Disclaimer: Still don't own The Blacklist and am not affiliated with them or NBC in any way. And yet still no promises if Spader offered me that fantastic ass of his.
WARNING: THIS FINAL PART IS LOADED WITH M-RATED SMUT!
AN: Bet you guys thought I wasn't going to finish, huh? Lol well THIS IS THE LONGEST CHAPTER I'VE EVER WRITTEN, you have been warned, so clear your schedule for the next HOUR, grab a drink and a snack! Again I want to thank hestia-Prytaneum and firstmorningdew. Love you both, my sistas ;-) ! And tore-my-yellow-dress, love you too girl, you're amazing! If you haven't read her smutty birthday present for me Love Me Lights Out, YOU MUST!
FrostyFingers and redisthenewblackington, this part is for you two, so you both can no longer blame me for anything hehe and yes I know it took me long enough but crap, this last chapter is over 12,000 words!
OH and if anyone likes Ressler, you will hate me for the mentioning of him in this part, I promise you! It's just a story, right? But I did have a lot of fun writing that bit.
Plot Notes: Also small references to Red and Lizzie's conversation in 2x16! But still AU after 2x10-11
Song lyrics, Story title, and Part III title courtesyofNIGHTCLOTHES by RADICAL FACE!
Song lyrics in story are from Tougher Than the Rest by Bruce Springsteen, 1987
ALL mistakes are mine!
You Said the Moon Would be Ours
Part III:
Nightclothes
We crept from the room
The moonlight spilled down the hall
And I tiptoed with you
Then we climbed out the window
And there in the yard
Our nightclothes blowing in the breeze
And you looked up at the sky
And said the moon would be ours
And all this time I hear those words like bombs in the distance
And oh my mind, I can still smell the rain in the air
But time's gone by
And I'm not the kid I was on that evening
And somewhere inside
I hope you still see me just the way I was before I walked away
Mud on your dress
Blood stains on the knees of my pants
And we went in search of the moon
'cause you said that you knew where it slept in the day
So we gathered up our tools:
A sling-shot in case it ran for the sky
And a blanket from your room, the one with no holes
So we could drag it all the way back home
And you said when we got it back
We would cut it in two
And we'd wear the hide so magnificent
And then I could control time for you
And I still hear the way that you laughed
When you found I believed you
And I could still feel you pull on my arm
When I was too afraid to go
And all this time I hear your words like bombs in the distance
And my, oh my, I can still smell the dirt on our hands
'cause in my head
You're still alive, you're still alive
And I know that it's a lie
But it's one I like, it's one I like
Stopping short of the open car door, Lizzie slides her messenger bag from her shoulder, handing it to Red. She stands there stoic, unnerved at the idea of leaving him in the current light of their unresolved tension in the form of carnal sin that bellows within her. He leers up at her from his seated position, with his brows crinkled in confusion, eyes darting from her sapphire orbs down to her mouth that is hanging ajar.
Lizzie eludes to their morning together, and how eagerly she had wanted to just lie there with him and dismiss the hold all the horrors their world dangled over them, along with the obligations they were due to uphold in service to the cause.
The list.
The monsters.
Savagery and damnation.
The events of that momentous day tugged at her conscience as Red burrows his eyes passionately into hers. Who was the man on the floor? Was it her father? Red? Another man whom was there to harm her or take her away? The questions wound the cogs inside her mind, stirring her gut like a witch's concoction, with her frayed skin being the cauldron of something quietly brewing within her.
"I'm sorry but, there are some things I need to take care of here. Ress is bitching about the stacks of paper work we have, so I really should stay here and help him finish up."
Red narrows his gaze at her skeptically, hearing a slim intimation of subterfuge in her voice, "I'm beginning to construct the theory that Donald was molded in the image of Emperor Nero. He sure does love to interrupt the most favorable of moments. I thought he had stopped trying to ruin my life once I saved his during the debacle with Anslo."
Cocking her head as she snorts an incredulous snigger, she tucks a wisp of flailing copper hair behind the curve of her ear, "RED?! Emperor Nero? That's pretty extreme don't you think? He was a demented tyrant who married his stepsister and kicked his second wife to death! Not to mention—"
"Allegedly. To be fair, his father Gnaeus set the example, and insanity was as common among them as houseflies are to us. He was a jackass. He did at least one good deed, however; he reduced taxes. But, I have always been intrigued by his discouragement of living a luxurious lifestyle. I mean, who has time to be frugal, anyway?"
Red finishes with one corner of his mouth smugly upturned. Seeing that Lizzie is taking his cynical (albeit sassy) manner with such ease, it becomes therapeutic to his self-image. In his mind, harnessing the ability to actually be himself comfortably around Lizzie and say the most outlandishly inappropriate comments was something to be cherished. Although his elevated absurdity was a self-inflation of his actual persona, he still basked in the joy of teasing Lizzie in any way possible, even if he did have a twisted sense of humor.
"At any rate. Would you like me to stay with you while you finish? You know that I am quite good company to have around when there's work to be done."
Shit. Think, Lizzie, she screams internally, attempting to act as nonchalant as humanly possible.
"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of, then I won't get anything finished. Why don't I meet you back at the safe house at say—," Reaching down to grasp his wrist, she draws it up toward her face close enough to see the skinny hands of his posh Rolex.
As his reservations are forgotten momentarily, the countenance unfolding on Red's features is that of a boy fascinated for the first time by a girl who suddenly burst into his existence, except he had been the one who had done the invading.
"—midnight? Is that too late for you?" Sighing in resignation, Lizzie tenderly slides her hands to his strong fingers, entwining them in her own, bringing them to her face so as to give him the initiative to touch her there.
His eyelashes flicker in provocation when his hands make contact against her smooth rosy flesh, exhaling through his nostrils in a huff, "Ha, Lizzie, I'm not that old just yet, and I don't sleep very often. Of course, that is fine. Would you like me to send Dembe back here to get you then?"
Releasing his hand from her face, Lizzie places a few feet between them as she prepares to walk back into the Post Office's entryway, glancing back over her shoulder so maybe Red would take the hint.
Lizzie clears her throat, a sensation like torrid sand grating the inside of her mouth, "No, it's okay. I will catch a cab. Or I can just take one of the Suburbans. So, I will see you in a few hours?"
Red senses something is awry, but fails to comment. He decides he is just being unreasonable, and that his intuitions could possibly be the victim of oversensitivity due to the last twenty-four hours of emotional distress, coupled with the release and elation that was swimming in the forefront of his mind.
Parting his mouth, his top lip quivers long enough for Lizzie to take notice. She knows if she does not get moving, he will be asking more questions, and she will not be able to provide any sufficient answers. He nods sharply once, then directs his gaze to the headrest in front of him. Lizzie feigns an excited grin as she revolves on her heels to return to the elevator.
"See you then." She shouts back over her shoulder, only rotating her neck a few degrees for Red to catch a fleeting glimpse of her reddened cheeks.
She hops inside the lift and witnesses Red and Dembe pull away. Peeping her head out, she looks around frantically, digging into her pocket for the keys to the Suburban.
If anyone were to observe her striding across the parking lot in such a frenzied fashion, they would swear she was headed out on a call. Well, this situation could be classified as such. It was just as critical in her mind.
