Okay, what's this? It's M, it might be PWP (not sure about the term, obviously), and I just wrote it down like pretty much everything else: trusting my instincts (though I have a hard time doing that at the moment) and not thinking much. It's the way I write.

Disclaimer: it's not mine, I'm just playing here, and I'm sure as hell not making any money with it.

Safe House

When he took his wallet and his keys out of the little iron bowl the watchman handed him, Patrick Jane felt tired all of a sudden. So tired that he wondered how he stayed upright for a moment. His three-piece-suit felt good on his frame- he was simply used to wearing those, in prison fatigues he'd always felt out of character. This…this was him.

He thanked the watchman pointedly and shoved his stuff into his pocket. His cell phone was there- and when he switched it on for the first time since his arrest, he found out that he had a message. A recent message.

"Jane, working a case, can't come to get you. Hope you'll manage on your own. Lisbon"

He smiled. He hadn't really assumed that she would get him- but it felt somehow nice that she had assumed it.

The mobile went dead- the battery was empty, of course. He pocketed it slowly.

He waved a short goodbye to the uniformed guys who opened the gate for him, and then he stepped outside. Free.

The remnants of a blazing hot day could be felt all around him, but it would soon be dark. He was some miles out of Sacramento. And the sky looked as if it was carrying the foreboding of heavy rain.

He looked inside his wallet. One dollar thirty-two cents. Well, obviously that meant he would be walking.

He had his good old shoes, at least: he could walk almost any distance in those. He shed the jacket, throwing it over his shoulder, rolled his shirt-sleeves up and simply started.

It was quiet, remoteness written on every decayed building he encountered. Patrick Jane had used to like things like that. Everything that was secluded, melancholic, distorted. Patrick Jane had always loved to be alone. He could only relax when he was alone. Could allow the mask to slip from his face.

Why was he feeling different now?

Something inside him screamed for warmth. Coziness. A place where felt welcome. Wanted. He thought about visiting a bar as soon as he entered the city of Sacramento…but he had no money and no idea if his account was already cleared. His money hadn't been accessible while he'd been imprisoned, of course.

But most important, he didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. He just wanted comfort. And he didn't know where to find it.

Soon the first heavy drops of rain started to fall. It wiped all remains of warmth from the air when the torrent picked up: the rain was chilly cold. And it soaked through his three-piece suit in no time.

Patrick Jane welcomed the cold. He hugged his own body, heard his teeth chattering, and allowed the loneliness to wash through him. He had always loved to be lonely. Why did he hate it now?

The rain kept drumming down on his body. He closed his eyes and felt the chill seep into his skin until it reached his bones. Had he ever been that cold before? His legs felt numb, but he walked on.

He felt battered- as if he'd been in a brawl. And the tiredness…it was almost paralyzing now. His jaw hurt, for his teeth were chattering so hard. He tried to stop them by clenching his mouth shut, but it didn't work. The chill was profound. And it was everywhere.

When he reached Sacramento's center, he stopped dead in his tracks. He had no idea where to go. No place to spend the night.

He felt the loneliness getting stronger, sharper. Like an evil monster lurking to suck out his heart. Waiting in the shadows. So easy to start wallowing in self-pity. Sleep on a bench in the park, the drenching rain falling down on him. Maybe he would catch a giant cold and…stop. He wouldn't do that.

So, what were the alternatives? CBI was out. There, he could cut the loneliness into strips. It would suffocate him the moment it got the chance. The attic was moist and cold and dusty- exactly the cheerful kind of environment that would push his mood through the ceiling. Out.

