As always, thank you so much Ripperblackstaff for your help! Love you!

Based on a discussion in the Lizzington FB group

Disclaimer: still not mine, don't sue...

It Takes Two to Tango

What was he playing at? The question kept turning in Liz's mind since she had left Red at the restaurant table. He and his dearest baklava, alone at last. She was tired of his games. She was tired to be always on the edge with him. She was tired of not knowing what she should expect with him. She was tired of his stupid fishes and stories. Elizabeth Keen was tired of Raymond Reddington.

She was lying on her bed, her eyes on the ceiling, her mind wandering when her phone buzzed next to her head. Nick's Pizza. Of course it had to be him. She sighed and picked the phone. She knew perfectly well that if she didn't answer his call, he would let himself in her room and she was in no shape for playing host for the Concierge of Crime.

"What do you want?" she asked before he could even greet her.

"You really should have tried the bak…"

She hung up on him, throwing her phone to the foot of the bed and putting a pillow on her face to muffle the cry she couldn't keep in. He was positively infuriating. But she couldn't keep him out of her mind. He was coming at her in her dreams. Even when she knew he was on the other side of the world, she would imagine his scent lingering in her office or would see a man wearing a fedora in the street and feel a pang of longing. He was infuriating when he was here, but she missed him when he wasn't.

Sighing, Liz sat up and retrieved her phone. She frowned at the blank screen. He didn't try to call her back and didn't show up at her door. Did she finally discourage him? Shaking her head, she unlocked her phone and speed-dialed him. He picked up at the first ring but didn't say anything. All she could hear was his breath.

"What did you mean?" she finally whispered when he was obvious he wouldn't say anything.

"You'll have to be a little more precise, Lizzie," he replied.

He seemed tired. The teasing absent from his voice. She could picture him, lying on his bed, his vest and a few buttons of his shirt opened, his sock-cladded feet crossed, waiting for her to elaborate.

"The tango. What did you mean?" She smiled softly at the image she was building in her mind.

"Exactly what I said, Lizzie."

She closed her eyes and sighed. She knew he could hear her and was waiting for her to go further down that path. She knew she would have to fight to find out the truth and she needed that truth. She needed to know what was hidden behind those words. Needed to know how he felt.

"What's your room number?" she finally breathed, her heart beating furiously against her ribcage. What if he didn't reply? What if he didn't want her there? What if…

"1912" he said after a silence.

She hung up and grabbing her key card, left the room. She fisted her hands at her sides to keep them from shacking. She was beyond nervous. It wasn't the first time she went to Red, but this time was different, she could feel it. It was the beginning of a new chapter for the two of them. For the better of the worse, she had to knock at that door. She raised her hand but before her knuckles could hit the wood, the door opened and, standing here, silent, stood Red.

"Come in," he said in a low tone, stepping back to let her enter.

Liz took a deep breath and nodded, walking by him, she almost started when she heard the door close behind her.

"Relax Lizzie," he breathed into her ear, his hands on her shoulders. He released her when he felt her tense under his touch. "Would you like something to drink? You seem to need it," he asked, walking to the small tray waiting on the window ledge.

He didn't wait for her to answer, pouring two glasses; he went back to her. Their fingers touching when she took the glass from his hand sent jolts of electricity up their arms. There always had been some tension between them but nothing like tonight. Tonight, the room was packed with tension, it was in the air, in the way they moved, turned around each other, their eyes not really connecting, their bodies brushing with each movements. Something had changed into that restaurant room; they both could feel it. Something had changed since Braxton.

Liz took a sip from her glass and cringed when the alcohol burned her throat. She turned to Red when she heard his soft chuckle. She had been right except for the socks, he was standing in front of her bare foot, his toes playing lightly with the soft carpet on the floor. He seemed… nervous, looking at her as if she could stick a pen into his carotid at any moment.

"What do you want, Lizzie?" he asked suddenly and she stated, closing her eyes. Of course he had to use that specific phrase.

"I don't know… I… I'm confused. You make me confuse," she replied finally looking at him in the eyes.

"It had never been my intention." He took a step forward, his outstretched hand grazing her shoulder.

"You're blowing hot and cold with your stories about fish, your touches, the way you look at me, and now the tango? I want the truth, Red. I need the truth," she said, her eyes filling with frustrated tears, never leaving his stare.

"Lizzie…"

"No! Do not touch me!" She took a step back, evading his presence. "You know first hand what I've been through with Tom. You know how he played me for years! You know everything about my life and all I have are questions! I don't know you Red. You won't let me know you!" She was shacking now; her arms closed around her body, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"You know me more that you think," he replied in a lower tone, taking a step back to leave her some room to calm down.

