Liz heaved herself up onto the counter and pulled Red between her legs. When she worked her hand between their bodies to try to undo his belt and fly, he broke their kiss.

"Here?" he said, breathless at her ear.

"Yes. Here. Now."

"I would've thought the bed…"

"I thought we were working on borrowed time."

Red pulled back and met her eyes. "I'd like to hope time's not quite that limited."

"Then can't the bed wait until next time?"

He blinked, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, warm and fond. "I like the sound of next time."

"So do I."

They stared at each other in silence for a long, charged moment before he nodded, his mind made up. "Text Dembe, tell him to stay the hell out of the kitchen for a while if he values his innocence. And maybe put on those fancy noise cancelling headphones he likes so much."

Liz laughed while she typed up a much more straightforward message and then tossed the phone away to pull Red close again, her cheek muscles aching from smiling. She nipped at his lips and he opened his mouth for her, groaning when her tongue began its exploration.

He undid the fly on her skinny jeans and gripped the waistband to slide them down her legs, lifting her off the countertop a bit to help them along; she finished her work on his fly, eager to free him so she could feel him against her skin to skin.

Liz wrapped her hand around Red's cock while they kissed, slowly stroking up and down his length, trying to imagine by touch alone what he would look like, until her curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced down. She felt an aching, empty throb between her legs at the sight of him; after years of guilty fantasies, she could form such a vivid image in her mind of what he would feel like inside her that it was almost surreal.

Red ran his hands along Liz's thighs while she studied him and tried to memorize his reactions to her touch. He regarded her with a stark wonder plain on his face—as if he couldn't quite believe she had her hands on him in such a way. She wanted to spend hours—days, weeks—discovering more about his body. To know him inside and out, same as she'd wanted to ever since the day they started studying him at Quantico.

Well.

Not in exactly the same way.

Even so, she wanted to know him better than anybody else did. She wanted to be the foremost expert in all things Red—all they needed was more time.

"Elizabeth," Red said, his voice deep and passion-rough. "Please let me taste you."

His thumbs teased at the inside of her thighs, raising goosebumps on her delicate flesh.

"I want you inside me."

"Just one taste," he said, and it sounded like it was the most important thing in the world to him to be granted this single wish. None of her previous lovers had given that much weight to such a request; being with her hadn't so much seemed like a privilege to them as an expectation.

"All right."

A wave of desire crashed over her as he lowered himself to his knees much like he did the day he surrendered to her in the park, and with a tender touch, encouraged her to spread her legs further apart. She didn't need much coaxing; the look in his eyes alone was enough to make her want him more than she ever had before. Which was saying something, truth be told.

Red kept his word in his usual way: loopholes and technicalities. He took a distractingly circuitous path to his promised taste. Nuzzling her here, caressing her there, inhaling her scent as if it was the most luscious fragrance in the world. He was going to make his promised taste count.

And he was going to drive her mad with anticipation until then.

"How long is this taste gonna—mmm…"

Slow and teasing, he dipped a finger inside her, all pressure and slick friction. Once he was knuckle deep, he pulled out just as slowly to slide in another finger alongside the first. It had been a very long time for Liz, and the slight stretch set her nerve endings alight, drawing a moan from her throat. What a wonderful change it was, she thought, to not be able to predict every move of her own fingers or an impersonal toy. And it made her want, it made her crave the fullness and heat that would come later.

Once Red finally, finally, lowered his head to her and touched her with his mouth and tongue, neither left her, even as he thoroughly, thoroughly explored her intimate flesh. His fingers kept busy, too—thrusting, massaging, rubbing—while he drank her in and made good on his warning to Dembe that he would need his noise-cancelling headphones. The sounds Red made would've been loud enough and obscene enough on their own warrant it; he was clearly savoring every last slide of his tongue and lips over her slick flesh.

He had a knack for playing off her responses, predicting what would bring her to greater and greater heights of pleasure. Just when Liz thought his attentions would bring her over the edge, Red pulled away and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Thank you," he said.

Liz let out an involuntary giggle as she tried to catch her breath.

"You're thanking me?" She let her head rest back against the cabinet door and ran her hand over the short hair on his head. "God. Well, you're welcome."

"Let me know when you're ready to—"

"I've been ready for you for years," she interrupted.

"Oh, you have?" he said, with his own involuntary chuckle.

"You have no idea," Liz said.

(If she was honest with herself, she'd lost track of how many times she'd been ready for him by the end of their conversations over the years, even their arguments.

Especially their arguments.)

"Come on, get up here. The floor must be hell on your knees."

Once Red stood up far enough for her to have leverage, Liz pulled him in for a deep, searching kiss as she again wrapped her fingers around his length, hot and thick and heavy with want. He began to subtly thrust into her fist, just a slight rocking of his hips as they kissed.

"Looks like you're still ready for me," she said against his lips.

"Mmm, more than you could possibly know."

She dragged her thumb across the head and he gasped, and gently took her hand from him, encouraging her to hold onto his hips instead.

Liz scooted closer to the edge of the counter; once Red aligned himself and began to push forward, she locked her legs behind him, pulling him flush against her. She felt him whimper into her mouth as he slid all the way inside, while her body welcomed him.

He fit her like a glove, at this angle, at least—filling all her empty spaces while she stretched around him, gripping and clenching as he moved, deep and pressing. She felt as if she might lose her mind each time he withdrew, caught up in her need for more, until his hips snapped and he buried himself again to the hilt.

It felt far too good to last for long, but that was OK. The goal wasn't to take things slow. They'd done nothing but take things slow for far too long.

But maybe next time could be slow. Maybe next time could be something other than a desperate clinging in a tiny, old kitchen, a frenzied culmination of years of yearning, a symphony of a pair of voices crying out in ecstasy.