Rolling through downtown Alexandria, Lizzie recites the address to herself as she eyes the navigation system warily, hoping this is not going to take up half the night. She is desperate for answers. But, she is also helplessly desperate for Red.
Coveting.
Desiring.
Hungry.
An unquenchable thirst churns within her as she grips the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles flash white, acknowledging to herself that she will not be sated until she ultimately has him.
Lizzie pulls bumpily into the parking lot of the office building just outside of town, tires screeching to a halt, nearly scraping the undercarriage of the vehicle as she jerks the wheel. She jets the door, virtually shuddering at the sheer concept of taking the voyage back to the horrific experience she withstood as everyone stood by to watch, as they would have a film or play. Stomach churning, she gingerly twists the knob to find it locked. She raps her knuckles on the hard wood, and restively waits for Dr. Selma Orchard to let her inside.
She sees the shadow of a figure just on the other side of the blinds blocking her view of the interior. Lizzie's acquired instincts switch on, grappling for her sidearm. Better safe than sorry, she notes watchfully.
The door cracks open.
"Elizabeth? Come in."
Lizzie takes one last look behind her to ensure there are no tails following her, or that Red and Dembe have traced her to this location, then holsters her weapon as she steps into the foyer.
"You sounded troubled on the phone. What's going on?"
Lizzie stares down at her feet, and then back up Selma. She feels ashamed that it has come to this, to her concealing information from Red yet again, and dragging this considerate woman out in the middle of the night for something so seemingly fickle.
"I, uh, I need your help. I need to regress again. I have to go back. There are still answers I need, and you are the only one who can help me."
"Elizabeth, I told you, your memories have been tampered with. Altered. They are . . . muddled, at best. What makes you think what you will experience will be the truth? Let alone the physical and emotional damage it can inflict—"
Lizzie cuts her off, shaking her head continuously as her pink-rimmed sockets expand, "I just . . . I just know. Something has been telling me all day to do this, Dr. Orchard. I nee—I have to see. I have to try."
The doctor gulps harshly, dipping her chin to accept Lizzie's rationalization as she looks away, "Very well, then. Come on. My workroom is in the back."
"Workroom?" Lizzie questions inquisitively, both eyebrows ridging toward her hairline. The woman lifts her hand, beckoning Lizzie in her direction through a set of double doors similar to what one would see in an emergency room.
Passing through the doors, they enter a room reminiscent of a family physician's treatment area with cream-colored walls, complete with an exam table, a reclining chair, and EEG and EKG machines.
"I thought you only made people . . . forget things? What's with all the equipment? Looks like Braxton has been in here . . . Jesus."
"It's funny you should ask. Assisting my patients with burying their past traumas had become counter-intuitive, in my opinion. I do the opposite now: helping my patients confront said traumas head-on. Many people know that facing your fears is the only way to conquer them. To rise above it and move on with your life, lest it hinder you further. I'm sure you understand that logic more than anyone, because our memories, Elizabeth? They are what make us who we are."
Lizzie nods knowingly, crossing her arms as she listens to the woman, anxiously awaiting the beginning of what she believes will forever alter her perception of her own identity. Flipping off the overhead lights, Dr. Orchard directs her to the chair to the left of the weakly lit room, the expanse of the remaining area that surrounds her being only bright enough to see the edge of the chair's murky-olive leg rest. Lizzie's heart has already begun to thrum, pulsating so hard that she notices her chest bounding. She takes a resounding breath to compose her already-unfettered nerves. Positioning herself properly, she pulls down on her jacket to straighten it, then abruptly unzips it to discard the now useless item of attire.
Selma steps next to her, placing the sticky rounded ends of the leads on her temples and chest from the machines that will examine her vital signs and neurological activity during her memory regression. Backing away from Lizzie, the doctor trifles through the drawer of her med cart. Retrieving a syringe and two vials of clear liquid, she informs Lizzie that one pharmaceutical is sodium pentothal, and the other a relatively strong benzodiazepine, and that she will not be administering as large of a dose as she did in Alaska. Since Lizzie is prepared for what comes next, she enlightens the woman as to which memory she wishes to revert.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Elizabeth? Because once I inject these sedatives—"
"Please, stop. You can't talk me out of this. Just do it." Lizzie recites to her softly as she reaches out to touch the doctor's forearm that is holding the needle. Déjà vu, Lizzie ponders.
It was strange to imagine that this small thing made of plastic and stainless steel contained a combination of liquids that could hand her the keys to which door to proceed through in her life. It was startling and quite ironic, to say the least.
Her eyes begin to moisten while the quaking in her limbs becomes more aggressive the longer she waits for the inevitable plunge into the deepest alcoves of her splintered recollections.
"Just procedure, sweetheart. That's all. I don't want you to feel obligated for any reason. Ready?"
With that, Lizzie nods promptly and pinches her eyelids shut, combating the overwhelming visceral impulse to flee as the needle pierces the tightened flesh of her upper arm.
A heavy sensation settles within Lizzie's core as the drugs flaring their way throughout her veins start to pinball straight to the neurotransmitters of her brain, elevating her dopamine levels at a staggering rate. Euphoria slams into her head and torso, taking all but her general sense of direction away from her. A few distressing minutes pass, and then, nothing.
Darkness.
Deafening stillness.
Then, a voice emerges from the shadows, "Elizabeth, I need to take you back once again twenty-six years ago, to the night of the fire. You will start to feel yourself become weightless, as if you were a feather, so light that you drift into the air. With each breath, you become lighter and lighter, floating into the sky. I want you to picture what happened that night, but when you open your eyes, you will immediately be taken back inside the burning house, and to the man you witnessed lying in the floor. Can you do that for me?"
She mumbles, "Yes" in a child-like voice as the woman coaxes the four-year old to the surface of Lizzie's lucidity.
"I am going to count backwards from five, and once I get to one, you will awaken there. In the house, surrounded by flames."
Under Lizzie's fluttering lids, she observes flashes of conflagration and smoke, in and out of focus like she is being fed brief snapshots of the fiery destruction from an adequate distance.
"Five."
Closer now, the smolder flicks hot against her skin.
"Four."
She covers her ears as she hears screaming from an innocently small voice in the expanse, but comes to the realization that the shrill noises are being emitted by the smaller version of herself standing within arm's length of her.
"Three."
The inferno comes into focus, clarity striking her so forcefully that it knocks the air out of her, compelling her lungs to constrict painfully. She releases a whimper from her distorted mouth while Selma continues.
"Two . . . one."
The flames are in such close proximity that Lizzie can feel the hair being seared from her forearms. The sickening whine of the house's warping walls flood her ears as she glances around for evidence of human life that could be of assistance. Just when she doubts she actually witnessed a dying man in the floor in her previous trance, he comes into view through the licking blaze surrounding her.
The little girl named Masha steps forward with her stuffed bunny rabbit that is crisply charred around the edges of its furry nubs, and kneels down next to the unmoving form in the center of the floor. Lizzie creeps ever so vigilantly, as watches as her past self yell at the man, grasping his shoulder to shake him awake as best she can. His tattered shape comes into view, his jacket no longer whole, but rather embedded in smaller fragments into his back.
Subcutaneous tissues are exposed. Embolisms and corroded muscles sprawl across the length of his shoulders, stretching down to just above his tailbone. The raven-colored fissures of raw skin that seem to be sprinkled over his backside remind her of crime scene photos.
