He watched her quietly slink into the black bedroom of his recently-acquired penthouse suite, gun cocked and searching for hostiles in her warm palms, her pale eyes reflecting the only glint of light in the dim room as she scanned for movement. She couldn't see him, of course. He was five hundred miles away in a humid bungalow in Port-au-Prince watching her on his live feed cameras.
It excited him to know that those bright eyes were hoping for him while she hunted their shared enemies. So, he allowed himself to dream that he was there, waiting for her to breach the threshold into the en-suite bath, trying to complete her sweep to make sure no one was lying in wait for him to return home.
He imagined how he would stun her; he would thoroughly enjoy - with a little bit of sado-masochistic arousal - their tousle for the firearm, and he would be careful not to injure her as he relieved her of it, wrenching it from her grip. It would crack the custom travertine tiles when it thudded heavily to the floor between their feet. She would gasp and open that wry, witty mouth when she realized she was out of one kind of danger, and he would be able to smell her cheap body wash - cucumber pear? No, apple mango? It was some lurid combination of faux fruit and sugar, he was certain, but his daydream ended before the right combination could manifest when Dembe called out to him from the patio,
"Raymond. It is ready."
Red sighed and tried to control his disappointment at losing the fantasy, smiling up at his brooding friend,
"Thank you, Dembe. Bring the jet around, would you? I think it's time we made our way back."
Their flight was forced off-course, having to bypass Cuban airspace due to an unannounced missile test, and Reddington arrived just before sunrise to that same penthouse apartment in his mind's eye in Manhattan. The modern build was a departure from his usual fashion; the lack of antique furniture and overburdened bookshelves begged desperately for his Old World tastes. He had made due with the Brutalist stylings, adding thick furs and soft fabrics to all of the angular, angry seating and floors.
She was waiting for him in the den, fast asleep and snoring lightly. He watched voyeuristically as her belly rose and fell with each breath.
"Lizzie."
She jumped up, scared by his growl of her nickname. She reached for her gun before registering that his was a friendly face.
"Red," she exhaled.
He loved it; that voice which whined for him to take control. She begged him with her eyes to cut through the fire and flames so she could easily surmount whatever obstacle scorched her path. He wanted to give in so badly. He imagined what it would be like to surrender to her. If she was begging and pleading with him to come for her, or perhaps in her, and how it would sound to hear that plea over and over and louder and louder.
"What's wrong?"
Liz was misreading his face. She mistook his restraint for pain, and he guessed it was not so far off. He must look as if he is holding back a scream, for he was, in a sense. He straightened up, peeling off his coat and jacket,
"Nothing," he cocked a smile at her, "Just had a long flight. You know, the Cubans really do have the worst timing with their missile launches. If I had a nickel for every time a Cuban missile forced me to rearrange my entire schedule, I'd have two nickels, but that seems like a lot, given the specificity of the circumstances."
His labyrinthian reply soothed her, and she sat back into the rhomboid sofa seat, tucking her feet under her hip. He sat too close to her, looping a heavy arm around the back of the sofa - as well as her shoulders, as consequence - and grabbed a full, smoky scotch from Dembe with his free hand. Dembe excused himself for a perimeter check and a shower. Raymond suspected that his friend was making himself purposefully scarce.
"I had a terrible dream yesterday," Lizzie confessed, "You had left for good, and I - well, I just…"
He petted her head, softly circling her forehead with his calloused fingertips,
"Is that why I came home to a houseguest?"
"Yes," she turned to look at him, "Sorry. Is that okay?"
He took a huge gulp from his glass and let it burn him from the inside out. He wanted to punish himself for his own erotic desire bubbling and boiling over like rice in a too-small pot. So, he tried to use her as his whip,
"Would it be so bad if I were gone for good?"
It came out as more of a challenge than he had intended it to. She looked shaken by the question, immediately trying to formulate a counter-attack. He continued his advance, unwilling to wait for her reply,
"Would it really be the worst thing for you to finally be rid of me? I've killed people you love, I've been the reason other people have tried to kill you, I've wreaked havoc on your home life, your work life, and I've destroyed your chances at a normal future. Being rid of me seems like your only ticket back to the mainland, Lizzie."
He watched as she averted her eyes from him. He imagined that gazing upon himself now must be like watching someone finally reach the end of Death Row, and that the knowledge that they will have no future - and that there is no hope - is too much to witness with one's own eyes. Because, if he was honest, death was his endgame. He had become his own judge, jury, and executioner. Raymond had set things in motion that he knew, once he initiated that first event, that he would not be able to return to a time before that catalytic choice.
