I've been challenged to write "an entire fic with no Jisbon kisses and fooling around" (quote)…so I thought, and mused, and pondered. And found out: I simply DON'T WANT TO! I'm sorry. I'm sure I could. But I don't have the slightest wish to do it.
About the "Eating healthy"-metaphor my honored reviewer used (as in Jisbon- sexytimes being the unhealthy chocolate cake, while one has to eat healthy sometimes): With four little children jumping up and down all around me the whole day, I have plenty of "healthy eating" in my everyday life. Jane and Lisbon are "eating healthy" on the show Thursdays on CBS. Yes, I'm going out of character every time I make them "fool around", but for me, that's the whole fun of it. Bruno Heller does the rest- I do this.
So, be warned: There's a HUGE slab of sinfully rich, sweet, creamy chocolate cake in this one…if you're on a healthy diet and avoid any sweet kissing and fooling around: don't go on reading! For everyone else: enjoy!
I, for once, definitely NEED the chocolate cake after "Fugue in Red's" sad ending. Forgive me- I'd rather stay with The Mentalist smut&angst (yeah, THAT combination)- that's what I like to write most .
Disclaimer: it's not mine. Really. I just do this for fun, so Bruno- forgive me. Be a nice showrunner.
A Beautiful Soul
In the darkness, it started to snow. Thick, wet flakes fell feather-like through the air, piling up on the ground in seconds. The first snow since eons.
Patrick Jane had hardly moved for hours. He stood alone in the cold attic, looking out of the dusty window. Watching the lights play all over the city.
His tea had gone cold and stale next to him, he didn't care- his mouth could stay as dry as it was, his pale lips cracking. He had cried for a while without really knowing why. Most thoughts were mush in his mind, though his skills hat restored themselves: he knew every huddled figure's purpose down there on the pavement, watching and analyzing them with cold precision. But the past days were nothing but a blur at the edge of his vision. He hated not to know things. Anything. He felt like kicking something. And so, so sad at the same time, his heart sinking lower and lower as the hours crept by.
He was freezing, but oblivious of it, hardly noticing the goose-bumps sneaking up his arms. He didn't shake- at least he still had that much control.
He lowered his head and put his forehead against the window pane, where icy flowers had started to bloom. He invited more cold into his miserable, lonely body, putting his hands against the freezing glass. In fact, he would have taken almost anything that promised to fill the void inside him.
Anything but the company of a fellow human being. Right now, he didn't want to see anyone. Ever again. He wanted to build more distance. Wanted to run as far as he could. He sighed. She wouldn't let him. He knew. He felt the slow spread of warmth deep in his guts that always showed up when he thought about her.
He knew she worried about him, the darn woman just couldn't stop caring for him. It was in her genes. He couldn't allow himself to think about anything else, about what other reasons she might have to do just about everything for him. To sacrifice whatever was necessary to keep him safe. And keep him with her. No, he wouldn't think about it. Not now. Not when the world threatened to come tumbling down all around him. He faintly remembered how he had pushed her aside when he'd left the carcass of his house. His dead house, haunted by horrible ghosts. But they had woken him. From whatever.
He had seen the grief in her eyes, rivaling his own. And perversely, he had noticed the stark beauty of those eyes at that very moment, green like jewels, clear as beacons in a sea of confusion that threatened to engulf him. So much emotion in them. Feelings that had scared him as much as his memories.
He had hidden from her ever since. Had taken a Greyhound bus back to Sacramento. Had enjoyed feeling like a truly homeless person at the bus station, watching people all around him. Yeah, Patrick Jane was back. He knew who fled. Who was full of anticipation. Who was in love. Who planned something shady. Had caught a pickpocket while he waited, without anybody noticing. The policeman who arrested the culprit had overlooked him completely. And Jane had almost smiled.
Now he sat here in the attic, and still he was in hiding. Still he felt haunted by those beautiful pools of liquid green. And what the hell it meant that he couldn't forget how she had looked at him.
Teresa Lisbon felt a humorless chuckle bubbling up in her throat. How ironic. Jane had spent the past days making a move at her- along with every female he encountered, and yes, that was jealousy she was feeling, no doubt about it.
When he had turned around at his house in Malibu, the pain on his face like a palpable force, she had felt like doubling over. She had known then. Damn, had she known.
