The Very Definition Of Complicated
Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this.
Author's Note: Hestia and my gutterbugs keep me sane. Thank you all! #gutterbugs4life
.|.|.|.
Chapter 5
.|.|.|.
Liz paced.
She turned the television on.
She turned the television off.
She paced some more.
She updated a reimbursement requisition form she'd been putting off for days, and worked on the paperwork she'd brought home until she thought she would jump out of her own skin if she had to sit still a moment longer.
She went for a run to clear her head. It didn't help.
She took what was possibly the longest shower of her life, letting the hot water pour over her, lowering her chin to her chest and letting the dark curtain of hair surround her field of vision as the spray hit the back of her head. When the water turned cold, she stayed in the shower as long as she could stand it, until she was breathing hard, gasping deeply as the icy water hit her back and she shivered.
She toweled off and threw on clothes, and only as she picked up her keys did she realize she'd dressed completely—shoes included—as if she was intending to leave.
She tossed her keys back onto the table and sat down to take her shoes off, but before she'd even touched the laces, she growled a quiet, "Damn you, Reddington," and stood back up, snatching her keys from the table and heading out the door.
.|.|.|.
Liz knocked on the door to the suite a second time, crossing her fingers that Reddington would answer, because she'd promised herself that if she got to three unanswered knocks, she'd take the hint and go home.
She didn't want to go home anymore, now that she'd found the courage to come upstairs.
She'd parked her car across the street from the hotel Reddington had been at all week, and stood outside in the worsening rain for a good ten minutes until she was completely soaked to the skin, alternately talking herself into and then back out of going upstairs to talk to him.
Eventually the devil on her shoulder won, and she flashed her badge at the concierge downstairs to get him to allow her access to his floor's private elevator.
Just as she raised her hand to try for the third time, she heard the locks, and the door swung open. Reddington studied her with a slightly annoyed but closed-off expression, and Liz felt the urge to look away as if admonished.
"I called you a coward earlier," she explained, her wet hair dripping down her neck. "I came here to apologize." Reddington continued to stare at her, but didn't respond. "May I come in?" Liz requested. After a long pause, Reddington dropped his eyes to the tile floor of the suite's entryway, and stepped back, opening the door wider to allow Liz to enter.
"I wasn't sure you'd still be here," she said, crossing the threshold and turning to face him as he closed the door behind her. "How many days have you been at this hotel? Over a week? You never stay in one place this long."
Reddington pursed his lips. "Call me sentimental, but… this week I grew suddenly fond of this particular dining table," Reddington said, throwing the lock on the door. "But you're right. It's time to…move on. I'll have Dembe make arrangements to leave tomorrow morning." Reddington turned to face her, taking in her soaking clothes and the wet mess of her hair. "You're making quite a puddle," Reddington observed, looking at the ground at Liz's feet. She gave a short, frustrated sigh and kicked out of her hastily-laced boots, peeling the fabric of her jacket away from herself and dropping it with a wet slap on the tile floor. Liz paused, tilted her head in a pointed challenge, and reached deliberately for the hem of her shirt. Reddington raised a hand, frowning. "You made your point," he said. "Let me get you a towel."
Liz followed him through the main room of the suite and into the bedroom. Reddington disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with an over-sized, freshly-folded white towel and held it out to her. She took it and wrapped her arms around it, pinning it, still folded, to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she offered, standing in the middle of the bedroom. "I shouldn't have called you a coward. I don't actually think…" She trailed off, and let her eyes wander from Reddington, unable to maintain eye contact while she admitted she'd been wrong, and rude. "I was just trying to hurt you. To… get a reaction."
"Why did you want to hurt me?" Red asked softly.
Liz looked back at him. "You hurt me first. I felt the need to… fight back."
Reddington's brow furrowed. "And just how did I hurt you?" he asked.
Liz rolled her eyes. "Really?"
Red raised his eyebrows, waiting silently for her response.
