Pink Satin

By Geelady

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jane/Darcy. I've never seen this pairing before so...

Warnings: non-con

Summary: An alternative to the ending of Cheap Burgundy. Darcy makes a deal Jane can't refuse. A smutty stand-alone – in other words not part of my other series of fic-isodes.


It is tax-time, readers, and I am up to my biceps in paperwork this month. So while I am forced to deal with both my hubby's and my own business's year-end (and therefore Wicked Things chapter 3 is on a short hold until April's end), here is a one-shot I had fun with one sick afternoon last month. .


"I have proof Patrick."

Jane, his nerves unsettling from the three days he had spent with FBI Agent Susan Darcy tracking down a killer in her bogus "high profile case", had rented a hotel room rather than sack out in the CBI attic or drive the four long hours home to his mostly empty house in Malibu.

Although he had laughed off the agent's veiled threat and shrugged off Lisbon's stern warnings to steer clear of the woman who seemed set on a course to bring him down, he was never-the-less quietly worried. If Darcy dug deeply enough, she would indeed find all the evidence she needed to ruin him. Lying to the FBI and fabricating evidence are serious offenses. Even Lisbon would not be able to help him wiggle out of it. His job and life would be over.

So finding Susan Darcy at his hotel door was not an event he had expected or now welcomed. "Susan?" Genuine surprise though, as she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a loose fitting navy jacket thrown over them. The ensemble was not her usual severely tailored business attire.

"Did you hear what I said?" She asked, needlessly flipping her carefully curled bangs and crossing the threshold without waiting for his invitation, dumping a small back-pack on the floor by the dresser.

Jane closed the door after her and followed her movements as she casually strolled around the dimly lit room. "Y-e-es." He answered.

Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her shapely legs and staring at him with her brown eyes. Dark, unblinking, bottomless eyes. The eyes of a huntress stalking her prey. "I have all the proof I need to bring you up on charges tonight if I want. I know you went to the morgue, your signature is right there on the register. I know where you purchased that usual knife, the kind Red John uses. I know about the evidence you dumped in the alley. I know all about it, Patrick. I could go to the DA right now and you'd be in lock-up before breakfast."

Jane, no fool, jumped right to the gist. "So why haven't you? Why are you here instead of, you know, ruining my life?"

Flipping the bangs again, she said "Because I realise that there's a more effective way to control you than lock you up. You'd just escape again and hunt Red John on your own, or work with him if that's what you're doing and I still do not rule out that possibility - let me be clear on that."

Jane stayed by the door, choosing to lean against the small table by the window rather than get any closer to her. His skin was crawling a little. Instinct. "A false assumption based on a flimsy premise. You were with me three days and suddenly you know I'm a Red John accomplice?"

"Maybe. But one thing's for sure, I know enough. However, as I said, I've decided to hold off on presenting any of that evidence to the DA or anyone else because there's something I want from you."

Jane was curious now. What did she want? Money? Advice? Another reading? That last one was doubtful. "And that is...?"

Darcy stood and walked over to him, standing close enough that he could see the dark brown flecks in her irises. "The life of an FBI agent, or a CBI agent for that matter, is often a lonely one, Patrick, I'm sure you've felt it."

Jane stared at her, in the proverbial dark. At times he had found Susan Darcy comically easy to read. At others times her surface was flawless. A black lake on a windless night. Despite all his past experience reading the emotions and intents of others, plus his knowledge of Agent Darcy herself, this was proving to be one of those times. "Are you looking for a bowling partner? Sorry - not my game."

Darcy shook her head. "No. What I am proposing is a deal. You keep your freedom in exchange for what I want, when I want it and how I want it." She placed her left palm over his right nipple and rubbed it up and down just once, caressing the fabric.

Jane sucked in a breath at the unexpected physical contact. He had expected something job-related, something possible illegal or hazardous, maybe her insistence on him doing some spying for her or helping her solve a case, or even lying for her in some fashion that would boost her career on up the FBI ladder.

