AN: FINALLY, the DNA results! Is Denny Crane really Lizzie's biological father? This chapter is pretty short, and MOST of it is explicit, smutty sexytimes for Liz and Red. Results are at the very end.
***NSFW SMUT WARNING***
I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
disclaimer- author loves the characters and the shows, but claims neither ownership nor profit from any of it.
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Red was curled protectively around her, playing the big spoon, so he'd know exactly when Liz finally fell asleep. Forty-five minutes later, she was still awake. He found it highly unusual, especially considering how much wine she'd had with dinner.
Even more unusual was how long it took him to come up with a solution to the problem. One could argue that it was her idea, assuming that she was leaning back and shifting her weight against him intentionally.
She probably was,
he decided.
Well, if this was what she wanted, then he hoped that she wanted it now, because he wasn't in the mood to take his time. He snaked his hand up her tank top to fondle her breasts, pulling her closer and earning an appreciative moan.
Affirmative.
She wanted him.
Red propped himself up on one elbow and lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing his way up and down the length of it with parted lips and tongue. She hissed when he shoved his hand into her panties, going right to the spot that made her writhe against him with need.
Liz blindly reached backwards to grab at his thigh, but that just wasn't enough. He reclaimed his hand to grab hers and lace their fingers together, smug from her huffed breath of protest- but torture wasn't his intent. He guided her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, and used his own fingers to wrap hers around him.
The only way to stop himself from thrusting into her hand was to occupy his own, so he returned it to her center, much to her relief. The second he parted her folds and discovered how ready she already was, he found himself instantly rock-hard and trembling.
She'd been thinking about him, had been thinking about this, and just waiting, knowing how he'd react to that realization.
No wonder she couldn't sleep.
Stilling his hips was no longer an option. He slipped one leg between hers to part them further and provide better access. With two of his fingers curled inside of her, she abandoned her current task, letting go of his raging erection in order to pull down both his boxers and her panties. "Red, please..." she whimpered.
LUCKY. If asked to describe how he felt in that moment, that's all he'd be able to say.
Raymond Reddington: wordsmith, troubadour, and lover of classic literature- effortlessly reduced to a tightly-wound ball of breath, blood, and fire, nearly incapable of forming complete sentences- all at the effortlessly-intoxicating hand and heart of Elizabeth Keen.
He reached down to align himself and pressed forward and upward only the slightest bit. With one arm wrapped around her waist and his breath hot on her ear, he asked, "Is THIS what you want?" and thrusted all the way into her at once.
She cried out and pressed backwards against him, suffering only a bit of pain as she stretched and squeezed around him. For the moment, Red could only tighten his grip around her waist and hold on for dear life.
Liz took a page out of his book by grabbing the hand at her waist and putting it where she wanted it. He took it from there, and began to rock his hips in opposition to the motion and pressure of his palm. She pulled the pillow out from underneath her head and buried her face into it, biting its quilted case and trying to muffle her cries of ecstacy.
The sudden bowstring tension of her body told Red everything he needed to know. She was already there, but she was holding back.
Waiting for him
as if it were necessary.
"Lizzie, sweetheart, you should come." He spoke the words low and slow, with his lips pressed against her carotid artery.
Her eyes rolled back at the suggestion. "Only if you come with me, inside of me."
She said it like he actually had a choice, but Red would have begged to differ. His reply came out as deep, rumbling groan, expelled into the groove between her shoulderblades.
He used his body weight to roll her forward, so she wasn't quite on her stomach or her side, but somewhere in between. With increased leverage from the shifted position, Red moved harder and faster, thrusting forward roughly, his teeth firmly holding purchase of her shoulder.
He left marks everywhere his hands and mouth touched because she loves the constant reminders of how it feels to be taken by him.
Just when he was seconds from coming without her, Liz threw her head back and clamped down around him like a vice. He felt her climax with his entire body, a series of rolling waves that he gave back to her with his own, burning hot, pulse by pulse.
She took his hand and laced their fingers together, leaving them connected and grounded to one another even after Red slipped out. The room filled with only the sound of panting as both came down and tried to catch their breath.
His voice gravely and thick with adoration, Red exalted, "Lizzie, I love you so much, but I don't deserve you."
Her laughter was like music as she craned her head backwards to capture his lips. "You're right, you don't, but I love you too, and I also love it when you try." She kissed him again and his laughter piled on top of hers, as complementary together as their bodies.
"Let me run to the bathroom real quick. I'll be right back," he said, squeezing her hip as he rolled away and out of the bed.
Arms stretched upward, she mercifully yawned. "Okay. Can't promise I'll still be awake when you get back."
Excellent.
Though tempted to go out to the car immediately, Red did exactly as he said, and was pleased to hear her telltale rhythmic breathing upon his return. Rather than climb back into bed, he slipped on his robe, and then turned on his heel and tiptoed outside.
He climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. With a deep breath, he opened the glove box and pulled out the envelope.
Inside, he found a small stack of papers. The first was blank. The second was a chart, showing the alleles tested, side by side for comparative purposes. He was certain that it was necessary, descriptive information to have, but it might as well have been written in a language that he didn't speak. He didn't bother trying to parse it.
On the third page, he found a detailed description of the findings depicted on the previous page.
On the third page, the answer.
On the third page, the sealing of their fate.
Shaky hands brought it closer to his face.
One deep breath,
and then another.
His eyes raced across the paper in a fine frenzy.
AH!
He re-read it, but far more slowly this time, just in case. Lizzie would never forgive him if he was wrong about this (Okay, perhaps he was being a little hyperbolic, but under the circumstances, wasn't he entitled? Yes).
His stomach and heart seized at once, and with a stiff jaw, Red slipped the papers back into the envelope and dropped it on his lap. Resting his head against the cool glass window, he let his eyelids fall and cursed himself for not having a concrete course of action. He'd spent enough time fretting over the outcome.
No, no. Surely there WAS a plan, but he'd forgotten it. Perhaps he, too, had the madcow.
But fuck. Now what?
His very first thought concerning both the 'here' and the 'now'?
Well, he hoped that Denny was asleep, and that he hadn't just overheard the sounds of his long-lost daughter having wild, wanton sex with his flamingo.