Disclaimer: The Blacklist is not mine (unfortunately), but I borrowed the characters for a little while. (and they were quite happy to get some of that unsolved sexual tension out.)

Dear my lovely Beta, thank you thank you thank you for dealing with the comma-storm! Us germans do that. A lot! ;)

A/N: This is my first Blacklist fanfic that I actually publish. (so please be gentle) It's Lizzington, and plays sometime around in the near future. This started out as a fic prompt for 'Red sees the slit in Lizzie's dress 1x14'. It took another turn on its own. ;) Enjoy

~ I always write while listening to music. Usually one specific song inspires most of the story. It becomes the title of the fanfic, regardless what the song is actually about. This time it was our all Blacklist favourite 'Wicked Game' sung by Emika. A beautiful theme, so full of angst and promise. ~

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Wicked Game (Emika)

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The door shut loudly with a thud, followed by the angry steps of a woman.

"The meeting was a setup!" Her voice was dripping with venom.

Red turned around slowly in his chair, smiling casually at the furious woman that was Elizabeth Keen.

"Lizzie, by all means, do come in." His tone was calm and a little bit amused. He nodded his security guy off over his shoulder. "It's okay Dembe." Then his eyes wandered back to the woman in the turquoise dress, who was ready to rip out the throat of a tiger.

"Please sit, sweetheart." The nuance of sarcasm layering into the laziness of his words just infuriated her further. She didn't move one bit.

"Don't sweetheart me. I don't wanna sit. " Her gaze bore into his. "I want to know the truth. Now! "

"Which one?" he challenged her, smiling, got up, and readjusted his vest and tie while walking over to her.

She met him half way. "You are behind this!"

He approached her slowly ignoring her accusation and tilting his head a little sideways. He was admiring the low cut of her dress and the not so subtle slit that revealed one long and creamy leg. From toe, to calf to upper thigh, his eyes rested on the perfect rounded curve that complimented her feminine figure in the most charming ways. It reminded him of the red dress she wore once when they wanted to steal an artifact from the Syrian embassy. She was beautiful and beautiful things were meant to be admired.

"Are you even listening?"

His eyebrows shot up then, watching as her rage exploded in a monologue, gesturing wild with her hands and arms and pacing from one side to the other.

"The name of the guy fake, both addresses you gave us fake, the guy itself didn't show, the contact of yours who was supposed to help us has never heard of a 'Raymond Reddington'" making quotation marks in the air. "The 2 million dollars on the Swiss number account were not traceable and the videotapes of the hotel stolen years ago!" As sharp as a scalpel, she shot daggers with words, while his expression remained unreadable. A little bit amused and a little bit arrogant. Like a lion laying in wait, right before it threatens to attack. It made her feel uneasy but she held his imposing gaze.

"So you came to the conclusion that all the evil in the world obviously leads back to me."

She swallowed for a moment, unsure if she had gone too far. But she was mad, and she was broken, from all that has happened within the last 6 weeks. She wanted to scream and sometimes she wanted to cry, but unlike home, this was not a vulnerable moment. She wouldn't let it become one.

"My husband is gone Red, there are over 20 unsolved cases of murder connected to his DNA, the woman he cheated on me with turned up dead a week ago. And all of a sudden you tell me to meet with a mysterious Simon Hoffman from Germany at the Angelsfield Hotel, the very same hotel the gun was connected to that I found in a mysterious box under the floor in my house after you set foot into the FBI. And you want to tell me, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to do with all these circumstances and still expect me to believe you without one shred of doubt?"

He simply smiled at her and said nothing. Red had a way of deflecting. Usually he asked questions instead of answering the ones directed at him. Something that told her that he was uncomfortable, yet still in control. Not saying anything could mean she was spot on or dead wrong. It drove her all the more crazy. Because deep down she knew when it mattered she could trust him, yet he did not seem to grant her the same level of knowledge. She had learned a lot about him in the last few months, about herself, not so much. And he was a constant in the back of her mind. Something she did not let herself admit to very much, for it unfolded so many more question of why and how he had grown so important to her.