But he didn't really know anyone in this city. Had no friends. Well…the team. But- Rigsby could well have a lady friend over. Cho had Elise, who was slightly scared of him. And van Pelt- no, he would be awkward with van Pelt. Feel forced to talk about O'Loughlin's betrayal and no…he didn't want to talk much tonight. That left…

A sudden wave of longing grabbed his heart, so strong it almost knocked him off his feet. Before he'd been arrested, he had started to have strange feelings for agent Lisbon. He'd gotten almost…cuddly around her, and damn- he'd never been like this before! He'd always been cool, calculating. But when she'd sat down next to him on his couch, which she sometimes did in the evening, he'd felt the urge to snuggle up to her. He wanted her to pet him until he purred with bliss…he shook his head in mild disgust. Patrick Jane had never felt especially touchy-feely. Only his wife had known that secret urge inside him, the soft-hearted fool that needed to be held sometimes…a pang of sadness shot through his body.

He had lost it all. There was no way to dodge the issue. He had lost it, and it wouldn't come back.

But he needed to feel at home tonight. Though it possibly wasn't a great idea to show up on Lisbon's doorstep like this: cold, desperate, needy. What the hell. He would do it anyway.

He wrapped his wet jacket tighter around himself and marched on, heading in the direction of Teresa Lisbon's home.


Lisbon looked out of her livingroom window into the torrential rainfall outside and wondered where he was. She'd been home for no more than twenty minutes, her hair was still damp from running through the downpour.

The case wasn't cracked yet, she was just glad Jane would be back tomorrow. Jane.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. She hoped he had managed to get- wherever he would be getting to, now, as a free man. She didn't feel comfortable with the image of him sleeping in the cold attic- but where else would he stay?

She couldn't bear the thought that he was all alone. She wanted to stop all the pain, all the heartbreak the whole team had suffered. Yes, he had killed. And she would carry her failure with her forever- she had failed to stop him. And that would stay with her for the rest of her days. But she knew he had damn well hurt enough. Enough to last him several lifetimes. And she would stop that now.

She grabbed her coat and was almost at the door when she heard a light knocking. She startled, almost shocked by the unexpected sound.

She opened up, a frown on her face. Her eyes went huge like saucers immediately.

Patrick Jane stood on her porch, obviously soaked to the bones. So wet the rain was dripping from his nose, his hair plastered to his head. His teeth were chattering miserably, and he hugged himself against the cold.

Lisbon pulled him inside without thinking much.

"Damn, Jane", she growled, "why didn't you take a cab, for god's sake?"

"N…nn…no…mmmmoney…", he stammered while she rubbed up and down his arms to warm him up.

"Why didn't you call me?" she asked softly.

"ph…phphphphone…e…e…e…eempty," he stuttered, so cold now he'd almost lost every feeling in his limbs.

Damn, Lisbon hadn't thought about that. Of course his mobile was empty after his stay in prison.

"You walked here?" she gasped "The whole way? Damn you, Jane- you need a hot bath, fast! I start the water, you undress."

She raced up the stairs to the bathroom and turned the tap on full force, choosing a temperature that was just about tolerable…she needed to get him warm, fast. Or he would catch the cold of the century, possibly pneumonia. Damn him.

She stormed back down and found him still dressed- his fingers were shaking so hard he couldn't unbutton his shirt and vest. She took his hands in hers, they were clammy, icy, she rubbed them gently to make the blood rush back in, but eventually she took to the task herself and simply opened the buttons for him. She knew he would be naked when she finished this, but at the moment, she couldn't care less. She would warm him up, make him some hot tea just the way he liked it, wrap him up in the coziest blanket she could find and force him to sleep…she had no idea how she planned to achieve this, but she would try everything in her might. She pushed the soaked clothes from his shoulders and wiped at his wet skin. He was silent, kept his head lowered, and she could tell he was possibly ashamed, hating to need her like this. It didn't matter right now. She needed him warm, that was all.

She took his numb hand and pulled him up the stairs, pushing him into her small bathroom. The tub was almost filled, steam rising from the water's surface. She closed the tap.

