She couldn't stay in here forever, she knew, but she wasn't sure what else to do.
Liz stood in front of the mirror, bracing her hands on the sink and attempting to get ahold of herself. She replayed the scene over and over again in her mind, the taste of his skin still in her mouth, and the memory of the feeling of him hard beneath her dancing through her brain. She was alarmed by the intensity of her desire for him, wanting his hands all over her, wanting to hear him make those little sounds like he had when she brushed against him…though judging by the state of her underwear, she had done a whole lot more than brush against him. They were definitely ruined, sodden with her fluids, as though she had been grinding on him, half straddling his leg…oh god.
She was mortified at the image of herself, and she was terrified of what Red was thinking of the whole affair…they were going to have to talk about this, she was going to have to face it somehow…but first, she needed to shower and to clear her head, and perhaps do something to relive the ache between her legs. She could not have this conversation with Red, much less face him, while she was this aroused. And as for the panties…well, she would have to throw those away without Red seeing…there was no way she could send them up to Eli to wash, and no way for her to rinse them and dry them down here—Red would know exactly what she was doing and she was already embarrassed enough.
And of course, her clean clothing was all out there…with him, which meant that in order to enact the plan, she would have to run out there, grab her bag, and run back in to the tiny sanctuary of the bathroom.
What was he thinking right now? Even more distressing, what was he doing out there right now? As wet as her panties were, that's how hard he'd been, tucked up against the soft, sensitive part of her inner thigh. Liz blushed and burned at the memory of it. Was Red suffering the same dull, unfulfilled ache she was feeling as blood slowly drained from her sex, or was he taking advantage of the privacy afforded him while she was in here and finishing up what she'd started? Maybe she should go out there and help him finish the job?
Jesus, no! Liz screamed at herself, this is too important! Shower first! Then talk!
She steeled herself and opened the bathroom door determinedly. Half covering her face with her hand—so as not to make eye contact with Red as she exited the bathroom or witness any unseemly act he might be performing on himself at this very moment—Liz power-walked to her bedside.
Unfortunately for her, he was up, he was making coffee, and he was sinfully handsome and simultaneously adorable in his pajama bottoms and soft t-shirt. She strategically avoided taking in any glimpse of his groin area.
"Lizzie…" he called out to her.
"Hold on, Red" she said to her bag as she gathered a few items. "Shower first, then talk!" she repeated her mantra to him.
"Would you like coffee?" he called after her as she scampered back to the bathroom with her things.
"You know I would!" she called back. "Thanks!" and she closed the door.
She threw on the spray as hot as she could stand it, stepped in, and scoured herself fully, taking away as much of his smell and taste as possible, doing her best to flush it from her system. Once she was clean, she quickly reached between her legs to attempt to take care of her other problem. Even under the scalding spray, she was still slick, and as she leaned against the wall of the shower, fingers working furiously on her clit, she knew this was only the beginning…it felt far too good to do this and think of Red. With a sinking feeling, she knew this would never be enough…if he came after her, she wasn't going to be able to say "No." And she should really, probably say no…at least for now.
When she came, it was a pale imitation of what she imagined the real thing would be like with Red, but it did ease some of the fog in her mind. It was enough for her to actually think of reasons why she should avoid exploring this aspect of their relationship, the two most prominent the first being their precarious situation on the run as fugitives, and the second being that she was emotionally compromised, probably suffering from PTSD and starting something with Red was too risky. The needed to be smart right now, they needed to be on their guard, they needed to stay focused. People were trying to hunt them both down and kill them…this was not the time to be caught up in an infatuation.
She dried and dressed quickly, not wanting to prolong the inevitable.
Red was sitting at the table, but as soon as she exited the bathroom, he rose and grabbed his duffel bag. He pressed a hot mug of coffee into her hands as he brushed past her.
"Red?" she called after him, confused.
"Bathroom first, then talk!" he called out, repeating a variation of her mantra.
She winced, realizing she had unthinkingly monopolized the only usable toilet in the vicinity since they'd woken up, and was not in the least bit offended when Red practically slammed the door closed behind him.
Now it was her turn to wait. She drank her coffee and had another bowl of cereal for breakfast, noting that Red had politely returned her pillow to its own bed and neatly made his own—like a crime scene scrubbed clean by Mr. Kaplan, no one would ever be able to discern what treacherous activities had taken place on that side of the room, Liz smirked. She heard the shower turn on and hoped she had left Red enough hot water. In the meantime, she poured another coffee.
The television was a welcome distraction. It was still early enough in the day for the morning news shows, so Liz watched, absorbed. She didn't hear when the shower went off, but she did hear when Red emerged from the bathroom. Keeping her eyes glued to the TV, she waited until he was next to the table before she looked over at him…and snorted with laughter.
