Speaking of boner-killers…Watching Red clutching a dead Liz's hand to his cheek, completely devastated? Yeah, that'll kick you right in the feels—it completely drained me of my will to write.
And then that finale. I mean…really? Liz was in on it? It's so cruel. Why do I even watch this show?
Because I'm addicted. I'm addicted to Cracklist and James Spader.
I'm sorry this took so long. Here you go, Frosty Fingers.
"Dammit," Liz pulled away quickly, sighing deeply in disappointment as she did so. Red could only shake his head in disbelief at the timing of it all as he adjusted himself and zipped up his jeans. She watched him, disappointment clear in her expression. Their gazes met and he immediately cupped his hand around the back of her head, pulling her lips against his lightly.
"Later," he grumbled huskily before burying his nose in the curve of her neck, inhaling and taking one last hit of her scent.
"Later," she whispered back, grinning. It was a promise.
Regretfully, Liz stood up first and efficiently straightened her clothes. Red promptly slid off the bed behind her, chuckling a bit, and when she turned to see why, he pointed to them both and muttered, "We're still both completely dressed."
"Not for lack of trying," she grinned and shook her head.
He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed by, quickly grabbing the bag of dirty laundry and towels and climbing up the steep stairs to the door at the top.
Red unlatched it and greeted Eli politely, thanking him as he handed over the laundry and accepted the bag of clean clothing and towels. Liz moved to the bottom of the stairs to take the bag and wave up at Eli. She unpacked it and put the contents in their proper places while Eli gave Red a quick update. She tried to listen in, but their voices were too hushed. She quickly ran into the bathroom to catch a glimpse of her appearance before attempting to join Red at the top of the stairs and was glad she did—she was not fit for company, being simultaneously tear-stained from the the emotional conversation earlier and sexed-up from the activities that had followed. She smiled ruefully at her reflection in the mirror.
She took the moment to use the bathroom and clean herself up a bit—Red's clever fingers and unyielding enthusiasm had certainly accomplished results. She sat quietly for a few minutes after using the toilet, enjoying some time to herself to replay the afternoon in her head over and over again, savoring her new memories of them.
She grinned stupidly at the floor, giddy over the prospect of a meal and another night together with Red—on their new bed. They could watch the tiny black and white TV together, maybe put it on in the background while they lounged and played cards, and drank and talked late into the night with the noise of the bar overhead…maybe he'd let her get to third base, maybe not, but she could guarantee that tonight, at the very least, she would get to fall asleep in his arms, wrapped up in his embrace, safe in their strange, one-room, underground world.
She couldn't wait.
There were footsteps almost directly above her, as the bathroom was beneath and behind the staircase. She heard Red come back down the stairs. She stood and washed her hands at the tiny sink, studying her reflection again in the mirror. There was no make-up in her bag of toiletries, but she'd had a chapstick on her when they fled. She used it now on her slightly swollen mouth to great effect and dropped it back into her bag. She missed her mascara and her perfume, especially down here in front of him. When they got out of here, she would have to procure some; come at this experience as he did—all tops and tails.
She was brushing out her hair when Red's hurried feet on the stairs above startled her terribly. What on Earth?
She had left him, left him out there alone with the door above wide open…
She bolted from the bathroom, believing immediately that something was wrong, and came around to the bottom of the staircase in a flash. Realizing furiously that her gun was on the other side of the room, Liz cursed herself for letting her guard down.
She looked up at Red in a panic and saw that he was at the top of the stairs, merely attempting to grapple with a large, clearly heavy cardboard box. Sighing a deep breath of relief and feeling foolish, Liz moved up the stairs to help.
"Are you alright?" he asked, setting the box down on the top step and reaching down for her hand. "You're white as a sheet."
"I'm fine," she shook her head ruefully. "let's just say this all sounds a lot more scary inside the bathroom."
"Ah," Red nodded in understanding, then laughed. "Thank you for rushing to my aid, Lizzie."
"No problem," she shivered uneasily, trying to shake the bad feelings, laugh with him at the thought of her trying to go all white knight on the situation—but she couldn't quite shake it off. They were vulnerable. They were still incredibly vulnerable, and she had forgotten that fact—she had left Red out here alone while the door above was open.
How had she even thought to leave her partner alone while the door was open—much less actually do it? It was beyond her. She was horrified, slapped in the face with harsh reality. Murderer, criminal , fugitive.
"How can I help?" she cleared her throat. Red was gripping her hand tightly and staring at her intently with concern. "I'm fine, I promise…I was spooked," she admitted. "Give me something to do, please," she squeezed his hand and released it. "This box looks heavy."
"It's actually a case of wine!" Red accepted her redirection and opened it up to show her the foiled bottle-tops nesting in their cardboard packing. "There are twelve bottles in here—can you grab a few off the top?"
"Yup," she plucked the top six bottles and ran downstairs to put them on the shelf, then ran back up and repeated the gesture with the last six. Red met her then at the bottom of the stairs with two bottles of scotch balanced precariously atop another large cardboard produce box.