She tried not to think while she opened his belt, his pants so wet they clung to his legs. He was still shaking so hard his hands were useless. She pulled the zipper down and shoved the slacks to the floor. Jane's hands went to the waistband of his briefs, but he had difficulties to get them down, his fingers still numb from the cold. So Lisbon pushed all thoughts from her mind, put her hands on his and brought his boxers down. She tried not to look, not to get him even more embarrassed.

She took his arm to support him while he stepped into the tub, modestly averting her eyes. He sat down, submerging his icy body in the hot water, and gritted his teeth when the blood surged back into the small veins in his limbs, causing a prickling pain that ran all over his skin. She rubbed his back, trying to rush the process, and took the little bottle of shampoo she kept on a shelf. Lavender scented, she hoped he wouldn't mind. She poured some of the shampoo into her hand and started to wash him gently, rubbing the lather over his slowly warming skin. He hugged his knees to his chest, keeping his head lowered, and she was almost expecting him to protest, to stop her. But he didn't. He just sat there and let her touch him, when Teresa Lisbon knew full well he hated to be touched.


She tried to keep her movements as simple and unobtrusive as possible, he noticed that. But her hands felt so good on his body, as if they soothed a lifelong ache deep inside him. He resisted the urge to lean into her touch, contained every sound he longed to make in his throat. He didn't want to scare her.

But his shame had subsided. She was so sweet. So gentle. He just wanted to stay here with her, in a safe little bubble, a place where they were allowed to be just Patrick and Teresa, just do what their instincts told them. No schemes. No games. Just her and him.

He nuzzled his own knee and savored her hands on him. Tiny hands. Soft hands. Rubbing the fragrant soap onto his skin. He felt warm now, so deliciously warm, ready to fall asleep on the spot.

"Put your head back," she said softly, and he did, straightening slightly. She poured shampoo onto his hair and started to work the balmy liquid in, her hands diving into his wet curls. He almost purred when her determined fingers massaged his scalp, sending forbidden feelings through his body. He pushed them away, though he didn't want to. He wanted to feel for a change. Wanted to feel different-special. Warm. Alive.

She washed his hair thoroughly before she carefully rinsed them with the shower. He sighed softly, his head thrown back. Lisbon smoothed her hand over his hair and watched his Adam's apple bop as he swallowed. Damn. She wanted to kiss him.

She got up and handed the little bottle to him.

"I guess you can manage the rest on your own," she whispered, trying to breathe around the giant lump in her throat. "I'll be downstairs and make you some tea."

He closed his eyes in gratitude.

"Lisbon?" he said softly before she left the room, "Thank you."

She smiled at him, and his heart constricted in his chest.

"You're welcome." She breathed, nodding slightly.

And her words felt so good he almost started to cry. He was welcome.


She made his tea the way he'd taught the whole team. Milk first. Water boiling. She chuckled slightly. Yes, if there was just one thing every member of Serious Crimes knew, it was how to make Patrick Jane's tea.

She went upstairs again, counting her steps to distract herself from thinking too much. So many thoughts, threatening to simply overwhelm her. She needed to keep her cool- at least for the time being.

He still sat in the tub, silent, unmoving.

She took her terry cloth robe, bright red, from the little hook next to the door.

"I…I absolutely have no clothes that will fit you" she started, "But- this robe is oversized, so you should wear it until- you go to bed. But- you have to sleep in the nude tonight, I'm afraid."

Damn, that was embarrassing. But he just nodded at her with a soft, kind smile.

"Thank you" he said, "that's no problem, really. I'm just glad I can stay here. I…wouldn't really know where else to go."

She squatted down in front of the tub and tousled his damp hair gently.

"You could have caught your death out there, Patrick Jane." She whispered, concern lined into her features.

And he did a huge leap. He took her hand in his and pressed a short kiss to her knuckles.

"Thanks for saving me then, Teresa Lisbon."


Her robe was pretty short on him, she thought with a chuckle, but it rendered him more or less decent. His legs were rather spectacular. She tried to forget about the rest, but it wasn't easy. Everything about him was gorgeous. She sighed.

