They get more than a little handsy in this chapter. You've been warned! (;

Chapter Five

"Drop out" suggested an active, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. "Drop Out" meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change.

-Timothy Leary

Red snatched the phone from Liz's hand, holding his finger to his lips, indicating that she should remain quiet and let him do the talking.

"Harold! Wonderful to hear from you. How's the wife? Will you wish her a happy birthday, for me? I know it was last week, but I do hope she'll forgive me for not sending a card. I've been so busy chasing down all of these bad guys with agent Keen."

Cooper ignored him. "Reddington, put Keen on."

"I would, Harold, but she's currently in one of those dreadful portable latrines. Like a gentleman, I'm holding her purse so she wouldn't have to carry it inside." Red gave Liz a thumbs up sign and shouted, "Lizzie! Harold is on the phone!"

Liz had collapsed into a fit of giggles on the ground at Red's feet. Gasping for breath, she yelled loudly enough for Cooper to hear, "That corndog must have disagreed with me. Tell him I'll be in here awhile!" Guffawing, she wrapped her arms around Red's legs and buried her face into the back of his knees, inadvertently causing them to buckle. Red fell over backwards, on top of Liz. She clamped her palm over her mouth in a vain attempt to squelch her howling laughter.

Red managed to hold onto the phone as he rolled over on his side, oblivious to whatever pain he should have felt. Liz took the opportunity to crawl on top of him, rolling him onto his back again and hovering as she straddled his hips and pressed his shoulders into the grass.

"I told her to order one of the vegetarian options, but you know how agent Keen loathes to follow my recommendations. I'm surprised that she even let me hold her purse."

"Did you get any intel from your guy? Have you even found him yet?" Cooper was more than a little annoyed.

Red's reply came out cloying, "Yes Harold, and agent Keen will tell you all about it when we're back in DC."

Liz was amazed that Red could steady his voice and "talk straight" so well. Or did he only sound steady to her? Enough of that! She leaned forward and latched onto his neck with her mouth, employing suction that was sure to leave a mark for several days.

He raised his voice again, "Lizzie, are you sure you're alright in there?"

"Yes! Leave me alone, Red!" she howled back.

"I guess she just can't help playing with fire..." Red was beginning to struggle, losing his focus on the conversation. He tried but failed to shoot her a menacing glare.

Liz began slowly inching one hand down Red's chest until she reached his navel, and pressed her thumb into it, causing his bleary eyes to momentarily roll back as he sharply inhaled.

"We'll probably stay the night and travel back tomorrow when she's well again." Red used his free hand to slap her ass, and hard. She moaned and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

FINALLY Red hung up the phone and tossed it aside. He grabbed her hips, pulled her down tightly, and didn't let go when she reflexively rocked against him.

"Jesus, Raymond!" Liz hissed, shocked by his hardness and the sensations that seemed to radiate between their bodies and through their clothes, as if they weren't wearing any at all. She couldn't will herself to stop.

"Oooo, say that again." He implored, through gritted teeth.

"Raymond.." she gasped, shuddering against his chest, just before she suddenly went boneless and collapsed on top of him.

"Lizzie, did you just..?"

She nodded vigorously into his neck. "How did you..?" She trailed, completely stunned. "I mean, I'm surprised that you can still.."

"Been awhile, sweetheart?" Red asked, thoroughly pleased with himself. "And just so you know, it takes more than a little LSD to ah.. keep me down. We should try to get to that hill."

"Are you sure? You don't need me to..." She didn't want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for him. Shouldn't he expect some reciprocation?

"Oh, I'm okay, for now. God, Lizzie, you're on fire."

When Liz looked up, she saw more than a few pairs of eyes settled on them, but she was tripping too hard to discern how many. She had forgotten that they weren't alone.

"Well Red, if you're good, then I am too. Let's go."

"Oh, so I'm Red again, huh?" He pretended to be hurt. They clambered to their feet.

Liz slid one hand into his back pocket, squeezed, and said, "If you want me to call you Raymond again, you know exactly what to do."

Indeed, he did.

They managed to walk to the hill more quickly than their last little excursion. They didn't speak much along the way, as they were both still thinking about what had just happened. The word "MORE" remained perched in the forefront of their minds.