Lizzie covers her mouth to withhold a laden sob, the whites of her eyes widening, shell-shocked by the troubling scene before her.
This is not the same man she saw previously.
This man has an abundant thatch of golden hair that is scorched at the bottom of his scalp meeting the back of his neck.
As Lizzie's doubts swirl her train of thought, she sees him lift his head erratically toward the frightened girl.
"Mister! Mister! We have to go!"
Lizzie's spine goes ramrod straight as he turns his head, straining to hear what he tells the child, "The—they left yo—you?" Little Masha nods sorrowfully, pulling on his arm to encourage his movements.
That voice.
She knows that voice, but does not recognize his face.
That is Red's voice.
Lizzie realizes she has no bearing on the catastrophe occurring in front of her, she is merely a spectator that has been slung into the depths of events she cannot alter or repeat. The vice grip-like clench around her heart forces out an acute whine as she witnesses the incontrovertible physical torment Red must be experiencing in this moment. Not to mention the ostensible endless weeks of desolation and despair that followed.
Red cagily places his palms down on the hot, contorting floor, mustering every last ounce of strength he has left within him. Every single infinitesimal speck of will power finally reaches his limbs, adrenaline overtaking his body. He pushes aside the psychosomatic torture burdening him by imparting the little girl in with need his undivided attention, bones clattering and popping as he positions himself onto his knees.
Lizzie sees him rise slowly as she shakes her head in utter disbelief and astonishment.
"Impossible." She chokes to herself while covers her mouth and nose, attempting to filter the smoke pouring into her lungs. She has never really given Red much credit for his physical abilities, knowing he was capable of acts that typical men could not tolerate.
After naval training and endless techniques he acquired over the years during his travels to defend himself, he was able to absorb self-discipline and restraint from every instructor who ever coached him to make him more durable than he appeared.
But, this? This was ungodly strength that she was seeing from a man with an inconceivably injured frame.
"Come—come on. I have to get you out of here. Ri—right now."
Teetering back on his heels as he stands upright, he releases a blood-curdling shriek at the searing pain that plows through him like lightning exploding a tree into bits. It is unbearable, but he knows he must push through it regardless of him praying for death's bittersweet extrication.
He must stay fixated on the scared little girl in front of him rather than the relentless storm tearing through his nervous system.
Lizzie sees Masha cover her ears as she does the same at Red's notched screams. Getting a hold of himself, he clutches the child's hand and looks around hysterically, "We have to find a way out." All critical thinking flees from his mind, problem-solving turning into a sporadic bitch since he is afflicted to such an extent.
No longer than it leaves his mouth, Masha points as she yells, "The window!"
Rushing over in a flurry of panic and perplexity, Red hobbles to the window frantically with Masha in tow, unlatching it to push it open as Lizzie runs over to keep up with them.
There is no way to pause what is happening or slow it down, so Lizzie knows she has to follow them closely.
A voice bellows from the distance as Lizzie scrunches her face that is replete with devastation, "Elizabeth, what do you see? Can you tell me?"
Lizzie mewls a pitiful sob from the chair in the doctor's office as her bottom lip quivers, "We have to get out, we have to go through the window. He is with me, he is leading me out, saving me . . . "
"Who is Elizabeth? Who is saving you?" Doctor Orchard pleads, genuinely concerned for Lizzie's well-being and overtly aware that the man she is referring to could very well be Raymond Reddington.
"Red. It's Red," she finishes breathlessly, exasperated by the sudden vision that dances across her brain waves, digging her nails into the cracked arms of the seat.
The instant Red places his hands under little Masha's armpits to pick her up, Lizzie's awareness unhinges as she stands there behind them, unmoving.
Lizzie disappears into thin air, then without hesitation, she is glaring into the eyes of Raymond Reddington.
She has merged her own conscience with her younger counterpart, observing everything through the gleaming and frightened eyes of a four-year old.
It is almost as if Lizzie is being held hostage within this tiny outline of her child self, powerless to move or talk on her own volition. She is quivering as the pulsating muscle in her chest knocks against her ribcage.
"I'm going to pick you up now, and we a—are going to have to jump out of this window, okay? Don't b-be scared. I'm going to break your fall. I promise you won't get hurt."
Little Masha's mouth flies opens on its own accord without the assistance of Lizzie's perception, slumping the corners of her lips into a nervous frown, "But you will get hurt . . . "
Fabricating an encouraging smirk, Red hoists the child into his arms as he feigns a hopeful expression, biting back the urge to yelp again. He straddles the windowsill, tossing his trembling legs across to dangle them on the exterior of the large white-framed opening.
"Look at me. It's okay. Are you ready?"
Staring worriedly at him, the girl nods as she scrunches her thin lids shut, tucking her tiny crown under his chin as she swathes her slender arms around his neck.
Hopping from the sill, gravity does the rest as Red turns over at the last second. He receives the brunt of the impact on his left side with a sickening thud, Masha landing on top of his sternum. The swift pressure strikes the wind from his chest cavity, requiring him to gasp sharply, struggling to regain normal respiration. Inside, Lizzie knows he has broken some ribs and psychologically cringes.
He does not move for several seconds as little Masha crawls from his arms in order to turn and face him. She glances around to see the ground and her surroundings completely covered in snow. At least eight inches, Lizzie mentally notes.
Masha crawls over to Red when he groans loudly, unsteadily pushing himself up onto his left side to check on the girl, "Ar-are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?"
Masha shakes her head harshly as her mouth flinches, "I burned my hand but I'm okay, but you're not. You have ta' go to a doctor, mister. It's bad. Your back . . . is very bad."
As her dismally-red nightgown with acadia-white lace shimmies back and forth in the stinging winter breeze, the girl sits back on her haunches next to Red as he props his head against a mound of snow adjacent to them, glancing over at him worriedly every so often. His chest rises and falls shallowly, the distressing groans coming more often as the adrenaline recedes in his blood.
Little Masha is legitimately worried for this man as she stares down at the funny-shaped burn that stings her petite wrist with fervor.
Lizzie's heart is being trampled by the sobering veracity of this man being Red.
As he lies in the snow for a moment to gather his composure as best as he is mentally and physically capable, he readies himself for what he must do. His overbearing lids slip shut with dreadful fatigue as he senses something petting his cheek with tepid air cascading around him.
"Mister, you have ta' get to a doctor so you will be okay," her tiny cold fingers press against his face as she hovers over his crumpled, tremoring body, her messy chestnut curls flittering in her face as she looks down on him. Her little fingers pat his cold cheeks a moment, almost in recognition as to what his fate could possibly become.
Masha scoots back to her previous position to wait for him. She is not sure what to do, or how to feel. She is merely a child, and does not know if she should try to find someone to help them both. Her sense of isolation is devastating, the realization of losing both of her parents smacks her between the eyes as her teeny bottom numbs under her. Even the limited rationale of a four-year old can connect the pieces of never being able to see her parents again due to the destructive and seemingly alien forces that ripped them from her tonight.
Red's lashes fly open at the sound of wallowing misery pouring out of her. The incessant sobbing batters his being in this moment a far cry more than his scorched muscle tissue ever could.
More than his fractured ribs.
More than any horrific physical torture he could ever sustain. And he feels responsible.