They drank tea together, and she ordered some take-out from her favorite Chinese restaurant. She wanted to feed him. But she sure as hell didn't want to waste time cooking.

His soft hair had almost dried, so blond it seemed to glitter. She pushed her hand into the rich curls, stroking through them. She didn't know why. She just felt like it. He smiled and cocked his head slightly, leaning into her touch. Damn. She couldn't stop petting him.

"Are you tired?" she asked softly.

"I guess." He answered.

Truth was, he didn't know what he felt right now. It was strange, confusing. The same mixture he'd come to expect whenever he dealt with his lady boss. She confused him lately. Made him….want something. Something he didn't dare put a name to.

She led him to her bedroom.

"Slip out of the robe and under the sheets," she said, and had no idea why she suddenly felt so excited, so raw. "I'll get you another, warmer blanket."

He watched her retreating back for a while. He didn't want to sleep alone in her bed. But he couldn't ask her to stay when he didn't wear any pants, could he?

He shed the robe, a slight pout forming on his lips. The sheets felt cool and clean on his naked skin, the pillow was so soft…he sighed in contentment. He was free. He was warm. He would sleep in Lisbon's house tonight, close to the one person he trusted with his life. He felt good. For the first time in he didn't know how long.

Lisbon came back and covered him with a warm, fluffy blanket, tucking him in softly.

And then she leant down and kissed his temple.

He lost it completely. A shower of liquid heat perfused his whole body, her lips were sweet and pliant against his parched, touch-hungry skin, and he knew, he wouldn't fall asleep without her.

"Don't leave me alone," he whispered urgently, "please, Lisbon- stay with me. Just this once."

She stroked through his hair. Watched his open, vulnerable eyes, his beautiful, full lips, trembling slightly.

"Okay." She said softly.

She put her small body on top of the blanket, but her arms wrapped around him, and he was content for the moment. He placed his head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat, and felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his cheek. She pushed him closer. His eyes fluttered shut, and he was purring like a kitten.

It took him only seconds to fall asleep- only moments after he'd noticed that Lisbon's heartbeat was pretty fast.


When he woke up in the middle of the night, he was toasty warm. His body felt lithe and comfortable, and he felt safe and rested. He noticed that Lisbon hadn't moved, his cheek was still snug against her chest. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss on her décolleté- her breathing told him she was fast asleep. He lifted his hand from the blanket and stroked up and down her arm- damn, she was cold.

He covered her with the fluffy comforter- but he could feel much more of her body through the thin sheets that remained between them. Her warmth. The contours of her small frame. His face was now level with hers, and he could feel her breasts pressing into his naked chest. He watched her intently. Her lips were closed, her breath sweet and pure. She was his sleeping beauty. He almost groaned. What was the matter with him, that he was laying here thinking mushy thoughts?

He had tried to go back to sleep for a while when she opened her eyes.

"Hey." She whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Hey." He answered.

He didn't know how it happened. But suddenly his lips were on hers, and she pressed back against him. Opening her mouth when his tongue started to probe. And he was lost, unable to pull away.

She moaned softly, and he tried to elicit the sweet sound again. He simply wanted her to groan more, louder. He freed his arms from the sheets and wrapped them around her, pulling her closer. She shivered when she met the warmth of his body.

His lips were hot, silky against hers, and his tongue so sweet she felt herself drowning in his taste as soon as it invaded her mouth. She kissed him back, helpless to do anything else, the night provided a strange retreat from reality, here she was free, and her dreams were so close, she could touch them. Touch him. She was immersed in the sweet play of his lips and the delicious flavor he covered her senses with. His kiss was groping, eating her up, his tongue tasting her in long, languid strokes.

They were lost to the world. And just like that, reality stopped to matter.