"More provisions!" he handed her the box with a wink and took the scotch bottles off it. He set the scotch on the table and went straight back up the stairs. Liz laughed at his enthusiasm and opened the produce box. The first thing she saw inside was a netted bag of fresh oranges and several other pieces of fresh fruit—fruit with peels and rinds that would keep well down here.
Red nimbly made his way back downstairs with yet another box of supplies.
"Look, we won't get scurvy!" she quipped, holding up the bag of oranges.
"Marvelous," he laughed. "We may get fat, however. Look in this one."
"Ooh," Liz lifted the lid. "Snacks!"
"Junk," Red muttered and shook his head. But he still chuckled at the sight of Lizzie joyously clutching a package of double-stuff Oreos and bag of potato chips as though they were her long lost friends reunited.
And then they were back up the stairs to meet Eli once more. Red passed down each of their dinner trays with a wink and a grin, and Liz saw immediately to her delight that Eli had made them the succulent bacon cheeseburgers once again. She brought the trays down and set them on their table, then practically flew back up the stairs to thank Eli profusely while he smiled in pleasure.
Red made the last trip upstairs to the door and bid Eli good night—a sentiment Liz echoed up the stairs as they closed up the heavy hidden panel together and locked it tight.
Liz moved to the wall to arrange the wine bottles on the shelf. She studied each label curiously, wondering what wines Red had selected or requested along with his bottles of scotch. Eli wouldn't bring Red just anything—this was the good stuff. Some bottles were the same Malbec from Argentina, and the another three…Bordeaux with labels all in French. All red wine, of course. She rolled her eyes.
"Bring over a Malbec, Lizzie," Red implored, setting his tray down on the table as well. She quickly grabbed two glasses and the corkscrew and did as he requested. Only when she turned to face him did she realize he had brought an additional black duffle bag back downstairs, and was setting it on the corner of their bed. Cold fear suddenly stuck her, raising gooseflesh on her arms and legs. She set the wine and glasses on the table and nodded towards the bag.
"What's in there?"
"Weapons, some items that may be of use to us when we're ready to go, a few of these," Red held up a little black burner phone and Liz was sick over the sudden, inexplicable wave of raw fear that hit her at the sight of that little phone and the thought of all it represented. It hadn't even occurred to her yet to ask Red to relay the update he'd received from Eli; maybe they weren't about to have a cozy little evening together—for all she knew, they could be moving out of here tonight!
She sat down at the table, swallowing thickly, and began to peel the foil off the bottle of wine. That done, she uncorked it quickly and poured a glass for each of them. If Red had asked her to open wine and just restocked their hideout with fresh provisions, they probably weren't leaving tonight. She needed to calm herself.
"When are we going?" she managed to ask, choking back tears over the impending loss of this stupid little cellar sanctuary. The thought of leaving was immediately enormous and far too heavy to bear.
Suddenly her vision blurred and she couldn't catch her breath. She gasped for air, taking in shallow lungful after lungful, but it wasn't enough. She immediately put her head between her knees and attempted to breathe deeply. She was so foolish. She had forgotten the danger—they weren't safe. Things might never be safe again.
"Oh, Lizzie!" Red was on his knees next to her immediately, running his palms over the length of her back and stroking her hair. "What's happened, sweetheart?"
"It just hit me all at once," she was finally able to say a few minutes later, wiping her eyes, blowing her nose on the paper towel he pressed into her trembling hands, and laughing inwardly to think that she'd just recently missed wearing her mascara. "The thought of leaving here…I'm so afraid." She swore she could hear Red's thoughts as he considered her words. "I know, I know," she sighed and shook her head despondently. "You were right."
"About what?" .he crooned as he passed his hand back and forth between her shoulder blades soothingly.
"You've been telling me all along that this was only the beginning…that I don't have my feet under me yet. And I didn't listen, as usual," she grumbled. "I forgot about our circumstances…that we aren't safe.
"It's okay," he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "It's going to all be okay. The only thing you have to do right now is hold it together, Lizzie—don't panic and leave the rest to me, sweetheart." He kissed her temple gently. "And to answer your question, my associate has encountered a complication…something about things overheating from all the data processing and a series of hard drive failures. He's going to need the full time to get back on track. I'm afraid we're sitting tight for another few days…you have some time to prepare."
She breathed deeply and clutched him tightly to her, allowed him to comfort her. Eventually she loosened her hold and he did the same. Red rose to his feet and gave her a quick peck on the lips as he stood. "Come on, your burger is getting cold."
He positioned her tray in front of her and went around to his setting, scooping up the glass of wine she'd poured him along the way. "Oh, look at that giant piece of cake, Lizzie!" Red pointed disapprovingly to his slightly smaller slice of cake. "Blatant favoritism! I bet your cheeseburger has an extra strip of bacon on it too," he sighed disdainfully. Liz shook her head at his clowning and obvious attempt to distract her from her sudden panic attack. It worked, however, and she was able to take a deep breath and catch his gaze.
