Liz's kiss muffled that voice of reason and all its rational arguments in his head, slowed down his thoughts. With the breath she stole, by merging her lips into his, and burying her finders into his hair, she suppressed his mind to function only on its basic instincts. This was something he always had managed to control, something he always carefully avoided and now she was stripping him from all his weapons, kissing him like that, allowing him to pull in just enough air so he was able to continue responding to her.

Donald wanted to protest, to stop her, to grab her elbows and push her away, but his hands missed their target, merely grazed it and landed beneath her shoulder blades instead, pressing her closer, because she had fought down this attempt with one single strike, one single movement of her tongue across his lower lip. And he didn't care at all about his bruised rips as he kept holding her against him, being the one now who was stealing the air from her lungs, when his fingers grazed down to her lower back, stopping right on top of her hips. Liz's body responded with a shiver, surprising herself with that reaction.

She wanted him to go on, to grab her, to lift her up, fling her around, bringing them both down to the couch, so that she could pin him against the furniture. Yet he didn't and it made her restless, impatient, and astonished about her own feelings. Had she really underestimated how much she had longed for this, for him. So it was her. Her hands trailing down his neck, to his chest, pushing him backwards, around, so that one of his hands instinctively reached back, catch him as he forced him out of his balance.

The only thing that reminded of his injury was the hissing sound of Ressler inhaling sharply through his teeth as his back fell against the couch. She wouldn't give him any chance to flee this situation. As soon as he was sitting, she was straddling his lap, bringing her hands back to his neck, his face. And she couldn't allow herself a break, because she was afraid that he would that the chance and try to stop her, because she was scared that her own reason would kick in and that was the least thing she wanted right now.

Liz had enough of all this reasoning, being rational, being focused, of her job claiming her life and Red demanding to be the center of it. For once she wanted to dictate the terms, to take what she wanted, to enjoy herself. As that thought crossed her mind, she pulled back, looking down at him, inhaling deeply. The way he looked back at her, up to her, made her tremble. She had no idea for how long she would have this chance, blackening out his mind like that. The though alone that she could even have this power over him would have never crossed her mind.

Even if he had a chance, Donald would never have thought of taking it; he didn't think at all, which was something he hadn't done for years. He simply couldn't. Having her as close as this, it felt like everything he ever wanted, he ever needed, without him knowing. He had no idea that he had missed this, until realization drowned him with a wave of heat, boiling his skin, making the air feel like ice in his lungs and only her breath was capable to warm it up, so that his lungs were able to function. If there had been just the glimpse of an idea of resisting left, it just needed this one, single, unbearable movement of her pelvis against his lap to erase it. He couldn't separate the pain of his rips from the ache inside him anymore. His hands were desperate, racing up her back again, to make her kiss him again.

His hands lost themselves in her hair, slightly pulling it and Liz just loved it and all it made her do was increasing the pressure on him, moaning lowly into his mouth involuntarily. And yet, his instant reaction was intoxicating, heating her up like being tossed into a fire. She couldn't help herself, and she didn't want to stop herself. From sucking his lips between her teeth, from dragging her fingernails down his shirt, from grabbing its rim and pulling it up, forcing him to lift his arms. His response was mirroring her, by bringing his hands to the buttons of her blouse. She hadn't had the patience to let him do this on his own and he couldn't mind less, quickly pulling off the fabric from her skin and soon as the piece of clothing was undone.

None of them were prepared for what it felt like feeling the skin of the other against their own, of feeling hot and cold in the very same moment, like velvet and stone. It was him now framing her face with his hands, holding it close while their tongues were fighting duels, both of them winning, until he decided to hold her captive and leave her mouth, dragging his lips down her neck so slowly that it was definitely unbearable and her hands started to pull on his. The only option of payback she had was grinding herself against him, making him gasp an stop. Yet she didn't get any chance to triumph, because he finally did what she had been hoping for: taking initiative, wrapping one arm around her, and turn her around, so that she found herself lying on her back on his couch, looking up into his clear blue eyes as hesitation caught him. Still she wouldn't allow him to stop and took his face hostage once more, making him kiss her.

The most intoxicating revelation was that he was smiling against her lips once they met again and it didn't steal her breath, but rather make her brain forget what the meaning of that word was, or the action it was describing. Even more as his fingertips slid gently down her sides creating a mixture of tickle and heat. Especially when they reached the rim of her jeans.