Seriously, Blacklist? Liz pregnant with Tom's baby? Liz and Tom back together?!
That's enough of your shit, Blacklist. Enough already.
This is an extra-long chapter because I am so goddamn pissed the fuck off at how little sense this season is making, and I just had to write ALL THE THINGS before I felt like I had a good stopping point. It's also DIRTY at the end (hence the increase in rating) because it should have been Lizzington.
Also, I have never had people send me so many desperate pleas for more story. So, yay, more story.
Red had never been more grateful to flee. The bathroom wasn't much bigger than a port-a-potty, but it had a door that closed and it held the promise of at least a few moments of privacy.
Oh god, what had gotten into Lizzie? She was relentless!
He turned on the shower and methodically began to undress. He unwrapped the towel from around his waist and confirmed to his chagrin that his pajama bottoms were indeed stained with the copious results of his orgasm. He pulled them down and stepped out of them. His boxer-briefs were in an even worse state. He painstakingly separated certain tender parts of his anatomy away from the fabric to which they were glued and deftly removed the underwear itself.
He paused in removing his shirt, cringing at the memory of the way Lizzie had cried over his scars. He had foolishly never anticipated her reaching under his shirt. He'd forgotten in the moment that he even had these scars; he was so caught up in her gentle exploration and sweet morning affections…he hadn't been thinking about anything except touching her…
Idiot! he cursed under his breath and removed his shirt. Parts of the skin on his back tightened unpleasantly as he lifted the garment over his head. He ignored the twinges of pain and immediately stepped under the heated spray, groaning at how good the hot water felt against his skin.
He scrubbed himself thoroughly, trying to suppress the memory of Lizzie's touch on his flesh and feel of her mouth against his. He thought of her dirty words in his ear and the sounds she made while pressed up against him…he was suddenly hard again. He sighed in frustration.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this!
He took himself in hand to relieve his burdensome erection, knowing it was just one of many likely to occur in the near future if Lizzie kept trying to have her way with him. Red had been completely unprepared for her sudden change of heart, and he was weak and practically powerless to resist her. He was constantly under siege, having to fight his own surging desire. She would eventually break him, he knew. She would sweetly and persistently torture him, grinding on him, curling herself around him while he slept, kissing him and teasing him mercilessly until he finally snapped, ripped her clothes off, and devoured her.
He came quickly at the thought of it—a thought that was lightly sugared with the knowledge that Lizzie was actually out there, right now, waiting for him, wanting him. If he were so inclined, his fantasy could become reality in just a split second and a few paces.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned off the shower. He sighed, stepped out, and proceeded to dry himself with a towel. Then came the somewhat tedious process of moisturizing the skin on his back, shaving while the steam of the shower was still thick in the air, and other self-maintenance. He brushed and flossed, trimmed his nails, used Q-tips in his ears, and otherwise attempted to stall for as long as possible in a vain attempt to get himself together and remember why he was trying to resist Lizzie in the first place.
He forced himself to imagine life once they were out of this cozy little shelter and stuck in the thick of it. She had never seen him fully immersed in his criminal element. She had no idea how dangerous and frightening the tasks ahead of them would be. She would see things, do things, endure things that would alter her permanently. She would see him in his worst (and ironically his best) incarnation—cold-blooded and ruthless—the real Concierge of Crime. He would disgust and appall her at some point, he knew, and she would blow up at him at the worst moment, he knew, but he had no choice—he would stop at nothing to keep her safe.
And yet, he had already failed at that. She was never supposed to be here. She was never supposed to be on the run like this, to be a criminal, murderer like this. He smothered the urge to punch something in frustration. He had failed her so thoroughly. He had set this entire train in motion the second he'd surrendered himself to the FBI, and now it was completely off the rails, and completely his fault. She was meant to be his salvation, the one pure, sweet thing he could cultivate in his squalid garden of death and decay. It was all over now.
He gritted his teeth and took a few deep breaths. As frustrated as Elizabeth was sitting still down here, his levels were ten times that. He needed to move, he needed to breathe and clear his head. He needed to get away from her before she drove him insane…
But, she wanted to see the Burj Khalifa.
His breath caught at that memory—her small voice in the dark, asking for an experience with him—not just for the help she needed to clear her name, but an honest-to-goodness request to spend time with him. Something had shifted. It wasn't about protecting her anymore. It wasn't about her job and taking out Black-listers…somehow, it was now about the two of them. It was about the two of them being together.
God, it was too much. How on Earth was he going to get them both out of this? She would be the death of him. All she had to do was look at him sideways and he no longer had enough blood supply to make his mind function. Damn her for choosing exactly the wrong moment to decide she wanted to get into his pants.
He had to hold on just a little bit longer, he told himself. His associate was almost ready, and early too. Eli would let him know any moment now that it was time for them to be on the move.
Red sighed. The second they left this shelter and Lizzie rejoined the world outside, she would be reminded of all the things that really kept them apart. She would undoubtedly regret anything that occurred between them while they were down here together. He would have to pull back. He could not give her yet another reason to resent him.
So what would be his course of action?
Red took a deep breath, dressed and in control of himself once more. He had to be sure of her. He had to be sure it wasn't all circumstantial. If she still felt like this once they were together in Dubai, once they each had their own rooms and some space between them—some perspective outside of this root cellar—then, and only then, would he allow himself hope. In the meantime, he would be tentatively optimistic. If she was going to vie for his attention, he would engage her with whatever it took, distract her by any means necessary, hold her off as best he could. He could do this! He was Raymond Reddington, goddamnit.
Having made the decision and praying to whatever gods might be listening that he had the resolve to uphold it, Red tidied up and exited the bathroom.