She had wanted to hold him, to console him, knowing all the time it would be wrong, it would set something in motion she couldn't control. She didn't know about him, didn't know if he was truly caring for her- more than for any other friend he didn't have. He had never tried to start anything funny with her before the attack on his life, and while he had lost all contact with his true personality, she hadn't been special: just another piece of ass he'd pursued. Like a reflex.
She shuddered and allowed the pain to wash over her. He hadn't been her Patrick Jane then. And she had almost gone insane with missing him.
Part of her regretted what she had done. But she would do it all over again, she had seen the hint of memory in his eyes, the man she had loved almost within her reach, and still he had wanted to leave, as a man-whore, a cheat, a damn criminal…and she hadn't been able to accept it, hadn't found the strength to just let him go. She couldn't bear him looking at her like that. All the beauty she'd come to adore, hidden beneath a pile of dirt.
So she'd acted. And he had been gone ever since.
She knew where he was, though. Could feel the slow burn of his presence at the back of her mind. CBI headquarters would have changed forever without him. Her life would have been debris. She felt selfish and egocentric, but she just couldn't allow him to go.
A sob tore free.
Damn, she hadn't even noticed she was crying.
She got up slowly, her whole body cramping in the process- she had sat here in her semi-dark office for hours, torn between work and helpless brooding, trying to cope with a feeling that was so alien to her, her system almost couldn't process it. She'd been a teenager when she'd lost her faith in it. And now it came back to bite her in the ass. Great timing.
She turned the heat up, it had become mighty cold outside, and from her tiny window she could see the snow falling. A thick whirl of flakes, the roof was already covered with a blanket of fuzzy white fluff. Sub-zero temperatures, for the first time in she didn't know how long. It almost never snowed in Sacramento. She watched the flakes like a child encountering a miracle.
Before she shook the trance off and stormed out of her office.
He heard the door down the hallway being wrenched open. It was solid metal, rusted on its hinges, so there was no way anybody could enter undetected.
He felt torn between a soft smile and an annoyed sigh.
Damn sweet, cuddly, warm-hearted, over-protective woman…no, that was wrong- agent Lisbon wasn't cuddly. He wondered if anybody could change that- if she would encounter the one eventually. He knew she lived like a nun. Knew she had given up her hopes for a love life, a home, a family long ago. So what if he would cuddle her a bit? She usually indulged his strange notions. He dismissed the thought with a distinct shake of his head, but he touched his lips with a sense of wonder- he had smiled.
The door was pushed open with a bout of ruthless energy.
"Lisbon," he said softly without looking at her, his voice the usual calm, slightly mocking Patrick-Jane-voice "could you please just turn around and leave without saying anything?"
Her voice was so low he hardly heard her.
"No." Just a whiff of breath, but firm enough to show him he couldn't argue with her.
"I thought so." He said "Please, have a seat. My tea is cold, but I can always make fresh one if you want a cup. Do you, Lisbon?"
She didn't answer, hadn't moved.
"Aren't you cold, Jane?" she asked long after the silence had become oppressive.
"An interesting question," he murmured "I haven't had the time to find out."
"Sit down on the bed." She whispered, her lips pressed together into a grim line- the one gesture telling him she would use her authority to make him yield to her if necessary. Damn, he so didn't need this right now.
"Lisbon, listen, I really don't need…"
"Place your damn butt on the fucking bed, for god's sake! NOW!"
He obeyed immediately, sitting down on the thin mattress of his make-shift bed. He felt the coldness of the fabric beneath his thighs…he hadn't been here in a while, hadn't used his bed in quite some time.
Lisbon took his soft comforter and wrapped it around his shoulders, working in silent concentration until he was encased like a present.
She was so close, he could smell the sweet fragrance of her skin. Cinnamon and lavender. His whole universe. The sensation triggered memories. Her smile, her reprimands, her annoyed scowls. The look she reserved for him when they were all alone. Mild. Warm. Almost…adoring. As if he was the most precious thing in her world. The love he had seen in her pained eyes when his horrible past had finally caught up with him at his house in Malibu.
Love. They were doomed.
He looked up at her and saw she had cried. For him. Again.
And when she touched his face, her soft fingers brushing over his skin in a gesture so full of tenderness, it was as if she'd pulled a plug. His tears started to spill, running down his cheeks while he hardly made a sound. She caught every tear with her fingertip to lick it off with her pink little tongue, lost in thought, and Jane felt his whole body go hot and tense, the skin too tight, raw.