She took a steadying breath before telling him what had happened at the meeting. How the FBI had run facial recognition on every person in a radius of half a mile around the hotel, how she had waited for 45 minutes, an entire backup team in various vans parked outside in the streets. How every phone call from and to the hotel and the smaller shops and cafes were under surveillance and how not even K-9 units had found anything that would lead them to believe there was drug smuggling involved in this case.

"I tried to call the number he made first contact with when he didn't show but of course it was a disposable. Everything went wrong today and I am not even sure I care anymore." Defeat colored her voice. She felt tired. "All those lies..." Shaking her head absently and then looking at him, she was still angry, still blaming him, and really who could blame her for that. Her whole life was a lie.

"You are emotionally compromised Lizzie," he stated matter of factly.

"The hell I am, this is all just some sick joke for you, isn't it?" She knew it wasn't true, he hardly ever joked, but her life lay in crumbles, like broken a mirror there were only shards left to pick up.

"Calm down! You don't have clear head at the moment. And your judgement is compromised as well." His hand reached for her arm but she stepped backwards. Away from him.

"I hate you. I hate you and the game you are playing." She said quietly, less angry.

"And yet you come to me…" He took a step towards her, looking her directly into her eyes, challenging her and. "... wearing this," making a meaningful gesture towards her clothing.

For the first time she seemed to realize that she was still dressed for an under cover dinner with a guy who was said to have a weak spot for ladies. She looked down and also recognized that the dress revealed far more skin she was usually comfortable showing.

"I..." She met his gaze again. His lips offered a coy smile. He was slowly approaching her, his stare having turned the slightest bit predatory. And she walked backwards, step by step until she hit the door behind. She swallowed and looked alarmed, instinctively searching for the knob with her hand.

He raised his eyebrow deliberately. "What do you want Lizzie? Because I fail to see the point of you interrupting my evening playing chess, yet. I gave you a name, I gave you the location. That the tapes got lost I didn't know…."

And she knew then that he was just humouring her and relaxed at his close proximity. Of course, all he wanted was to distract. It was Raymond Reddington after all and all he did was play his chosen figures over the board he had created for reason still unknown to her. She felt disappointed somehow.

"I want out." And the tears she had so desperately tried to hold in threatened to escape.

He focused on her face. Her eyes, lips and cheeks. His Lizzie so soft and vulnerable and yet so full of fire.

He nodded slightly. "We can drop this case, if it's too much for you."

"No! I want 'out' out. That deal you cut with the FBI to round up your enemies, I don't want to be part of that anymore." It was like a slap into his face, her face, she didn't really know. It hurt, that she was sure of.

He didn't answer; just stared at her. One second, two seconds, three, ten and then some more, searching for another meaning as the one he so very much understood. He looked displeased, calculating yet confident somehow.

"I need some time away." She explained nervously, a whisper in the silence, which it was not, because the echo of her words hung heavy upon the room. She was waiting for his reply, for anger, agreement, their underlying connection that let them understand one another in situations like this. Nothing.

Reading his features was like a puzzle, anticipating his reaction difficult. She caught him doing the little thing with his mouth. The tiny flick with his tongue. It was subtle, but he did it every time his mind had set on a decision, to state something important oblivious to others.

"Why did you come here, Lizzie?"

The question was unsettling and so was the atmosphere that suddenly seemed to change between them. He was now utterly calm, spoke quietly while she became alert, aware of herself and him and their close proximity, when she had not been before. She could feel it in his question, in the air she was breathing, his eyes that didn't leave hers, the way his body shifted, that he was about to make a point. It was intimidating, taunting, daring.

She was confused. "I don't know… because I was mad?"

"So you came here to do what? Stick another pen into my neck?" Her eyes automatically travelled to his scar, outlined at the side of his neck. She could see his pulse through the skin. A steady rhythm, reassuring somehow, other than the rest of him. She also saw his muscles tensing when he swallowed.

And it was strange, the sudden feel of arousal that overcame her like a wave of warmth, turning her knees into jelly and making the back of her neck tingle. Her eyes resting on the permanent mark she had given him and it made her feel powerful somehow, possessive. There was no denial that he could have stopped her that day, overpowered her, hurt her. Yet he let her have this moment, let her make him hers. And she wanted to erase the very thought straight away that surfaced in the back of her mind: The need, the want to give him another one. Not with a pen!