He was wearing a V-necked t-shirt—the bastard. Liz knew there had to be several options in his bag to choose from, just as there were in hers, but of course Red had chosen the one shirt that would proudly, obviously display the mark she'd left on his neck, just above his collarbone.
Liz unsuccessfully struggled to contain her laughter and hide her grin in her hands as he sat down and nonchalantly poured the remainder of the french press into his own mug. He stared her down, completely unabashed, sipping daintily at his coffee and twisting his head ever so slightly this way and that so as to display her handiwork.
"Really?" she sputtered, shaking her head at him, sides heaving.
"I'm sorry?" Red was the picture of innocence, perfectly straight-faced, except for the mirth dancing in his eyes. "I don't follow."
"You know exactly what you're doing," she tried to glower at him, but it was not effective. His eyes locked with hers, and she could see he was struggling not to laugh. "Red…" she squeaked, trying to admonish him, but it was too funny, and her laughter overcame her again.
Red was grinning ear to ear, clearly pleased at her response.
"You look ridiculous," she gasped. It wasn't so much the shirt as it was his attitude—like he was proud of the mark, as though it were a piece of fine artwork.
"I'm just glad to be evened out," he grumbled ruefully. "I can't say I understand your penchant for marking up my neck, Lizzie."
Liz was immediately chagrined. Her eyes moved instinctively to the spot on his neck where she knew there to be a small white scar where she had once, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, punched a little silver pen through his carotid artery. Red caught the direction of her gaze and tilted his head until his face was in her line of sight.
"That was a joke," he qualified. She nodded in acknowledgement but then shook her head.
"I just can't believe I did that," she sighed.
"Which one?" Red asked innocently, then smiled wickedly at the look of annoyance she fixed on him.
"The first one," she growled. "Though I'm starting to remember why I did it…"
"Go on," Red chuckled, leaning back in his chair
"I mean, now, it would seem so…disrespectful, so cruel, to do that to you. I really didn't care at that point, or even know you…and look at all that's happened since then…it's just a stark reminder of how things change, and how first impressions can be deceiving."
"Yes," Red agreed solemnly, nodding. Then his expression shifted and he laughed to himself.
"What?" Liz asked.
"I was just considering the irony of it," he chucked and touched his neck. " A mark this side because you wanted to cause me pain, and a mark on this side to give me pleasure…I believe you've atoned for your sins, sweetheart," he cocked his head at her, tongue behind his teeth, teasing her mercilessly. "They'll cancel each other out."
Liz blushed again, burning with shame. "Good," she quipped defensively, sarcastically. "Because, I was so worried about that, you know."
"Well, I'm glad we could resolve this amicably," Red sighed. "Though it may be prudent for you to sleep in your own bed going forward, Lizzie, or next time I might leave one of these on you." He pointed to the developing hickey on his neck, his expression only humorous, not lecherous.
And there it was…a way out. Red was extending an olive branch, an opportunity to laugh the incident off and move forward without causing either of them embarrassment. She was so relieved, she didn't consider the implications of such a plan.
"Deal," she agreed. After all, she had been asleep, and she hadn't known what she was doing. She said as much to Red and he settled in to watch the news with her.
"Oh Lizzie," he rumbled deliciously, looking her straight in the eye. "You know exactly what you're doing," he winked as her in jest even as he twisted her words from earlier, and honestly the comment wasn't any different or more scandalous than any of his usual dirty quips to her…No, the difference was in her unexpected response, or rather, her body's response.
She suddenly couldn't breathe, and it seemed every ounce of her blood rushed downward to swell between her legs. The sound of his voice, low and teasing, combined with the memory of him , hard and so warm, pressed right against her…oh, she was in trouble.
Be cool, She thought, rolling her eyes at Red as she normally would at such a comment, managing to shift in her chair in a completely natural manner to accommodate the sudden rush of arousal and overwhelming desire to jump on him and lick that spot on his neck just once more…
But that would be stupid. And she was stupid to think Red would even appreciate her jumping on him like an over-eager puppy. She might be all hot and bothered over their encounter, but he clearly wasn't…Oh god, what he must have been thinking as she did those things to him! She remembered how frantically he had tried to wake her, and how she had simply continued to molest him. She was suddenly mortified and humbled—Of course he would want to laugh it off, of course he wouldn't attempt to entice her to a repeat performance; Red understood what was at stake here, and furthermore, she was foolish to think that her half-conscious gropings would be anything but amusing to him.
And the worst part of it all was how queerly disappointed she felt. She wanted to experience him, fully awake and aware of her every action and his every response. She had been so stupid to imagine Red would want to cross that boundary with her ever, and especially not under these circumstances.
After a few minutes of watching the news and seeing with some relief that they were no longer the breaking headline on every station, she cleaned up her mug and cereal dishes, taking Red's along with hers as he murmured his thanks. His fingers brushed against hers as he passed his mug. She was surprised to see him react as though he'd been electrocuted, pulling his hand away from hers immediately.