Liz sighed. "You let someone in, you trust them enough to be… intimate with them… and then without warning they tell you they don't want that anymore. It's not the greatest feeling in the world."
"I'm sure it's something similar to feeling like the woman you're with wishes she was currently with anyone but you. The woman you care about."
Liz's mouth dropped open as if to retort, but no words came out.
"I thought I was strong enough to give her the physical things she asked for, and not get hung up on my own desire for… actual intimacy," Reddington said pointedly, implying her use of the word earlier had been incorrect. "I failed at that." Reddington frowned again. "You said last time that you didn't want 'complicated'… But you and I… we are the very definition of complicated."
"Well, let's get a bit less complicated," Liz responded matter-of-factly. "Things are actually starting to sound fairly simple. You said you care about me; I care about you. It seems like we're on the same page about that, at least."
"No," Reddington shook his head, correcting her. "You tell me you care about me, and then just weeks later you tell me you'd rather the extent of our relationship be meaningless sex. Do you see the contradiction here?" There was a hard edge to his voice, and Liz could tell she'd hurt him.
"Has it been meaningless?" Liz asked, taking a step toward him. "I mean…you can call an apple an orange. Doesn't actually make it an orange. Initially I asked for unemotional sex, you're right." Liz stepped closer again, lowering her voice. "Is that what we had, though?"
"When I asked you to meet me at the apartment the first night you…" Reddington stopped and rephrased. "I asked you what you wanted our relationship to be. Are you telling me you lied that night? Or have you changed your mind? Because I remember quite vividly what your decision was that evening. What is it that you want now? Be… specific."
"I want to know what your mouth feels like." Liz stared him down, unblinking.
"Not what I meant," he said, shaking his head. "What… role do you want me to play in your life?"
"I want to know how you taste," she persisted.
"Lizzie, we need to discuss this—" he started sternly.
"I want to feel…not just hear…when you groan…deep in the back of your throat as you kiss me." Liz reached for Reddington, and he stepped back, moving around her into the main room. He crossed to stand at the table, his back to Liz, facing the huge marble fireplace on the other wall. From the table in front of him, he grabbed a previously abandoned drink and took a long swallow. Liz didn't move, refusing to vacate her position just inside the ornate French doors that were swung open into the bedroom.
"I want to have to chase your lips when you pull away to gasp," she continued. "I want the heat of your breath in my mouth as you sigh my name—am I being specific enough for you?" She wished she could see his face, but she could tell he was breathing quickly by the small movements of his shoulders and back.
"And that's just the kiss," she pressed, making it a personal goal to get him to turn around again and acknowledge her. "I also want to make you pant. I want to make your eyes roll closed and your jaw clench. These sheets in here?" Liz gestured behind her with an out-stretched arm, though neither of them turned to look at the bed. "I want your fingers to claw at them, desperately, your knuckles white. I said a minute ago I want to hear you sigh my name; I take that back. I want you to growl it. I want it to roll off your tongue—" She pressed the tip of her tongue to the back of her front teeth and drew out her own name. "—'Lizzie'. I want to bring you to the edge and keep you there for so long that you beg my name—"
Reddington abruptly pulled his arm back and threw his glass with frightening power against the wide expanse of marble just over the fireplace. Liz broke off, and fell silent. Reddington leaned forward, a harsh, anguished sound dying in his mouth, and he bowed his head as both hands found the edge of the table, his shoulders and arms straining as he gripped the heavy wood. His face contracted into a silent grimace, his eyes closed.
Liz waited, not leaving the bedroom, wanting to give him a moment of space and silence, but if she was honest with herself, there was a small part of her that hoped she'd be able to calm him down enough that he'd eventually join her in there.
"I stopped counting," Reddington said after a long moment of silence, his voice barely audible. "How many deaths I've caused. At first I kept a running tally; I knew names. Every death I was responsible for, directly or otherwise. Then it became no names, just the number. Soon even that got too big, and I just kept track of those I'd killed. Directly. Myself. With the pull of a trigger… or the blade of a knife… or my hands." Reddington cringed, and licked his lips before he continued, shaking his head. "I don't know what that number is at this point. I couldn't even guess; I stopped counting years ago.