She bit her lips and closed her eyes, she could almost smell the nape of his neck thinking about it, but she needed to block the fantasies that involuntarily followed. This was not good, the things he made her feel, just with words.

"Being mad is not a solution Lizzie. In the beginning I understood. You didn't know me or trust me, but now. You know I would never send you anywhere that would put your life in danger."

She looked at him and nodded lightly. He didn't seem to have noticed her lack of focus on the conversation. But of course, she knew. He had saved her so many times, had lied for her and had put her first over and over. Of course he was still Red, the man who butted permanently into her personal life, but in the end she did trust him. He knew her and as hard as it was accepting that fact, she knew her secrets were safe with him.

"So who are you angry with then? Me or yourself?" His voice was like velvet. Raw and smooth all at once.

"I…" she didn't know. Except she did, but she didn't want to go there. This draw towards him was not something she was proud of. It was a weakness when she was supposed to be strong. He was a criminal after all and played his wicked games with everyone.

"You are fighting with yourself Lizzie." He seemed closer somehow. His mouth fuller, his pupils wider, his skin softer.

"What?" This time it sounded like a plea. She looked up at him and she wondered if he had noticed anything. His expression was unreadable. But his gaze pinned her, his whole posture did and then she felt the slightest touch on the inside of her forearm.

"Has anyone ever told you that your gaze drops to my lips when I speak?" Like a lullaby his voice vibrated into her cells. And she wanted to protest.

"..." But his finger was quicker, silencing her by brushing her mouth.

"And that I seem to be able to enter your personal space?" He moved even closer, if that was possible, to prove his theory. "You don't flinch, you don't avoid eye contact, you let me lean in without pulling away?"

She wanted to say something, but couldn't. The words of protest stuck in her throat, for there was no denial that he was right. Her lips were tingling from the touch of his finger, her breathing erratic and her eyes now hooded. She hung on his every word, letting herself be lead to where she did not want to go. A familiar tugging inside her stomach, the blush in her cheeks, she felt so alive being trapped by him.

He played with a strand of her hair and smiled with honesty and affection at her. "And if I wasn't mistaken your heartbeat picks up whenever I tell you how important you are to me."

She swallowed the moan that wanted to escape her. Yes she definitely needed some time away from him. "You… you are on the Most Wanted list for a reason" she tried to explain her reactions away. "You have deceived hundreds, murdered who knows how many people. … You are dangerous."

And it was true. She looked a little scared and unsure. Her eyes as big and as questioning like the ones of a child. Naive and innocent, yet she was neither. It was endearing to him.

"Perhaps a little bit of fear is healthy." His voice rich and low, she could feel his breath on her lips. "But there is one undeniable truth here Lizzie, and neither avoiding it nor looking for reasons to hate me will change that truth." She could not help herself, her glance fell to his lips, he was right. But they looked so soft when they formed the words that would melt her from inside. "You are attracted to me."

And all she could hear was the ringing in her ear. She felt light headed. He had put into words what she only knew as a ghost in the back of her mind. It couldn't be true.

"I'm not…" One more step was all it took to stop her flow of words. His leg solid in between hers, making an escape impossible. She could feel his thigh next to hers and began to tremble, unable to do anything but looking into his eyes, the green of his irises shimmering with desire.

"Now I haven't read 'body language 101', but I am observant."

He put a finger onto the inside of her elbow and traced a slow pattern back towards her wrist, where he gently encircled it with his fingers like a lock. Her breathing quickened. His other hand went to her neck massaging it.

"You want to tell me you aren't affected by this?" His thumb brushed along her collarbone. "You want to tell me you are shivering because of the cold?" Her pulse was racing rapidly, because he didn't stop at her cleavage. His finger trailed very lightly and barely touching the fabric all the way down between her breasts onto her belly, finding her hip at last.

And he watched her watching his hand, bending his head a little, adoring her, as her emotions colored her face in a light pink, blushing from feeling the tickle spread from cheeks to neck deep into her body.

