Disclaimer: They're not mine, I own nothing, and I make no money from this. I'm paid purely in reviews and comments. :)

Author's Note: I swear, I'm a happy rainbow shiny unicorn descendant in real life. I'm not a morose, angst-driven, emotional mess. I thoroughly believe there is a demon who uses my fingers to type this stuff late at night. So... a quick shout out to the evil spirit possessing me. You're getting some good feedback. Thanks for letting me have the credit for your work, I guess...?

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Chapter 6

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Reddington had no sense of how long they stayed that way, still, Liz curled against his back. As soon as she'd wrapped her arm around his waist, her fingers brushing the back of his hand, he'd fought the urge to entwine his fingers with hers. Instead he allowed himself only the brief movement necessary to squeeze her hand, once, before dropping his hand to the sheet in front of him again. She'd laid her palm along his forearm when he stilled once more.

He had to concentrate on her hand. There wasn't a single twitch in her fingers, and no tension in her arm. It was just...resting there. Against him.

He had to concentrate on her hand, because if he didn't, he'd think about the fact that her body was pressed against the length of his. He could feel her inhalations and exhalations, slow and rhythmic, on the back of his neck. They matched the steady, momentary increases in pressure he felt on his back as her chest rose and fell. Her breathing was slow and even, yes, but not as deep as when she'd actually fallen asleep for an hour or so when they'd first gotten into bed.

He didn't even know what time it was right now.

Several inches shorter than Reddington, Liz's thighs weren't long enough to curl into the hollow his legs made, and he was grateful for the freedom. It was another body part he could concentrate on, not associated with her touch.

It was a losing battle. Every time he tried to focus on something else, his mind masochistically snapped him back to the feel of her curves behind him. He could tell exactly where her waist was; there was a small, lonely part of his back that didn't burn from her contact. Her pressure. Her warmth.

...was this the way she slept next to Tom?

Reddington tensed, bearing down against the lance of jealousy that shot through him.

"Red?" Her voice was quiet, and disorientingly close behind him.

"Yes?" he answered, his voice tight.

Liz sighed and pushed back from him. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll—"

As she withdrew her arm, he caught at it, dragging it back around in front of him. The last pieces of his resolve and restraint were spilling out, disappearing in the blink of an eye like scant rain drops on hot pavement. He pulled her hand up to his face, her gently curled fingers mere inches from his lips. He wondered what sort of noise he'd elicit if he took one of her fingers in his mouth. He wondered what she tasted like.

He'd tugged her far enough toward him that if he hadn't been distracted by the pressure of her body against his back before, he sure as hell was now. She'd had to prop herself up on one elbow in order to allow her other arm to be pulled in front of Reddington, and she shifted her hips against him, trying to balance.

"This isn't making it easy for either one of us to sleep," she said quietly. "I won't—"

Liz broke off as her ring finger was enveloped in warmth. Reddington wrapped his lips around the base, and ran his tongue along the length of it, encased in his mouth.

Apparently the only sound he was going to get in exchange for his efforts was a choked-off exhale, hot in one ear.

He slowly withdrew her finger, and released his grip on her hand. He waited for her to pull back, but she seemed frozen in place, a tableau of a beautiful woman wrapped tightly around a desperate man. After a long moment, craving a reaction—any reaction—from the woman behind him, Reddington turned his head to the side, staring up at the ceiling. "Lizzie..." he began, but was immediately silenced when she pressed the flat of her hand against his chest. She left it there for only the length of a heart beat before moving to lay her fingers lightly across his lips, halting any further attempts at conversation.

Reddington wanted to see her. He wanted to see her face so badly, but the darkness of the room swallowed her shape completely, making it impossible for him to even prove to himself that it was indeed his Lizzie ghosting a fingertip across his bottom lip.

If he couldn't tell it was her, she couldn't tell it was him.

Who else might she be imagining he was?

He pushed the thought away with a short, frustrated noise that died in his throat as he captured another one of her fingers between his teeth. She held completely still, and Reddington lifted his head off the pillow by a few inches in order to pull the rest of it into his mouth. This time he was rewarded, not only with a low moan, but with movement.

Liz pushed up from the mattress, throwing back the blankets covering them with several harsh kicks. In one smooth movement, she'd swung her leg over Reddington's hips and pushed him onto his back beneath her. She pulled her hand away from him and leaned down, replacing her finger with her mouth.

Reddington surged up from the bed, forcing Liz back while simultaneously wrapping strong arms around her to prevent her retreat. Sitting up with her in his lap, he again marveled at the warmth of her and the strength in her body as she arced her back, pressing into him. Her legs wrapped around him, and her hands clutched at either side of his head, holding his face to hers as if he'd even dream of escape. He pulled her over-sized shirt up from where it was pinned between them and ran his hands under it, smoothing flat palms up her back. She nodded frantically against his mouth.

Reddington dropped his lips to her collarbone, kissing along it as she threw her head back and rocked against him; a positive reaction he was pleased to have predicted.

Until he remembered how he knew of her preference for this particular move.

His horrifically precise memory replayed her warm moans and words of encouragement on the surveillance feed when Tom had dropped his mouth to the base of her throat and trailed kisses out onto her shoulder. The satisfied, easy smile on her face, her eyes closed. The number of times he'd watched the recording that night had burned those noises and images into him forever.

This was a terrible idea.

With a grimace and a pained growl, Reddington took hold of Liz at the waist and pushed her off of his lap to land on the mattress next to him. He immediately stood, and backed away from the bed, wiping a tense hand along his jaw.

"What are you—? Red—"

"I'm going to give you up," he interrupted quickly, cutting her off. "Where we're going; it's a place you will be safe, and can start over. You'll be free of all of this mess. Free of me. Once you're safe, I plan to disappear, and never bother you again."

Reddington hadn't wanted to admit his intentions, at least not out loud. Giving voice to them made them much more real, and scary things you imagined in the dark were always less terrifying when you could convince yourself they didn't exist.

Liz paused in a futile effort to collect her thoughts, still breathing heavily. "And if I—"

"This isn't a discussion," Reddington said firmly, his voice low and serious. He took a single step toward the lantern on the table beside the bed and picked it up. He walked to the door, stopped, and turned back to Liz. "I trust you're okay here in the dark," he said, his tone clipped and business-like. "I'm going to head out to the car; I'll come back to wake you when it's time to leave."

"You're going to sleep in the car?" Liz asked flatly. She was surprised at the banality of the question she had asked, since dozens more were fighting to be voiced, each clawing and elbowing at each other in an attempt to get to her mouth ahead of the rest. Angry, confused, humiliated questions.

Reddington's voice drifted through the darkness toward her, laced with defeat. "Une bonne conscience est un doux oreiller sur lequel l'homme de bien peut se reposer."

Liz hated him. It was too damn late—or maybe too damn early by this point—to be speaking other languages in an attempt to evade answering her questions. Her head began to pound. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I haven't slept... truly slept... in years, Lizzie. Why should tonight be the exception?"

Silence crawled between them, and Liz heard, rather than saw, Reddington leave the room. The sound of keys in the kitchen drifted back to her, and the front door of the house opened, and closed.

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TBC.

Author's Note: Sorry. This felt like Reddington got a little OOC in this chapter, but y'know? I don't think the Demon cared. I noticed, but he just stared at me with his glowing red eyes until I retracted my criticism, and then he pushed the "publish" button. Seriously, it was out of my hands. Also? The French in this chapter is a little wink to my sexy Gutter frogs. Love you ladies. ;)