She comes back to herself slowly.
She gradually becomes aware of him, still above her, the warm weight of him, his gentle caresses easing her through the aftershocks, a betraying rasp in his voice as he rumbles endearments. She arches her back in a stretch, feeling lazy and lovely, her body slowly coming alert again under his touch, his whispering breath.
"Red," she says, liquid and low, "You're wearing entirely too many clothes."
His hands still their movement on her body and his head drops to her shoulder briefly. Time for a roll of the dice. He takes a deep breath, makes an unusually quick decision, rises up to meet her eyes.
"Well," he says, with a quirk of an eyebrow, "Maybe you can help me with that."
He braces himself, pushes himself up to sit back on his heels. She follows him and applies herself to the buttons of his shirt, the repeated light touches of her fingers shooting sparks through him. He tips his head back slightly on a sigh of pleasure; she peels his shirt down his arms and tosses it behind him. She pulls his undershirt over his head and moves in to kiss his neck… then stops, stops moving, stops breathing.
"Your shoulder," she says, voice high with surprise, "Red, what…"
He keeps his eyes on hers as he takes her hand, twists his arm around to guide her to the map of damaged tissue on his back.
"Red," she says again, choking a little. "I knew you were there, the night of the fire, but… what happened? Was it… were you with me?"
"I'm sorry," he replies, reaching for her. "I've wished I could tell you everything, but…"
"It was you," she says, completely certain, unsure why. "It was you who came for me."
He nods, silent now, unable to say more. He waits for her questions, her anger, for the loss of everything they have just gained.
She sits, watches his face close like a slamming door. She knows what he expects from her now, hates herself for it, and can't find her anger. Answers, she thinks, now that I've stopped caring about them.
"I think you saved my life." she says firmly. "And we will talk this out. But now… now just isn't the right time." And she leans in to take his mouth with hers.
So it's true, he thinks, gladly amazed, fortune favours the bold. And he sinks into her kiss, love washing over him, through him, as he lowers her back to the bed.
She runs her hands over him in delight — it's her turn for discovery now. Her hands are gentle over the travesty of his back, rougher over his chest, tugging the fine hair and scraping her nails over his nipples. Strokes lower to find the spot in the crease of his hipbone that makes him quiver all over. She hooks her legs around him and cradles him against her, rocks into the hard length of him.
He lets out her name on a groan, "God, Lizzie," and she reaches down to unbuckle his belt as he buries his face in her neck. She flips open his pants, fumbling a little in haste; pushes them and his boxers together over his hips, as far as she can reach. He kicks them off the rest of the way, relishing the feel of her skin against his own. She's kissing him more fiercely than before, like she can't stop, like she'll never stop.
Then she drops a hand to the hot, heavy curve of him, and he can't think of anything at all.
Her hand is delicate around him, but sure, as she uses her fingers to learn the shape and feel of him, the impossible softness of the skin over his steel core, the flexible weight of the heavy sac beneath. His breath is coming rougher now, his kisses less polished, his hands all over her, his control slipping away touch by touch.
She squeezes him gently, moves her hand in a light fist up and down the length of him in exploration and he has a moment of panic — if she doesn't stop, he's going to embarrass himself.
He manages her name, just, and she looks at him with a smile of singular sweetness.
"What do you need?" she asks, breathless herself now, thrilling at the power she holds, loving the feel of him, vibrant under his touch and as aroused as she can ever remember being.
"Do you… we should… condom?" he rasps out, unable to form a cohesive sentence. "I have to… I need… inside you before…"
"Bedside table," she says, "Should I…"
He'd never make it, he thinks, and reaches over to the drawer himself. He's covered in a light sheen of sweat that makes it hard to open the foil package — he swears and tears it between his teeth.
Task complete, his eyes come back to hers, fevered with love and lust and longing, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Bereft of words, she reaches for him again, seeking his warmth, to reassure, to welcome. He closes his eyes briefly as he hovers over her carefully, so careful now, struggling to stay steady. So careful that it's her that moves first, shifting her weight and pulling his leg with hers so they roll, together.
She rises over him like a vision, like a goddess, and the look on his face is indescribable. As she takes him inside her, he lets out a noise that borders on pain, shudders all over, clutches at her hips.
She pauses, gives her body a moment to adjust — he's thick and hot, and it's so different from before.
He lets out her name again on a low moan, "Lizzie, God, please…"
She clasps his hands in hers, presses them to the mattress beside his head. Starts to move, establishing a rhythm that sends little shocks of pleasure through her, but that won't (she hopes) end things too soon. His eyes are closed now, but she keeps hers open, fixed on his face, loving the play of expressions over his features, the new lightness she can see there, the joy. She kisses him, hard, trying to pour in all the feeling that she keeps locked away, to show him that this means as much to her as it seems to mean to him.
He's helpless, beneath her, can't do anything but follow in her wake, drowning in sensation. He feels like a graceless teenager again, driven by lust, hips pistoning to match hers. He tries, weakly, to recover some shred of his customary polish and skill, but he's lost, lost in her, in Liz, in love. Her kisses are like a brand on his mouth, and it feels like sunshine, like love, and it's enough to bring him to the edge.
"Lizzie," he chokes out, "I'm…"
She can feel him tightening beneath her, inside her, and she quickens the pace, eager now, wanting, wanting. She leans forward to be close to him, kiss his face, increase the pressure on her clit, get the friction just right.
He cries out a moment before she does, and then she's clenching him like a vise as he pulses wildly.
Trembling, overwhelmed, overcome with emotion that she can't (won't) name, she slows, stills, folds into him with a sigh. I'm so glad, she thinks, so glad it can still be so beautiful.
His arms go around her, hold her close, though he's amazed he can move at all. He presses a kiss, two, three, to the top of her head on his chest, and she hums contentedly. She slips off him to curl into his side, already half asleep. He mourns the loss of her warmth even as he welcomes the feel of her against him; lies still for just a moment, memorizing the shape of her body fitted to his own.
Hazily, she feels him shift, move away from her, blinks her eyes open to see him stand up.
"Ray?" she questions softly, hesitant now.
He glances over her shoulder, smiling, and she's never seen this smile before — it transforms his whole face into something warm and lovely, like he's been given something precious.
"I just need a minute, sweetheart," he replies, tone gentle and reassuring. "I'll be right back."
She finds herself watching the flex and curve of the muscles as he strolls over to the washroom; blushes even though he can't see her. She'd forgotten the more mundane details of intimacy — is in no hurry, herself, to erase the traces of him that linger, to return to the real world.
He's back quickly enough to soothe her nerves, slides back in beside her, pulling the covers over them and resettling her in his arms. She drapes an arm across his chest, closes her eyes again, enormously tired but peaceful and safe, for now.
"You'll stay?" she whispers, trying not to make it a plea.
"As long as you'll have me," he whispers back.
In the space they made together, for each other, quiet, warm, and happy, they both slide into sleep.