His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke. "You were afraid I was gone as much as your evidence." His nose ghosting along her jaw line, "and that is the real reason you came here tonight. And when you realized I was here, you looked for an outlet. You wanted to punish me for all the emotions that run daily through your mind when thinking of me." Then she felt him kiss her softly, right below her ear and the tiny hairs in the back of her neck reacted. She had to steady herself, grabbing his hand at her hip, wanting to push him away, but failing for her body was like wax in his hands.

He chuckled. "I know you Lizzie, maybe better than you know yourself."

She looked up at him, unable to find a logical reason, why and how her whole body seemed to obey his. His gaze was intense, waiting for her to say something, lingering at the edge of longing. His leg slightly pressed up her centre now. When had he moved it further up? Or had she slid down? Think! Thinking as not possible. Not with him being this close.

"Go home Lizzie" he murmured. "Take a rest, it was a long day for you."

And he was gone, disconnected from her body, leaving only a cool breeze of air onto her still heated skin behind. A tiny huff escaped her throat. She was barely able to stand upright. Let alone form coherent sentences. Yet she wanted to speak, also wanted to be gone. How had she ended up at his mercy in his apartment searching blindly with her hands to find something to hold her upright?

Repeatedly she shook her head. Something he couldn't see. "No," she whispered barely audible. Something he didn't hear.

Motionless she watched him walking over to his couch. Wanting to follow, wanting to do to him what he just did to her. Because maybe it was true, maybe she was angry because despite all, he had been here. Would always be, and maybe she did want more. More of the man, who was so full of mysteries and could cease to exist in 60 seconds.

Yes, she was attracted. But did it matter? He would not cross that line. It needed to be her choice.

Her mouth opened and closed. The lines she had so carefully drawn getting blurry. She realized then, she was not able to take that breath and make them disappear, her body no longer under her command. But she could ask him to. They were dancing on that invisible edge for far too long.

"Don't stop!"

And it was a pleading, a demand and so much more than she realized when she saw the shocked expression crossing his feature as he turned around. Her heart was pounding an irregular beat.

He didn't respond at first, just held her gaze. Consciously he took one step, then two and walked towards her, dominant at first, his eyes questioning her briefly before they softened and he stopped only inches apart from colliding into her. He took her in, and she held still under his stare, unable to move, unable to lift so much as an arm. Frozen in place she longed for him. And his lips held a promise, a shy twitch of surprise, his eyes challenging her to give him permission for what her entire body begged him to. So he pulled back the hair on one side, revealing her neck and moved in closer. She could feel his body heat radiating into her skin, could feel his thumb brushing over her carotid artery.

"Don't stop what Lizzie?"

The sound of his deep voice was like a wrecking ball in a house of cards. Erotic as it embraced her like a soft blanket. And her throat tightened for a moment to give way for a sound. She grabbed onto his arms to pull him further towards her and immediately could feel his breath fanning over her. A tingle on her lips. He was so close, so undeniable close, yet out of reach.

Unconsciously she angled her face further into his. He was impossible. Her entire body a traitor, bending at his will. Or hers, she was not sure of anything anymore. Only that she wanted him. And she could smell him now, almost taste his skin. His ear at her mouth, so he could listen closely. Don't stop what Lizzie?

Her eyes fell close. "Touching me." It was almost a whisper as her lips brushed his jaw and it was a moment of silence when he went utterly still.

He shifted then and their foreheads were connected. He was breathing her in now as well. Like a spell being broken, he was lacking words, lacking control for he wanted her just as much.

And it was all happening in slow motion, the anticipation driving her insane, making her shiver. She could feel the feathering of his eyelids on her cheek before his lips touched her there.

Slowly and gentle he trailed along the underside of her jaw until he reached the corner of her mouth. A tiny moan escaped her, then another one. And her mouth opened on its own awaiting his kiss. A heartbeat passed, then he entered without hesitation, starting a dance of passion and lust, sliding his tongue softly against hers, sucking her lips and biting her flesh.

She registered herself shaking uncontrollably, her teeth rattling, her fingers holding on for dear life onto his neck as his body moved flush against hers, encircling her leg through that very exposing slit of her dress around his hip, while pushing once into her and retreating, granting her only a moment of friction through the layers of clothes.