Liz was sitting at the table, nursing a coffee. The old TV was on quietly in the background. She'd been monitoring the morning headlines. She looked up at him and smiled warmly. Red felt his heart jump in his chest, and groaned internally—He was doomed.
"Coffee," she pointed to a mug set at his place at the table.
"Thank you," he nodded, putting his dirty laundry into the laundry bag and closing it. He would take the stained clothing out and throw it away once she was in the shower.
He took his seat at the table and smiled down into his mug. He lifted it to his mouth, took an appreciative sip and sighed. His eye fell on the cereal and evaporated milk on the table. Lizzie had taken them off the shelf in a half-hearted effort to make breakfast, but it was clear from her untouched bowl and spoon that she was as sick of cereal as he was.
"As soon as we get the chance out there, let's get breakfast together, Lizzie. A real breakfast," he smiled.
"Oh, yes please," Liz sighed. "Eggs, Red!"
"And bacon," he groaned. "Home fries?" he added hopefully after a beat.
"Definitely," she concurred, grinning.
"Alright then," Red raised his cup in her direction. "We're agreed." He sighed deeply and resignedly poured some cereal into his bowl. "Anything new?" he queried, nodding towards the television.
"Our story is tasting a little stale to the media these days. We're mostly down to the scrolling headlines and the occasional update that isn't really an update," Liz grinned.
"Excellent," Red smiled back at her. "They'll be desperate to broadcast anything about us by the time the Troll Farmer is ready."
Liz nodded in acknowledgement, unsure of what else to add to the conversation. The morning's events and revelations were heavy on her mind. Red nodded back at her politely and an awkward silence fell between them.
Liz took a moment to think. The last half hour alone had been a tangled mess of too many thoughts and feelings. Sitting across from him, knowing about the scars on his back, knowing he was the one who had pulled her out of the fire that night…what could she possibly say to him now? Then, of course, there was that other whole thing this morning where she'd then jumped on him like a child and dry-humped his leg like a dog…Liz winced and grimaced, trying to shut down her own mortifying internal monologue before she could finish those thoughts. Why had she done that? The look on his face after—that look of disappointment—yes, that was going to haunt her in a cringeworthy way forever.
She could feel Red watching her intently from the other side of the table. What did he even see in her now, anyway? Wasn't she a complete joke to him at this point? With all he'd done for her…what even made her worth all this trouble?
She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, almost ready to ask him that question point blank.
"What is it, Lizzie?" he asked, setting down his mug instantly. His expression was so eager that Liz quailed, realizing that this could not possibly be the right time to have a serious conversation about what they meant to one another—especially not when he was sitting before her freshly bathed and dressed as he was, and she being still clad in her pajamas, actively combining her morning breath with her coffee breath.
"I was hoping you saved me some hot water," she subbed with a small smile. "Not that I have to ask, of course…you're such a gentleman," she teased. He accepted the compliment with a regal gesture. "Seriously though," she frowned. "I can't think of how this all would have worked with anyone else."
"I'm good in tight spaces," Red intoned.
"I believe you," Liz chuckled at the innuendo. She looked over at him fondly, and he smiled back at her. For a moment, time stood still as she committed the sweet expression on his face to memory.
"Okay," she sighed, suddenly self-conscious. "I'll be back in a minute." She stood and made her way around him, pausing briefly to press a quick kiss to the top of his head as she passed. His arm shot out and he caught her hand as she moved away. He tugged her back until she was in his line of sight once more and looked up at her peevishly.
"What was that?" he brushed his free hand over the top of head.
"A kiss?" she replied, perplexed.
"For your darling grandpa?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow, his eyes leaving hers and traveling down to her lips.
"I have coffee breath," she frowned.
"I've survived worse," he stated dryly and pulled her willingly down to him. He touched his mouth sweetly, chastely, against hers, then released her.
"Better?" she straightened and cupped the side of his face affectionately. He reached up and held her hand there for a moment, pressed against his cheek, eyes closed.
"Much," he sighed. Then pulled her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm and let her go. "Enjoy your shower, sweetheart."
Liz took her time in the bathroom for the same reasons Red had earlier—perfunctory masturbation, shaving and scouring of all offensive body parts, anxious avoidance of a significant other, and a deep need to speculate on the uncertainty of the future—Liz managed to work through all of these phases in a half hour. She arrived at the conclusion that there was no way to anticipate the actions of one, Raymond Reddington…she was simply better off letting him take the lead in this. If he wanted her to back off, if he didn't want to start anything with her now, here, then perhaps she should just…let it marinate. He would let her know when the time was right—Red did have impeccable timing, after all. She needed to savor these last days…they had nothing else to do now except spend time together. It would not be so easy in the future.
She emerged clean, clothed, and renewed in spirit. She threw her dirty clothes in with the laundry—not caring about the state of her underwear this time, but making sure it was covered up—and sat back down at the table with Red.
"Were you serious this morning when you asked if we could push the beds together?" Red inquired, immediately catching her off guard.
"What?" she choked.
"I mean it…if we push the headboards up against the wall where your bed is now, we could have all sorts of lovely space," he chuckled. "Not to mention we could watch the TV in bed together," he added.
"Oh, well then it's just practical," she commented dryly. "Let's do it."
The prospect of a project rendered them both alight with good humor. Instantly, Red was up and flipping his chair over so that the seat rested on the edge of the table. Liz stood and put her chair up as well. In unison they lifted the table and moved it out of the way. The metal bed frames were much heavier than anticipated, but they were both motivated and desperate for a mission. Liz pulled all the bedding off each bed and set it all on the table, then she pushed the table as far out of the way as possible, as quietly as possible.