"He did say he made these for me," she managed to quip, feeling the anxiety subside and enjoying the freedom of filling her lungs at will. "But I will gladly divvy up the totality of our collective bacon with you, babe…if it will make you feel better," she grinned over at him and began to arrange her food.
"I'll make do with what I've got, babe," Red sniffed delicately, still teasing, still working to lighten her mood. "And as much as I appreciate the sentiment, that cannot be your chosen pet name for me."
"What? Why not?" she frowned.
"I'd prefer something original," he grumbled, and Liz rolled her eyes in understanding; she'd always called Tom 'babe.'
"Any specific requests?" she smirked. "Traditional? Food-based? Cupcake?" she intoned dryly. "Gumdrop?" He scowled at her mocking. She smiled back radiantly and offered up "Honeybear?"
"Honeybear?" he chuckled suddenly. "I'm rather partial to that."
"Alright," she gave him an official nod, going with the bit. "Pass me the ketchup, Honeybear!"
He did so with a bit of a flourish, pursing his mouth in amusement, his gaze holding hers all the while. She took the ketchup with a jaunty nod of thanks, and proceeded to apply the condiment to her burger. He was watching her carefully, and after a moment the mood shifted; she could sense that he had something serious to say.
"As far as name requests, Lizzie…" he hesitated and looked away and down at his plate when she met his eyes. "I was wondering if you would perhaps…consider calling me Raymond…when it's just the two of us, like this," he looked over at her warily.
Even hearing him say his own first name sounded strange…he was "Red" to her. He was always "Red" to her. It had to be that way. Until now, anything else would have been wrong. "Raymond" was too close, too intimate. "Raymond" was a stranger to her…
Yet now, it was right somehow—Raymond was the man down here with her. Raymond wore denim and t-shirts. Raymond made her coffee in the French press every morning and poured her glasses of red wine each night.… and Liz didn't know Raymond. Raymond had made her see stars, intimately, not even a half-hour ago, but he was practically a stranger to her. He was right to point out that this new persona needed a name, and ironically, it wouldn't be a pet name at all.
"Raymond," she breathed hesitantly, noting the way his eye twitched when he heard her. "Raymond," she tried it again, her tone approving. It felt natural—endearing even—to say. He could never be just Red to her again.
His eyes closed in appreciation, as though he were savoring the sound of his name from her lips. "Ray," she smiled slowly, knowingly, over at him, connecting the face and the name. His eyes snapped open, gaze burning into hers. "Or do you only prefer Raymond?" She took another sip of her wine and winked at him over the rim of her glass.
"It all sounds good to me, Lizzie," he smiled softly. She nodded back happily, in agreement, and raised her wine glass towards him. He reached forward with his own glass, clinking it lightly in cheers against hers, and they toasted together.
"So," Liz began later, around a mouthful of her burger. "Do I get a new name too? What are you going to call me now?"
"Lizzie…" Red chuckled, half in reply, half in exasperation.
"Really? Still?" she sighed deeply in mock disappointment.
"To me, always," he nodded. "But I'll supplement it on occasion, if you like," he grinned at her. "Sweetheart," he added with a chuckle as he popped a piece of cucumber from the salad into his mouth and chewed. "Besides, I'd be interested to see how Lizzie and Raymond get along…just for now." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat up straight. "What do you think?" he caught her eyes, his expression curious, hopeful.
"I think it's a good idea," Liz smiled softly. Then shook her head and rolled her eyes. "This is wild," she gasped. "What are we doing? I think it's a good idea," she imitated herself, then laughed. "It is not a good idea at all…we both know that," she looked over at Red wistfully, and he sighed in acknowledgement. "But, I'm going to do it anyway," she chuckled suddenly. "Because I'm crazy about you, and I can't help it."
She had half a second to register his delighted expression before he was immediately next to her, pulling her into his arms, crushing her fiercely against him. "Me too, Lizzie," he hissed. "Me too, sweetheart."
They were both carefully avoiding use of the the word Love. She could feel it. Somehow, saying that word wasn't right, yet.
Liz mused on the irony of it—if there was anything she could be certain of, it was the fact that Raymond Reddington loved her…and even though she could only just recently admit it to herself, she knew she was in love with him too.
She would tell him. Soon.
Liz grinned against his chest and tightened her arms around his torso at the thought of it. She would say it to him the instant it was right…but he wasn't ready to hear it now.
He wouldn't even believe her if she said it now, and she wouldn't blame him, given the current state of things. To tell him she loved him would be premature at this point—but when that pivotal moment finally arrived, Liz had every intention of seizing it ferociously. How long had he waited? How long had he waited and wanted her love? Wanted her? It would be pure, sharp pleasure, the sweetest release to tell him she loved him. She shivered against him in anticipation.