"What a martyr you are sometimes," she sneered, surprising him, "What does my life look like without you in it? Buying overpriced groceries every week and complaining about who got kicked off the latest season of some reality show? Driving to work and catching low-rate criminals who wouldn't scare a kindergartener, and who provide an even lower rate challenge? Growing old and worrying about 401k portfolios and whether we should go to Disneyworld or Disneyland each summer with the grandkids? No, thank you. Death has many faces; fading into normalcy being one of them."
His heart ached to complain about the price of bread with her. It broke in two when he pictured her, gray-haired, with the Mickey ears on, pulling their grandkids in their big, red wagon. His soul was crushed thinking about her watching Big Brother, that awful trash, with anyone except him. He seethed with jealousy to imagine her calling someone else for backup on a case. No, fading into normalcy is the dream, my darling - don't you see?
It was his turn to gaze into his dwindling drink for answers. He smiled weakly, offering her a short glimpse into his thoughts,
"I think I'd very much like to see you with the ears on."
She was confused, not yet making the connection,
"The…ears?"
He locked eyes with her then, resolutely going in for the killshot, putting himself out of his misery,
"I am no martyr. I am a sacrifice, Lizzie. I will bleed for you to have those boring, normal things. You deserve those boring, normal things. You deserve to sleep well at night, dreamless and deeply well-loved, and you deserve someone who can be all of those things for you," he lightened up the mood for a moment, deciding to be cheeky, "although I doubt you'd find anyone who would help you sleep more deeply than I could."
"Then why let them try?" She parried.
He was not expecting her to tolerate his salacious comment, much less challenge it. He suddenly realized that he had lost control of his face. Raymond could feel his eyebrows too high on his forehead in surprise. He could sense the cool air of the room in his too-open mouth. Trying to pull it back together, he finished the drink and poured another. The sound of her readjusting on the couch made him turn back to her to reply with some retort, but he was too late.
Lizzie moved out of her coiled position to slip her hand underneath the collar of his Oxford, his loosened tie providing no protection from her assault. She snaked her soft hand down his collarbone and up towards his shoulder before retracing her path up his neck and pulling his face towards her face. She didn't kiss him; she simply rubbed her cheek to his cheek as two cats do when meeting one another after a long time being apart. He rubbed back, and when she turned to look at him, he wanted to feel her other cheek against his jawbone, grasping her neck and head with both of his hands, moving her face to his as if she was a paintbrush and his skin was the canvas. It was erotic and tantric without any of the traditional sexuality, their breaths intermixing and their skin beginning to smell of the other's as if they had already become lovers.
"Lizzie, I will not - I cannot let you go," Red managed to whisper to her, directly into her ear as she began to lightly kiss his neck and jaw, "Once you are mine, truly mine, I will not let you out of my grasp. If you want to have your freedom, if - I want you to be able to stop now before it is too late."
She stopped. His stomach dropped, suspecting that she had not considered how serious he might be. He tried not to blame her; she was so young, still. Surely, she would consider her options or her independence. He looked into her eyes, pleading with her,
"Please, Elizabeth, tell me you understand what I'm saying to you. I can't -"
"When I dreamt that you had left, it felt so real. I was moving - teleporting, dreamlike - between all of your hundreds of houses and motels and hotels and shacks and castles, and I was screaming your name, slamming open doors, breaking locks and windows, praying to whatever gods would hear me that you would finally appear," she took a measured breath and continued,
"This was the last house. I woke up before I was able to pick the door, and so I drove over here in the middle of the night, unwilling to accept the reality that you were in Haiti and obviously not here. I parked in the firelane. I'm sure they've towed me by now, but do you know why I stayed here? The real reason," she asked him, holding his hands in hers.
He shook his head, hanging on every word. She told him,
"The reason I haven't left is because I'm not going to leave. Ever. Ever again. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you go to Haiti and Russia and Guam and Tibet. I can't keep waiting for you to call me when you get back. I don't want to pick you and Dembe up from the airport anymore. I want to be on the plane. I want to be by your side. And, do you want to know the worst part?"
She was crying. He wanted to hush her with kisses; he wanted to tell her it was okay and that it didn't matter. He wanted to save her from it.
"The worst part is that I don't know how to convince you that I can't do it anymore. I am half in and half out and it is pulling me apart."
"You don't know what it's like, Lizzie. My life, it's not -"
"It's not worse than this!" She cried, her hand motions becoming erratic and her eyes filling with fear, "Nothing is worse than this. This is torture."