She ignored the gesture, moving smoothly to the bathroom to rinse the dishes in the sink before putting them in the tub on the shelf. That was exactly what she needed right now—Red flinching away from her like she was repulsive.
Maybe she could get away with drinking and sleeping away the rest of their time together in this hole. Things would have to get better once they were out of this place, and she had something else to focus on
The dishes taken care of, Lizzie moved over to the wine shelf. Under Red's gaze, she grabbed a bottle of white, a wine glass, then snagged one of the decks of cards. She dumped the items on her bed, grabbed the wine opener and uncorked the bottle. She poured herself an indecorously large glass of whatever it was—she hadn't bothered to look, and what did it matter?—then settled in on her own bed and began laying out the cards for a game of solitaire.
"Starting a bit early, aren't we?" Red rumbled disapprovingly.
"What else is there to do?" She sighed. "You're welcome to join me," she raised her glass in a mock cheers and took a gulp. Red shook his head disapprovingly, but Liz didn't notice or care. She was suddenly angry with him—irrationally she knew, but she couldn't seem to help it.
She sipped at her wine, not wanting to get trashed and further embarrass herself—but not wanting to be sober either, and played hand after hand of solitaire. Liz willed her mind to shut out everything except the cards in front of her and the feeling of the warmth of the alcohol in her blood.
For a while it worked. She looked up at Red only once to see what he was doing and found he was finishing Huckleberry Finn. She frowned, wishing instantly that they could finish it together with her tucked in against him, they way she had been just the night before. She missed the physical comfort he offered her, and she was annoyed at loss of it. She put her eyes back on her cards and sighed.
What could have been minutes, but was likely hours later, Red finished the book, snapped it shut, and rose from his bed. Liz looked up and watched him make a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. He smeared a large amount of both condiments on each slice of bread, then cut the sandwich in half. He bit into one half, savored it, then offered her the other half, which she accepted gratefully.
"This pairs really well," she offered weakly, holding her almost-empty wineglass in one hand and the sandwich in the other. Red smirked. He picked up the bottle from the table and cocked his head at her, silently asking if she wanted a refill. She nodded, and he took the glass from her, poured a reasonable amount of wine into it, and handed it back. Seeing an opportunity, She made sure to brush as much of her hand as she could get away with against his as she took the glass from him, only to have him recoil and let go far too soon.
The glass fell to the floor and shattered. Wine splashed everywhere. Red immediately moved to grab paper towel and sop up the mess.
"What happened?" she cried, stepping out of the way.
"Sorry about that," he covered smoothly. "I thought you had it."
"That's not why you let go," she started picking up chunks of glass. "I get that I crossed a line, and you don't want to touch me, but you don't have to treat me like leper, Red."
A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he said nothing as he continued to collect smaller pieces of glass up off the floor.
"What—is that not it?" she pressed. "What then? You're a steadier shot than I am, even when you've been drinking. You don't drop things Red," she put the last few shards into a paper towel and continued to mop up the floor. He continued to do the same, maintaining a stony silence.
"Are you angry with me?" she didn't think so, but maybe it would provoke a response. He said nothing, so she tried humor."Do you really hate white wine this much?" There! A small smile.
"Lizzie," he was trying to wave her off. "It was an accident."
"Yes, but why?" she continued. "Do you have PTSD now too? Is it because I molested you? I'm sorry, Red," she was laughing a little now, having blown the premise to ridiculous proportions. He was smiling along with her while watching her carefully. She stood, holding her paper towel full of glass shards, and moved to the trash can to dispose of them "I especially didn't mean to leave marks behind," she added with a smirk. "No wonder you're traumatized—I'm sure it was torture for you…"
She dropped the glass shards and paper towel into the trash and turned around just in time to see him come at her.
Without warning, Red pressed her back against the nearest wall with some force and held her there with the length of his own body. "Red!" she squeaked, trying to read the dark expression on his face. His hands merely closed like vices around her upper arms, and he held her to the wall
"It is torture!" he hissed directly into her ear before burying his face into her neck and inhaling deeply. "Jesus, Elizabeth," she felt his lips and his breath ghosting over the most sensitive part of her neck as he said the words. It was all she could do to not rub up against him reflexively in response. "All I can think about is your mouth on me, and your hand reaching for my cock," he shifted against her again, and she felt his erection pressing into her hip. The sensation made her moan—a sweet, needy little sound—and suddenly Red's warm velvet mouth was on hers, hard, demanding, trying his damnedest to swallow that little sound up.
She tried to kiss him back, but the second her lips moved against his, he leapt away from her as though he had been burned.
"Torture," he choked out, his eyes locked with hers. "Because we both know this can't happen."