"Most days it doesn't bother me anymore; I don't even think about it. Which I realize is telling; that's a problem in of itself, but… the days that I do think about it… those usually occur because of you. You look at me a certain way, or…" Reddington tilted his head and scanned the spray of broken glass on the hearth in front of him. "…you say something that makes me think you might…" He trailed off, frowning. "I came back into your life to keep you safe." He paused, twisted to look at her, then went on with vehemence, "I'm not safe. *This*," he indicated the two of them with a wave of one hand, "isn't safe. If you were to get involved in some way with someone who, years ago, lost track of their personal body count, I've failed to protect you. You deserve someone better than a killer and a criminal. And you were right: as much as I fought tooth and nail to drag you from the grip of your husband… I'm no better a man than he is."
The pair stood, staring at each other, unmoving. Another game of chicken. Who would blink first.
Screw it, Liz thought. I'll just raise the stakes. She looked around briefly, tossing the unused towel she was still holding onto a low, upholstered bench to her left. Without hesitation, she grabbed the hem of her wet shirt and dragged it up and over her head, tossing it to land atop the towel. She looked back at Reddington, whose face was a mask.
"Have you ever lied to me?" Liz asked, taking slow steps backward until her legs hit the edge of the large bed.
"No."
Liz nodded, unbuckling her belt, unbuttoning her jeans, and sliding them off quickly. They joined her shirt and the towel on the bench. Again she looked back at Reddington, whose eyes were no longer on her face.
"Have you ever hit me?"
Reddington didn't dignify her question with a response. Instead he raised his eyes to glare at her as if the thought was abhorrent.
"A simple yes or no will do," Liz prompted.
"No," he said, his face pinched as if the word tasted bitter.
Without taking her eyes from Reddington's, she sat on the edge of the bed and scooted backwards, stopping when she reached the middle. "I'd ask you some important Third Question, like whether or not I like pancakes, but I think your answers to the first two are enough to prove you're nothing like Tom." She wound her hands behind her back, her fingers finding the clasp of her bra.
Reddington took a step forward and stopped, holding out a hand. "Don't," he said sharply.
Liz's hands froze. "I think we've already taken our relationship past the point where we should be uncomfortable with nudity, Red," she said, slightly scolding. "And based on some of your stories, I doubt I'm the only woman who's ever tried to seduce you by stripping on your bed."
"Dammit, Lizzie—"
Liz unhooked the clasp and tossed the bra to one side, not watching where it landed, never taking her eyes off of Reddington.
A look close to anger passed over his features. "You want me to beg your name?" he said, his voice hardening. "Fine. Here it is. Lizzie, please don't do this. I know you understand why I can't continue this because you outlined it with chilling accuracy this morning in your motel room—there's no sense in trying to deny it at this point—but the level of…. emotional investment I have in you is so far beyond what you have for me, and now that you know... it's frankly cruel of you to continue this. Like offering a poisoned treat to a dog. Don't tempt me with something that will ultimately end up—" Reddington broke off, shaking his head and looking away from her.
Liz lay down on her side across the foot of the bed, facing Reddington through the large doorway that still separated them. She propped her head up on one elbow, and modestly draped the other arm across her chest. "You're still operating under the assumption that what we've done means nothing to me," she said. "Let me explain something to you. I don't do meaningless. I look for familiarity. I need a connection. You weren't just convenient. If anything you were terribly inconvenient. And yet I find myself still thinking about you. More and more often, and frankly it's been getting in the way. I managed to shut it out for six weeks the first time… How long after your kitchen did I come back for more? A little more than two weeks? The last time I was here I gave you a truly flimsy excuse for my behavior. I realize that. I didn't want information. I just needed you to touch me again. And how long did we last this time? Five days. After you left this morning… I haven't been able to string two thoughts together all day until I walked back in this door."