"Stop it Reddington. I know nothing of your life," she said and he recoiled at the use of his surname. "You were there the night of the fire, why?" she asked looking into his eyes.

"I already told you. It's complicated," he sighed, shacking his head.

"Screw you, Reddington."

She had had enough of his bullshit. She was tired of his games. Tuning around, she put the glass still in her hand on a stool and walked to the door. Her hand was on the handle when he grabbed her by the arm, his fingers around her biceps just short of hurting her.

"Let me go," she groaned between clenched teeth.

"You want to know what I meant? You want to know the truth?" he asked, his fingers running down her arm to close around hers when she nodded. "Let me show you then," he breathed in her ear.

She hadn't realized how close he had been. He took a step back, making her whine at the loss of his body heat on her back and, pulled her to him by the hand he was still holding. At the sharp movement, she lost her balance and crashed against his chest, her free hand on his shoulder. The hand on her back pulled her closer, their bodies plastered, he insinuated his knee between hers and took a step forward, forcing her to take one backward. She resisted, looking into his eyes to find answers, she met dilated pupils eating the blue of his irises. And she understood. He was showing her.

At the outside they are opponents, each has something the other wants. He let go of her hand and walked around her, his fingers grazing her shoulders. They size one another up, assessing risk, setting boundaries, challenging each other to breach them. She took a step back, breaking the contact. A sensuous battle, violence and sex, balanced on the blade of a knife. He smiled, noting her dilated pupils and short breath. Nothing given when it's not earned, nothing taken when it's not given. They froze, lost in the depth of the other stare. This is the pure essence of negotiation. The air was cracking around them, tension finally turning into something else. Not a poker game, but a Milonga. A tango. They took a step forward simultaneously, never breaking the eye contact. Seduction. They finally met in-between, their mouth crashing in a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue.

His hands on her back pulled her closer and her fingers found their place at the nape of his neck, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. She felt him moan into her mouth and didn't repress the smile spreading on her lips. She was sure he could feel it but didn't care. It was more than she had ever hoped; she had asked to know the truth and he was just showing her. There couldn't be any mistakes. His hard length pressed against her belly the only proof she needed.

She pushed back his vest, sliding it down his arm before slipping her fingers under his shirt collar and she felt him tense. Breaking the kiss, she looked at him. He was breathing hard, is eyes closed, anguish written over his features.

"Red? What's going on?" she asked, her hand cupping his face, thumb stroking the creases drawn at his brow.

"We can't," he rasped, leaning his face in the softness of her hand.

"Why? Talk to me, Red," she whispered, her thumb at the corner of his mouth.

He kissed her fingertip when she moved it over his lips and shook his head before taking a step back, breaking the contact. She watched him walk to the window, his back to her, silent. She followed him, stopping behind him, she leaned her forehead against the nape of his neck, her arms encircling his waist.

"Talk to me, Raymond," she breathed against his skin and she felt him flinch at the use of his given name. "Please," she added when he didn't reply.

Her hands left his waist when she stepped back, tracing his sides before settling on his shoulders. She could feel the tension coiling beneath his shirt and… something else. Frowning, she ran her hands down his back, her eyes searching his in the window reflection.

"Don't," he whispered, closing his eyes as if she was hurting him.

But it was too late, she had felt it, she had felt his scars. Slowly, gently, she turned him around. He didn't resist, he didn't have the force to resist anymore. Searching his eyes, she worked the buttons of his shirt open; slipping the tails out his waistband she pushed it off his shoulders and let it fall on the floor. He clenched his jaw when she took a sharp breath. Looking over his shoulder she had seen his back reflected in the window.

"You were there," she breathed, finally understanding what he had meant when he had replied 'yes' to her question.

Jumbled images of that night burst through her mind. A man. A man lying on the floor, surrounded by flames. The man she had thought to be her father. Someone had tempered with her memories.

"You tried to save me," she whispered, burning tears flooding her eyes. "Look at me, Raymond."

He finally raised his head; eyes filed with unshed tears meeting hers. He seemed lost. Oh so lost. The anguish on his face breaking Liz's heart. She placed her hand back on his cheek and dried the lonely tears that had escaped his eye with her thumb. Leaning in, she kissed him. Her lips brushing tenderly his, soothing his fears.

"I want to see them, Raymond. I need to see them," she said against his mouth.

He nodded silently and turned his back to her. She stood frozen on the spot for a few seconds, mesmerized by the sight of his scarred back.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her fingers hovering over his left shoulder, not yet ready to touch.

"No," he rasped. He didn't flinch when she finally put her hand flat against his shoulder blade. "Some of those are third degree burns, it killed every nerve ending. I can't feel anything," he explained in a stained voice.