"Red." She sighed. She felt so drunk on her own hormones.

He surfaced upon hearing his name, observing her curiously. She looked so very surprised, so very afraid of her own lust for him. His eyelids closed and he gave a small peck, to reassure or to promise she didn't know, but she relaxed. And when his hands encircled her wrists again and pinned them slightly at her sides for a second, she turned her head to the side to give him access and allow his tongue, so warm and wet and soft, the exploration of her skin all along her neck, shoulder and cleavage, not stopping until he reached the rim of her dress right above her breasts.

And she came alive under his hands. Her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, while his palm followed the curve of her throat. His fingers roaming over her entire body; gliding along her calf, squeezing her thigh, massaging her bum, tracing over her abdomen and touching the underside of her breast to finally brushing over its sensitive peak.

She bucked into him and heard him groan. With eyes still shut she searched for his lips, drowning in the sensation of what she felt him do and felt herself do in return.

And it was never enough. The fire that seemed to burn her slowly, feeling the heat inside and out. Like gravity they moved in sync to pleasure one another and tease. And while she felt him unzip her dress painfully slow she tugged at his tie and unbuttoned his vest faster with unsteady fingers.

"Lizzie," a current of electricity rushing through her upon hearing her name. "Slow down." He muttered low into the tiny space in between.

Then he looked up and into her eyes, which had opened but lacked their usually blue. They shone black now and hungry, craving for more.

She wanted to taste him, smell him, feel his bare skin under her fingertips. Dig her hands into the curls of his chest and trace his biceps with her teeth. Her head had long fallen forward showering his face with kisses, while he slid down her body pulling the straps off her shoulder.

And in that moment of intimacy, he saw his own desire reflected, to be closer still. Mind, body and soul all fusing into one. And he held her gaze while lifting her off the ground. Her arms closed around his neck naturally, capturing his lips once more.

She felt his embrace tighten. Then she heard the lock of the door. The very same she was still pressed into, the very same she had come through only an hour ago. So much had changed. Who would have thought that the collateral of anger was such bliss?

"Red?" she rasped. So many questions combined in one word. He finished feathering kisses all over her face before looking back into her eyes with interest. "Am I really emotionally compromised right now?"

He laughed silently. "Yes." Then gave her another peck onto her mouth.

She looked a little bit stricken at him, exposed and quizzical, not sure what it meant for her. But he let her figure it out, all the while smiling that charming little smile at her, drawing her in, not so subtle.

It was dawning on her, slow and steady like fog lifting after sunrise. He was seducing her, that bastard.

She furrowed her eyebrows and kept watching his eyes, obvious to all the questions in her head if this idea would leave regret in its wake, all the while still having her legs wrapped around his hip. All the while his hands glided under the fabric of her dress, tracing his fingers lazy along the underside of her thigh up to where it would connect to her …. Her breath hitched. Yes, he was seducing her. And she was enjoying every minute of it.

"Never mind." She kissed him hard. He almost stumbled backwards.

Her decision final, just like that. She wanted it. She wanted him and all that came along with it. She trusted him enough and it would be okay, because when it came to her he was compromised as well.

Finally she managed to open his shirt, trailing her tongue along his neck, slightly biting the spot right under his ear. And he pushed into her another time. Two could play this 'give and take'.

He started carrying her towards his bedroom now, something she would have never thought she'd let him do. And he'd make love to her. A word, a feeling defined so much more differently when it came to them. Because she knew then, that he did. She had known since a long time. Something she had been scared of but was now overwhelmed by.

And he'd bathe in her erupting pleasure when she would drown in her senses, feeling every touch and every kiss a thousand times stronger when his naked skin would slide moist against her own, having buried every inch of him inside of her.

She decided right this moment that she could let go of her fears. The lines she had drawn had never mattered, neither did his wicked game. He was no impasse, no one way street. He was hers; it was simple as that.

And as his bedroom room door shut close with a noise, it didn't matter either that the meeting had been a set up after all.

-fin -

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A/N: In need of a cold shower? Yes? Or some advice how I can write the next fanfic better? Please let me know. :)