"Let's bring your bed out first," Red suggested. Liz and Red each took one end of her bed frame, lifted it away from the wall, then swung it around so the headboard was against the wall instead of the side of the bed. "Good start," he grunted.
"Be careful," she wheezed. "You took a bullet to the chest just a few weeks ago."
"Oh, I'm aware," Red huffed sarcastically.
They went more slowly with Red's frame, carefully maneuvering it into position in their tiny cellar. Sliding it into place next to Liz's, headboard to the wall, they suddenly had their own king-sized bed. There was barely enough space to move around the foot of it, but it was there.
"Oh," Liz groaned, stretching, remembering her aches and pains from the night before. "This is going to be so much better."
"Agreed," Red winced and flexed in memory as well.
"I guess it also means we're sharing a bed from now on," she looked to him hesitantly for confirmation.
"I suppose it does," Red was nonchalant. He had thought on this at length while she was in the bathroom. He would not, could not, give up the feeling of having her next to him while he slept—not now that he knew what it was like. "How do you think we should make it up?" he pointed to the pile of bedding on the table, effectively cutting her off before she could inevitably question him about what it meant that they were sharing a bed.
Since they didn't have fitted sheet for a king mattress, Liz improvised and tucked one of their twin top-sheets in width-wise over the two mattresses. She then laid the other top-sheet and their two blankets width-wise over the mattresses again. The bedding was just long enough to cover everything, but too small to tuck in at the foot of the bed.
"That's alright," Red reasoned. "I don't like to be too tucked-in…makes me feel like I'm sleeping in a straightjacket."
"Have you ever actually slept in a straightjacket?" she laughed.
Red thought critically for a moment. "Not in an actual straightjacket, no. Restrained, yes. Straightjacket, no…" he paused and looked over at her. "Would you like to hear a story?"
"Yes!" she grinned. Red chuckled, then cast a slight glance around the room in distaste.
"Maybe we should tidy up first?"
They moved the table and chairs into the space where Red's bed had been. Liz grabbed a small broom with fraying bristles that was propped up against one of the shelves. She swept around the cellar, pushing the small amount of dirt and debris into a pile at the center of the room. Lacking a dustpan, Red ingeniously procured a manilla file folder from the Cabal files in his bag and held it to the floor while Liz carefully brushed the dirt onto it. Once it was thrown away, they were both very pleased with themselves. Liz took an extra moment to rearrange their supplies on the shelves and Red took the opportunity to make another French press of coffee.
Eventually they sat down at the table together, Red pulling out a chair for Liz, Liz smiling up at him in thanks. She had pulled two fresh mugs from the shelf for each of them and now handed them to him one at a time to fill. They had their routine down to a science at this point. Liz mused with a rueful grin on how their desperate hideout situation had become so homey. Her smirk drew Red's gaze, and noticing his interest, she explained, "This feels like home somehow, right now…isn't that bizarre? It's like…we're just doing a little redecorating and hanging out in our weird basement apartment on a Saturday morning."
"Yes!" he laughed in acknowledgement of the truth of it. "But you always feel like home to me, Lizzie," Red smiled adoringly at her from across the table. "So…no, I don't think it's bizarre at all."
"I feel like home to you?" she looked up at him seriously, knowing what the concept of "home" meant to a man like him—Red, who never slept in the same place for more than two nights in a row. He was instantly chastened under her gaze, as if regretting such an admission, but she ignored his implied retraction. She would file that piece of information away for now and muse on it later.
"It's because it's the fourth day," she informed him smoothly. "You've experienced this before, you said."
"Ah, yes," he brightened. "Peaceful, not a care in the world down here underground…Nice of you to listen."
"Nice of you to share."
"Yes, well…" somehow Red was at a loss for words.
"You said you were going to tell me a story?" Liz prompted, smiling into her third cup of coffee for the day. "Something about sleeping restrained?" she added, then frowned. "Wait…this isn't going to be like the dirty story I caught the tail end of in Uzbekistan, is it? You covered in vaseline and no sheets? If so, I'll pass," she muttered.
"No, no," Red piped up cheerfully. "It's a delightful story about torture."
"Oh, goody," Liz groaned.
"Yes, I was in Burkina Faso…" Red proceeded to tell Liz a grisly, complicated story of how he and Dembe had been in the process of negotiating a weapons deal with a fierce local tribe caught up in a turf war, or some such nonsense, when the opposing parties had taken it upon themselves to disrupt negotiations by kidnapping Red and Dembe and holding them for days. "Wrists shackled over our heads. No food and just barely a swallow of water between sessions with their leader. The man had a bear taser that made me piss myself twice, but somehow it barely tickled Dembe," Red chuckled. "The man is sweating, screaming in poor Dembe's face, giving him the juice again and again, and Dembe barely even blinks," Red chuckled darkly at the memory. "Smiles, infuriatingly, right at him."
Liz shuddered and shook her head. "How did you escape?"
"One day, the leader brings in a rusty wire mattress frame and a car battery. Dembe's lack of response to his favorite torture method has him pissed, and he's not thinking straight. The second they unshackled Dembe to lash him to that frame, he broke two guard's necks and had the leader in a choke hold, like lightening," Red snapped his fingers in emphasis and closed his eyes almost blissfully as he reminisced. "There Dembe was, just zapping him with that bear taser, over and over, almost playfully, until the man finally passed out and we could both escape."
"And you were just tied up the whole time, watching?" Liz laughed.
"Well, it was only polite to wait…not that it took long," Red chuckled. "Besides, I was thoroughly entertained."
Liz smiled and shook her head at him. Then she sobered and frowned in thought.