Jane pulled the tank top over her head, groaning in frustration when he had to break the kiss to rid her of the garment, but his mouth was on hers as soon as he'd finished the task while his hands were busy tracing the outlines of her small, round breasts, so perfect to his touch, molding into his palms with their pillow-softness. He stroked the nipples into tight little peaks, dying to taste them, but he couldn't bring himself to separate from her lips right now. So he let his fingers do the exploring for the moment, letting them slide beneath the waistband of her loose sweatpants, every movement showing her that he didn't want harmless tonight.

Jane didn't know what the hell he was doing here- but he knew that nothing would stop him. If they wanted him to leave the CBI- he would go immediately, without flinching. But he would never leave this woman's side, would never turn his back on her. The place inside his heart where only a dull throbbing had been all those years he'd worked in her team was so full now it felt close to bursting. He'd missed her. He'd missed her every single day he'd been gone, confined, kept away from her. Now his want pulled him towards her like magnetism. And this time, he wasn't scared.

His hand slipped between her soft folds, slowly pressing inside her, his lips swallowing the breathless gasp she released the moment she felt him intrude. She was wet, pliant, ready, though she was tight around him, clutching him like a vise. She slid her slender leg over his hip, and he cursed the sheets and the pants that separated them. He pulled his finger back, reveling in her sweet, bereft little sound she made when she lost his touch, he was already pushing the sheet away impatiently and rid her of her pants only moments later. Blissfully naked, he put her leg back over his hip, shuddering when his erection brushed her needy core. Damn, he was ready. He hadn't felt like that in years.

He rolled onto his back and gasped with awe when she straddled his legs, straightening for his eyes to see the glory of her pale body, rising above him like an angel in the soft glow of the full moon shining through her window. His manhood swelled even more, priming him for the end of his celibacy, making emotions course through him he could hardly comprehend. She rubbed her crotch against his, and he almost lost consciousness, his eyes rolling back into his head under the onslaught of sheer lust. Her fingertips raked over his chest, and he bucked beneath her, gasping when she toyed with his nipples, almost as sensitive as hers.

Lisbon bowed down and kissed his neck, letting her tongue lick over his fluttering pulse point, tracing his jaw with her lips until she closed them around his earlobe. He turned his head with a deep moan and lifted it to reach her chest, whimpering with gratitude when she indulged him, bringing her breasts into his reach.

He kissed her nipples attentively, his eyes closed in abandon, playing with his tongue against her hyper-sensitive skin, every tug of his lips sending jolts of pleasure straight to her womb. She clutched his head against her chest, her fingers driving through his hair.

He almost cried out when she straightened again, taking her nipples from his hungry mouth, but he sucked in a deep breath when she lifted her groin from his and positioned his length at her entrance.

For a second, their eyes met. He saw her fear, how scared she was that he would push her away again, that he would retreat into his shell, regret everything tomorrow. He slid his hands over her body, pulling her closer, gently, pushing his hips up, urging her to take him. He needed her to fill his emptiness, or he would never be truly free. She was his only chance for salvation. He pulled her body onto his, and she allowed him this much control, sinking down on him, watching his eyes close in agony, a shudder running through him so sharp she could feel it.

Her core swallowed him, sucking his quivering shaft into her slick sheath, covering him like a hot glove. He almost passed out when she had taken him to the hilt, her buttocks settling on his hips, undulating to brand his senses with her ownership. And yes- he felt owned. He would never leave her. He blazed with love. Whispering her name in reverence.

He pushed his groin against hers, deepening the penetration. She closed her eyes, shivering. He was huge, filling her so completely she almost couldn't cope with the feeling, stretching her tight sheath until her lower body was aflame, every nerve ending frayed to the maximum. She needed some moments to compose herself and stroked him some more, making him moan when her fingertips slid over his fevered skin. He looked like sheer perfection spread beneath her like this, so vulnerable, hiding nothing for a change, and she could see deeper than she ever had before.