Behind him, Liz nodded; she knew he could see her reflection in the window. Her fingertips tracing the scars on his back, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his ragged skin along his spine. He didn't react, didn't move an inch. She trailed her lips along his spine, her hands at his side, she felt him shiver when her lips found a less scarred spot near the middle of his back.

"Lizzie," he breathed when she felt her follow the burned path she had found, goosebumps spreading on his skin at the feeling.

She smiled against his skin before slipping between his body and the window, facing him. She trailed her hands up his chest, burying his fingers into his chest hair; she could feel his heart beating against her palm.

"I didn't save you. You saved me," he whispered, his eyes finally on hers. "And it left its mark on you," he added, taking her hand in his and kissing lightly the scar on her wrist.

"We saved each other," she replied, her hand stroking the back of his bent head and she felt him smile against her skin.

"Always the optimist."

She chuckled and took his hands in hers, walking backward, she led him to the bed. Letting go of his hands, she grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Discarding her shoes, she lost the few inches she had on him and had now to look up to meet his eyes. She smiled when she saw the nervous tic at the corner of his mouth, his teeth worrying his lower lip, his eyes fixed on her chest.

Lightly, almost reverently, he traced her collarbone with his fingertips, looking surreptitiously into her eyes, making sure she was ok with his touch. She smiled at him. The mighty Raymond Reddington, the Concierge of Crime, asking permission was something she would never have thought seeing in her life.

She shook her head when he pulled back his hand, not touching her any further. He seemed elsewhere, far into his own mind, out of reach. She opened the bed sheets and guided him until he was lying under the blankets.

"Stay," he said, grabbing her hand when she took a step back.

"I'll be right back," she replied, squeezing his hand.

She could feel his eyes on her when she went to retrieve his long forgotten shirt by the window before heading to the bathroom. When she came back to the room a few minutes later, wearing his shirt, she saw his eyes widen. Of course he had thought she would leave. He used Red's bravado to hide Raymond the scarred and broken man, Liz realized.

"I told you I would be back," she whispered, settling in his arms under the blankets.

She felt his body relax against hers when she laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers playing with his chest hair. He had taken off his slacks she realized when her foot met bare skin, leaving him in his boxer shorts. She run her hand down his bare chest and she felt him shiver, the arm behind her pulling her closer. He finally pulled her over him, her legs on each side of his hips and kissed her.

His lips barely brushing hers, his hand buried in her hair, the other at the small of her back, they moaned when he pressed her against half hard cock. She decided to take the lead and deepened the kiss, her tongue asking permission, he parted his lips and let her taste him. She left his lips to nip lightly at his jaw, drawing a path of burning open-mouthed kiss along his neck, down his chest until she reached the waistband of his underwear.

"Don't," he stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. "Not tonight. Tonight I want to feel you," he added when she looked at him surprised.

She shook her head at the oddity of Raymond Reddington. He was the only man she had ever met refusing such an act. She got off his legs, and let him sit up and take the last piece of clothing off his body. Taking the hint, she discarded the shirt and panties. He took her in, his eyes on every curves of her displayed body.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his hand cupping lightly her breast.

She shivered under his touch and couldn't stifle the moan building in her throat when he finally closed his mouth on her nipple, worrying the soft flesh with his teeth.

"Ray, please," she moaned.

He looked up at her from between her breast and smiled. His smile widened when she put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him. Her hand between their bodies closed around his length and guided him home. They stayed immobile for a time, eyes locked, breath erratic, fingers linked on the mattress next to Liz's head. Red began to move his hips when the pull became too strong to resist. Their bodies moving in harmony, moans and short breaths the only sounds in the room, they kissed. Her hips rising to meet his with each trust she closed her legs around his waist, changing the angle, she felt him twist his hips, hitting just the right spot once, twice and she saw stars. Her world exploded around her, blackness then lightness blinding her vision, her body tensed under his, her inner muscles spamming around him sent him with her over the edge.

He rolled over and laid on the mattress, boneless, his chest heaving, spent. He stayed immobile a few second, before tracing her side with his fingertips, smiling when she turned her head to look at him. She smiled back shyly not really sure what she was supposed to do now. Should she leave? Should she spend the night in his bed? Everything had changed and she didn't know how to react.

"Come here, Lizzie."

He opened his arms and she scooted over him, curling her arm around his waist when he pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulders. She looked at him from her spot on his shoulder and smiled. He bent his head to kiss her lips, his hand settling at the small of her back.

Everything had changed, but she was still a FBI agent and he a wanted criminal. She had had some answers but still had many questions left unanswered. But right now, cradled in his arms, she couldn't find in herself to care about all of this. She was happy and nothing else mattered.

Thank for taking time to read! Let me know what you think about it :)