"Then, be with me in the way I need you to be with me. Give yourself to me," he began to kiss her softly, open-mouthed, dragging his lips across hers and trying to give her a chance to answer, "Be with me as Lilith was with Lucifer - not because she was made to be but because she chose Hell over Eden."
"I will," she said breathlessly, "I am choosing you, Red."
He was on her in an instant. He ripped her from the couch without ceremony, pulling her body up into his chest, tossing his glass onto the bare concrete floor and listening to it shatter behind him. He held her body roughly, not caring how they looked or how she fell in his grasp. Raymond did not kiss her. He simply clutched her to his chest, carrying her quickly down the hall and into the nearest room with a door which he kicked shut behind him, fiercely.
It was a sort of study with a large chaise-lounge and a wall-sized window that opened up to an atrium - all concrete and one lonely bonsai. He lowered her and himself to the sheepskin rugs that padded the floor, and he began to pull away her clothes. Her shirt was ripped from her back and over her head like he had lost something precious and urgent beneath it. She did not have a bra, but he did not pause at her breasts - he was too hurried and frantic. He peeled off her shorts and panties together, leaving her naked and panting, shaken by his aggression.
Lizzie eventually regained her mobility and snapped through his vest and shirt buttons, watching as he helped her free his torso of the expensive fabric. His cuffs caught on their buttons and his Calatrava, and as he struggled with the tiny fasteners, she focused on his trousers. The cloth itself was so silky smooth that she was almost jealous of how good his legs must feel to be in them, and as she popped open the belt and button, she reveled in the smooth, slow glide of the zipper. On his knees, the pants sort of pooled their way down and she was forced to wait for him to finish her task.
He tore his own undershirt over his head and unceremoniously pulled away his boxer briefs before tossing the clothes away where they wouldn't be noticed anymore. He still wore a gold link chain around his neck and his many dark tattoos, of course, but otherwise they were as bare as the day they were born.
They were both out of breath, their hearts pounding. She could see evidence of his exertion in his hands and forearms as his veins were flooded and large beneath his tanned skin. He was just so unassuming in the suits, she mused, and now that she saw him like this, she was keenly aware of his incredible size. His chest and shoulders were huge compared to her hands, making them look tiny in comparison. His abdomen was not a washboard, but it was smooth and taut with strong internal muscles, leading to a thick v-shaped dip that led directly to his heavy cock.
It hung there, jerking in anticipation against his will for it to stay still and well-mannered. Red was massive, objectively. Liz had seen enough random criminal (and second-date) members to last a number of lifetimes, all at different levels of excitement, but Raymond Reddington had what she referred to as a problem. It would not be unsolvable, but problems take time and effort to work around.
He watched her eyes survey him and held himself back from interrupting her. When she ran her hands down his engorged veins and arteries, he had flexed his palms, feeling the blood burn at her touch and sear his skin with his reactionary desire. She scanned his muscles, his scars and punctures, unsightly stitches and blown out, ancient tattoos. His skin crawled, and his animalistic soul begged him to lunge for her with every millisecond that passed. But, it was when she settled on his throbbing hardness that he really started to lose control. Lizzie seemed to consider it as she might consider Guernica, with deep interest and determination, if not with a little bit of disturbed arousal at the implications of impending violence.
She was the first to move. Her hand reached out for his glistening head as she spread the slick pre-come down his length and across her palm. He made a noise that may have sounded more like pain than pleasure, and she smiled up at him soothingly. Red began to make love to her mouth with his lips and tongue. His hands cradled her face and controlled her head, moving her jaw and invading her mouth hungrily, selfishly. His fingers smelled like gunpowder and cigar smoke. His tongue still tasted spicy from the peaty scotch. She moaned his name so quietly that he thought he had imagined it. His cock seemed to know that he had not imagined it; the sudden rush of blood made his hips thrust forward of their own accord in excitement.
"Lizzie," he warned.
He lost his breath as she shoved him down on his back, lowering her mouth to his thighs, kissing and biting them to leave little bruises for later. He couldn't focus. He could barely manage to watch her work on him. Her mouth hovered over his wet head as she looped her pink, warm tongue around it, savoring his taste. She was enjoying torturing him, watching as his muscles clenched and writhed to keep himself under some sort of control.