"How do you do it?" she shivered, serious at once. "Go through an experience like that and then just …shake it off?" Red didn't answer right away. Liz went on, "When you've been through so much—at what point does it stop being terrible and become a funny story you tell a girl on a lazy Saturday morning? A war story?"
"It takes time." Red stated. "Time, and distance created by all the wonderful memories and experiences I make in between then and now, Lizzie. I may have been tortured, repeatedly left for dead in some of the dankest, most foul places in the world, and I can't say I haven't done the same or worse to others, blackening my soul at both ends as it were," his mouth worked furiously for a moment and he looked away from her, then down at the floor. "However," he continued, looking up at her almost beseechingly. "I believe in redemption, Lizzie. I've put concerted effort into making up for when I couldn't be kind or conservative with my actions. I want to do as much good as I can, Lizzie. A monster like me needs to experience everything this beautiful, terrible world has to offer…it's the only way I can save myself, it's the only way I can live with myself."
They were both silent for a moment.
"That's what the Blacklist is, then?" Liz murmured eventually, stunned and a little sad. "It's your redemption?"
"In a way," Red replied to the floor. "But to answer your original question, the only way to make that transition, the best way to lessen that trauma, is to live as well as you can for as long as you can, sweetheart. Don't deny yourself. Take every opportunity that comes your way to make your heart race for all the right reasons…and then remember that's what you're meant for when it's racing for all the wrong ones."
His voice was so gentle and his expression so bleak, it nearly broke her heart. Liz could only nod and blink back tears. After a minute, she bolstered her courage and attempted her own war story.
"Remember Luther Braxton?" she tried to adopt a hearty, macho tone, but she blubbered embarrassingly. Red smiled sadly but played along.
"Oh poor Luther…the poor man was in way over his head from the start!" he chuckled convincingly and motioned for her to continue. Liz took a breath.
"Before he decided to try hypnotherapy, he waterboarded me for hours, trying to get me to tell him where the Fulcrum was," Liz quavered, but she managed to tilt her head jauntily. "But at the time, I had no idea. Not a clue. And even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered, because all I could think about was the near-certainty that you were dead."
A muscle twitched in Red's cheek.
"He was in the room with me when you called. You had excellent timing, by the way…It was a nice break, you know, from all the torture," she managed to quip. Red smiled politely, but his hands on the table were fisted tightly, his knuckles white and practically. popping out from beneath the skin. Liz quietly reached over the table and put her hand over his, calming him. "I had a moment to catch my breath, get my bearings and listen in," she grinned up at him suddenly. "I knew it was you. He didn't say your name—he didn't have to—I just knew," she laughed softly. "The relief I felt, Red," she sighed. "The sheer, euphoric relief…you were alive! Everything was going to be okay!" she laughed and fresh tears sprang into her eyes. He gripped her hand between his and squeezed. "And I knew you were mad as hell, and I knew you were coming for me," she smirked knowingly and Red chuckled in response. "I knew whatever he did to me next, you would repay him five times as hard. Whatever came next, I could endure it, because you were okay, and you were going to save me. It was such a pure, sharp moment…" she trailed off and looked Red straight in the eye. "It was the moment I knew how much I cared about you, it was so much worse," she was crying again, goddamnit, "thinking you were dead—it was literally worse than being water-boarded," she exhaled shakily and pulled her hand away from Red's to wipe her face. He handed her a piece of paper towel and she used it as a tissue.
"Lizzie," he crooned. "Is that true?"
"Yeah, well," Liz frowned at him and shook her head. "It's why I was so devastated later to learn that you were there the night of the fire…that you were maybe only in my life because of the Fulcrum—that I couldn't trust you the way I wanted to…that it was too risky to care about you." she paused. "And you never exactly reassured me that wasn't the case at the time…in fact, you have obnoxiously, actively discouraged me from caring about you on more than one occasion…"
"I truly regret how those events transpired, but I can't change the past, Lizzie," Red muttered, frustrated at the unpleasant shift in the conversation. "I never wanted you to bear the burden of knowing about that night, much less the role I played in it…Why are you telling me this now?"
"I just realized, Red," she sighed. "Out of that whole wretched experience, of all the horrible moments I can remember from that time, that good moment is the one I think about the most. That one blissful moment outshines all of the dark ones," she smiled over at him warmly. "So…you're right about the power of good experiences. For once, I know exactly what you mean."
Neither of them spoke for a moment, both processing her words.
"You know," she added after a beat, squeezing his hand to get his attention and not letting go. "This is going to make a great story once we get out of here…We'll be having a drink with our friends or something someday, and I'll say, 'Hey, remember that time we went on the run together and spent that whole week hiding out in that root cellar under the bar?'"
"And played cards for hours, then drank each other under the table for days?" Red crowed and threw his head back as he laughed, corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.
"And you found those Belgian chocolates and read me Huckleberry Finn?" she smiled softly. "How you held me when I had those nightmares…" she shuddered, remembering, then grinned at him cheekily. "…And how we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"
"Come here, Lizzie," Red suddenly held out his hand to her.
She stood and moved around the table. His expression focused at once. He rose to pull her unceremoniously into his arms and held her fiercely.
"Waking up from being bombed unconscious in that wretched prison and finding out that he'd taken you? That was my worst nightmare come to life," he muttered gruffly into her ear. "I was a wreck until I found you," his arms wrapped tightly around her whole body. "And when I found you…oh, Lizzie," he whispered, "The relief I felt—the sheer, euphoric relief…" he was repeating her words from earlier, infusing them with new life and feeling. She clutched at him in response. "You were alive, everything was going to be okay!"