He really does not know what to say to console her, because nothing he could possibly say or do could recompense for what has been stolen from her. Struggling to sit up as exquisite pain radiates throughout his entire body, Red heaves his mutilated self upon his elbows as he angles his body closer to extend a shuddering arm toward her. He curls his pinky finger around the scratchy fabric of her fading nightclothes, tugging on it sharply until she removes her hands from her blurred, wet sockets to scan his crestfallen features.
Meanwhile, Lizzie just is. She is existing in this form, but all she can do is scream within the vast expanses of her soul. Desiring so badly to drift back to reality, to wake the hell up and repossess her own form that survives in the sufferable realm of mentally ill sociopaths who kill others out of boredom and vengeance, and government agents who combat their own demons in the darkness.
She wants to make his skin new again and return to him.
Back to the Red who no longer bears seared flesh.
Back to the Red who would be smiling in front of her, making her chuckle at his ridiculous wordplay.
Kissing her lips.
Encasing her in his solid arms.
Why could she not just have gone back to his damn safe house with him in the first place? She could be making love to Raymond Reddington at this very moment, but instead, she is here, in this shitstorm of a nightmare.
Priorities shift during desperate times, but she is unwilling to forgive herself for misguiding Red while maintaining her self-righteous need for answers.
What comes next seems to tilt Lizzie's world on its axis.
Gravity shifts.
Time slows.
Red swallows roughly as his thick tongue brushes against the inside of his cheek to attain moisture, "He-hey listen to me. I know you're sad right now, I know you feel all alone, bu-but you're not. You have me. And I might be hurt but, I ha-have you. Everything is going to be okay. D-do you know why? We are strong, both of us. You and me, together as a team? We could do an-anything. Have . . . anything—"
Lizzie's awareness explodes into the last grains of sand dropping into the hourglass, drawing parallels to Red's comments over the years.
She is taken aback.
Unequivocally stunned.
Her heart clings to his words like a dying man clutching to the last bit of life left within him.
The girl sniffles, snubbing every few beats, immeasurable heartbreak surging down her wind-chapped cheeks.
Tilting his head toward the star-filled sky, Red looks at the bright majesty of the full moon glinting down upon them. He lifts his shaky palm out to the moon to point at it, "Look."
Masha's gaze bounces from him up to the beaming crater in the sky, giving him a faint nod.
"We could have the moon if we wanted it."
Dropping his hand back down to his side, Masha stares at him curiously, her eyes illuminating with innocence and wonder, when she says, "Really? The moon?"
Red gives her a genuinely bright twist of the lips. Seeing her light up as vividly as the night sky is dazzling around them coats him in warm reverence, "Why not?" Red finishes raggedly, his smile dropping as he hoists his tattered outline onto his feet.
Reaching out his hand for her to take, he makes up his mind as to which place would be safest for this little one.
Grabbing his hand, they stride to a space cadet-blue Trans Am in the weakly lit concrete drive. He places Masha inside the passenger seat before settling into the driver's with a screech of pain exiting from his gnarled maw.
As they soar down the highway at an alarmingly high speed, Masha cannot stop gaping at Red as he clenches and unclenches the steering wheel, choking back the violent propensity to howl in painful expulsion. They have been traveling for over an hour now, and the girl is more than a little anxious with their precarious situation, "Mister, where are we going?"
His eyes persistently roll into the back of his sockets, head lolling forward, then jerking awake every few seconds. He is in such unbearable misery that his body is betraying him, shutting down gradually like a top slowing its spin. Random thoughts plague his scattered mind as he guises the inherent fatigue, thinking about how infuriating this kibosh truly has become.
"I'm ta-taking you somewhere safe. We're almost there."
He closes his eyes once more.
"Mister! You have to stay awake!"
"I-I don't think I can . . . "
But, he must, and he knows he must.
Little Masha screams at him again as his head droops forward, eyes shutting on their own accord. She decides she must take action and assist him in any way possible, so she rolls down her window with her delicate arms to let in the harsh December air, then reaches over his lap to roll the driver's side window down in the same manner.
The chilly wind helps Red keep his eyes peeled for a few moments, but then he returns to his previous state of combating the impending darkness beneath his lids that is threatening to annihilate his plan.
Masha watches him slump forward again, so she leans over to twist the knob of the radio, turning up the volume as far as it will go. The melody blares out of the speakers as Red's focus is reaffirmed by the beat of the song and the thunderous voice of Bruce Springsteen pouring into his ear canals:
The road is dark
And it's a thin thin line
Red lifts his chin to balance his line of sight, widening his eyelids to peer down the highway. The beautiful harmony resonating throughout the car is meaningless to him in this moment.
Nearly three decades from now, it will be the key that unlocks the dimension of otherworldly love the older equivalent of this girl harbors for him.
But I want you to know I'll walk it for you any time
Maybe your other boyfriends
Couldn't pass the test
Well if you're rough and ready for love
Honey I'm tougher than the rest
Lizzie's perception broadens as the words suck the life from the very essence of her. She has heard this song many times, but somehow, this time it diverges greatly from all the others. It is almost as if she can actually recount this very moment with Red.
The tune continues as the car makes a few jerky turns, jarring Masha and Red from left to right in their seats. The child looks around as they pull into the gravel driveway of a quaint, single story home. As best as she can tell from the headlights shining on the front of the house, it is white with cobalt shudders, and a dark wooden door.
Red throws the car into park, opening his door with diligence as the pain quakes vehemently without fail through his torso and spine. Masha clings to the tattered stuffed toy, picking at it nervously as she watches him helplessly try to exit the vehicle.
Suddenly, there is an appalling clunk as she loses sight of Red, when he plummets to the ground face-first. Panicking, she yanks on the door handle with fervor, her little fingers pinching as she uses all her might to push the heavy object away from her. Dashing lively over to him, she sees that he is not moving.
The girl whips her head around to the porch of the house and takes off in a clumsily-wild sprint, towing the burnt bunny along with her under her armpit. The sturdy oak stings her tender skin as she uses the palm of her hand to beat on the door. She smacks it so many times that she question if anyone is home.
She opts for rotating the doorknob, when the door flies open in an unexpected flurry. A man in his early thirties stands before her, with his square jaw distended and his slapdash, dishwater-blond hair all disheveled. The man stands there unmoving and slightly perturbed by Masha's petrified expression.
Sam, Lizzie calls nostalgically within herself.
"That man—" Masha swings her arm out, jabbing her finger emphatically toward Red on the cold ground beside the car, "—needs help!"
As Sam takes off in a mad scurry for Red, Lizzie's vision through Masha's eyes begins to fade into nothingness, as if someone steadily began turning down the flame of an oil lamp.
Her vision ceases, with her hearing soon following in its stead.
The darkness of night blankets the frontal lobe of Lizzie's brain.
Paralyzing obscurity.
Then, Lizzie hears an unremitting thud.
It is coming from her own chest, the thump thump thump growing faster, louder as she flickers her eyes open to glance about the room wildly.
She is back.
Dr. Orchard is searching her face, anticipating any sign that Lizzie has suffered mental or emotional damage, when Lizzie launches herself from the seat, ripping the leads from her face and chest.
"Wait, Elizabeth! Where are you going? You can't drive in the condition you're in!"
"IhavetoIhaveto," Lizzie blubbers as she stumbles to her feet, making her way toward the door.
"What did you see?! What has you so panicked?"