Part of her - a deep, dark part - wanted him to stop fighting. She wanted him to let go and take her down. She knew she was safe, and she was certain that he wouldn't be able to allow himself to hurt her. But, as she sucked rhythmically on his cockhead, Liz allowed herself to imagine him as a demon; he may have choked her by now, removing her face from his phallus and shoving her beneath his body. He would stuff himself in her without remorse, forcefully pressing at her opening and sinking his length into her repeatedly. She hummed at the fearsome thought, sending shivers down his lower back.
Raymond let out a guttural shout at her vocalization and wrapped his hands in her hair. He tested out, politely, a little pressure on her bobbing head. She hummed again, encouragingly, and she tried to allow more of his shaft in her mouth and throat. Red did not continue to hold himself back, and he did his best to focus on her body language as he pressed down, making her take more of him than she could manage to achieve on her own. He thought she would protest, or at least tap out, but she hooked both hands around his thighs and audibly moaned with her mouthful of Red.
"Elizabeth - fuck!" He whispered at her with shock.
His dick sent a quick message through his nerves that he would come soon, and that it would feel incredible. Raymond sighed ruefully, pulling Lizzie from him with a wet pop. She swallowed his pre-come that was still in her mouth and panted up at him, waiting for more, her hands taking over and providing a fine substitute. But he refused to come anywhere except for inside of her deliciously glistening pussy.
"No, no, not - no…" Reddington, suddenly uncharacteristically inarticulate, removed himself from her grip and knelt over her, rising from the floor and standing above his gorgeous woman, gazing into her bright eyes, his hands still nested in her hair.
"Raymond…" Liz moaned, elongating his name and rubbing her cheeks along his erection just as she had done to his face on the sofa.
"Damnit," he lamented and pulled her up onto the leather chaise, positioning her to his liking.
He took big, long licks up through her folds, celebrating how wet they already were. His eyes studied how her sticky heat spread down towards her anus and onto her butt and thighs. She moaned, covering her face in pleasure and overstimulation. He did not increase his pace; his tongue stayed wide and pressed tightly to her skin as he laved it through her lips and onto her puffy mons. With firm hands, and perhaps a little too much force, he pressed her knees apart and continued the onslaught. She began to tremble beneath him, and he could barely contain his joy. He wanted to feel it when it happened, so he dipped two thick fingers into her wetness and waited patiently as she fell into a shaky orgasm. It was glory; Raymond could feel her walls shudder against his fingers, and he marveled at the strength of her muscles as she tried to pull them deeper into her body. His dick strained, begging to be plunged inside of such a place.
Reddington abided his desire and brought himself up on one knee, fondling himself rhythmically against her pussy lips, enraptured by the gooey noises his head made as it flirted with her entrance. She was sobbing out cries of pleasure at the sensation, praying to him quietly,
"Oh, God, please! Raymond, I need you in me, please. Red. Red!"
"Shh," he petted her breasts and stomach, reassuringly, "Sweetheart. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here, see? Look."
When he commanded her to look, he grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head up so she would be able to peer down at her own, swollen pussy. He made sure she could watch as he attempted to press his head through. But, that was as far as he got, at first.
"Holy -" Liz fell silent, concentrating on relaxing her muscles and listening to the wet noises coming from her body.
"Sweetheart, I can't - oh, my God," Red was stunned by how warm she was. He was aware of his large problem, and he began drawing slow circles at her entry to help massage her tightness, rubbing his thumb up from her perineum towards her clit.
With an aching slowness, she felt him melt into her and she began to feel so full, only aware that she had been empty once he had poured himself in. There was a burning pressure that filled her senses, and he mistook it as pain in her eyes. He stopped right where he was and turned his focus up to her face. She wanted to say keep going, but she didn't have to. Her body finally relented and welcomed him in, stunning them both. They shared a quiet sigh as they became unified, and the strained look on Red's face was something Liz would remember forever.
He growled, low and dark, pinning her to the chaise by her neck and hip, her body unable to move beneath his large, heavy hands. He may bruise her, he thought to himself as he trapped her in place and began to pump his cock into her core. He didn't care. She was his. His, and no one else's. Raymond felt as if he had a fever. Every thrust was a sparkling, gut-wrenching journey for him. He had to actively try not to come just from this initial joining. Worried he might blackout, he steadied his breath and concentrated on her noises, following them like a loyal dog follows a whistle.
"Yes, Red. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to bury yourself in me. Please, please, please, Red, please, God!" Lizzie chanted quietly to him, not even sure she made any sense. It was as if she was just the vessel for someone else's message.