She looked at him and bowed down to drink the stray moisture directly from his skin. He closed his eyes and let her do whatever she wanted, lifting his face to grant her access. The tears continued to fall until she wrapped her arms around him, muffling his soft sobs against her chest. He felt the slight pressure of her breasts and buried his nose between them, inhaling the sweet fragrance that was even more pronounced here, until it made him dizzy and light-headed, taking all traces of pain from him.
He groaned softly, freeing his arms from the blanket, and hugged her slim body to him, holding onto her as if she was a lifeline he couldn't survive without.
Her hands drove slowly through his hair. His blond, soft, angelic curls. She'd never liked blond men. Which showed clearly that love didn't give a damn on such superficial preferences. For she loved Patrick Jane with a force that almost knocked her off her feet. Loved him until she wouldn't sleep at night, seeing his smile in front of her like a candle-flame that kept the darkness at bay.
To lose him had felt like dying. She had tried to protect him. Give him what he needed. Get him back. His flirty touching had felt good because he had never, never tried anything like that before, but she knew it hadn't been her Jane- the Jane she wanted. So she'd slapped his hands away and had ignored his explicit offers. All the time fighting for her Jane. The one she'd missed so much it felt like being smothered to death.
He was nuzzling the skin between her breasts, his face pressing against the softness of her small mounds, and she let him. Everything that showed he didn't hate her.
His face was almost clean-shaven, which was a rarity, but the other one had taken more care about stuff like that. She shuddered- she had hated the other one.
She tousled Jane's curls gently and he pulled away to look up at her, giving her a shaky, teary smile. Her heart broke and she leant down and kissed his lips, making him gasp into her mouth, but she couldn't stop, using his confusion to push her tongue into the sweet cavern behind the soft seam of his lips. His taste was heady, and she shuddered when he started to kiss her back, slowly at first, before he became ravenous in her arms, deepening the wet, warm, groping session until both of them couldn't deny what was happening.
His hands clutched her thighs and made her spread them, pulling her down into his lap so that she straddled his hips. The clothes disturbed him, so he started to unbutton his vest, than his shirt, pushing the garments aside, away from his hyper-sensitive skin. Her fingers felt good against his bare throat, shoulders, chest, and he looked up at her, begging for another kiss. When she complied, more of his tears followed, wetting his face, dripping down his chin. She caught the wetness with her hands, her sweet breath gushing into his hungry mouth, making him shiver so hard the tremors gripped his whole body. Not from the cold, though. He didn't feel the cold anymore.
Lisbon knew he wouldn't undress her, wouldn't dare, so she did it herself, shedding her jacket, pulling her shirt over her head, tossing her functional sports-bra out of the way. Jane groaned and pushed his face into the valley between her breasts, and Lisbon felt herself clutching his head while he wet her skin with his tongue, catching the thin sheen of moisture he found there.
What would happen if she got up to get rid of her pants? Would the bubble burst- would she wake up in her cold, lonely bed like she had countless times before, her heart blazing with longing, so heavy she felt as if the world was about to end?
She opened the buttons and tried to shimmy out of them by merely raising to her knees, relieved beyond words when she sensed his hands wandering to his belt. It encouraged her enough to push down her panties, too. No problem if he would reject her, not at all, she just wanted to be close….as close as possible. She didn't have a plan tonight, she would just wait and see. Would allow her instincts to surface for once. She certainly had no experience with love. She had sheltered her heart from it, had kept it lonely and cold all those years.
She felt the downy hairs on his bare thighs, the sharp bones of his hips where her legs were clutching him. His erection was huge and hot and the moment of self-consciousness didn't last a second, it simply evaporated into thin air and left her panting, wanting.
Jane was almost calm now, his breath brushing her face before he kissed her, his lips so soft, gently stroking her into full awareness. Not allowing her to hide behind duty or fear.
She wouldn't have believed how much he wanted her hadn't she felt the evidence of his arousal pressed against her abdomen. He pushed his hands beneath her buttocks and pulled her closer, instigating a soft, rubbing movement that made him moan into her mouth. The confusion left his mind like a strangled breath. Leaving heat. Lust. Gratitude. And other feelings, scary and far deeper. Tighter, he needed her closer. His fingers digging into her flesh, bruising her.