Reaching the door, Lizzie nearly forgets, turning her head so quickly that her hair whirls around her shoulders like a sundress swirling around the knees of a beautiful girl, "Oh wait, here." Gouging into her pockets, she pulls out five crumpled one-hundred dollar bills. She walks over to Selma, shoving the money in her face, "No. Consider it as a debt that has been paid, especially after everything with Braxton. Elizabeth, I insist." Holding her hands out, palms up as she protests with Lizzie.
"I won't take no for an answer, Dr. Orchard. If it wasn't for you doing this tonight, I wouldn't know where I stand with-" she almost slips out 'Red', but bites her tongue harshly, "-that night and how I have perceived it to be all these months. Take it." Not waiting for the doctor to take the money, she slides it on a small stilted table next to a simple hard-back chair used for patients.
"And, I'm fine. Everything is . . . fine. Thank you again."
The doctor simply smiles in gratitude, eyes brewing with the concern that she has maintained all night.
But, she is not fine. Far from it, in fact. She must find Red. Now.
Without another word, Lizzie exits the building hastily and hops into the SUV, her hands shaking so badly that it takes her four attempts to get the damn key into the ignition.
He saved me. He saved me. And he suffered so much, for me. He still suffers for me, she grieves over and over again.
Lizzie drives like she has never driven before, with the pedal to the floor. Like her life depends on getting to him in this moment, before she impetuously changes her mind about telling him about her experience all together. Her thoughts are ricocheting with immeasurable proclamations she must express to him, yet she has no idea where she will begin. Apologies, tears, and kisses is all she can conjure in her mind. She must tell him how sorry she is, how stupid she has been, how selfish and cruel she had been to him before their reconciliation. She has said so many hurtful things, and he must know that she did not mean them. She could never mean them.
About forty-five minutes later, she pulls into the driveway of the Hempstead House, brakes screeching to a halt.
Nimbly running to the entry of the house, she stretches out her forearm to rap her knuckles, hovering her hand there a beat too long before banging wildly. Her breathing is erratic, skin clammy with fretfulness as she stands there, waiting.
Oh the irony, now who's desperate? Lizzie ruminates as she reverts back to Red showing up at her motel room the previous night, trepidations burning her stomach like she ingested a huge swig of hard liquor.
The wooden entrance parts from the jamb, the warm interior air whooshing into her hair as Raymond Reddington stands before her, clad in a dark blue vest and slightly wrinkled dress shirt, sans tie and suit jacket.
His expression is nothing short of loving, as he silently muses that she is here to stay the night. After all, a sleepover seemed exorbitantly titillating as he bounces the notion between his ears whilst greeting her.
"Lizzie! Hi, sweetheart," he declares as a smile tugs the modest crow's feet upward on his face. His excited expression quickly falters as he concludes that something is very wrong.
Lizzie's eyes are darting between his heedlessly, wetness flicking at the corners as she swallows the generous lump in her esophagus. She does not know what to say in this moment.
"Come in, come on, tell me what is wrong, Lizzie. What is it? What's happened?" he pleads with her, almost child-like, as if he were a small boy begging for clarification. He wraps his fingers around her forearm to tug her gingerly into his transitory home.
As Lizzie enters the house, the smell of old books and stale coffee permeate her senses. Standing in the foyer as she inhales deeply to gain her composure, she voices her thoughts at last, "I need to talk to you. Right now. It's import—very important." She emphasizes, knowing the gravity of the situation cannot be quantified or calculated. The premise of loss and hope and pain collide within her chest, the sensations nearing the precipice of intolerable.
Red takes Lizzie by the hand to lead her past the kitchen. Before shuffling past the doorjamb, she has to do a double take to gawk at the two bubbly individuals she spots playing a round of gin rummy at the dining table.
Dembe and Mr. Kaplan lift their eyes from their cards to Lizzie's bewildered face in tandem. She lifts her free hand gracelessly to give them both a little wave paired with a brisk smile.
Kate smirks boldly, proffering a meaningful nod to Lizzie as she looks over her trapezoid-rimmed glasses. Still holding her playing cards in front of her, she kicks Dembe under the table. A minute yelp of displeasure is heard from the handsomely dark man as she strains to speak through fixed lips and gritted teeth, "Look at that. It's about damn time."
Dembe displays a ridiculously toothy grin, "You didn't know?"
Kate retorts, "How could I have known? I'm barely around as it is, dearie. Unless of course, there are bodies to bury. Or exhume. Tonight being one of the few exceptions I've made to be around the likes of you two."
Lizzie smiles despite her coy demeanor, shaking her head as she hears giggling erupt behind her, knowing but not quite caring that she is the subject of their guffawing. Red tows her to the last door on the right, pushing it open with a protracted creak.
As she enters behind him, she slams the door shut with the outer rim of her shoe, then turns sharply to flatten him against the wall bordering the door.
"Come to finish what you started this morning, I see." The rich gravelly texture of his low tenor ripples all the way down to her center, "If I had known what this had been about, I would've kicked out Kate and Dembe hours ago to ensure our privacy."
Their humid breaths blend as she nears his pursed mouth, pausing reluctantly while she clutches her sleek palms onto either side of the naturally-tanned flesh of his neck. Tell him first, Liz. You have to, she demands to herself, her eyes closing to revel in the moment while she can.
Lizzie huffs a tense laugh a mere inch from his divided lips, but refuses to take the bait, "Something happened tonight. And before you say one word, I just want you to listen. Can you do that . . . for me?"
"Lizzie, you're really beginning to worry me now."
"Will you do it?" she bites, growing more impatient with each overwrought moment.
Blowing stringently through his nostrils, Red gives her a terse nod, skimming his hands around the slenderness of her waist. He lowers his brows briefly, seeking to soften the blow of the shock and surprise, and possible heartache, of what is to follow.
As more of a reassurance than anything, Red reaches out to tuck the clumsy auburn strands behind the curvature of her ear, the corners of his lips pulling to give her a supportive smirk.
Lizzie cranes her hand around to the back pocket of her jeans, recovering her cell phone. Red simply stares at her as she taps the screen several times, his lashes holding fast, unblinking. Before he has the chance to mutter anything, sound begins emitting from the device. She holds it up, walking over to the rickety nightstand beside the queen size bed to prop it up between the vintage marble lamp and a stack of manuscripts.
As the guitar chords and vocals roar from the small speaker, recognition floods Red's mannerisms, his posture immediately tensing in detection of her discovering some parcel of the truth.
Well it's Saturday night
You're all dressed up in blue
I've been watching you awhile
"It was playing that night wasn't it?"
Maybe you've been watching me too
And so somebody ran out
"You were taking me to Sam, and before we got there, this song was on the radio. I was trying—," Lizzie loses control, the vision of his scorched and mangled form still projecting images behind the lenses of her eyes, while the lyrics from the song jolt through her consciousness like an unremitting gale.
Left somebody's heart in a mess
Well if you're looking for love
She reaches up to her brow with the tips of her fingers as tears manifest beneath her lashes once again, covering her face before she musters the strength to continue.
Honey, I'm tougher than the rest
"—trying to keep you awake. You had been burnt . . . so badly . . . " Lizzie stops as Red looks at her with interminable pain brewing in his glazy sea greens, the wounds of that night being torn open from the bottom of his soul, catapulting him back to when they both suffered more than any one person should.