She sniffed, blinked away a fresh set of tears, and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her closer, if that was possible. She leaned into the embrace and relaxed against him.
"Whatever happened to Mr. Braxton?" she sighed.
"I strung him up by his neck and left him in The Director's living room," Red chuckled, still holding her close, almost swaying with her against him. Liz shuddered but admired the symmetry of it—Braxton had taken her breath and Red had taken his. "It was a desperate play at the time…I didn't have the Fulcrum, but I needed him to believe I did. I had to threaten him, then beg him to call my bluff."
"And there I was holding onto it the whole time, no idea you were trying to stop the Cabal from coming down on all of us, not knowing the danger, watching you get shot in the street…" she choked back a sob and suddenly pushed him away from her angrily. "You really need to communicate better," she snapped. "That's exactly the kind of thing that's going to fuck us up out there…I need to know the whole story from now on. I can't trust you like I want to when you withhold information and manipulate me."
"Lizzie," he held his hands up and attempted to placate her.
"No!" she snarled. "Maybe you were trying to protect me before, and maybe before all of this, I still had some innocence left to protect, but it's different now. It has to be different now, Red," she started pacing the length of the bed behind her and shaking her head as she ranted.
Red put his hands into his pockets and sighed in frustration. Of course she would come to this conclusion, of course she would want to do it the hard way—she couldn't just let him handle the unpleasant things! She had to insist on getting her hands dirty too, goddamnit.
"You have to let me in," Liz continued insistently, her blue eyes boring into his green ones. "You have to teach me, Red! You have to train me! If you really care about me, you won't let me go into this blind."
"That's enough," he suddenly hissed, ripping his hands from his pockets and taking a step towards her. "We are past the point where you accuse me of not caring about you, Elizabeth. I am sick to death of hearing you hurl that particular disparagement in my direction every time you're upset with me!"
It was the loudest he had ever raised his voice to her, and she shrank back instinctively from both the force of it and the sting of his truth, her expression stricken. Red immediately froze and then looked down at the floor in shame.
"I'm sorry ," he ground out between his teeth. "But…"
"No, you're right. Touché," she tried to joke, flooded with guilt. "I'm no saint either, I get it." She moved towards him quickly and put her arms around his torso, squeezing tight with her face pressed into his chest. "I know you care," she whispered fiercely. "I know you care, Red. I'm so glad you care, so grateful. You wanted to be my sin-eater, and you did everything you could to keep me on the straight and narrow path and give me a normal life."
He sighed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.
"I tried," he replied gruffly.
"You did good," she admonished. "But things have changed," she pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "You can't be my protector anymore. We have to be partners, equals. We're both vulnerable here. We're both adults. I can handle it, if you teach me how."
"Teach you how?" Red sighed. "Lizzie…"
"No, no," she cut him off. "I'm already learning from you. It's too late. You're always telling me I need to be more adaptable and loosen up. Now I know about the power of positive experiences and their role in overcoming trauma…see Red?" she smiled up at him teasingly. "I understand now why you're always up for a drink and a dance, even if we're in the middle of fighting for our lives!" she snorted and he smirked. "I promise, from now on, I'm not even going to frown at you disapprovingly for that type of thing…I might even join you!" she gasped dramatically.
"Don't assume my glib behavior is all in the name of self-redemption and strategic coping mechanisms, Lizzie," he chuckled. "I'm also a callous bastard."
"Yeah, but you're my callous bastard," she sighed. "And I care about you, so I'm tasked with making things work out between us, and so are you…what do you say? Can we start fresh? Go forward as a dynamic duo? I need to know now."
"Lizzie, there are going to be times I can't tell you things for your own good, for your own peace of mind, sweetheart. That's just how it is," Red sighed, cringing internally at the idea of her knowing everything, of telling her everything. Surely she would run from him…it seemed inevitable.
"It's my welfare and my peace of mind. I choose what I get to know and what I don't," she snapped back defiantly. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Hey, you're welcome to try and dissuade me, convince me that what I want to know is dangerous or will likely just devastate me—I'm not saying I won't listen, I'm saying from now on, I get to choose whether or not I want it. You can't keep things from me anymore. Please…" she was almost pleading and he was panicking. "I know it goes against all of your instincts, but I also know that "protecting me" is sometimes just a way for you to keep your distance from me, but no more, Red," she leaned in to make her point. "I care about you. I want to be close to you. I want to know everything. I want to know you. You can do this. We can do this!" she kissed his neck, his jawline, his cheek, but stopped once she got to his mouth. "Say that you'll try—It's new for both of us," she touched her lips to one corner of his mouth. "Just imagine—a future where we don't have to constantly be such antagonistic pains in the ass to one another!" she whispered gleefully against his skin, earning his rueful chuckle. "We can be pain in the ass criminals to everyone else!"
"Elizabeth," he sighed, trying to be serious. "I will attempt to be more forthcoming…but you have to understand that this is my world, and out here you are nothing more than a delicate morsel in a pit of vipers—what reassurances do I have that you won't stick to past precedent and just ignore me if I say something is too dangerous, then charge out there and do whatever the hell you want? Stubborn minx," he growled, staring her down and sliding his hands up, over her hips to grip either side of her waist, possessive and restraining. She had to breathe through the rush of blood and heat that washed over her in response. She could not be distracted now.
"I've learned my lesson there too, I think," she breathed. "I know I've been reckless, let my emotions get the better of me, thrown tantrums even…people are dead now because of my childish behavior," she cringed with shame and sighed. "Though to be fair," she added after a beat "I haven't always been working with all the available information," she grumbled. "But if you tell me 'no,' in the future, I expect full explanation as to why."