She moved up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth warmly, languidly against his, then wrapped her hands up over his shoulders from behind. His hands were immediately in her hair, cradling her head, then clutching her shoulders and squeezing them fiercely, playfully, to convey his pleasure and excitement. She laughed lightly against his mouth, then kissed him again, caring about nothing else except the feel of his lips, so soft, so strong, so…uninhibited, against hers. He pulled her against him, molding her body against his possessively. She kissed him until she was breathless with need, flushed with desire, and had to choose between pulling away or pushing him back down onto the bed…
He sensed her sudden indecision and ever-so-gently separated his mouth from hers. He buried his face into the side on her neck, breathing deeply. He did not loosen his grasp around her in the slightest. He inhaled her scent, calmed himself, and reveled in the simple delight of holding her close. She would never touch him before, and he had every intention of savoring the feel of her in his arms as often as he could.
"I could make out with you all night," she surprised him, whispering huskily into the shell of his ear. "You have the most amazing mouth, Red."
"Oh Lizzie," he groaned, smiling foolishly at her compliment. "Let's do it," he sighed rapturously into the curve of her neck. She chuckled and he joined in. Together they laughed and swayed, each holding the other tightly, neither willing to be the first to let go. Who knew it could be this thrilling just to hold someone? And what a simple luxury it was to remain in contact—to openly enjoy the touch of the other person.
For the first time, he could hold her, and he didn't have to let her go, didn't have to hide how much he thrilled to her every touch. There was no more uncertainty, no more hesitation, no more holding back.
"Isn't this nice?" he whispered,
"Yes," she whispered back. "Absolutely."
"Though, we should probably finish our meal at some point," he murmured.
Liz sighed, making no effort what-so-ever to step away from him. "At some point."
He chuckled into the hair on the top of her head and tightened his grip around her. She squeezed him in response and rested her head against his shoulder.
"I don't want you to be afraid of leaving here," he rumbled against her after a few moments. He slid one large hand back and forth between her shoulder blades, then down the length of her spine and up again, soothing her.
"Is that really what you're thinking about right now?" she snorted lightly against his collarbone at the non sequitur.
"Among other things," he slid his hand down her back once more to cup her right butt cheek and squeeze it playfully. She fisted her hand in his shirt between his shoulder blades and held back a moan. "We have so many wonderful adventures and experiences ahead of us, darling," he crooned in her ear. "Don't forget how much we have to look forward to."
"I haven't forgotten," she chided lightly. "It was a momentary thing…I'm excited for Dubai."
"You should be! I have my own private island there, Lizzie—Do you know about the Islands of the World? We'll be quite safe—you don't have to worry. At this stage in the game, the real danger is here. And it's a heady thing, being on the run—it'll be quite the joy ride," he smirked, then pulled away from her just enough to look down into her eyes. "I must say—though I wish the danger weren't so real, and despite my concerns for your safety—I'm looking forward to introducing you to this side of life…to sharing these experiences with you."
"To showing me the power of the dark side?" she intoned, causing him to roll his eyes. She laughed. "No, I understand what you mean…me too," she smiled up at him.
He pulled her close to him again in genuine excitement.
"For the longest time I've wanted to re-experience the world with you be my side…see it all through your eyes, Lizzie. You cannot comprehend my disbelief and joy over the fact that it's actually happening."
"Well," she groaned a little. "Sadly, it's not happening just yet." She stole a quick glance around their dank cellar hide-away and briefly imagined Red's home on—of course—his own private island. "There's sunlight in Dubai, right?"
"A great deal of it," he chuckled.
"Is that why you're frequently so tan?" she grumbled a little.
"One reason, yes. I own several other properties in a variety of other sunny locations as well," he informed her smugly. "Perhaps when this is all over, we can vacation briefly at one—or all—of them. It's important to reward oneself for a job well done," he replied stoically, then grinned and pressed a brief kiss to her mouth.
"Sounds good," she squeezed him.
They broke apart then, and returned to their meal. Liz finished her burger and salad, then stared at her dessert.
"I'll eat you later," she muttered to the piece of cake, then leaned back in her chair to relax and enjoy the rest of her wine. Red watched her, amused, as he did the same—setting his cake aside and holding only his wineglass. She met his gaze and smiled.
"What made you choose this wine?Is it rare?" she asked, taking a discerning sip of her own, thinking that it was good, but not really knowing why. "Really old and expensive?"
"No, just an exceptionally good product from a good year," he smiled and took another swig. "I was quite elated when Eli said he had a few bottles in stock. It's exactly what I would have picked up at the store to go with burgers and a night in," he held his glass up to her in a small toast to the evening ahead.
"Look at you and me…having a night in," Liz grinned. "Another glass, please."
Red surprised her by rising and coming around to her side of the table to pour the requested glass. He could have simply reached across the table, but instead he stood next to her, much closer than was necessary, and stole a kiss before he tipped the bottle into her glass with some skill.
Liz smiled, mouth tingling, to imagine how this would have worked before the Cabal had entered their lives. They'd be together, fresh from the thrill of taking down another blacklister of the week, holing up in whatever safe house or hotel he was staying at for the night…good wine, good company…another challenge on the distant horizon, but safe for now…Why had she never spent more of the good times with him? It was beyond her. She'd never smiled with him, joined in with him, had fun with him when the many opportunities had presented themselves. What a waste! Well, no more.