He does not move from the wall, but rather glares at her with his stricken features that are beginning to weigh heavy on her heart. It is the exact look he gave her after Tom had been cleared by the task force. She had told him to go to hell, and the hurt that was heavy under his eyes was unmistakable. But, there was a very different meaning behind his expression now.
Several puzzle pieces click into place.
She rushes to him as the song proceeds, grabbing each side of his face as she chokes back the whimpers lodged in her throat, "And your face. Your face was . . . different. I realized that you had plastic surgery to make sure that I, along with others, didn't recognize you after all these years. Look, I know what you did for me. I don't know why you were there, and I don't care. It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is this. Us."
"I'm sorry, Lizz—," She interrupts by slamming her lips over his, sucking them into her mouth as she prods her moist tongue between his teeth. The saltiness of tears is pleasing to their taste, sealing their love with the pain of the past, absolution of the now, and hope of the future.
She jerks backward abruptly with a pop of their lips, jutting her head back to see torrential teardrops spurting his face.
"No, I am sorry for all of the horrible things I have said to you, Red. You didn't deserve any of it. I was such a selfish bitch to you, and I am truly sorry. You only tried to help me, only tried to show me the way of our world, and how my past fits into all of it. Granted you used me because of me having access to the task force's resources, but I knew from the get-go that you had your own agenda. And I understand why you do it. Now, take off your shirt. Please."
His eyes go wide, fear welling in them as he remains unresponsive. This moment feels so surreal that Red is scared to do a single thing except stand there. He had always thought that there was a chance she would never accept him physically because of his monstrous disfigurement, and is utterly flabbergasted that she wants to see him fully exposed.
"Please . . . Lizzie," he practically begs, imploring that she be merciful and understanding. The humiliation alone would be too much for him to bear, and would be a crushing blow to what little dignity he has left tonight.
"You can't hide from me forever. Please, Red. No more talking. Take it off."
Without another word, he unfastens the top button of his crinkled pallid dress shirt. Then, the second. When he gets to the third, she stops his movements, cupping her hands over his and peering up at him.
He bores sensuous daggers into her glistening ocean-blues, his face asking a question that she answers for him.
"Allow me."
He prays for acceptance. He prays for forgiveness, hoping she really means everything she has said and what is transpiring between them.
Lizzie finishes with his shirt, then motions for him to lift his arms to rid him of his undershirt. She tosses it absentmindedly behind her as she basks in the view before her. She can already imagine what it is going to feel like to glide her breasts longingly against the magnificent curls of his dark blonde chest hair.
She runs her cheek alongside his, the juxtaposing of their textures coiling gooseflesh down her abdomen. "Turn around for me," she whispers hotly in his ear. Red exhibits a short hiss at the arousal he is already experiencing, and they have yet to even disrobe completely. The anticipation is killing them both, but Lizzie feels duty-bound to pay her proper respects to this man whom has been her unwavering sacrificial lamb for all these years.
Red slowly revolves warily, as she stands there bracing herself for the onslaught of never-ending emotional wreckage she feels she is about to suffer.
The moon shining in from the window illuminates his bare upper body, the radiance glistening across the raised sinewy tissue that Lizzie is now facing. The collision of turmoil squeezes her heart with vigor, the knot in her throat swelling until she finally allows the quiet whimpers to release themselves.
He bears the vulnerable pieces of himself willingly, until there is nothing contentious left between them. Only scars and retrospections of sacrifice and altruism. All for her.
Without warning, Lizzie leans forward, pushing her wet lips to the gap between his shoulder blades. She peppers gentle kisses over every part she can touch.
They are filled with absolution.
Gratitude.
Adoration.
Worshiping the markings of his skin as if he is the living, breathing form of salvation to her burdened spirit.
Her heart swells with overwhelming relief and joy that he is alive, that he is here with her now. She feels forever indebted to him for saving her, and knows that no amount of apologies or thank you's could ever repay him for what he did for her.
She wraps her hands around his waist to embrace him from behind, laying her head in the center of the scarred etchings as she exhales a mitigated sigh.
"You saved me," her voice cracking as she embraces Red roughly, and the more she squeezes, the more she wants to cry.
Red turns his head a few degrees so she can better hear his words, smiling sadly as he does it, "No. If it hadn't been for you, I would've died right there. You were worth every second of pain I endured. You still are. And you always will be, Lizzie. If I had to do it again, I would. Over and over. That's what you mean to me. I would endure hell on earth, for you."
Lizzie retracts her arms from his waist, twisting his hips toward her to motion him around to face her, "I believe you already have."
"And I will continue to do so until the day I die."
The song finally ends as they cry in unison, tear for tear, both giving one another keen glares of admiration and arduous infatuation. Their kisses begin with tiny nips and nibbles, steadily exceeding into lust-fueled desire.
He returns the ravaging of his lips by framing her face with the palms of his smooth adequate hands, allowing her tongue entrance as he angles his chin for better access. Their tongues dance euphorically together, aching for more, both dueling for supremacy over their engrossing circumstances.
The suction of their disconnection is the only audible sound in the silvery-blue moonlight. As Lizzie backs away from Red slowly, his penetrating gaze consumes her as both their chests heave. With irrepressible electrical currents coursing through their veins, neither of them are not quite prepared for the symbolic fire they will be igniting between them.
Lizzie tugs her shirt over her head in one swipe, letting it fall from her fingers to the floor beside her feet. Toeing off her shoes and socks in record time, she starts on her black pants, unbuttoning them with such fervor that she nearly cracks a fingernail against the zipper. She exits from her work slacks in a rush, yanking them off as Red stands there, powerless to move anything except for his drifting eyes.
Red is beguiled by Lizzie in her matching fire engine red underthings as the voice in his head speaks up, She looks rapturously divine in quite literally my namesake, smirking proudly despite himself. His irises wander to the curves of her décolletage that highlight her magnificently structured torso, down to the silky surface of her ivory belly, then finally rest on the skinny bikini-style panties that hug her in all the most decadent of places.
He licks his lips eagerly, like a dog awaiting a delicious treat his master so carefully prepared for him. Meanwhile, his trousers become less and less comfortable with every passing moment that Lizzie decides to torture him. He reaches down to unbuckle his belt, then loosens his pants with fluid grace.
Her eyes never leave his, their resolute gazes locked in place like the solidity of statues, permanent and stationery. They no longer fear the consequences of their love. No. They fear that once they have one another, that they will not be able to get enough.
The kinetic waves of vehemence flowing between them alone should be deemed illicit and detrimental for the human body, considering that they both feel as if they could be jolted into cardiac arrest at any given time.
Red plucks his leather Italian shoes from his feet, kicking them aside as he peels off his socks in the same manner. He sheds his suit pants roughly, throwing them over the newly-upholstered armchair situated under the window.
In tandem, Red and Lizzie anxiously shimmy off their undergarments as their gazes wander over the other's taut frames. They are both gawking, both mouths separate as they admire the most divine of views they could ever dream.
Red's rigidness is prominent, standing at full attention, discerning that he belongs exclusively to Lizzie. She is the only woman that could ever have him nearly coming all over himself before he was even able to get to second base.
