Ahhh, this is so silly I'm wondering if I should post it…but since Donnamour1969 asked me to throw my readership a T-rated bone from time to time and I write so few T-rated stories, I thought I share this one with you. I actually dreamt this last night…yeah, I'm not kidding, I'm dreaming about Jane/Lisbon on a regular basis. I'm positively obsessed.
Warnings? Nah, this is just sappy and fluffy and not dangerous at all.
Disclaimer: It's not mine. It's just too good to shrug it away.
I Wish Upon A Star
Sometimes, Teresa Lisbon loved to portray the overworked cop. Sometimes she spent her evenings filling out forms that could have been dealt with tomorrow, just to prevent herself from going home.
She loved her office. Loved how orderly and factual it was, free of the mess her private life had become. Her apartment depressed her, the piles of laundry, the empty fridge, the dull TV-programs that kept her company on countless nights.
Here, the silence was soothing. The darkness a quiet invitation to leave some boundaries behind. The full moon reflected from the shining timber piling, casting its chilly glow over her things. She dropped the pen for a moment and stretched her arms over her head, bathing in the freedom surrounding her. All alone on this little island of light. Well, that was incorrect- she wasn't all alone.
Her eyes wandered through the bullpen stretching out beyond her office windows and landed on the unruly blond curls visible on the armrest of the worn leather couch in the back corner.
She smiled. He had fallen asleep immediately after the closed case pizza had been devoured, obviously tired to the bones. It was hard to tell with Patrick Jane if he was really asleep or just resting, but he hadn't moved for hours, so she guessed it was safe to assume that he was truly out for the time being.
She sighed, her fingers playing with the pen of their own volition.
How often had she sworn to herself that she would hate him for the rest of her life. Would kill him with her bare hands. Would never, never, NEVER trust him again just one tiny little bit.
Only to find that at the end of the day, Patrick Jane, annoying, obnoxious, smug, was everything that was good and beautiful and worth it in her life. She couldn't imagine going on without him. Not that she would ever admit that to anybody. But it was true.
Dealing with him on a daily basis had taught her that she had just had a hazy notion about love before she'd met him. She'd lusted. Been pretty fond of certain guys. Had settled into a comfortable, amicable companionship once or twice. But love? She'd never known what love was until she'd met her nemesis. Had never known what it meant not to ask for anything, be content with whatever you got. What it meant to suffer through every heartache gladly just to spare one's lover pain. She was fine just sitting here and looking at him. Knowing she would give her life to keep him safe, without a rational thought involved. Rationality had no place here.
Just sometimes, when she had been through a lot with him, covered a lot of schemes, smoothed the waters over and over again, told him off on countless occasions not getting more than a sassy smile and a cryptic citation from one of Jane's numerous reads, she felt loneliness bubbling up inside her. Those were the times when she desperately wanted to touch. So much sometimes that the sensation felt like a physical pain. Then, she just wanted to hide in his arms and vanish for a moment, just feeling his heartbeat all around her. Just for a second, to allow herself to heal.
Wasn't happening, of course, she couldn't simply ask him to hold her. The reactions she imagined when she thought about this at night weren't favorable…not a single one of them. She wasn't delusional. Knew full well that Patrick Jane couldn't give anything. Least of all comfort and commitment.
But in the darkness, thick as a cloak all around her, Teresa Lisbon felt free and daring. Like a magical being that just had to close its eyes to will the reality into differing.
She toed her shoes off and got up slowly, sneaking through the room without a sound. She left her office door ajar and approached the old couch slowly. Her hands were trembling slightly, her blood whooshing in her ears, her frantic heartbeat pulsing through her frame. The silence of the night emphasized every sound, until her bodily functions seemed almost deafening. Her stomach growled. No surprise, she had skipped dinner.
She came to a halt in front of the couch and knelt down on a whim, bringing her face so close to his she could feel the soft gush of his breath against her own lips. She watched him quietly, almost reverently.