As soon as Red set the bottle down, she was on him, lightning-quick. She leapt up to clasp his hand just as he turned back to his seat. His mouth formed a small "oh!" of surprise as she pulled him flush against her and held him there, entwining her arms around him. He smiled and chuckled a little at her forcefulness, but she silenced him quickly, grabbing his collar with both fists and tugging until his face was close enough to kiss him fiercely.
"Come over here with me, Ray," she whispered against his mouth, hooking her index fingers into the two front belt loops of his jeans and pulling him with her as she stepped backwards towards the bed.
"Lizzie," he paused, his tone hesitant.
"No," she yanked him towards her, reversed their positions and practically threw him onto the mattress. "No hesitation, no shyness…We're beyond that now," she groaned, before covering his body with her own and burying her face in his chest.
He sat up to meet her and pulled her into a position straddling his hips. He clutched at either side of her waist with his hands, and his eyes locked with hers, assessing. She smiled down at him beatifically and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Slowly but steadily, she drew him in and lightly pressed her forehead to his.
"I'm only asking you to kiss me, Raymond," she murmured, leaning in so that her mouth brushed against his as she said it. "I won't ask for anything else…just the feel of you against me, maybe on top of me, and your mouth on mine," she whispered, moving her lips softly over the stubble of his cheek, placing her words along his jawline. He was twitching, almost trembling beneath her. She could feel him toeing off his shoes, his feet moving on the floor and giving him away. "Please," she rumbled against the skin of his neck, just behind his ear. She pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss there, and he lost it.
He reared beneath her with a furious growl and nearly flung her off him, flipping her onto her back on the next section of mattress—goodness, their new bed was huge!
She sat up, prepared to protest what she believed was his rejection of her, only to see that he was frantically stripping off his jeans and shirt, leaving only his short-sleeved undershirt and dark maroon silk boxers. In a flash, he was above her, mouth to hers, warm and heavy, settling on top of her, pressing against her in a variety of delightful ways. She giggled wildly in the back of her throat, and realized that he was muttering something against her collarbone.
"Marvelous, sexy, glorious woman," Red hissed emphatically, sliding his hands over her possessively, reverently. . "God—the things you do to me Elizabeth! I want you so goddamn badly…I can't even fucking breathe," he gritted his teeth and gripped her upper arm through her shirt, as though to squeeze her flesh would help ease his lust, but his expression only darkened.
"Really?" she grinned up at him, thrilled at his response, watching, waiting, eager to see what he would do next.
"You might only need to kiss me," he growled. "But I need more."
"Yes," she moaned as he reached down and lifted her shirt with one hand, exposing her stomach to the open air. "Me too, Ray, please," she murmured. He proceeded to trail hot, wet kisses over her abdomen, grunting in approval at her words. "Tell me everything," she leaned down to whisper as closely to his ear as she could get, clenching her abs under his mouth. He looked up at her in surprise. She gently cupped his face with one hand and guided him back up the length of her body. "Tell me every wicked thing you need me to do to you," she purred, quirking an eyebrow at him.
His expression was priceless—stunned, aroused, then stunned again at what he was hearing.
"I want to know," she groaned, writhing beneath him. "Every single, glorious detail."
Red made an amazed, incredulous sound against her and raised his head to stare at her in delighted disbelief.
"The things you say to me, Elizabeth…" he hissed.
His eyes burned.
His hands reached for her hips. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her pants, and without warning, Red sat up suddenly and tugged them down over her hips and thighs, taking her underwear along with them.
"Red!" she squeaked in surprise.
He didn't stop. He casually lifted her legs up together over one of his shoulders, slid her pants and panties up their long, smooth lines, and finally pulled the garments off over her toes.
"Raymond! What are you doing?" she giggled, reaching for him as he slid her legs from their resting place on his shoulder and gently lowered them back down to the mattress together. He was quick to take her questing hand in his own and bring it to his mouth.
"I need to taste you, sweetheart," he leaned in over her and whispered in her ear, clearly enjoying the way she shivered in response. "That is what I need, Lizzie," he growled, and she moaned softly at the rush of liquid heat to her exposed sex, clutching at his shoulders involuntarily.. "I need to know what you sound like when you cum with my mouth on you," he continued, almost matter-of-factly.
"Oh," she moaned breathily, swelling at the thought, soaked. She squirmed involuntarily beneath him in anticipation. "But wait," she stopped moving and slid her free hand into the waistband of his boxers before he could prevent her. She found him immediately, encircling his shaft in her hot little hand and pumping him in one firm stoke from root to tip with a small sigh of pleasure.
He made a strangled sound she'd never heard anyone make in bed before—though she wouldn't mind hearing him make it again—and immediately grabbed her hand to stop her.
