tom's been released."
"Yeah, Zanetakos confessed." She snapped.
Reddington tilted his head from side to side in thought. "Or she took the fall."
"The passports from the box – forged. The money – traced to an account of yours." She jabbed her finger in his direction in accusation.
"I can only lead you to the truth, I can't make you believe it."
"The 'truth' is that you're a sick twisted man." If she hadn't been so furious, she would have noted the wetness in his eyes. "This…Your obsession with me…You framed my husband!"
"No."
"Why would you do that? Any of it!" They stared at each other for a long time, Liz breathing heavily as tears formed in her eyes. "Go to hell." She stormed out of the room, pushing past Dembe.
She heard him follow her down the stairs and to the front door. "Agent Keen-"
"Leave me alone, Dembe!" She grabbed the front door handle and pulled open the door.
Dembe's hand slammed the door shut before she could step through it. She turned and looked into his face. "You're going to regret this."
"Is that a threat?" She snarled.
"No. Simply a fact. You need Mr Reddington now. And not because of his Blacklist."
She trembled with rage, knowing that he was right. But she didn't want him to be! "I don't need anyone, Dembe. And I certainly don't need him!" She snapped, storming out of the house and away from Raymond Reddington.