She didn't care. Throwing her head back, offering her throat. Her hands in his hair, soft, so soft, like angel's hair…she'd always thought of angels when she looked at him. His lips latched onto her skin with the devil's determination, showering her with ravenous kisses before his teeth closed softly over her flesh, marking her as his. He slid from the bed until he hovered on the edge, holding her upright in his arms, so close to his body she could feel him throb all over. He lifted her slightly so his hard length nudged her core, she trembled in his arms, quivering with fear and anticipation. The sounds of his kisses were almost loud in the darkness, the soft noises reverberating from cold walls. Jane's lips were hot.
He invaded her on a soft gasp, sliding all the way into her wet heat, and she welcomed the slight discomfort, her walls stretching to accommodate his size. Jane sobbed when he filled her to the hilt, but he willed the thoughts to stay gone. He still wanted her. So much. And she felt so good.
He fed on her throat while he started to thrust, fast and deep, heating the air between them every time he surged into her. She was soft and tight and the only place he needed to be right now, the only reality he wanted to face. His kisses were desperate and thirsty, claiming her trembling lips, swallowing her gasps and moans which seeped into his mouth every time he slammed home. He broke away for a strangled breath and ramped up his force, shivering every time she let her hands slide over his face and through his hair.
She couldn't stop touching him. He'd thrown his head back, his eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, so pale, rosebud-soft, and she kissed them sweetly again and again while the tension in her lower body grew, grew so much it was almost painful, unbearable, his thrusts became rough, erratic, his body quaking against hers, and she whimpered when she felt airborne for a second, the breath pushed from her lungs in a violent heave, and she crashed, crashed over the edge in a rush of emotions, her trembling arms pressing his face into her chest. The force of her release was mind-blowing, and the darkness behind her closed lids exploded into bursts of sparkling light. He bit her skin, hard enough to leave another mark for sure, and the slight pain prolonged her orgasm until she was gasping in his arms, his pounding thrusts cleaving a blazing path through her body. Her legs jerked and she bit her lower lip to keep herself from screaming. Bit until she drew blood.
Jane's fingers gripped her thighs even tighter and pushed inside her so deep she could almost taste it. He went rigid in her arms and she felt the soft gush of his seed inside her, sloshing against her very core. He wore no condom- damn if she did care at that moment. She held him tighter, hoped he would stop her before he'd suffocate against her breasts. But he accepted her tight grip while he emptied himself inside her, not making a sound, his essence spilling in sharp jets of pleasue. All the wetness felt good, warm and precious, and she pressed her hips even tighter against his while her sheath contracted to keep him inside. Her breath was a white cloud in the cold darkness, but his body kept her warm, and sweat started to pool between them.
She couldn't let her hands off his hair and sighed when he pressed into her touch, letting his head fall back, sighing with delight while his arms clutched her body tight, stopping her from getting any distance between them.
"Don't leave", she whispered "I thought I could bear it- I can't."
He looked up at her.
"I threatened to leave?"
She couldn't answer that question. She had sworn to herself she would never talk to him about what had happened while he'd been out of it. She was shaking in his arms until he wrapped the comforter around both of them, enfolding her in the delicious warmth that radiated from his skin. She almost sobbed in gratitude.
A nameless peace filled Jane's soul. It made him warm and sleepy. He pressed her hips closer to his, feeling how they were still connected. He'd lost the past days, they were gone.
"My place is here," he whispered into her ear, "If I'd forgotten that, it's good that I'm back."
"You have no idea." she breathed, and he felt some stray tears run down his chest.
He lifted her face and kissed the moisture away, mimicking what she had done for him earlier.
Lisbon was grateful that he didn't talk about Red John. That he allowed her to believe that his place was with her- and not only with the CBI to catch the killer of his family.
"You know, Lisbon, " he said softly, "that beneath all this mess, I'm yours…only yours. You know that, don't you?"
Damn him for always reading her thoughts.
She smiled and nodded. Yes- somehow, she did know it. Sometimes, in the good nights. The good moments.
And he pulled the blanket over both their heads, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort while the cold snow continued to pile up in the streets.
Her legs tightened around his waist, his arms around her tiny back. And all was well for the moment.
Okay, so this got dirtier than I intended- sue me :D!
I hope you liked it- tell me all about it! See you soon!