"But, it's your turn," she leaned up and pressed her lips to his. "I'm supposed to be doing this to you," she licked the shell of his ear. "I want to do this for you…"
He smiled adoringly at her, then reached up and cupped her face. "Believe me, sweetheart, in the future I have every intention of letting you do anything you want to me as often as you like," he chuckled. "Just not this time." He kissed her once more and began moving back down her body.
"Oh god," Liz muttered under her breath, trying to brace herself for what he was about to do to her, praying she didn't embarrass herself and taint the memory of the first time they'd shared in this most intimate activity, and ever-so-thankful that she'd thought to pay some attention to that area this morning with her razor in anticipation of something exactly like this…
He slid off the edge of the bed and playfully grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her bare-assed and giggling across the mattress until she was near the edge, then knelt on the floor almost chivalrously.
He slung one of her legs over his shoulder, unceremoniously spreading her out—pink and glistening—before his very eyes. She had exactly one second to feel self-conscious before he swathed his tongue precisely over her swollen nub, and she felt more than heard their mirrored, shuddering gasps of pleasure.
She was salt, musk and slick velvet on his tongue. He tasted and tested, nibbled and teased, a busy bee dancing in the most succulent of flowers. He savored each sound she made, each cry and whimper and moan, committed them to memory as swirled the flat of his tongue over her clit again and again, hardly daring to believe his luck. He would make it good for her. He had to make it good for Elizabeth—for Lizzie. Make it good for the beautiful woman writhing beneath him. Make her forget his monstrosity and his role in her undoing. Make her move and cry and moan like this for as long as she could stand it.
Both of her legs were over his shoulders now. His face was buried between them, eagerly, greedily licking and sucking while she tried desperately to stop herself from either bucking against him or grabbing his head painfully for support. Wave after wave of pleasure made her clench and shiver.
Unbidden, her mind wandered back to that first day, the way he'd sat shackled before her, entirely unburdened by his circumstances, confident 'til the end, staring her down, telling her she was special, that she was important to him…and look at him now.
"Please don't stop," she begged. Red chuckled against her, then slid his arms under her legs in response. He placed one flat hand on her stomach to help hold her still. He placed the other one on her hip and stoked the soft skin there lazily. She immediately reached down and clasped both his hands tightly in hers. Felt him squeeze her hands affectionately in return.
"You're delicious," he moaned as he pulled his mouth from her core and placed a juicy kiss to her inner thigh. "Delectable," he hummed, pressing his lips to her thigh once again, branding her skin with his words.
"Thank you," she breathed.
He raked his teeth over her femoral artery, bit down on the flesh around it almost to the point of pain…almost.
She shuddered and convulsed beneath him, hovering on the edge of her orgasm, unsure of what it was about his teeth just there that made her inner muscles spasm and twitch, but completely beyond the point of caring.
"Red!" She cried out in pleasure at the feeling of his fingers sliding into her once more, filling her, giving her something firm to clench with her fluttering inner muscles, something to writhe against. He moaned into her inner thigh, teeth still lightly clenched around a succulent mouthful of her sweet flesh. He marveled at how slick she was, at how responsive she was to his touch—to the way he loved her with his hands and his mouth. Sweet Jesus, she would kill him. He would never get his fill of her. Especially not like this.
Keeping his mouth against her leg, Red placed the thumb of his other hand firmly over the shaft of her clit. She groaned in relief, knowing immediately the end was near. He swirled it in a long oval once, then again and again until Liz thrashed beneath him and gripped his fingers tightly in the vice of her almost-orgasm. He immediately removed his mouth from her leg and pressed his tongue to the place his thumb had vacated. He fluttered it against her shaft, never ceasing the slight motions of his fingers inside her.
"Raymond…Oh!" She fell over the edge hard, shuddered, spasmed against him, cried out over and over before finally falling limp and quiet. He pulled his fingers from her after a moment, and she groaned in protest at the lost. He backed away from her just enough to remove her legs from over his shoulders. He then leaned back in and laid his head on her lower abdomen.
Red pressed his cheek against her soft stomach and waited for her breathing to slow. She placed one hand along the back of his skull, stroked the peach fuzz of his hair and cradled his head.
His fingers were coated with her wetness. He quickly reached down into the waistband of his boxers to grasp his painful erection with them—had he ever been this hard before?—and grant himself some relief. He smeared her juices around the head of his shaft, and was struck with the realization that it was Lizzie's essence on him. Her tight, slick chamber was only inches away and completely open to him if he wanted to fill it. The fact made him dizzy.
She would welcome him, he knew. She would make that sweet sound halfway between a giggle and a moan as he invaded and stretched her around him, then sigh in relief when he was finally sheathed to the hilt inside her…monster that he was, lecherous old man that he was…she would welcome him crawling on top of her.
He was suddenly sick at the thought of it. What was he doing? He couldn't allow that to happen, not to Lizzie. Suddenly, guiltily he came into his own furiously stroking hand against the side of the bed, grunting and moaning into her stomach,
"Oh no! Wait!" She whispered furiously, trying to sit up as he sighed then chuckled ruefully against her. "What did you just do?"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Red pulled away from her and reached for the roll of paper towel on the table. "I was so hard, it hurt."
