Title: The Anniversary gift

Words: ~5170

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/comfort; romance

Characters: Patrick Jane; Teresa Lisbon

Summary: She was desperate and frustrated. It wasn't fair. Not just because she had had so many missing opportunities because of him, but because she deserved. If not his love... at least the truth. Why had he told her he loved her, and then taken it back? Did he know how she felt, and decided to take pity on her? Or had he been honest, and was just scared, because, like he had once told her, everything, and everyone, he touched, he ruined them all? A smutty, M rated tag to 5.13

Disclaimer: Uhm. well, my father is called Bruno, but since it's Negro and not Heller, I'd say tha t I don't own the rights to the Mentalist.

She went to O'Malley after a rather interesting chat with Patrick Jane, feeling as confused as ever.

Part of her desperately wanted to be relieved that Jane finally trusted her with the Red John case and his findings. She was supposed to be hopeful that he was opening up with her, showing that he actually cared, but...

Lord. The names he had made. The assumptions about Red John's real identity... people she cared about, she trusted her life with. Friends. Co-workers. Even a lover or two.

She wasn't sure she could handle it, not sober, at least. To think about it, she needed few hours of sleep, but after having learnt such things, sleep wasn't something she could easily achieve without a beer or two, with a taste of tequila added to the mix.

God, how pathetic she felt. Arriving home, to an empty apartment, ready to face an hangover in the morning just to be able to forget at night. In another time, in another life, she would have asked a stranger to join her for some fun, but right now...

Right now she felt like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher, a girl at her first love, ready to believe that it was meant to be, that they were star-crossed lovers, when instead he said he had forgotten his confession of love... when all she could think about was him, just him, only him...

Patrick Jane, charming, sexy, handsome, hot, smart, funny, brilliant. And broken, full of hate and rage, ready to die and to kill for his revenge, obsessed, sometimes even a bit crazy...

And yet, she was still there. She had seen him at his worst, and yet she accepted him, for the good and the bad. She still loved him, despite his faults, but it seemed he couldn't see that. She was what he needed, she knew it, she even was what he wanted, that much she had understood from that damn video, and yet, it wasn't enough. Not enough to love her. Or maybe just not enough to acknowledge the existence of his love... could she come before Red John, after all? She wasn't sure. She didn't know.

Maybe he didn't either.

"God Jane, why can't you love me, why?" She whimpered at closed eyes, her head against the cool surface of the fridge in the kitchen. She was tired, so damn tired... she just wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep, there and then, on her floor, forget everyone and everything, but she knew that it was impossible.

She couldn't forget about the names Jane had done.

She couldn't forget about Jane.

She couldn't forget about how she felt about him- and the fact that he didn't feel the same.

Hell, she couldn't even forget about the nightmare that her "party" had been. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that scene unfolding right before them, like she was still there.

She was going to make Rigsby pay. A stripper. He had haired a stripper for her party. One that couldn't stop touching her ass in a manner that she would have never allowed anyone, not even a lover...

Well ok, maybe a lover, yes, but only if he was on top of her standards, and until that moment, there was just one man she could imagine being in that position- and he didn't share her thoughts about the whole thing, so...nope.

"Why, why, why?" she asked again, her tone getting more and more desperate, more and more frustrated. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't. Not just because she had had so many missing opportunities because of him, but because... she deserved it, damn it!

If not his love... at least the truth. Why had he told her he loved her, and then taken it back? Did he know how she felt, and decided to take pity on her? Or had he been honest, and was just scared, because, like he had once told her, everything, and everyone, he touched, he ruined them all?

She was almost positive that it was pity. After all, how could he love her? She still remembered those words, but that time, when he told her Of course Bosco loves you, how could he not? he was just trying to manipulate her. He didn't mean anything by that.

She wasn't as young as Lorelai, a sophisticated and expert seducer as Erica Flynn, as mysterious and elegant and intriguing as Kristine Frye. She wasn't as beautiful, elegant, delicate, intelligent as his wife.

His wife. At the end of the day, it all came down to that. She wasn't the woman he had married, the mother of his child, the one he swore until death do us apart. The one he had promised vengeance and the blood of nemesis- her killer.