Red's mouth worked for a moment as he considered her wishes.
"I will…try," he bit out.
"Me too," she nodded. "I'll try too."
"How reciprocal of you," he smirked. "Very quid pro quo."
"Mmm, yes" she agreed, focusing her attention on his mouth. "If someone does something to you, sometimes it's only fair that you do it back to them."
She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, and Red—never failing to give as good as he got—unhesitatingly returned the kiss. Liz savored his joyful compliance and the feel of him against her. His lips were firm but in no hurry, and he spent several minutes simply enjoying the feel of her mouth on his before deepening the kiss, pulling her against him and nimbly brushing the tip of his tongue against hers. Liz responded enthusiastically, but had no intention of pushing him for anything more than a kiss. She was pleasantly surprised when Red began to gently urge her to step backwards until her calves were pressed against the side of their new shared bed.
"It's funny you should say that," he murmured into her mouth, cupping her face with his hands.
"What?" she had forgotten words entirely.
"If someone does something to you, sometimes it's only fair that you do it back to them." he mimicked her and she laughed. "The thing is, Lizzie, you did something to me this morning, and I think now it's only fair that I do it back to you."
"Red, wha…" she couldn't even finish her question before he pushed her playfully down onto the mattress. She sprawled ungracefully on the flat of her back, and looked up at him in surprise and pleasure. His expression was focused, acquisitive. Liz could feel the heated paths his eyes trailed across her body as he surveyed her, observed the way she was spread out before him. She shuddered and felt the space between her legs contract in anticipation.
He wasted no time, following her down, covering her body with his own, kissing her over and over again while she writhed beneath him with abandon, glorying in his touch, reveling, doing her best to pass as much of the pleasure he was giving her back to him. He groaned into her mouth as she moved against him in that naughty, provocative way she seemed to have a special knack for. Noting his response, she did it again. trying to wrap one of her legs around his hip for leverage, but this time he grabbed her hips and pressed them into the mattress, immobilizing her.
"No," he growled. "Not this time." He moved upwards and sucked her earlobe into his mouth, worrying the delicate, sensitive flesh with his teeth as she squirmed and cried out underneath him. "This is payback, Elizabeth,"
"Payback?" she giggled "For what?"
"For this morning…" he grunted, pinning both her hands over her head with one of his, effectively ceasing her efforts to touch him. "You, now…I'm going to make you…" He was incoherent and didn't finish his sentence, choosing instead to bury his face in her hair and breathe deep, trying to regain a measure of control. He was half on top of her, pinning her beneath him and exploring what remained exposed with his other hand. He cupped her breast, squeezed, and then slid the palm of his hand over her ribs and across the smooth length of her stomach. She arched purposefully into his touch, moving against him despite his efforts to keep her still, to keep himself in check, and felt his breathing hitch above her. He removed his face from her hair and then buried it in her neck. "Lizzie," he hissed against sensitive skin. "I'm going to make you mine."
"I'm already yours," she whispered back teasingly, turning her head to press a kiss to his jawline.
"No," he shook his head against her neck. "You're in my head every minute…"
"You're in mine too," she interjected, but he pulled back to catch her gaze and shake his head again.
"No sweetheart…I'm consumed—constantly wanting to be near you, hear your voice, smell your perfume…" he buried his face into her neck again to do just that and groaned. "You've ruined me," he chuckled ruefully, "but it's all right, because I plan to reciprocate."
"Ruin me, Red?" she laughed, encouragingly. "But can't we both…?" she started to ask, but his insistent hand was inside the elastic waistband of her pants, into her panties and stroking between her legs before she could finish whatever irrelevant thought she was about to vocalize.
"Oh Lizzie," he purred, and she could tell from the entire lack of friction and wealth of sensation elicited as he slid the pads of his middle fingers over her clit, that she was embarrassingly wet—practically dripping. "Is this really for me?" he stilled his hand and raised his head to meet her gaze, grinning foolishly in disbelief and amazement. She laughed and freed one of her hands to pull him in by the collar for a kiss. "I'm so flattered!" he crooned into her ear when she finally pulled away. He looked down at her adoringly. She smiled up at him happily, blue eyes shinning in the dim light. He took a moment to memorize the expression on her face and the feel of her hand on the back of his neck, gently stroking. "You're beautiful," he sighed.
She laughed softly and blushed under the intensity of his gaze. He was driving her insane, watching her intently while pressing his fingers lightly along the length of her clit, refusing to move them, to add the friction she craved. She could move—rub herself against him if she wanted—but that would be desperate and he would not be pleased. This was a game of delayed gratification, she knew, and she would not be the first one to cave.
"You're handsome," she murmured back to him.
"Do you really think so?" he rested his chin on her left breast and looked up at her adoringly.
"Yes," she groaned, looking up to the ceiling for strength. When she looked down at him again, he was watching her knowingly.
"You never talk sweet to me, Lizzie…say more nice things," he grinned suggestively, simultaneously fishing for compliments and letting her know he would pay her back in kind. His fingers didn't budge. He was waiting. Liz rolled her eyes at his newly set terms, but complied.
"You smell wonderful," she sighed sincerely, and he chuckled. "I don't know what cologne or aftershave that is, but it's amazing…" she leaned forward and pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in deep before placing a few chaste kisses up the side and along his jawline. He groaned and leaned into her
"What else?" he growled into the shell of her ear before nuzzling down the side of her neck and lightly dipping his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone at the base. She gasped and felt a fresh rush of liquid heat between her legs. She growled in frustration and slammed one fisted hand on the mattress.