"But I wanted to…"
"It's alright, Lizzie."
He wiped himself clean as she sat up fully and shifted herself carefully to the edge of the bed. He surprised her then, reaching between her legs and gently wiping a clean sheet of paper towel from front to back, cleaning her up also.
"I hate to be sticky," he offered to her startled expression, then threw the soiled paper in the trash.
He turned around, faced her. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling her pants and underwear up over her calves and thighs. He frowned.
Tentative, unsure, she looked up at him.
"That was…incredible," she breathed. "But…why wouldn't you let me touch you? After what you did for me?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly. "I don't understand…" she put her mortified face into her hands.
"Oh…Oh no," Red shook his head and sat next to her immediately, ashamed.
"It's because of this morning, right? I embarrassed you?" she whispered over her shoulder to him.
"Absolutely not," he clutched her, wrapped his arms around her entire body and squeezed hard. She relaxed against him, accepted his touch.
"Then why?"
He wasn't sure how to explain, how to voice the sick, unworthy feeling in his gut.
"It would have been so easy for me to—,"
"I know," he cut her off and sighed in frustration.
"I told you how much I wanted to—,"
"I know, I know," he groaned.
There was a moment of silence.
He did not loosen his grip on her. Liz took this as an encouraging sign. She could hear him gnawing on the inside of his cheek behind her. He was stressed and trying to think.
She took a deep breath. Reflected. Her entire body was warm, languid, and still occasionally spasming in pleasure. Had anything ever felt so good?
Her palms found the backs of his hands. She squeezed. Slid her fingers over his skin lightly, back and forth. Perhaps she could give him some of her bliss, some of the confidence and power he'd given her. Then he could open up to her.
He drew her a little closer against him. She pressed herself close in return. She turned in his arms, kissed him and pressed her face into his chest. He welcomed her touch, leaning into her, stroking her back. She wrapped her arms around him then, pulled him half on top of her, nuzzled into him.
"I'm still twitching," she whispered lightly up into his ear. He groaned and laughed against her in disbelief, grateful for the distraction from his sudden, crippling doubt. "You were amazing," she sighed, grinning into his collarbone foolishly. "I feel incredible."
He rolled back onto his side and faced her, incredulous at her words.
"Your mouth…" she trailed off again appreciatively, locking her big blue eyes on his.
"Thank you," he whispered, almost bewildered by her earnest endorsement, by the warmth in her gaze—he had never expected or even dared to hope that she would ever look at him like that. He stared at her in wonder before remembering himself. Grinning at her rakishly, but keeping his eyes sincere, he quipped "I'll happily repeat myself at your earliest behest."
"Oh really?" she sighed, with a chuckle. "Planning an encore already?"
"Yes. Several in fact."
"I don't suppose I might be allowed to share the stage at some point?" she asked trepidatiously, bringing them both back to the issue.
Red winced.
"You know…" she began softly, rolling to face him. "You know how much I care about you, right? Despite everything, I can't seem to shake you, Honeybear," her face broke into a huge grin, and his quickly followed.
He cupped her cheek while she grinned. Her eyes moved over the his familiar profile, instantly recognizable, infinitely dear to her. She smiled foolishly at him as she openly adored him. He gazed at her, marveled at how open she was to him, caressed her cheeks and jawline, smoothed the pad of his thumb across her forehead, observing intently the flickering changes in her micro-expressions.
"Yes, I know," he finally sighed. "It seems impossible that you could also want to be with me too," he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She kissed him back warmly. "And yet,here you are, kissing me…on the mouth, even," he smirked when he pulled away. "I never even dared to hope you would…think of me that way."
"But I do think of you that way!" she sighed in frustration. "It's all I can think about! You…that way."
Red pursed his lips in amusement.
"Don't laugh—after the things you just did to me, I don't really have a choice," she jokingly whispered in his ear and honestly shivered against him. "I really wish you'd take the way I feel about you, seriously—take me seriously."
"I do!" He groaned. "But Lizzie, We're only a few days into these new circumstances. We have several more days down here…I just want you to be certain," he hissed against her cheek.
"I am certain," she huffed.
"Wouldn't you rather wait until we're in Dubai?" he changed tactics.
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know…real king size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets with insanely high thread counts, ocean breeze…"
"But we're right here, right now," she purred and slid her hands up under his t-shirt. She ran her fingers lightly threw the scattering of hair over his stomach and chest, pressed her mouth to his collarbone and hummed in pleasure.
"I don't want you to regret…" he started, sighing in exasperation.
"Why would I regret…?" she pulled back, looking sad.
"For a lot of reasons," he huffed. "I have secrets, Elizabeth. Enemies," I'm a monster. He pulled away from her then and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "What seems like a great idea now might not work out so well once we're back out there, with our problems catching up to us," he intoned, reaching for his jeans and his shirt. "You can't be sure this is going to work out like you want it to…"
"Oh, I am so tired of having this same argument over and over," she groaned, sitting up and watching him dress. "And always after you've kissed me or touched me—Do you really think I'll regret touching you more than letting you touch me? What is it with you?"
