Slowly, Red slipped the buttons on Liz's blouse from their holes, one after another. He paused to pull her shirttails free from her waistband and then unbuttoned the rest, leaving the shirt barely parted down her front. Liz moved to shrug it off her shoulders but Red hummed in disapproval, so she let her hands drop to her lap again. She watched as his eyes traveled down her chest, his tongue came out to moisten his lips, his chest expanded more noticeably as his breathing began to deepen…

"As you might imagine," he said, gently pushing her shirt off her shoulders himself, "I've found myself on your end of this scenario far more often than I've found myself on this end. So, I have to say, as awful as the events that led you here were to experience, I'm honored you've chosen me as the person to help you through it."

"I can't imagine letting my guard down like this with anyone else," she said, and she let her eyes fall closed for a moment when he leaned in to unclasp her bra, too distracted by the heat and scent of his body up close to be able to concentrate otherwise.

Red settled back, removing the bra as he went, and he made sure she had opened her eyes and met his gaze before he ever let them fall to her bare chest. "You doing OK?"

"Yeah."

He rested his hand at the base of her neck, his thumb dipping into the hollow of her throat. "Yeah? That's good."

It took Red a very long time to move on to the next article of clothing, preferring to simply admire Liz sitting next to him half naked instead. Eventually, though, he encouraged her to lean back against the arm of the couch and he took one of her feet into his lap, unhurriedly slipping his fingers up under the hem of her pant leg to reach for the zipper on her boot, drawing it one tooth at a time towards her ankle. He eased the open boot off her foot, cupping her heel in his palm while he reached up under the hem again for her sock.

Liz couldn't decide whether she should watch his hands or his face, so she settled for alternating between the two whenever she realized she had focused on one for too long.

Once both of her feet were bare, he took a moment to massage them; she could feel the heat of him from where her feet rested in his lap, a teasing hint of hardness just grazing against her.

Liz's pulse thrummed in her veins. That was Red's cock. She could feel Red's cock. If she were free to do as she pleased, she certainly would have wasted no time becoming better acquainted with it. As it was, she could feel herself growing slicker by the minute, and Red had barely even touched her properly yet.

At that moment, he pressed his thumbs hard into one of her arches and she moaned, completely taken by surprise by the pleasure that radiated out from the spot.

"Good?" he asked, amusement clear in his eyes.

She snorted and rolled her eyes back at him. "As if you don't know."

Red chuckled; he kicked off his shoes and knelt up on the couch next to her. He reached for her fly and undid it methodically, then wrapped his fingers around her waistband.

"You might want to hold onto the cushions."

Liz did as he said, arching her hips to help him pull her pants down her legs. She held her breath, watching his reactions to uncovering more and more of her skin—and his reactions were wonderful. She'd never known anyone to show such a deep and fierce desire on their face, at least in regards to her own body. He looked like he cherished each and every inch of her.

It was such a stark difference when compared to the poker face he used in just about every other sort of situation she had had the chance to observe him in. He kept himself under such careful, specific control in his day to day life, in his interactions with allies and enemies alike, all swagger and bravado, his real feelings buried beneath his blithe brashness. She supposed that was necessary for survival. Naked desire, naked want, could be exploited.

The cool air in the apartment chilled Liz's bare skin. To be this unclothed in front of Red was both a fantasy—a literal, reoccurring fantasy of hers—and a surreal new reality, one she hadn't been sure would ever really happen.

Her mind flashed to a well-trodden dream, where it had been Red who killed Tom, Red who approached her in her motel bed when she wore little more than she wore now. Sometimes that dream would end before he dared touch her. Sometimes it wouldn't. Sometimes facing him in the morning afterwards would be… difficult.

In reality, he caressed the outside of her thighs, breathing rather shallowly as he took in her bare legs, as he memorized every curve by sight and touch. Meeting her eyes for a moment, he slowly bent down so his face was mere centimeters from her naked skin; once he was close enough, his eyes slid shut and he inhaled.

"My god, Lizzy," he said, his voice gravelly and deep; it sparked a spike of pleasure between her legs, and she parted them, almost unconsciously. She tried to rein in any self-consciousness as he pressed a kiss there through the thin fabric of her underwear and she gripped the cushions tightly to keep herself from pulling his head closer when he nuzzled her.

Under normal circumstances—if there was such a thing with regards to Red having his head between her legs—she would very much like to direct his attentions where she wanted them, rather than sit back and have him meander around as he saw fit.

Tonight, however, was about trust, about control and giving it up.

The contrast between the two of them right now was almost shocking—Liz nearly nude with Red completely clothed, his fine fabrics rubbing her bare skin as he shifted her thighs up over his shoulders. She would have the image of him subtly pressing his pelvis into the couch cushions in time with the movement of his mouth seared into her mind for as long as she lived.

Chalk up yet another kink she'd been entirely unaware she had…

There was a kind of imbalance there—she definitely had to put a good amount of trust in him that he would do right by her in this vulnerable state. But it wasn't difficult, not really. He was so gentle and patient and attentive that she could hardly imagine a scenario where things could go wrong.

And she did trust him—she trusted him not to hurt her, not to push her beyond her limits, in this if not necessarily in everything else.

When he nudged along the elastic edge of her underwear with his nose, he managed to move it just enough to run his tongue directly over her flesh. She grabbed his head then, unable to suppress the impulse, but he reached up and removed her hand again, entwining their fingers as he took another sneaky taste, groaning against her.

"Relax," he said, his breath hot as it washed over her. "This is a marathon, not a sprint."

Red kissed her one last time before he knelt back again; his face was flushed, with a sheen of sweat on his brow and above his upper lip. His mouth was slightly parted as he breathed deeply, nearly panting.

Liz wished he would let her kiss him again. She wished she could reach up and grab him by his loose, messy tie and tug him back on top of her. She wished she could push him down and wrench open his trousers and ride him so hard he would forget Madeline Pratt and Laurence Dechambou and any of the other gorgeous woman he had had before tonight.

But that wasn't what tonight was about.

"Are you ever gonna get undressed or are we gonna do this all night?"

"Do you want me to get undressed?" Liz nodded, biting her lip in anticipation, and Red stood. "What should I remove first?" he asked, spreading his arms a bit to give her a full view of him from head to foot. His erection was… very obvious. And not an image she would soon forget.

"Your pants," she said, without much hesitation; he raised an eyebrow.

"My pants?"

"Well, I've always been curious…"

"Hmm," he rumbled, "about…?"

"About whether you're a boxers or a briefs guy."

He chuckled. "Well, then. I'll meet you in the middle," he said, and reached to unbuckle his belt.