"I don't lie to you, Lizzie, please do me the same courtesy and—"
"You're a smart guy, Reddington, and in the past you've seemed to have a pretty good handle on knowing when I'm lying, or at least keeping something from you." Liz rolled onto her back, her head still turned to the side to watch Reddington. "Come over here and see if you can't figure out that I'm telling you the truth right now. Why do you think I kept pulling away from you when you tried to kiss me? Did you honestly think I stopped you because I didn't want it? Because I wouldn't enjoy it? Did you ever stop to think that I had been saying no for the same reasons you did this morning?" Liz reached down and hooked her thumbs under the sides of her one remaining article of clothing, pushing the fabric down and raising her hips off the bed. She kicked her underwear to the floor, her eyes never leaving his. "I thought—mistakenly, apparently—that I could separate myself from 'just sex' and not have it affect me. But I was smart enough to realize I'd be in trouble immediately if I let you kiss me."
Reddington looked desperately at the woman on his bed for a full minute before he began taking slow steps toward her, his expression still wary, as if his body had made a decision his mind was still panicked and suspicious about. When he finally arrived at the foot of the bed next to her, he locked his gaze on Liz's legs, unable or at least unwilling to look her in the eye. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a hand and ghosted just his fingertips along the inside of her ankle. He was rewarded with a slight movement from her, an unconscious shift of her hips, her back arching a small amount as if she were trying to stay still despite every muscle in her body screaming at her to sit up and reach for him. He trailed his index finger up the inside of her calf, past her knee, and just as she shifted her legs wider, he traced a path laterally across her thigh and up to her hip, eliciting a frustrated sigh. His feather-light touch continued along the side of her abdomen, and she closed her eyes as he ran the back of his fingers along the outer swell of one breast, not pausing at all on his way up to her neck. When he traced the outline of her jaw and ran his thumb across the skin just behind her ear, she reached up and caught at his hand, opening her eyes.
Liz pushed herself up and knelt at the edge of the bed, pressing the length of her body against the length of his and winding her arms around his neck. He steadfastly kept his hands at his sides, and bit down on the noise that threatened to escape from the back of his throat as she raked her fingernails through his close-cropped hair, his eyes closing. He took a deep breath, and shook his head again. Liz tilted her head to one side and whispered against his lips, "Why are you fighting this…?"
After another long pause, Reddington's hands finally moved forward to find the woman in front of him, at first barely touching the outsides of her thighs, then smoothing slowly up over her hips to her waist as he let out a ragged breath.
Liz nodded approval, their noses touching briefly with the movement. She dropped her hands from his head to his chest and opened his vest, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt as well. She pushed the fabric back off of his shoulders, dragging it quickly but gently down his arms and tossing it behind him. She ran her palms back up the length of his arms and across his shoulders. When she reached scarred skin, Reddington grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away, leaning back slightly. Liz looked him in the eye evenly, and after a long moment she said, "They're nowhere near as bad as Ressler made them out to be." Pulling her hand from his grasp, she made it clear that was all she planned to say on the matter as she undid his belt and went to work on his trousers.
Reddington toed out of his shoes and moved back slightly to step out of the rest of his clothing. Liz was momentarily worried that he'd remain at arm's length, but he reached for her again immediately and stepped toward her to resume his earlier position, their bodies now pressed together with nothing to separate them.
Liz sighed and cupped his face, arching in to him as he ran his hands up her back, one tangling in her still-damp hair. "Kiss me," she pleaded against his lips.
Reddington was breathing hard. "I don't deserve this—"
"Kiss me," she demanded.
Reddington gave in with a growl, his lips landing on hers as he pushed her backwards, and after a brief, desperate struggle for positioning which could have been avoided if either of them had been willing to break their kiss, he was settled between her legs and pushed into her, his mouth leaving hers with a gasp. Liz pulled his head back down again immediately, missing the feel of his lips on hers for the second they were apart, and she wound her legs around him, digging her heels in to urge him closer.