Liz briefly entertained the worry that she had made a huge mistake, and that Red would never let her live it down. As if he sensed her sudden paranoia, Red reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, lacing his fingers in between hers. Liz looked down at their joined hands, and her vision rapidly tunneled. The periphery faded, and the distance from her shoulder to their hands seemed to stretch out, and she felt an immediate loss. Red was too far away. She stopped walking, and Red turned to face her, cupping her cheek with his free hand. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, sighing.

When their eyes locked, Liz was overcome by awareness of him. It transcended his physicality. She could feel what he felt, could see the way he saw her.

Whether or not she really was on fire, Red burned for her. This was no mistake. Her only mistake was not seeing it sooner.

Intersubjectivity! YES. This was exactly what she wanted.

Red's eyes lit up at the smile that slowly bloomed from ear-to-ear across Liz's cheeks. Overcome by their mutually intense feelings, Red roughly enveloped her with his arms, pulling her flush up against himself. His voice rumbled from low in his chest, and she could feel as well hear it as his hot breath blew against the crook of her neck. "Do you even know how much I love you?"

Liz bit back a groan in order to speak. "I do today."

"But will you, tomorrow?" he countered.

Without deliberation, she replied, "I'll always know, Raymond."

He'd never tire of hearing his real name from her lips.

On the hill, they bummed a cigarette from a random passerby, and decided to share it. Red blew smoke rings and practiced the french inhale, which he had yet to master. He was poking his bottom lip out too far, and it made him look like a pouting baby. Liz wasted no time telling him so, which prompted him to flare his nostrils and shoot a stream of smoke directly into her face. It seemed like an inordinate amount. She likened him to a dragon.

"Ah, much better." Being a dragon seemed to please him. Liz tried to commit the moment to her memory. She thought it would be hilarious to bring up the next time he smoked a cigar with her.

Several shirtless, tattooed young men walked past them. Their skin reminded Liz of something she wanted to try. ART! LSD is supposed to make the creative juices flow easily. "Where can we get some paint, Red?"

"Sweetheart, I have no idea. Can't we just stay here? Why do you need paint?" Apparently, she had forgotten that Red isn't a mind-reader.

"You know that famous study from the 50's, where an artist was given a high dose of LSD and asked to draw a series of self portraits? They started off normal, but became increasingly bizarre. I want to give it a try." She felt like she wasn't explaining it very well, but Red seemed to know what she was talking about.

"I think I saw a red sharpie in your purse earlier. Will that work?"

"Oh yeah!" She seemed very excited. "But what will I draw on? I don't have any paper, Red!"

"Draw on me," he suggested, divesting himself of his Dylan t-shirt in one fluid motion. It seemed like he was just waiting for an excuse to take it off. "Will this work?"

Oh yes! Perhaps a little too well. Liz only smiled and nodded, her eyes unabashedly drinking in his exposed torso. She'd seen him topless before, but only once, when she caught him undressing with his bedroom door open, incorrectly assuming she was asleep in her own room. At the time, she was equally curious and terrified, and an involuntary gasp gave her away. They had a very frank discussion about the scars, and how he got them.

She knew what they meant, even then.

Lizzie had longed to see them again, ever since, but this was her first opportunity. She sat down on the ground and pulled her legs apart, patting the grass in front of her, encouraging him to sit between them. Red happily obliged. While Liz rifled through her purse, seeking the red sharpie, Red took the opportunity to lightly skim his hands up her legs. He started at her ankles and by the time he reached her thighs, Liz had forgotten what she was looking for. When his hands started heading in the opposite direction, she tossed the purse aside and reached down to still his hands before they made it to her knees. She wrapped her arms around him, gently raking her fingers through the hair on his chest. Her head rolled forward, and she kissed her way from his shoulder, up to his ear lobe, relishing in the taste of his hot, salty skin. She suddenly recalled what he had said earlier, about how she hadn't tried the best part of him yet, and she desperately wanted to try it.

Her name from his lips broke Liz from her reverie. She found that her hands were skimming under the waistband of his shorts, and she hadn't even realized it. Of course, Red noticed.

"Don't assume I'm not enjoying this, but weren't you going to draw on me?" He asked, not witholding his laughter.

"What?" Liz replied, "Oh. Yes." She reached for her purse and easily found the sharpie. God, he could be so frustrating!

She set to work on sketching a crimson ocean sunset that spanned his entire back. It didn't take long for her to become engrossed in the process, despite the contented sighs and purrs that Red made no effort to withhold. Liz even incorporated his scars into the landscape, and they became the ocean's rippling water. The sharpie danced across his back, in time with the music, and Red simply melted into nothing under her artful hands.