This fic was written for the Prompt-a-thon being held by Le Classy Caniveau on Tumblr. Feel free to stop by and send us a prompt!

Sleep eluded her.

After weeks on the run, they had hit a small apartment for the night, one of many safe houses, but this time with a room of her own, a bed. Finally able to strip off her clothes to sleep; curled under clean sheets in a tank top and panties, comfortable and quiet.

Luxuries.

And yet.

She can't sleep. Can't rest. Can't settle.

Did she… miss him? His quiet breathing beside her. The flip of pages as he read late into the night. His scent, that has come to mean safety and comfort and home.

She rolled over, annoyed with herself. And again.

Again.

Her skin felt hot and tight; her mind refused to settle.

She groaned into her pillow, and her thoughts flitted, of their own accord, to their last meet up with Mr Kaplan. To the moment after Red had taken the fresh go-bags to the trunk, and the older woman, with a twinkle in her eye, had pressed a smaller bag into her hands.

"There are some things," she'd said quietly, "that he just won't think of, dearie." Then she'd winked. Winked.

She opened her eyes, and leaned over to rummage in the duffle on the floor beside her. She pulled out Mr Kaplan's bag and propped herself up to dig inside. Chocolate. A small pack of tampons. What had turned out to be an incredibly filthy novel that she can't read without blushing. And this. Small and innocuous.

Or, it would have been, if it hadn't been purple.

She just needed to relax. Just for few minutes. Just so she could sleep.

She dropped the bag, tucked the little cylinder beside her pillow, and lay back, kicking her legs free of the tangled sheets.

She shut her eyes again, and tried not to think too hard about what she was doing.

His scent. His arms, tight around her after her near-shooting. His voice, deep and rich, reassuring. Telling her that she is his way home.

A hand drifted to her breast and she toyed with a nipple, already erect.

The smile that lights up his face. The glint in his eye, every so often, when he looks at her. The mobility of his expressive mouth.

She sighed, warmth seeping through her, and her other hand slid down her body.

He yawned, and blinked. The soft lamplight behind him suddenly seemed glaring; his neck ached with a cramp. He looked down at the book in his lap and realized he'd lost track of what he was reading some time ago.

Time for bed, he thought. Lizzie had gone some time ago, and he should be taking advantage of the chance for a real night's sleep as well.

He stood and stretched, spine cracking, and yawned again. He might be exhausted enough to actually rest, tonight.

He wandered to the bathroom — peed, washed, brushed his teeth. It was nice to have the opportunity for normal routines.

He hoped Lizzie was sleeping well; she had gained a terrible drawn look over their weeks on the road that worried him. He paused by her door and listened, just to make sure.

It was quiet and dark; good, he thought, she sorely needs a restful night.

But just as he turned away, he heard her moan softly. Concern flooded him — was she ill? Hurt? Upset?

He opened the door gently and slipped inside the room. He was about to call her name when his eyes focused on the bed.

She wasn't sick. Or upset. She was… She…

God, he thought, look away, get out of this room.

But he couldn't. He couldn't move at all.

She was stretched out, limbs long and pale, her back slightly arched, knees wide, head back, lips parted. Slim body almost bare, with her top ruched up under her armpits, her panties tangled around her ankles. One hand teased at a bare breast, rolling a swollen pink nipple between its fingers. The other was tucked at the vee of her thighs, making small, fierce movements.

She was so beautiful it knocked the breath from his body.

Inside the room, he could hear another noise, a low, consistent humming. As his eyes adjusted more and more to the darkness, he could make out the shape of something clutched in her hand.

It took him a moment, but…

Where on earth had she gotten a vibrator from?

As his mind put up a brief struggle with morality, he decided it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the delectable sight before him.

Heat coiled inside her, tingled through her fingers and toes. Her breath came in short pants, her eyes shut tight. The vibrator cupped her clit, surrounding it with sensation, driving her hard. Her breasts ached; her core was slick and wet.

So close, she thought, oh, so…

A faint rustle sounded, just loud enough to catch her attention between breaths.

She froze, startled. She opened her eyes cautiously, and saw him standing just inside the doorway, half-turned — whether coming or going, she couldn't tell. His face was caught mid-expression, and as their eyes met, he made a little choking noise in his throat.

"Lizzie," he rasped, his voice deep and husky. "I cannot express how much I regret this intrusion; I would never…"

He trailed off as a smile bloomed on her face; as her eyes dropped to the thickening bulge in his pants and then raised to meet his again.

"Are you sorry?" she asked. "Don't be."

Now that he was standing there, she thought there was no way she could settle for the tool in her hand, no matter how diverting.

"Lizzie," he started again, but stopped abruptly when she shifted on the bed.

She dropped her outer knee as low as she could, ensuring he had a full view, and kept her eyes fixed on his face as she started to move her hands again, plumping and massaging her breast, pressing the vibrator back into her clit.

Her stomach trembled as his eyes went cloudy and dark; as his expression turned hungry and predatorial. He kicked off his shoes and prowled over to the bed, eyes hot on hers. He sat on the bed beside her, leaned over a little with one hand planted beside her head.