"You…you're…" she tried to think of something else to say, some other compliment, but his mouth was hot in just the right spot on her neck, and his fingers, while not moving, were pressed right along the seat of what felt like her entire nervous system. Grinding her teeth together and trying to focus, she managed to ground out "…really smart."
She felt his breath against her neck as he slumped a little and chuckled silently against her.
"Really smart?" he echoed, looking up at her, amusement written all over his face. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Red, you're killing me," she nearly panted, ashamed at how breathless and needy her tone was . "I can't think, much less talk with your hand down my pants…please!"
She swore she felt him shudder against her pleasurably in reaction to her pleading, but his expression only grew more impish.
"You're right, how rude of me," he intoned mischievously and began to pull away from her.
"No!" she cried, gripping his arm, trying to make him remain in place. "Don't stop!"
"Oh no?" he grinned at her evilly. "Well now I'm confused."
"You're a lot of things," she grumbled. "Confused isn't one of them." She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.
Red quirked an eyebrow at her, still grinning, still pressing his fingers in just the right spot, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You're right, Lizzie. I know exactly what I'm doing."
He finally slid the pads of his fingers unhesitatingly across her center and was rewarded with her cry of pleasure and surprise. He stifled his answering groan into the curve of her neck and settled into a rhythm with his fingers, working her over and over again while she squirmed and cried out against him. She surprised him, cupping his face to pull him away from her neck and kissing him hard, moaning into his mouth and clutching at him almost desperately.
He was painfully hard, pressed against her hip, but he ignored his own arousal, and focused on committing every sound she made, every caress and press of her body against his own, to memory. She was soft and pliant beneath him, slick and hot and sweet. She was panting and crying in time with his fingers…it was everything he'd ever wanted, ever hoped for, to have her like this underneath him…and he hadn't even removed her clothes.
"Red," she whimpered, bringing him back to the present. "You feel so good…" The look he gave her—eyes dark with lust, and promise—made her shiver beneath him. She leaned up and fastened her mouth to the side of his neck, passing her lips, teeth and tongue ever-so-lightly over the spot where she'd marked him with that pen. He groaned and she felt his fingers pause briefly against her, and after a moment, he remembered himself and started again, working slick, furious circles that made her vision blur. She smiled against his skin and kissed the side of his neck once more, pulling his chest to hers and wrapping her arms around him. "Red," she moaned into his ear, knowing it was making him crazy to hear her talk to him while he did this to her. "You're going to make me cum…"
"Lizzie," he growled, pressing her chest back down into the mattress and increasing the speed of his fingers, smiling as her eyes rolled back into her head, and swallowing the sweet breathy little sounds she made with his mouth over hers. She was moving against him again, bucking her hips into his hand, almost gone. With his weight on one elbow, he reached and pulled down the neckline of her shirt and the soft-cupped bra beneath, exposing her creamy breast to the air. She groaned in approval, and when he quickly took her rosy nipple into his mouth and sucked it taut, she cried out—almost screamed—and bucked against him, hovering over the edge at the sudden onslaught of sensation. It was so good…and she was so close.
He didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He could stroke her, nibble her, feast on her for days if he had to. This was heaven, as far as he was concerned. And the fact that she was allowing this? Allowing him to touch her like this? Demanding it, even? He groaned and pressed himself against her again.
"Put your fingers inside me," she whispered to him with that wonderfully, delightfully dirty mouth of hers, rendering him speechless and completely dick dumb. When he didn't comply right away, she pressed her hip directly into his groin, right up against his swollen cock, and he bucked against her involuntarily. "Red, please?" she added with a small laugh.
His eyes met hers, watched her intently, observing her expression as he slowly slid both his index and middle fingers into her. She shuddered, closing her eyes. He felt her clench around his fingers, heard her desperate little moans as she moved herself ever-so-slightly along them. Her expressions and reactions to him were so real, so earnest, Red shook his head in disbelief, overjoyed at his sheer dumb luck that she should want him this badly.
"Oh sweetheart, you're so tight," he moaned, pressing his forehead to her bare breast and gritting his teeth. He couldn't stop thinking about how wonderful it would feel to bury his aching cock into her…how snug and slick she would feel around him. "Tell me this is good for you…" he breathed, pleading. "Please, Lizzie!" he rasped.
"So good," Liz managed to pant as he swirled his fingers inside of her and then deliberately pressed the pad of his thumb against her center. She bucked her hips against him then and made a strangled sound deep in her throat. He pulled her mouth to his roughly, kissed her hard, deep, and when he pulled away, she put her hand on the back of his neck and whispered earnestly into his ear, "So good, Red!"
Something inside him snapped. He growled something obscene into her collarbone, then returned his mouth to her nipple to suckle and tease the sensitive nub in time to the rhythm of his thumb on her clit and his fingers inside her. He'd made a crude comment to her once about his knowledge of the g-spot, and it was time he showed her he wasn't all talk. He pressed his fingers inside her, swirled them just there.
"Red," she keened and rocked against him.
"Yes, sweetheart, let it happen!" he encouraged her breathlessly against her skin.
Her vision was blurring, the pressure was building, and she was past the point of no return. "Oh Red, fuck…yes…yes!…" she gripped his shoulders and came apart in his hand, crying out, kissing him, clutching at him and clenching at his fingers inside her over and over again in the most pleasurable way possible. She shuddered and shivered mindlessly against him, and when she was finally spent, collapsed beneath him and stared up at him in wonder, gasping for air.
He gently, slowly removed his fingers from her sex, and she sighed at the loss. His eyes caught hers and dared her to look away as he slid those same fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, groaning in delight as her savored the taste of her cum, his expression positively lascivious.
"You're delicious," he whispered.