She looks down on him, eyes wide with shameless gusto, standing there in all her glory. Nipples peaking and hairs standing up on end, Red can no longer take it. He closes the distance between them, hooking one arm under the back of her thigh to lift her up onto his core, with the other slithering its way around her limber lower waist just above her ass.
She lets out an elongated, boisterous moan as he runs the fleshy wet muscle of his mouth along her collarbone, licking his way to the bottom of her earlobe. He carries over to the right side of the bedroom, fiercely hoisting her up onto his lap as he presses her against the wall. The curls of his surprisingly-soft chest swab against the hardened tips of her succulent mounds as he grinds against her trickling dampness.
Red takes her arms that are swathed around his shoulders, and pins them against the wall, restraining her mischievously. He smiles with contentment, satisfied with the position in which he has her. She returns his smugness with some of her own, grating her moistness on the underside of his twitching erection teasingly. He growls in her ear, the tenor evoking her to whimper aloud in ecstasy as her feminine sweet spot begins to coat layers of sultry fluid between them.
"You don't play fair, Lizzie," he rumbles, releasing his grip on her so she can regain her balance for the actual act.
She giggles under her breath, clasping his back for leverage and lifting herself up a bit so he can insert himself within her. Leaning forward before slipping inside, he sucks and nibbles at the savory morsels of her neck to pull the blood to the surface in a purplish hue, marking her as his own.
Retracting his mouth from her, Red lovingly tilts his head to cover her engorged lips with his own, raking his tongue tangibly slow against hers. He decides to take their pace at a leisurely rate, desiring so badly to live in this moment for as long as time would allow.
Lizzie hums in satisfaction as their mouths tango, fully aware of the painstakingly sluggish tempo of their actions, her body battling with her heart to go faster as her blood begins to simmer.
Red stops his ministrations a moment to look her face, their glazed-over orbs bouncing back and forth. Words are being spoken without voices, attaching themselves in the vast cavernous walls of their pounding hearts.
He leans forward, stopping just shy of grazing her parted mouth while his lashes flutter shut, "I love you, Lizzie," Red breaths more than speaks.
She returns the sentiment without verbalizing it, instead she draws his reddened bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on it gently only to release it with a stifled pop.
He props her higher on the wall, placing his hand between them to direct his way past her folds to her opening. She angles the crown of her head into a more appropriate pose, running her right hand up the length of his stout arms all the way to the back of his neck, clamping her fingers tautly around the base of his bristly hairline.
As he enters her gradually, Red watches her face contort and transform several times, finally landing on the state of arousal he was waiting for, past the uncomfortable moment of entrance. The tightness around his cock is unbearable, pleasure concussing through their lower halves as Red leans his forehead against hers. He is wanting so badly to thrust into her wildly, but he resists such an urge. He does not move for several seconds, but exchanges heavy moans with the beautiful creature that is tangled around him, their limbs shuddering as their pulses skyrocket. He wants to make love to her all night long, if they are both able to sustain themselves.
With bated breaths, they hold their positions for a beat longer, Lizzie finally relaxing around his throbbing inside of her slick, tight walls.
The first stroke elicits a heady whimper from her gaping mouth, as Red lunges his face forward to slather hot open-mouthed kisses along her jaw line, descending to the muscles of her shoulders, then widens his jaws to clamp down on her with his teeth. He grasps the top of her hips, drawing back easily as he begins making easy strides inside of her dripping crevice. He exhales a breathy moan, fighting the temptation of spilling himself inside of her this soon.
Red spontaneously decides he wants to take her on the bed. After all, it would be far more comfortable for the both of them, since they would wind up with significantly sore bodies if they continued in this manner.
He encases her in his arms, her weight bearing down on his biceps and waist. Lizzie appears a bit perplexed, but then realizes what his intentions are. Without breaking the intimate connection of their bodies, he lays her on the downy blankets of the bed, then places his arms on either side of her head to bend down and give her a small albeit romantic kiss.
Surprisingly, there is very little talking between them. Red is so lost in this moment with Lizzie that he is trying to absorb every facet of her enchanting flesh.
Every blemish, every scar.
The dip in her hip bones.
The way her stomach recedes as she lay on the bed flat.
She grins wildly, shooting her hands up to his face before he has a chance to retreat and holds him there, rubbing her thumbs over the outline of his swollen lips, "Hey. I hope you know I will be getting my turn soon."
Red chuckles, "Oh Lizzie, we have only just begun. The night is still young, and besides, we have yet to break in this bed. Or the desk chair. Or the dresser."
Lizzie snickers cutely, but then, her face falls into a more serious expression.
"What's wrong?"
Her eyelids well with moisture, and Red sees that she is on the verge of crying again, "Hey, hey. What is it, sweetheart?"
"Nothing. That's just it. Nothing is wrong. Everything is right. For the first time, in a very long time. I love you more than I could ever tell you. More than I could ever show you. And I could never be more grateful to have you in my life, despite our circumstances. Despite the way we officially met."
He bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to portray his next words emphatically so she will realize the significance of them, "It was fate, Lizzie. We were destined to be. Regardless of all the horrors we have both endured, this was always supposed to happen. In this life, the one before, and the one proceeding this one. We will always find our way to one other, no matter the cost."
The weight of his words settle into her core, underscoring the memory that shattered everything she assumed she ever knew about Raymond Reddington. Lizzie finally recognizes that he is the very embodiment of selflessness.
"What you said to me that night. That we could do anything? Have . . . anything? Do you still mean it?"
Situating himself more amply between her velvety legs, he begins sliding his throbbing manhood in and out of her as he replies, "Yes. Of course I still mean it. Whatever you want, whatever you need. I will always be here, Lizzie. And together, we are pretty unstoppable. We do make a great team. You and I."
Her eyes turn up into the backs of her lids, reaching up to yank cravingly on the short-coiled hairs of his sternum while he plunges deeper into her center. Red breathes through his nose heavily, parting his lips with each emphasized submersive impulsion, the veins in his temples beginning to protrude as his thrusting becomes more determined.
Mid-stride, Lizzie leans up to whisper sublimely, "I want you to fuck me from behind, can you handle that?" With a sinking exhalation, Red halts his maneuvers at the absolute astonishment her words have on his body.
He nearly loses it right then and there, her improvisations never ceasing to dazzle him and leave his senses thirsting for more.
Red pulls out of her succulence halfhearted, running his right hand in between her legs, lightly rubbing effective circles over her clit, then pushing two fingers into her just so he can watch her writhe beneath him. She slides her hand past her side, angling her body enough to reach his rock-hard stiffness. Reaching next to the hand that is inserted into her, she rubs her palm against herself, gathering her natural fluids to use for him. She glides her talented fingers slowly up and down the length of his cock, watching as he throws his head back, his mouth unhinging to let loose a pent-up moan of provocation.
Lizzie revels in the sight, the unfathomable sexiness of what he is doing is turning her on so much that she knows she could come without any prior indications. The stickiness of the beading droplets make her mouth go dry as she runs her thumb over the basin of his convexing tip.
Red nonchalantly removes her hand from his tingling firmness, shaking his head and twirling his forefinger in a circle to ensure her that he is going to give her what she demands.
Lizzie admonishes a broad grin, spinning her body around on the bed to push her ass back toward his lower half. The view he has from behind is one of sheer paradise, and he begins to wonder if what is happening is even real, because it seems all too good to be true.