He absolutely wasn't her type. He was too smooth, too blond, too elegant. Without the subtle lines on his face and the distinguished three-piece-suits he possibly would've had to prove his age every time he wanted to buy a beer. He was afraid of guns, no fearless beefcake with a biceps the size of a barrel. He liked to talk, sometimes he even talked A LOT. Wasn't a taciturn knight in shining armor ready to carry her out of her lonely existence on his strong arms.
Yet he was the most beautiful, the most precious, the most desirable being she had ever seen in her life. His golden skin gleamed in the moonlight, his fair hair glittering like a crown. His lips were full and pale, softly pink like the petals of a rose. They were just slightly parted, but it was always like this with him- hard to tell if he was fast asleep or busy scanning his surroundings with his mind while pretending to be unconscious.
She pushed her hand through his hair, ruffling the curls gently, and was content when he didn't react at all. He was out for sure. She petted the soft tresses some more, bathing her fingers in their downy texture. They were surprisingly warm, heating her clammy fingers. She let her hand slide over his cheek, without much pressure, just a faint hint of touch. His skin felt so smooth. So real.
She let her fingertips dance across his lips. Infinitely tender. So, so soft, a shudder ran through her from head to toe. She inched closer, closer, so close that her mouth was almost touching his. She inhaled his breath for some moments, so sweet and hot and clean, sucked it into her lungs, her lips making the barest contact with his, just atoms touching. She slanted her head and pursed her lips, breathing the softest of kisses against his mouth. He didn't stir. Her heartbeat was so fast and loud she was afraid of passing out for a moment. She forced herself to pull away before she would do something truly idiotic.
Her hand wandered over his jaw, tracing his throat, sliding into the open V of his shirt. She traced the faint upper outline of his pectorals, stopping herself from delving deeper, from searching out his nipples. This was truly getting out of control. She pulled her fingers away as if burned.
Her eyes wandered back to his face. He sighed and turned onto his back, bone-numbing shock paralyzed her for a moment, but he quieted immediately, not waking up. She slowly released a pent-up breath, swallowing the nervous chuckle that was bubbling up in her throat.
Hell, he was so pretty. She normally didn't do pretty boys. But she would gladly do him. She lowered her head and smiled to herself, feeling the blush running all over her skin.
You are crazy, Teresa Lisbon. Absolutely out of your silly little mind.
She got up with a little sigh and took the blanket from the backrest, unfolding it slowly. She covered him up to his chin, tucking him in against the chill of the autumn air that was noticeable all around them.
She simply wanted to turn and leave, but found she couldn't, so she just squatted down and pressed a tiny kiss on his nose. Then on his chin, her lips producing a soft, smacking noise when they left his skin. Then she kissed both of his cheeks, her mouth lingering for a second while she inhaled his fresh, masculine scent, heady and rich in the crook of his neck. She touched her lips there, just to make sure. What, she didn't know.
She finally pressed a rather wet, warm, open-mouthed kiss on his forehead, wiping away the faint trace of moisture afterwards before her hand wandered off into his hair gain, tousling it one last time before she got up and walked away, fast, so she wouldn't change her mind again.
Time to leave, right now. She switched off the lamp on her desk, submerging the room in darkness, stepped into her shoes and grabbed her bag. She was trembling. The longing was strong tonight, but she took a few deep breaths and walked to the lift without turning once. Her skin felt so raw she wanted to scratch it off. But when she passed by the bullpen, she found her eyes glancing at him of their own volition. He slept peacefully, and just looking at him soothed her mind. She smiled, sighed deeply and walked the remaining steps to the lift feeling considerably calmer.
As soon as the lift doors had whooshed shut, Patrick Jane's eyes snapped open. A sweet smile grew on his features while he softly touched his fingers to his lips.
It didn't matter why she had done it- he just hoped she would do it again.
Hooooohhhhh, wasn't that sticky-sweet? Tell me what you think, pretty please? I know, it's strange, but: the T-rated stuff makes me more self-conscious then the M-rated one :D…thanks for your support!