"Thank you," she blushed at his display, aroused and pleased by his compliment and comfort with her body. She vaguely conjectured that he might do some absolutely scandalous things to her with his mouth later, and grinned wickedly at the thought. His eyes narrowed and he grinned knowingly back at her. She reached up and pulled his face to hers, pressed her mouth to his, and slid her tongue as sensuously over his as she could manage, wondering if she could still taste herself on him. She couldn't, but the sound he made, and the way he moved against her and reminded her that he was still hard and pressed against her hip, made the effort very well worth it.
She interlaced her leg with his, and before he could realize what she meant by it, she used it as leverage to roll over on top of him and straddle his midsection.
"Lizzie," he muttered warningly as she slid her body downward to grind her still-clad sex against the hard length in his jeans. He grabbed her hips with his hands, desperate to stop her before things went too far. "Lizzie, I swear to you I only meant to reciprocate…not initiate."
"You're kidding," she reached down and gripped his wrists, knowing that he could break free at any moment, reveling in the fact that he was choosing not to. "That was way beyond mere reciprocation!" She settled her weight down on his hips, above the erection snaking its way down his left leg, sitting astride him and using her weight on top of him to keep him in place. "It's my turn now." He was not getting away this time.
Red was still gripping her hips, eyes closed tight, holding on for dear life and fighting a clearly loosing battle to keep himself in check. Liz watched him struggle, watched the emotions passing back and forth across his face. She waited calmly, quietly, for him to settle and begin what she knew would be his usual arguments against further intimacy between them.
She reached down between them and cupped him through his jeans without warning. He jumped and twitched against the palm of her hand as she touched him for the first time and fondled his promising length through the denim fabric. His eyes found hers, found her watching him aptly with great interest as she did this to him, and he groaned involuntarily before coming to his senses and striking like a cobra between them to grab at the hand massaging his cock.
"Lizzie, please," he pulled her hand away from him and brought it up to his chest, clutching it hard. "I can't do this."
"All evidence to the contrary," she smirked and proceeded to sit astride him again, almost-but-not-quite above the referenced "evidence." She sat up straight and took his hand in hers. As he watched, she slid it up against her cheek and pressed her face into his palm affectionately. His expression softened immediately.
"It's not that I don't want to, sweetheart," he chuckled, cupping her face with both hands and bringing her down for a brief kiss. "Never that," he sighed.
"Then what ?" she heaved dramatically, and laid her upper body down along his chest. Her face was in his neck and seeking the little white spot that marked him as hers. She kissed it gently once, and then again with an open mouth and a graze of teeth. He shivered, recognizing the significance of her maneuver—dominant, possessive, claiming—and she was doing it to him!
He groaned, and she chuckled, attacked him once again, ran her mouth over his neck, ran her hands over his chest, slid herself down and ground herself all over his erection. He was alert, but restrained beneath her, clasping her sides, seemingly incapable of stopping her but simultaneously unable to participate in her un-doing.
"Lizzie," he croaked, pleadingly. Her fingers found his nipples through his t-shirt and she pinched them, teasingly rolling them between her fingers while he squirmed and twitched beneath her. "Oh, sweetheart, I can't!" She kissed him full on the mouth then, demanding, insistent.
"You can, and you will," she growled and lifted the front of his shirt to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lower stomach.
"Lizzie," He groaned, trying to pull his shirt down with one hand and pull her back up with the other. It was no use. She brushed his hands away, ripped up his shirt once more and proceeded to trace a figure eight with her tongue on his stomach. The top loop of the eight encircled his navel, and Red made a sound she'd never heard from him before, followed by a strangled "Lizzie!" She smiled and chuckled against the soft flesh of his stomach and reached down once again to put her hand firmly on his cock. "Elizabeth!" he cried out desperately, his voice cracking on the first vowel. He looked down at her in panic, shocked and too aroused to think clearly. She met his gaze, smiled wickedly, and began to unbutton his jeans. She made him watch, eyes never leaving his face as she pulled the button free, located his zipper and began to slide it down the length of his fly, daring him to stop her.
He didn't.
He was powerless, completely defenseless. He'd gone too far, and now they were over the cliff. He let out a few disbelieving huffs of laughter at the ceiling that this was actually happening…that the moment was actually here. His pants were completely undone, and she looked up at him for a response, for direction. He could only stare at her pleadingly, too unworthy and conflicted, unable to ask her for more, unwilling to beg her not to stop, to pleaseLizzieplease! He could only wait in awe of her next move…
She slid up him once again and put her mouth on his, lightly, testing the waters of his resistance…and he kissed her back, god help him, he kissed her back. And it was glorious. And it was all the confirmation she needed.
She slid back down the length of his body slowly, deliberately, and his delighted "Lizzie!" was ringing gloriously in her ears. He sounded amazed, he sounded reverent. She grinned and laughed at his unabashed enjoyment of her. It made her bold and she used that feeling to reach down between them, slide her fingers beneath the elastic of his silk boxers and grip the base of his cock firmly.
She barely had a moment to register the feel of him over the sound he made. He reached up to grip her shoulders, not to hinder, just reflexively to connect and hold onto her, as though his entire world had been dissolved by the feel of her small hand wrapped around his dick.. She moaned along with him and had just enough time to take in how hard he was, how thick and hot, and velvety smooth the skin of his cock was, stretched tight beneath her fingers and against her palm, and the way he twitched when she squeezed him playfully, and cried out, and fucking writhed beneath her…oh god…
A knock sounded at the door up above.
They both froze in sudden terror, and Red suddenly hissed, "It's 4:30, Lizzie—it's Eli!"
I promise, the next chapter won't take so long. And I delight for comments.