AN: At last, the ending. Can Liz revive him?
Thanks so much for reading along this far. Your encouragement has helped immensely. Let me know what you think of the final chapter!
Disclaimed. I own neither the characters nor the royalties.
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If Liz were to truly make him whole, she'd have to touch him everywhere - melt him down slowly. The very thought put a buzz in her belly that radiated through her limbs and caused her fingers to tremble faintly.
Their chances of being seen from the street were low, but Red's position at the window made her nervous. Without explanation, she gripped both of his biceps and gently pulled him backwards to lay down on the chaise lounge behind them. There was just enough room left for her to sit sideways, facing him, her hip pressed against his.
In a tender display of openess, hoping for his trust, she took his hand in hers and guided it up to her neck, where she lightly pressed his palm against the hollow of her throat, and the pads of his fingers to her carotid pulse. She let him feel her vulnerability, her arterial blood pumping unprotected beneath pale, thin skin. He need only apply pressure to cut off her airway and deprive her brain of oxygenated blood.
But he would never, and she knew that, now.
...
For over twenty years, he'd structured his life so that Elizabeth would be kept safe from him. Now, as she guided him to touch her in seemingly benign, exposed places on her body, he intrinsically felt danger ratcheting up with every beat of his pounding heart. Voices from distant corners of his mind called out, demanding that he make her stop, but the feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips all but muted them.
Overwhelmed by conflict, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
She kept moving, showing him the softest parts of her face - her eyelids, the deep, hollow circles beneath them, her lovely, precious lips. They parted beneath his fingertips, a soft rush of air escaping as if stolen.
...
His face demanded tactile exploration as well. Finally, she'd answer to what she could now admit was a familiar calling, and how easy it was to do so while his eyes were closed. She started with his temples, those twin points of pressure that carried mere shadows of the burdens resting on his weary shoulders. She traced several light circles before moving down to his sideburns, across his cheekbones, and finally, finally his lips. They felt exactly as she'd imagined.
...
He felt strange under her close scrutiny, even with his eyes closed. Or was it even scrutiny? It wasn't unpleasant, but it was... a lot. Had a woman ever done this before? Taken the time to trace over every line and contour of his face?
No, not that he could remember.
Perhaps she was nervous - nervous and stalling for time as she tried to think of a way out. As soon as the thought came crashing in, it consumed him. He balled his hands into fists and waited for the other shoe to drop.
But then he felt her weight shift. She leaned in slowly, until her forearms rested on his chest. When he felt her breath cascading over his lips, his eyes popped open in disbelief. She gently framed his face with both hands, steadily holding his gaze with her own, and began to whisper against his lips.
"Bathe in your gaze the
Universe fraternal
Immerse beings, things, as
your desire goes
Brandish the mountains as
one throws a rose"
Apparently she had remembered his fondness for Proust. Through him, it appeared, she was coaxing Red to seize this moment with her. Touched, his heart cried out in victory, but his mouth retained control of the situation by softly completing the verse.
"E'en your godly gesture
wounding a mortal
So your enchanted eyes will
tint rose
Certainly he who modestly
saw your future as seer
Oh, keep for him at least a
sweet souvenir"
And he knew that she was about to bestow upon him a gift far greater than any souvenir a man had ever received. She pressed her lips against his, both fever-hot and cashmere-soft. Stirrings of lust, of blood, of love flooded his body. More than a flicker. How easy it was with her, he marveled at his body's response. No longer a passive recipient, he reached for her and opened his mouth, giving back with adoration.
She pulled back to gaze at him once more, panting, her pupils blown. When she stood up and walked behind him, he immediately felt bereft. Was this all she had wanted? Did she feel that she'd fixed him? He didn't feel 'fixed'. An appetizer is no meal. He needed so much more.
She walked over to the camera and shut it off. "However short, I think we made a pretty good tape," she explained. "Now you can make no mistake that I'm doing this for you, not the camera." Truth be told, if this could only happen once, he wouldn't have minded having a recording, but he was in no position to complain. In fact, he hadn't even realized that she was filming them at the window and chaise.
Mercifully, she returned to his side and took his hand. It seemed she wanted to maintain her control of how things proceeded, and he was more than willing as she lead him into the bedroom and closed the door.
She stripped him down slowly, lingering at each button and cuff, taking each chance for an extra caress, pausing frequently to kiss him again and again. She even kneeled down to remove his shoes and socks, kissing his ankles, her fingers cradling the soles of his feet. He was on fire, trembling against the urge to help, to rip off her clothes and take her swiftly.
His Elizabeth had always been hard, then soft, then hard again, but he'd never seen her softer.
...
When at last he stood before her in his oxblood-colored boxer briefs, she was surprised to find him aroused already. It had been so easy, too easy. Through the simple act of undressing him, already she'd succeeded in her goal of touching him everywhere... except for there. She'd anticipated having to make a little more effort, directly, with either her hands or mouth.