Not this. He hadn't dreamed of this. It was not that other women had never attempted to seduce him, they had, but they had also failed every time. Overly aggressive women were a bit of a turn-off. Plus he had been a one woman man after he met his wife and a no-woman man after she died and it wasn't prudery or fidelity to his wife's memory that had driven him into a life of celibacy – he had simply never met any woman who could hold a candle to his wife in how she had made him feel.

Until recently. However that woman was not this woman. This woman with the bottomless black eyes and the predatory bent was terrifying on so many levels.

"You can't be serious?" He whispered. She had to be. Just twenty-four hours previously and full of mistrust, hatred even, she had accused him of working for Red John. She had spoken of proving as much and then taking him down, hell-bent on ruination.

This was crazy. "This is some sort of joke, right?" Jane asked again when she said nothing in return.

She rubbed again, using both hands this time, her face flushed. "No." She said. Her eyes were calm, her touch possessive, and her words spoken with perfect clarity. "No. I've thought about it. I may not agree with you and what you might be doing behind the CBI and everyone else's back but I like you Patrick in, you know, certain ways." Her hands moved on their own, touching his shoulders, tracing patterns on his skin through the silk. "You're attractive and I'm lonely, and I know you are too. Makes perfect sense to me."

Suddenly he felt unclean. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her away. "Get your hands off me." He sidestepped away from her and then stood well apart, staring back. "What is it you really want from me?"

Darcy picked up her back-pack and flung it over one shoulder. Something inside it clinked. Glass or metal. "Oh, I'm very serious, Patrick. You have what I want..." She looked at him up and down and Jane felt goose-bumps. Not the pleasant kind. "And I will do it. Trust me on this Patrick. This will benefit both of us. And I usually get what I want you know."

"There's no "benefit" for me in this." He assured her. "And you have the nerve to call me a sociopath."

"Oh I still believe that." Darcy stood with her pack over one shoulder and her hands on her hips, waiting. "What's it going to be? This offer ends the second I step outside that door."

"Go to hell."

"I'll bring Lisbon down, too, Patrick. She was complicit in your little fiction about Red John being dead. I know all about how she protects you. She's taken with you - that's obvious. Maybe she's even in love with you. Don't think I won't use that to my advantage. Her career will be over."

Jane was stunned but behind his eyes Darcy could see him gathering courage for one last attempt to preserve his own moral boundaries. "Get out."

"It won't be me going anywhere, I promise you." Darcy put her hand on the knob to turn it. When she actually turned it and stepped outside, she heard him sigh. A noise only the desperate make, those backed into a corner with nowhere to go and no one to call for help, except to his enemy.

"Agent Darcy..."

She turned back, eyebrows questioning.

Patrick did not look at her. In fact his body language, usually almost impossible to read, was clear. He was turned aside from her, facing the wall where the television sat on a narrow table. A show on buildings being blown up was on mute. When he spoke, it was to the television. "Come back inside." He said so softly she could hardly hear him. "And close the door."

Darcy did so, dropping her pack once more. She glanced to the window to make sure the curtains were completely drawn shut, and then reached around behind her and bolted the door. "A wise decision."

Jane said ironically, without humour. "Seems I have no choice."

"No." Darcy confirmed. "You don't. But maybe it won't be as unpleasant as you might expect."

"I doubt that."

That angered her a little. "You know, I'm not as bad as you think. But you lied to me, Patrick and I don't like liars or being lied to." Darcy approached him and, without asking permission, put her hands on him for the second time, her anger draining away in the anticipation of what was to come. "I also don't like being alone at night. What I do like is unencumbered sex. I'm not looking to fall in love, here, Patrick, all I want is sex. You give me that and in return you keep your freedom.

She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped one cold hand inside next to his skin. "It's simple: I'll pretend Red John is as dead as a doornail and you take off your clothes for me when I tell you to. We'll pretend together..." She moved her hand to his crotch, making him jump. "...while we do other things."

She kissed him, not entirely surprised that he did not return to the kiss. Tasting him for the first time, a thrill of desire rushed through her. He was resisting her now but things would inevitably improve over time. The fortress would fall. They always did.

Releasing his lips, she said "Get undressed."


