It was a crisp winter evening as...no, let's be real, it was ass-cold because this is Boston, and it only looks charmingly crisp or clear from well within a warm house. So anyway...it was cold out, and Jane swaggered-that type of swagger that Angie would say isn't gay but totally is-up to Maura's front door, knocking butchly.
Maura raced to the door before Bass could get there. Yes, raced-because tortoises are actually pretty active animals that cover a lot of ground and make pretty bad house pets. She stopped to catch her breath and put on a smile for Jane's benefit. Her arms were bare because they simply looked better that way, and her smile ended up being a little stiffer because the cold really didn't care what outfit looked best with Christmas lights. "Jane...what a surprise!" Even thought it really wasn't at all
"Hi Marua, I'd kiss you on the doorstep like in the movies, but it's friggin' cold out here, so can we do it inside?" Jane didn't wait for an answer before she hurried in and started talking again. "So, I didn't have time to go shopping, but I got you this." Jane held out a piece of ribbon she'd stolen from a window display at the coffee shop.
Maura cocked her head, blinking while at the same time making her eyes seem larger and somewhat innocent. Quite a few things were running through her mind-the temperature of the oven, the power the lights used relative to what she might normally use divided by how long the door had been open, and just what Jane was doing with a piece of ribbon that was probably probably made of some sort of synthetic fabric. "You...got me a ribbon.. I believe the rest is missing."
"Really?" said Jane, and because she does that, she said it again, "Really?...You're gonna make me...okay fine." Jane took the ribbon and tied it around her neck. Then she smiled, "get it now?"
To go with cocking her head, Maura crossed her arms. She was well aware that her facial expressions and movements were not as overt as Jane's, but one had to compensate somehow. Finally, recognition lit her eyes, and she broke out into a smile. "Oh! You're my present. That's a hideous color on you, Jane. Couldn't you have picked a nice...blue bow?"
"Everyone's a critic...and it's not possible for me to look bad in any color...we all know that, so let it go." Jane rolled her eyes and took off her coat. Then for no reason at all, other than she's cute, Jo Friday was there. The readers said 'how cute' before paying attention to Jane again because she had finished with her coat, and they noticed she was wearing a blue fitted shirt, and that scared them. Jane looked around, "When did you have time to decorate for Christmas? You didn't even have time to bring me a cannoli yesterday, even though I did that smiling and eyelash-batting thing that gets made into .gifs.
Maura looked around thoughtfully. She hadn't decorated; the decorations simply...were there. It had been most disconcerting, but she was starting to get used to these sorts of things. And she was working out the awareness of the lines between fiction and reality, but she really did wish her hair color wasn't such a big part of that because it made getting dressed in the morning difficult. "I was concerned for your health," she said, face showing said concern because everyone knows Jane can't resist that face. "Come see the Christmas tree...I'll get the wine." But she was grabbing Jane's hand to show her the Christmas tree, and even then Maura knew it could go one of two ways. There was the standard cut to the tree and then to Jane's face. And then there was everyone else wondering just what their hands were going to do. It didn't seem to bother Jane, but the endless permutations were proving difficult for Maura.
Jane went along, very glad that she didn't have to hear the other woman's thought process then, because it was the aphrodisiac equivalent of working on a rubix cube for approximately 8 hours while hearing a lecture entitled 'The Future of Plumbing.' But since she didn't have to hear it, she instead just stared at Maura's ass the whole way.
"Do you like it? It's a coniferous tree...Pseudotsuga Pinaceae." Jane's blank look made Maura stop in order to let the readers laugh. It was quite annoying that her knowledge was the subject of so much of the humor. "A Douglas fir. Though the bottom is a bit sparse on branches."
Jane largely ignored the long speech about the carnivorouspsudotogapinecase tree, though it was probably a huge turn-on for about half of the lesbian-and/or-other-questioning-and/or-label-free fangirls reading this. Instead she just did that look that's a huge turn on for everyone and said, "I'm going to take you now, and it's probably going to be on the floor because I read someplace that you like that, and really that's what everyone's expecting."
"Oh! Jane!" Maura's eyes were big again. "You'll wrinkle my dress," she protested because half of the audience wanted her to protest, and she does have that thing about wrinkles. But she was well aware that another half didn't care about the wrinkles, so she added, "But if you take me hard..." It was unlike her outer monologue, but there were all of those other words on pages that justified her saying it.
Jane was suddenly from Texas, and replied, "that's what I was plannin' darlin," Because no one has ever bought the whole Angie-as-Bostonian thing, but for some reason (maybe her voice) they let it go. With that, Jane dramatically pushed Maura down onto the floor and kissed her and was not even distracted by the many squeees from various fangirls.
Maura had finally gotten used to the squees. Her hair, however, nearly got caught on some of the lower branches, and that simply wouldn't do. She shifted underneath Jane, half trying to see if the brunette was suddenly wearing a strap-on that the writers might have forgotten about, but she was disappointed so she merely wrapped her legs around her. "You're wearing too many clothes…clothes that are ill fitting but somehow still appealing."
Jane didn't let Maura up-because like she said on the internets-her fluff goes on the top of the sandwich. Dramatically, she pulled off her shirt to reveal perfect abs (despite the three kids...damn Harmon) and then somehow managed to pull Maura's dress off of her..magically...without getting up. Most of the fangirls had fainted already, but the 5 or so who survived got to watch Jane lean down and kiss Maura deeply.
Who needed to breathe when they were kissing Jane Rizzoli? It was a ridiculous expository question; Maura resented it. But she kissed Jane back and moaned into it as she squirmed underneath her. And like she said on the internets…sometimes her fluff went on the top and sometimes it went on the bottom, and if that wasn't really clear enough in this situation, she was topping from the bottom, which is hard to do when making a PB&Fluff sandwich. Jane was pretty much right where she wanted her, and Maura had no qualms with being on the floor under the Christmas tree. "Touch me, Jane," she moaned when the kiss broke.
Jane swore, which made her sound even more Texan, but like we said, no one cared. For some reason Maura wasn't wearing any underwear either, and Jane got right down to business. And at this point the writers only narrowly avoided a gratuitous description of Jane's long, slender fingers...wait.
That's called occupatio, and there the authors are using it in a refusal to narrate with the possibly implication of a humility topos. Chaucer does it a lot in The Knight's Tale. At least one of your author's feels a kinship with Maura in knowing this fact, and if not for Jane's slender fingers, Maura might better appreciate that.
Jane mentally high-fived herself when Maura came- because she would- and kissed the blonde (or whatever color hair the fandom has decided to give her) woman before starting to pull her own pants off. "Oh Maura...yes...I don't want to wait any longer...I..."
Then the writer paused, and so Jane paused. "Damn," the authors said.
"You're kidding me with this," said Jane.
"No, sorry, that's 1,500 words, sweetie, maybe next time."
"Well that sucks," said Jane.
"Not enough words for that," the authors concluded.