'Perhaps it was me,' she thought. Perhaps his problems were also her own. She hastily banished those thoughts, casting them alongside her newfound revelations about his scars. The last thing she wanted to do was raise questions. Maybe later, but not now.
She backed him up against the wall and pressed the full length of her body against his, applying extra pressure with her hips. His responsive moan into her mouth was so low and sweet that she could almost taste it. He kneaded her ass and pulled her against him more tightly. Arousal speared through her like a hot knife. Just as it had for him, her intense want was transformed into an all-encompassing need. She needed this. Needed him.
He pushed her backwards and guided her to lay down on the bed. Starting at her ankles, he ran his hands up the entire length of her inseam, effectively reducing her to a writhing mess by the time he reached her center, which he ignored as he blazed a path to her jeans button and zipper. In one slow, albeit smooth motion, he peeled off both her pants and panties.
"My god, you are exquisite, Elizabeth," he exalted. She felt it too, under his heated gaze.
All at once, he was on top of her, firmly gripping her hips and pulling her down to his eager mouth.
His tongue, god, his tongue. It did the most delightfully wicked things - things for which she didn't have the words to describe. She felt the tension in her lower belly build with every little flick and swirl. But then he got his fingers involved, curling them expertly, with just the right amount of pressure as he flattened his tongue on her clit. She yelped in shock, both knees squeezing his head, her hands helplessly grasping the sheets for something, anything to keep her grounded. She felt overwhelmed, almost afraid, certain that something big was about to happen. "Red, I, I can't!" She pleaded, and he dialed it back a notch, withdrawing his fingers and kissing her languorously.
"Come here," she beckoned.
...
Red could barely contain himself. He had her right where he wanted her, right on the edge, and he had every intention of keeping her there for as long as possible. On hands and knees, he crawled up her body without letting his lips leave her skin even once.
She was resplendent.
While he was busy with her breasts, she reached down to snap the elastic of his boxer briefs. "Red?"
"Mm?"
"Lose 'em. Now."
They were gone in a flash. He could deny her nothing, and what she wanted now was what he wanted to give her most.
She wrapped her slender fingers around him and guided him towards her, a wicked, victorious smile on her face. He groaned. Just the feeling of her hand on him felt divine. "Is all this for me?" she asked.
"Every inch," he growled.
When she released him, he teased her, pressing only the head in before pulling back out and rubbing against her clit. Each time, he drove in a little further, stretching her slowly. She felt so tight wrapped around him that it was almost more than he could bear. When at last she was ready for all of him, she rocked up and grabbed his ass to hold him in place for long, long seconds. "My god," he moaned into the crook of her neck.
He set a super-slow pace, much to her apparent chagrin. She planted the soles of her feet into the mattress and thrusted upwards eagerly. He dropped one hand between them to massage her, but then she squeezed around him like a vice, stealing both his breath and his already precarious self-control.
"You feel so good. Harder, Red, please!"
Heeding her plea, he surged forward and watched her eyes roll back.
"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Like that."
Very well, but he could do her one better. Swiftly, he scooped her up with one hand under the small of her back, and shoved a pillow beneath her hips. His next deep thrust was calculated, his weight distributed just so at the new angle. He paid attention to her reactions to his every move, and as he held his position, buried to the hilt, her muscles began to flutter around him as she cried out.
Yes, there. He held her close and moved slowly, applying exactly the right pressure inside her, luxuriating in how good it felt to make her feel good - and god, she'd better come soon, because if she didn't, then he would.
"God, Red!"
He peppered her face and neck with kisses. "It's okay, Lizzie. I've got you. Let go."
He rocked her through the first throbbing pulses of her orgasm, and then he let go with her, both a writhing mess, crying out, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It felt like he was coming in buckets, like he might never stop. He was nearly blinded by pleasure, and could hardly make out the features of her beautiful face.
When at last he was spent, exquisitely satisfied, he kissed the dew from her eyelids and rolled over to gather her into his arms.
"That, Red... wow. I didn't know that I, I mean I never..."
"Mmm, I know." Boy, did he ever. It wasn't that he thought that she couldn't turn him on, or that he thought he wouldn't be able to make her come, but the way it all happened, the explosion of electricity - he was still faintly trembling from it all.
She scooted closer and rested her head on his chest, her fingers idly combing through his coarse hair. He listened as her breathing gradually became slow and even. If she fell asleep, that would be just fine with him. He felt as if he'd slipped into a dream at least an hour ago.
But if this was all a dream, then please god, he didn't want to wake up.
"I love you, you know," she said, sighing contentedly. She just said it so easily, so casually, as if she wasn't shaking him to his very soul.
He shook his head, as if to clear his ears, as if he hadn't really heard her. "No, Lizzie, I... I didn't know that. I..."
"You don't have to say it back. I do know."
"Yes, I've loved you for a long time."
"So..." She began, suddenly tentative. "No more videotapes?"
"For as long as I can have you."
"Then it was about me," she replied, a rush of air escaping from her lips.
He held her more tightly and kissed the top of her head. "I believe you already knew that. Elizabeth, it is always about you."