Darcy rocked on his length, loving that first, hard feel of him spreading her open deep and wide. She had left the lights on, barking at him not to touch the lamp when he had reached to shut it off. She wanted to see him, loving the reaction in his eyes when he had first felt her swallow him down. Although she suspected it had been years, and although he tried to hide it, he had sighed just a little when she had finally released his cock from her mouth and crawled up his torso, settling down onto him with an appreciative wriggle.

In practical size Patrick Jane was neither huge nor small. He was, in the strictly physically sense, an average North American male but Darcy knew that in other ways Patrick Jane was not average at all, no, not at all. He was far, far above average in the less tangible, deeper, darker ways, and she looked forward to ferreting out every last hidden secret of his mind and body. What things did he like sexually? What touches of tongue and hands made him wild? And what motivations drove him to such dangerous lengths as to lie to the FBI? She wanted to scrounge out every dark corner of his mind. He was a liar and a conman but he was also one of the most exciting men she had ever met.

As she contemplated these things, rocking up and down on him deliciously, she took her time admiring his body as well. Darcy knew Patrick was a little over forty years old but his blonde curls showed no hint of grey and his physique was decidedly good to look at. He possessed sleek but well muscled legs and arms, with a wide chest tapering to a narrow, flat stomach. He was no longer a man in the bloom of youth but he had maintained himself never-the-less, keeping his body fit and pleasingly toned. The only thing to mar its surface was the scar Red John had branded him with. It was like a tattoo done in haste at a cheap parlor. It was ugly but did not actually spoil the view.

As she worked his hardness and squeezed him over and over, she watched as he shut his eyes to the pleasure she was bringing him. He was a male after all, and he couldn't help but enjoy the physical contact, however much he pretended not to. Darcy smiled to herself a little, and then moaned so he knew how much she was enjoying him as well. So he understood that he pleased her very much.

Darcy stroked her palms up and his chest and she moved his cock around within her, loving the feel of both silken parts. Almost no hair grew on his skin to mar its taut surface but whatever little fuzz was there was so light blonde it was almost invisible. He had in fact very little hair anywhere, other than a slight thickening of it around his groin, and she found that both exotic and erotic. It was one of the reasons he appeared younger than he actually was. It was also one of the reasons he had caught her eye from the start, though of course she had betrayed no hint what-so-ever of her sexual interest in him. Springing it on them when they last expected it was part of the fun and the danger.

But Patrick was being too silent in all of this and that bothered her. That was not pleasing, so she leaned down, put her lips to his right ear and whispered "I knew you'd be as tasty as you looked. I knew you'd be a great fuck."

But he said nothing. He kept his face turned away from her, his eyes either shut or fixed on the wall where hung a cheap picture of the great outdoors, the colours in it kaleidoscopic and unreal. "Don't make the mistake of ignoring me, Patrick." Darcy warned him while rocking and wriggling, increasing the pace and length of her sexual ministrations, getting closer and closer...

"Oh-h-h...G-Go-o-d-d..." She moaned and came all at once. With satisfaction she noticed that he had as well, bucking ever so slightly beneath her, though trying not. Darcy collapsed on him, spent. Not the type for an after-kiss, she scrambled from the bed and announced. "I'm going to take a shower." Leaving him to clean up and to deal with his conscience over the choice he had made.

Afterward, dressed and ready to go with her pack over her shoulder, Darcy told him "I like wake-up sex, so sometimes I'll be staying the night."

Jane, sitting on the edge of the bed, the fingers of his right hand rubbing at his eyes, the sheets covering up most of him, did not respond or even look her way.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes." Anger from him, and deep resentment - hatred even. That was how it always started. She was not worried. In the end his conscience would stop being a hassle and he would be able to enjoy their encounters too.

When he finally looked at her, she glimpsed the stains of her lipstick on his mouth, and her anger vanished. Many more stains would appear there in the future. Pink Satin, it was her signature colour.

"I'll let you know where and when so be ready at any time. Never at our apartments or at the office of course." She smiled seductively. "Try not to think of me when I'm gone."

"I wasn't while you were here." He didn't look up again as she opened the door.

His snub was of no concern. Eventually he would even miss her. "Goodnight Patrick."

They all missed her eventually.