"Let me," he said, and slid his free hand over hers, taking the vibrator from her.

She drew a sharp breath as he increased the pressure, as tension began to build again inside her. He shifted, not letting up, raising himself up and over her to straddle her legs. He traced the contours of her body with his free hand, making her quiver, winding downward until his fingers were stroking at her entrance, teasing. Her hands dropped to the bed and she clutched at the sheets.

"Red," she whispered, "please." Her eyes drifted shut and she pushed into his hands.

He licked his lips, let out his breath heavily. The wet heat of her was intoxicating; he eased two fingers inside her and she moaned again. He was hard and aching now, watching her shudder beneath him, listening to the soft cries that started as he thrust his fingers in and out.

"That's it," he crooned. "Just let go, sweetheart, I've got you."

She arched further off the bed with a louder cry, coating his fingers, his hand, with moisture as she came. He flicked off the vibrator and tossed it aside, letting the heel of his other hand rub against her throbbing clit to ease her down.

Her eyes opened halfway and glimmered at him, heavy-lidded with pleasure. She pushed up on her elbows, then grasped his arm to pull herself up so they were face-to-face. They looked at each other, waiting, the air electric between them.

"Red," she breathed finally, "are you going to kiss me?"

He raised a hand to stroke the side of her face, marvelling at the soft silk of her skin, surprised to see how he shook.

"So beautiful," he murmured, "so gorgeous, you are."

She flushed a little, leaned into his hand. "Red," she said back, and closed the rest of the distance to press her lips to his.

His mouth was soft and warm and yielding; she immediately loved the feel of him. Her nerves jumped and tingled; she started to want, all over again.

She kissed him, and he was lost. HIs hands moved, one to tangle in her hair, the other to grip her waist and tug her into him. He had to taste her; he licked at her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as she opened to him on a sigh. He felt half-crazed as he kissed her, drowned in her, the fingers of one hand still wet and slick with her release.

Gasping for breath, he tore his mouth away to burn a path down her neck with hot, wet kisses, her skin salty and damp. He wanted to mark her skin and claim her as his own; he suckled desperately at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, dizzy with lust.

"Red," she said again, "Red, I want your skin, I want to see and touch and taste."

His cock hardened further at her words, pressing painfully into his zipper. He managed to pull back from her; was gratified to see her face as driven as his, her eyes as wild as he knew his own must be.

He shrugged out of his vest as she fumbled at his buttons, then peeled his shirt down his arms. She kicked her feet, ridding herself of her panties, as he yanked the tank over her head and tossed it aside. She ran her hands down his body, her fingers light and teasing, learning him. She leaned in to nuzzle at his chest, licking and sucking, as her hands worked the buckle of his belt; unbuttoned and unzipped his fly.

"Just let me…" he managed, pushing away with great force of will to stand beside the bed. He stripped off the rest of his clothing, kicking it away and climbing back onto the bed as quickly as he could.

She laughed softly into his mouth as their legs tangled together, as he covered her with his body, as he dove back into her kiss. She pressed into him eagerly, wrapping arms and legs around him to pull him closer. The head of his cock rubbed along her core, spreading her wetness, gradually starting to slide easily.

She whimpered, clutching at him, her hips twitching; she started to nip little wet bites along his jawline, the curve of his neck, driving him. Shifting his weight, he grasped himself and set his cock to her, held still one moment.

"Please," she whispered again, mouth tickling his ear delightfully. "I want you so, Red."

He let out his breath in a long sigh and thrust into her, long and smooth. She fluttered around him and he groaned in appreciation.

"Lizzie," he murmured, "You're so lovely, you feel…" He began to move, pull and push, deep and slow, savouring. "Sublime, sweetheart."

She drew a shuddering breath, started to speak, couldn't. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and found his rhythm. They moved together well, in synchronicity, damp with sweat, skin sliding, breathing short.

He longed to freeze time, to stay in the moment, a flash of perfection. But she was hot and willing and clinging, touching him, stroking, panting little encouragements into his ear — yes, like that; please, Red; faster now; harder, just there; oh, oh, Red — and he couldn't stop, couldn't take it, could only obey.

He moved within in her now like a man possessed, driving into her over and over as she arched into him, her nails digging into his back. She cried out again, high and loud, stiffening beneath him, around him, coating him once more. He opened his eyes and pulled back to look, to see her face, and that was enough — he thrust again, hard, deep, and came in long, hot pulses, shaking with release.

He dropped into her as gently as he could, stilling himself. She tightened the grip of her limbs, welcoming, reassuring him, shaken inside with the intensity of their love making. They lay still for a few moments, then a few minutes, as their breathing evened out, as they calmed together.

When he felt her shiver a little, he rolled them sideways, then reached down and tugged up the sheet, the blanket. She curled into him like she belonged there — and, of course, she did. He pressed a kiss to her damp hair, then rested his cheek against her head, fatigue starting to overcome him.

Just as he started drift, she spoke softly.

"Remind me to thank Kate," she said. "For the supplies."