He squeezes each cheek with tempest-like passion, then runs his hands up to her hips, gripping them zealously as he reaches between their bodies to slip his thumb over her pulsating sweetness. Pulling her back toward his hardness, Red slides his right hand from her tailbone all the way up to her shoulder to make goosebumps instantaneously spread over her body.
He encourages her movements back toward his torso, inciting her to lean against him so her back is pressed upon the broadness of his chest. He sneaks a hand around to her front, skidding a few fingers over the thick sheen of nectar, then withdrawing to spread it over the head of himself.
Her back brushes against the fine kinks of his chest hair viciously while Red's stiffness penetrates her core once more. He grabs her jaws with one hand, turning her head toward him. He stops for a moment and sits dormant inside of her, then shoves his humid tongue inside of her mouth as Lizzie revolves her neck, grabbing the back of his scalp to push his mouth into hers.
He wraps an arm around her upper torso, craning up to squeeze her pointy nipples. As he releases her face with his tongue retreating from her mouth, she breathes heavily into him while he is still grazing her lips, their eyelashes fluttering shut simultaneously, "You feel so good inside of me."
"Hmm I know, Lizzie. Are you ready?" he grunts, fearing if he moves too quickly he may fill her to the brim with his release prematurely.
"I don't think I've ever been more ready for anything in my life."
Lightning surges through Red's body, shooting straight to his length that is buried inside of her. The smell of sex floods his nostrils as he inhales sharply, fueling his primal, insatiable need to make Lizzie his.
His strokes start out steady and deliberate, concentrating on the way her body glides over his own. The risqué noise of repetitive slapping Lizzie's ass makes against his hips spurs him on, forcing him to pitch forward and muffle the rumble of his pleasurable cries in her tussled hair.
Lizzie reaches behind her to clasp onto his exceptionally prominent butt, noisily choking out his name several times. Strangled moans of delirium exit her gaping mouth, encouraging him to pick up the pace.
At this rate, he knows neither of them will last much longer, but fortunately, they do not have anywhere to be until the morning. He could not care less about anything else in this moment. Screw the Blacklisters. Screw the task force. If Dembe walked in right now and said the next target on the list was in town, he would tell him that it could wait, and to get the hell out.
Red penetrates her wetness with such ease, going faster and more erratic now. She is practically screaming, and tells him she is about to come.
It is all the confirmation he needs.
He pounds his cock into her with reckless abandon, slamming into her backside over and over again. A thin film of sweat beads at the top of his forehead as the swelling release begins to build at the base of his hardness.
Lizzie's engorged muscular walls tighten around him, signaling to him that it is time for him to let go as well. She leans her head back onto his shoulder, propping her flushed face against his ear. He bangs into her saturation one last time as he skims his fingers over her belly to pry an irresistible response from her.
She begins to shudder around his superior girth, her limbs launching behind her to cling onto the sides of his slick thighs. Red clamps his tenacious palms down onto her shoulders, holding her in place while he spills himself inside of her hotly. They both discharge trembling cries of fulfilled desire, bodies jerking to and fro against one another as they revel in the attainment of their fantasies.
Red gradually withdraws himself from her and embraces her from behind. He runs his fingertips up and down the length of her arms, then presses feather-light kisses to her temple.
Lizzie crawls up further onto the bed to draw back the covers, climbing beneath them as Red stares at her from the opposite end.
She blows a few straggly hairs out of her face, propping her hand behind her head.
"What is it?"
He follows suit, crawling up to spoon her from behind under the cool sheets, "Oh nothing, sweetheart. Just admiring the view, that's all."
"Yeah, sure," Lizzie retorts, chortling aloud as Red pulls her body flush with his.
The pair lay there a few minutes, attempting to catch their breaths. Red ever so often presses his lips to the underside of her ear, eliciting low grumbles from Lizzie, trying to stir her desire once more, and apparently succeeding.
"As late as it is, I'm surprised that you aren't ready to collapse after all . . .that. Wow," Lizzie mumbles playfully.
"You should know by now that I'm more youthful that I appear, my dear. In every way."
"I didn't mean it like that, Red."
"I know, sweetheart, it's okay. Turn over here. Let me see you."
Lizzie bumpily revolves onto her other side to face him.
He traces soft lines up her jawline, over her cheekbones, under her eye sockets, then finally pauses at the corners of her rosy lips.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Mmhmm."
"It's okay if you don't want to know right this moment . . . but, you know that I cannot shed any light on the details of that night. Or the reason why your parents were in trouble. It runs deeper than what I'm about to tell you, but your family lineage has a great deal to do with it."
She holds the air from her lungs inside of her esophagus, afraid to exhale in fear of having the breath knocked out of her by two revelations in one night. Eyeing him curiously, she nods while she replies, "Okay . . . so? What does that mean?"
Red creeps forward, ghosting his lips gently over hers, then says, "It means, that you are from a regal family, Lizzie. Royalty. Your family lineage traces all the way back to the second imperial dynasty of Russia."
Her pupils double in width, her irises barely visible to Red in the receding flares of moonlight. Lizzie is shell-shocked. But, the more she mulls it over in her mind, the more logic takes hold. Why they were after her that night. Why she is of great importance to some very prominent people. Why some of those people want her to no longer exist.
She lifts her quivering palm out to his face, her orbs tracing over the lines in his lips, "Not to sound arrogant, but somehow, and I don't know how, but somehow I'm not that surprised. I knew it had to be something rather significant. And honestly? It doesn't matter, because whatever is thrown our way, we will figure it out. Together."
"You're taking this surprisingly well, Lizzie. But, for the record, it is a big deal. A very big deal." Red whispers worriedly, his brows arching in confusion.
Lizzie shakes her head with haste, "Red, all I care about right now is being with you. I'm not worried about me anymore. I've figured out that that's when you know you truly love someone. When you put their life ahead of your own. And you live your life, for them."
The gravity of her words could never ring more true in Red's mind. He feels lucky, blessed to have this woman in his life, and to know that he will have her for as long as she will allow, for as long as she is willing to put up with him.
Lizzie has found her missing piece; the void in her fraught soul that she has been trying to fill her entire life, and it was in the form of a man on the wrong side of the law whom has carried the scars and atrocities of many.
A man who would drain his own blood dry, expel his last breath for the simple hope of a better tomorrow for this woman.
She lunges her chin toward him, giving him an agonizingly sensual kiss. Pulling back slightly, Red palms the side of her head, "Oh, no you don't. Come here. We aren't quite finished yet, sweetheart. I already told you, we still have many other pieces of furniture to christen."
PS. Very long, yes. It became a MONSTER! Thank you for your follows/faves/reviews/comments! Hope you enjoyed it! PLEASEEEE review! Please?! Thanks for reading!
Disturbing Fact: Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus was the psychopathic fifth emperor of the Roman Empire from 54-68 AD who did everything mentioned by Lizzie and Red, and then some. He was responsible for heinous crimes [including but not limited to] like the Great Fire of Rome (he blamed it on the Christians), and was notorious for murdering his own family members, particularly his first two wives, Octavia (his stepsister) and Poppaea (allegedly), and his mother Agrippina the Younger. His vicious reign as Caesar came to an end when he locked himself in his room and slit his own throat before the Praetorian Guards could deliver justice to him for his crimes. He was perhaps one of the biggest douchebags in all of human history, next to Stalin and Hitler.