It was almost too much for Raymond to handle. He became her slave. Doing as he was told, he lifted both of her legs up to each of his shoulders and drove himself downward into her body, sheathing himself fully in her incredible heat. The sound he was making as he slammed into his beauty only served to heighten his arousal, and if he had been younger - or less buzzed from the scotch - he would have already spent himself inside of her. She was too much to look at and to feel at the same time. He could manage one, but not both.
His thrusts were sending her heavy breasts up into her delicate collar bone with a lewd rhythm, and her nipples hardened under the stress of it. She was blushing and flushed from her earlier orgasm, and now she was experiencing a deeper, more intense climax. Unable to contribute much else in her compromised position, he could see her hand reaching down to find her clit and it almost killed him. He watched her work herself for a while, benefiting from her efforts, and reaping the sticky rewards as he stuffed himself inside her as she came.
With a wet kissing sound, Red removed his cock from her swollen folds and flipped her body so she could kneel on all fours. She modified her position so that her thick ass would be high above the angle of her shoulders, dropping her chest and face to the seat of the chaise. Liz reveled at the fact that her asshole and pussy were on full display for him, and she hoped he would take advantage of her submissive posture.
His fingers twisted into her hole again, like an artist dipping his brush into a wet pigment, and he used the fluid he found to paint her asshole, coating it until his fingertips glided over the slick skin. Tentatively, he pushed a thumb inside, down to the first knuckle, and swirled it slowly against the sensitive rim. She let out a high-pitched wail, and a colorfully affirmative string of encouraging praises. Unwilling to disappoint his darling, Reddington sank his dick back into Lizzie's warm pussy and began to fuck her in earnest. He kept his thumb in her ass and thrust it in time with his rhythm.
Liz thought she would lose her voice from her involuntary keening. She felt him stuff both of her holes and was completely consumed by a series of pre-climatic jolts of pleasure. They built upon one another, his cock stretching her entrance and making her legs quiver, his deep moaning going straight to her head, flooding her senses. She started to come, and she could feel herself clench around him, hard enough to stop him from pulling out as easily. Her orgasm seemed to last for eternity as she fought to get back under control of her breath or her vision or her mind. As he pounded into her, she could hear her juices smack loudly against his thighs, feeling her slick come coating him.
"You like that, sweetheart? You like being filled up? Are you coming for me? Lizzie, yes. Lizzie, yes, come on my cock," Red celebrated her climax and swelled with pride at his darling girl's unbridled release.
Raymond removed himself from her one last time, pulling her up to him for a long, sloppy kiss. He motioned for her to follow him to the floor with a welcoming hand, helping to steady her as she came down from her high. There, he sat facing her, his legs behind her and her legs behind him, and lifted her up into his lap. His cock found its home again, and Liz looped her arms around his neck for support as he stretched her folds with his engorged member, drooling with pre-come at this point and eager for emission.
She was insanely wet as well, and she noticed it running down her thigh. She had never experienced literal dripping before, and feeling that sort of sensation happening to her was like something from a dream.
He was saying something, she realized. Red was whispering to her, telling her how he loved her, promising her things and confessing how much he lusted for her when he saw her in his flat. How he touched himself thinking about fucking her in his bathroom, about watching her undress in his bedroom, about the way she tasted like spring. His voice sounded so low and gravely, and he was clearly losing himself as he fucked her. It was a wonderful hymn and she wanted to memorize the words.
Lizzie pulled his face in front of hers, touching their foreheads together so they would breathe shared breaths and be able to watch each other experience their loving. Raymond could feel every inch of her body as she grinded against him. He bottomed out in her over and over and over and over in long, torturous thrusts, praying to her like some disciple. Confessing his sins for her forgiveness or retribution. Either would do. When he started to come, he felt thick bursts smear into her pussy, mixing with her fluids, becoming frothy from his repeated pounding. She pulsed around him fiercely hard, milking his essence greedily. Red shouted deep, growling screams, over and over as she chased his release with her hips.
Finally, they both stilled, each of them waking up from their tantric possession. He was still inside of her, arms and legs encircling her, pulling her to his sweaty, heaving chest. Liz felt him spread sweet soft kisses across her face and neck, checking her for injuries or suffering of any kind.
She sighed, feeling his cock slowly losing its impossible girth within her,
"Raymond."
"I've never -" he panted, admitting, "I've never felt like this, Elizabeth. You make me feel out of control. Did I hurt you, sweetheart?"
He pulled himself from her core and couldn't help but send in a finger to feel the wet results of their efforts.
"No, Red, but I will be deliciously sore tomorrow," she smiled.
"I've got just the cure for that," he promised, darkly.