Helpless
Red woke up to lingering images of her, from his dream. Lying on his back in bed at his Bethesda apartment, he felt disorientated, still cast adrift by the echoes of the dream; so persistent and vivid he could still remember every detail of it.
He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. Even with eyes shut tightly, all he could see was her face.
Sometimes smiling.
Sometimes laughing.
Sometimes angry.
Sometimes desperate.
Sometimes sad.
Sometimes longing.
But always loving; in his dreams she always loved him back.
There was no secret past in these dreams either, no threats to her life, no Tom, no Cabal, no danger whatsoever, hell, he wasn't even a criminal.
These dreams were rare but very precious. The usual horrors of murder, blood, destruction and death which haunted him all the other nights had been pushed aside.
He lost himself to the mind-numbing, gut-tingling, soul-surging feelings a little longer, reveled in the beauty and thrill of it all, before it would slip away from his grasp entirely.
He moaned and wiggled his pelvis when he felt his stiff cock pressing into the mattress. He hadn't given in to his urges for a while. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself this kind of intimacy, since he'd touched himself thinking of her. Not since her "death." His heart had ached and bled at the loss, his entire being shattered like a dropped mirror. Stars that had faded into black, his homecoming beacon extinguished from existence.
But now she was back and the renewed craving for her seared him with its intensity. He knew it was wrong to think of her that way, to use imaginations of her for his lust, but he loved and wanted her.
He shuddered at the sensations, his erection so impressively hard and huge, the waistband of his navy blue pajama bottoms couldn't contain it. Rolling onto his side, he reached down and inside his pants and tightened his hand around his swollen length. Gripping his shaft and stroking the flesh back and forth over the cock head, he moaned at the contact. He smoothed the pad of his thumb along the ridges of the head, rubbing the tiny opening until a drop of fluid seeped out.
He really shouldn't be doing this, but it felt so good, and he longed for the pleasure and the release.
He took a wad of Kleenex from the nightstand and positioned it next to the pillow. Then he shucked off his pants and stroked himself fully erect. He bit back a groan, arching into the pleasure. Lower, he used his other hand to cup his balls. He set the pace easily, steady and rhythmic. No teasing. Nothing fancy. He was going to get off, that was all.
That was the intention, but with his eyes closed, he let his mind wander. He drifted through a lifetime's worth of memories until he found the ones of her that sent a jolt of heat through his veins and directly into his cock and made it twitch in his hands.
It was usually a recollection of their shared hugs, or the soft touch of Liz' hand in his, or even just the smell of her hair and the sweet perfume on her skin. Any shared closeness. A kind word. A simple smile.
Red found himself slowing down. Stroking, languid, then palming the head as he pushed upward into his clenched fist. It felt so good, closer and closer he edged himself.
He'd started off wanting a quick easy climax, but now he wanted to linger. Savor. He wanted to lose himself in desire and keep himself teetering right there, in that place where nothing else mattered, where he could let his mind run free and imagine all the things he ever wanted to do to her, and all the things she would do to him.
He muttered, low and throaty, a small curse. He pushed into his fist a little faster only to slow and squeeze just behind the head to keep his orgasm at bay a little longer.
With his other hand, he slid his thumb down the seams of his balls, pressing that sweet spot that would not only help him fend off the climax but also make it more intense.
The pleasure built and surged and Red rocked with it. Until finally it was there, the point of no return. Ecstasy burst through him and he exploded, splashing his seed out of his throbbing length and into the handful of Kleenex.
"Lizzie…"
He groaned her name and his love to the universe, unheard. He tried to suppress the sobs that kept shuddering in his chest, but he couldn't. Post-coital sadness washed over him, released by his extremely heightened emotions and all the thoughts of her.
She would never be his. She would never kiss him, never undress for him, never relieve his needs, never love him back the way he did.
Something dreadful sucked at the very core of his being. He felt guilty, worthless, disgusted by his perverted self. All his life so morbidly fixated on her.
No wonder she tried running from him, running from the monster that screwed up her life and personality.
He'd kept his distance, had stopped trying, like she wished, but he missed her like someone had sawed off his leg and left him to die on the side of the road.
If only he could make it stop and go away. Once and for all. Shoot, suffocate or stab those feelings from his aching heart, just like every other enemy.
He got up from the bed to go to the bathroom when his burner phone rang. He knew it was her even before he picked up.
"Elizabeth – to what do I owe you the pleasure of your call?"
"I just wanted to know how you are."
He laughed rather ironically.
"Since when is that any of your concern?"
It hurt him more saying this to her than it would actually hurt her.
"I knew calling you was a bad idea," she spat, fighting tears. "Sorry I bothered you."
She was about to hang up.
"Lizzie wait!"
He was such an idiot.
"I'm sorry."
There was a beat, then another and he sighed.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Thanks for asking."
There was a long pause and he listened to her uneven breathing which indicated that she had started crying.
"You haven't called me sweetheart in a long time. But then I really didn't deserve it, did I?"
"Lizzie…"
He felt helpless when he tried to convey his obvious despair.
"I'd like to see you, Raymond. Please."
Half an hour later he held her close in his arms for what seemed like forever. He loved her and he would always love her, no matter how much it hurt. Or how weak and powerless it made him. He'd always want her in his life. Always. He wouldn't let her go. He would make up for the lost years. It was useless to even think or try different. He would take in return whatever she was willing to give; it would be enough.
She snuggled closer and maybe, just maybe, there was hope yet.
The End