She put her hands flat against his chest and started to move. Lifting her body from his, wrenching his hard cock from her core's tight embrace before she took him again, setting a slow, torturous rhythm, feeling him arch beneath her, pushing his groin up to meet her strokes, one by one. In seconds her arousal had grown out of proportion, making her wonder how the hell she should survive this.

Jane was beyond caring, his eyes were clenched shut, his whole body diffused into a seething mass of pure hunger, and every time she moved the sensations got stronger. She picked up speed, taking and releasing him in rapid succession, his cock surged in and out of her, leaving a trail of blazing fire inside her narrow body, rubbing against her straining clit every time she impaled herself on him, until she could hardly breathe with ecstasy, awash with sweet, tormenting agony. She gyrated her hips, making him groan with unadulterated pleasure, his manhood twitched inside her, every nerve exploding in a cloud of sexual bliss. He thrust up against her and found he couldn't do it fast enough this way, couldn't get close enough, couldn't stake his claim.

He grabbed her with both hands and turned, bringing her slim body beneath his larger frame. His swollen member surged deeper, filling her even more, and she cried out when he started to pound into her, his rhythm fast, relentless, his strokes deep, thorough, cramming every ounce of space he could find inside her. He urged her to wrap her legs around his waist, bringing them even closer, and he thrust into her with renewed force, more, more, until he felt her explode all around him, her walls tightening on a desperate scream, milking him mercilessly, squeezing at his pumping shaft. He could feel her pleasure, the throes of her mind-blowing orgasm in every fiber, could taste the power of her release, how she melted into him, came for him again and again. Jane wailed when he let go, his seed shooting out of him in a hot jet, climaxing so hard she felt every wave of cum deep inside her. Sweat ran down his body and face in rivulets, the release shaking him to the core, a hoarse cry torn from his throat when he spent the last remains of his semen inside her, filling her sweet body to the brim.

He almost collapsed with the utter exhaustion gripping his body, she slid her hands over his skin, and every touch sent small electric shocks through his system, making him jerk when his hyper-sensitive nerves fired full force. Her fingers danced over the tense muscles in his buttocks before she grabbed him with both hands, pulling him closer, kneading his rounded flesh with hungry, thorough motions. His hips undulated against hers, both moaned when piercing lust jolted through them, almost tore them apart. Their bodies were so aroused every tiny sensation felt like a torturous mixture of pleasure and pain…almost unbearable.

He pulled back slowly, sliding out of her, a soft smile tugging at his lips when he saw her pout. Damn, she had a pout to die for, and he kissed her swollen lips, trying to make up for her obvious disappointment.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "there's more- I'm just bone tired- let me sleep for a while, hold me, Teresa…then I'm ready to give more."

She could hear the tiredness in his voice. He'd been through so much, and tenderness for him washed over her. She kissed his forehead and gathered him into her arms, smiling when he sighed heartily, his face pressed against her chest. She tousled his hair again, her free hand stroking down his naked back. He pushed the blanket over both of them, preventing the nightly chill from intruding.

Jane felt warmed, secure, loved. And he felt it almost like a soft pang deep inside him when he realized that he loved back- his heart had been taken from him, and he hadn't even noticed. Been unaware and blind for a change. He'd always sucked at reading his own feelings, and he very well noticed the irony of that.

A surge of guilt filled him- he'd sworn never to love again. To stay lonely and unavailable, a cynical recluse nobody could touch. But he couldn't change who he was. Deep inside him, his core wasn't black. Angela had seen his colors. And Lisbon saw them as well.

He would tell her. First thing in the morning, he would say the words, before he would take her again to reaffirm this new chance. Show her that he meant business, and that he wouldn't walk, no matter how difficult it would get.

But for now, he simply didn't want to extricate himself from her arms, and his mouth was busy kissing her sweet skin until the world blurred around the edges and sleep claimed him.

And he sank into the most peaceful slumber he'd had in years.

The End

Feedback, please- I'm going through an insecure phase, and you can help!