He stood, fully dressed now, and made his way back to the table to drain the dregs from his wine glass and pour himself another. He did not respond or even turn to look at her.
"Are you having regrets?" she was not stopping. "Why do you keep pushing me away?" she was sitting on the edge on the bed. He sighed deeply, but did not turn, and took another drink.
"Lizzie…I'm sorry—I've…I've let things go too far with us."
"You're a hypocrite," she flung at his back, rising and making a beeline for her own wineglass. He spun on his heel then and glared at her.
"I most certainly am not," he snapped, face suddenly red.
"You are," she hissed, draining her glass as well, glad to see she'd found her sticking point. "I see exactly what you're doing here and it's bullshit."
She took great strides towards him and leaned in until her face was directly in front of his. "How dare you put your hands and your mouth on me and then tell me it's all a mistake that I'm going to regret," she hissed. "Like it meant nothing to you, like it means nothing to me to be here with you. Shame on you!" she slapped the table top for emphasis and Red startled, caught her gaze in surprise. "Imagine if our roles were reversed, sweetheart," she let her anger make her tone sarcastic and thin, even as her expression remained sweet. She leaned in to whisper into his ear. "Imagine if I kissed you, touched you all over, loved you with my mouth until you cried out for me…"
Red's breath hitched in his throat for a moment, and she smiled at him knowingly before scowling at him terribly and taking a step back.
"Imagine then," she sneered coldly, then adopted his condescending tone and demeanor. "I took it back, said something stupid like, this probably isn't going to work out the way you want it to. Raymond—being with me is a mistake you'll regret…"
Even saying these things to him sarcastically made her throat clench and her stomach seize, but she put on an indulgent simper and patted Red's shoulder in mock-comraderie. "I've let things go too far between us," she stated, mimicking him viciously. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm afraid I don't believe you when you say you're crazy about me and would never regret…"
"I do believe you, Elizabeth…" he interjected, his expression pained.
"You don't!" she snapped. "You can't! Because if you did, then what you're doing now…what you're saying now, would be far too cruel—even for Raymond Reddington."
She was crying again. Big, stupid, fat tears.
His hands were braced firmly on the table and his gaze was fixed on the table-top between them. She was right of course, he was a cruel bastard and a complete hypocrite. He longed to pull her against him again, to touch her all over and tell her exactly how he felt, how much he loved her…but the image of his ugly, burned body, soul rancid with all of the secrets, lies and hurt he'd brought upon her, rutting on top of her innocent form flashed once more inside his head, and he winced again. Hard. He was cancer compared to her—a slow-spreading cancer that she wouldn't recognize until he consumed her and dragged her down with him.
I didn't want you to end up like me.
He shuddered and made his way to the shelf with the scotch. He could never bring himself to share that image with Lizzie. She wasn't for him. He'd known this all along, and still he'd tasted her, touched her…God, he was such a weak-willed bastard.
He couldn't share his thoughts with her. She would be horrified, or worse, understanding. He'd have to drink them away. Three fingers of scotch went into the tumbler and then straight down his throat.
"Please say something," she pleaded after he poured another.
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," he turned and looked as weary and sad as she'd ever seen him. "I never meant to hurt you."
"Please say something that isn't a useless cliche," she snapped. "Your stubborn insistence on being taciturn is what hurts me, Raymond!"
Raymond. God, why had he ever asked her to call him by his first name? Hearing her say it in anger was a knife to his gut.
"Please," she tried again a little softer, approaching him and taking his hand in hers. "Please tell me what you're thinking, Ray….you can trust me."
"I know I can, Lizzie, I know I can," he squeezed her hand and released it. And when it was clear he had nothing else to add, she sighed, resigned.
"Well," she sniffed and straightened. "I'm sick of walking on eggshells around you, never knowing if you're going to pull me close, or push me away…" she quavered, then straightened again. "Whatever that's about, it's not getting resolved until you decide to open up and be honest with me."
She wrapped her arms around him tightly.
"At some point, you've got to let me in, Red. At some point, you have to accept the way we feel for each other, not the other way around," she whispered. "You know where I stand, now. Have the courage to stand there with me, sweetheart, baggage and all. You deserve to have someone care about you…and you should let it be me."
She kissed his cheek on tiptoes, noting the wetness on his face but saying nothing about it. He leaned into her kiss ever-so-slightly, but seemed paralyzed and unable to respond otherwise.
"Think about it and say something soon, please," she whispered, breaking his heart.
She stepped away from him then and picked up her bag in one hand and her left-over piece of cake in the other. He couldn't help but smile sadly at that.
"I'm going to go take a shower and spend a few minutes to myself," she spoke quietly as she passed him on her way to the bathroom. He nodded in acknowledgement as she passed. "I'll be out soon."
She closed the door and he wearily poured himself another drink.
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