After several painful collisions of teeth and noses as he thrust above her, Reddington pulled back and buried his face in her neck, kissing the skin at her throat, teasing her earlobe with his teeth.
Liz let out a moan, her head tilting back into the mattress, and Reddington felt like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed. He pressed his cheek to hers and murmured in her ear, "I knew you weren't usually the silent type."
"You're right—I'm not—" she gasped, flexing her hips against the sensations and gripping Reddington's shoulders, delighting in the feel of the muscles under his skin as he held himself above her. "And as long as we're admitting things, I should tell you that I've wanted you for months… every time we sat in the back of a car together… every time you licked your lips—God, your mouth—" Liz broke off as Reddington reached down to grab one of her legs, lifting it higher. "You can't imagine the fantasies I had about your tongue after watching you smoke a cigar the first time, but if I'm being honest? My favorite daydream is about what I could do to you if I had you alone in the Box at the Post Office. Shackled down like the first day we met there. How I could torture you… how I could tease you… the sounds I could get you to make as you begged me…" Liz's words turned into a short cry as one of Reddington's hands found her breast. "It's actually a pity you weren't wearing a tie earlier, because this headboard looks sturdy enough to—"
"Lizzie, shut up—" Reddington ground out.
"I thought you didn't want me to be quie—"
Reddington clamped his hand over her mouth, growling, "I'm enjoying this, and would prefer it last awhile, which it won't if you keep up with that kind of talk…"
Liz rolled her head to the side, freeing her mouth from under his palm. "So let's make this one 'hard and quick', and we can take the next few tonight… maddeningly… slow…" she moaned the words, raking her nails gently up his back and leaning up to scrape at his neck with her teeth.
Reddington swore under his breath and grabbed a handful of the bed linens, clenching his fingers into a fist as he strained and buried himself in Liz a final time. His breaths came harsh and fast as the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed, and only when she heard her name— "Lizzie—" —rasped out halfway between a groan and a plea, did Liz follow him, shaking and tightening around him as she cried out, her arms wound around his neck.
As their breathing slowed, Reddington gradually became aware of Liz slowly running her hands over him: across his shoulders, down his arms, over the back of his head, down his side. She pushed back on his chest slightly, and he withdrew his face from the crook of her neck. She cupped the side of his face, and tilted her head up to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, below his ear, the still-pounding pulse in his neck, his collarbone.
Finally, Reddington pushed off of her and moved to her side, propped up on one elbow. He gazed down at her, a note of humor in his expression. "In the Box? Really?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
Liz gave a coy smile and shrugged. "I'm sure you've had some unrealistic fantasies about me since we started working together." She leaned up and gently bit his bottom lip. "And since I think we just agreed to a second round—and possibly a third?—it sounds like we've got all night to discuss them." Liz rolled onto her side, bracing her head on her hand, her elbow supporting her in a mirror image of Reddington's position. She grinned. "Now, I've admitted one of mine… I'd love to hear about one of yours…?"
.|.|.|.
...aaaaaand that's all she wrote, folks. Hope I wrapped things up in a manner you approve of! :) Thanks again to Hestia, who acted like a lawyer/priest/doctor during the writing of this beast, and listened to all my worries and read my attempts and kept the seal of the confessional tight. You rock. :)
Also: As a nice bookend to this story, since jadenanne7 was the inspiration for the beginning of this fic, it's only appropriate that she turn up at the end, too… If you want to read a (entirely separate) super sexy series of Reddington fantasies about Liz, starting from the very first episode, you should check out her story "Delusions of a Grander Sort". I've had some people tell me I need to write a follow up to this one, detailing the fantasies Red tells Liz he's had about her, but there's NO WAY I would write them better than jadenanne7; I can't recommend hers highly enough! It's PERFECTION. Go read it. You won't be sorry. :)