She knew, deep down, the answers. And yet... yet, she kept asking herself the same things over and over again, but she guess it wasn't that strange. Doing the same thing over and over again (asking the same questions) expecting a different outcome (a different answer) was the definition of insanity, and she was well aware that she was crazy for him, had been for quite a while.

More, and worst, than that: she was in love with him.

For a long while, she had denied the truth even to herself, finding all kind of excuses for her behavior toward her consultant. She told herself that she owed him her life, that he was broken and lost and, as a friend, she was supposed to help him out... but when she slept with Mashburn, she was forced to open her eyes to reality. Not once that night her mind went to the man she was having amazing sex with.

It was Jane. Always Jane. Only Jane.

When she heard him talking with her lover, she had wanted to leave the room and go with him, and while she was having sex with Walter, all she could think about was how wrong it felt. How she wanted to be in the arms of a blond-curled guy. How both of them didn't deserved her behavior. Walter because she wanted another one. Jane because she felt like she was cheating on him.

Well, she guessed it was a whole new kind of craziness. After all, he had slept with Lorelai, telling her it had meant nothing at all. Maybe he didn't love the siren, maybe he didn't feel connected to her just because she had been the first woman he had slept with in over nine years, but then...

Nothing meant nothing. No happiness, but no regret or guilt either.

She was nothing to him. Just a pawn, and yet...

He was everything to her. Her whole damn world.

She whimpered yet again, sniffing, and this time she left free reign over her tears. She cried, like she had done months before because of him. She hadn't cried in years, had always been strong and capable, the person people relied on, but Jane... Jane rocked her world, and she wasn't so sure any longer if he did so in such a good way.

She cried over him when he told to that damn screen about the kind of woman he needed, and how she didn't exist any longer because she was no more. When he lost his memory, because she missed her friend and, frankly, old Jane was a maniac and a jerk. When he went to Vegas and cut her -them- out. When he allowed Lorelai to escape, risking his own life by faking an accident.

Sometimes, she even cried for herself. But somehow, it all come back to Jane.

She cried for herself because she clearly wasn't that woman he wanted and needed. Because he had almost died and had been scared to death of losing him. Because he was ready to leave without a thought for her. Because he was gone and showed that he wasn't interested in them, was ready to put aside years of friendship to show Red John he was ready for change. Because he thought she was an idiot and didn't know he was faking it all.

God, she knew he couldn't love her. She could accept it, as unfair as it was, but why couldn't he show her some kind of respect, at least? It was the minimum, considering how many times she had saved his ass, risked her life, almost lost her job (and a couple of times, actually lost it), being suspended, reprimanded... all just for him. Because of him.

And yet... he couldn't care any less.

"Why, why, why?" she repeated, crying, her forehead still against the cool surface of the refrigerator.

Her whimpers had turned in full sobs, and were on the verge of being a real cry of pain of the soul, when she felt delicate, soft fingers dancing on the skin of her neck. She was going to turn, the breath already dead in her throat, when someone breathed on her neck, almost in her ear, and the distinctive scent of his aftershave hit her full force.


"Shush, Lisbon, it's all right. Trust me" he whispered, and all she could do was nodding. She didn't know why, but she was completely unable to say a sole word, one alone.

She shivered when she felt a smooth, cool surface covering her eyes, and when she went to feel it, she recognized it as silk- she wouldn't be surprised if it was one of his old ties.

"Trust me" he repeated, his voice less sure, shaky, husky, the words followed by an erotic kiss on her neck that left the both of them breathless.

This time, she didn't even nod.

Slowly, delicately, he took her for the shoulders, and guided her across her own apartment. She kept gulping down saliva, her heart thundering like a storm in her chest.

She was scared, thrilled, hopeful... all at the same time. She felt them all, and yet she didn't know how she was supposed to feel. What he meant. What game he was playing.

And yet... she trusted him. She really did. Like never before.

She had learnt a long time before to walk across her place even without any light on, in the complete darkness, so, when they entered her bedroom, she knew exactly where they were.

She shivered, thinking about maybe, maybe, maybe...

He shushed her once again, once again with his hot breath in her ear, his wet, sinful mouth on her skin, and he made her sit on her bed.

She shivered as soon as her hands touched the surface. There was something...wrong... or maybe just strange... with her linens. They seemed rich, soft, smooth...like the silk that covered her eyes. It wasn't something that she actually owned, but then it could only mean a thing.

Jane. He had brought them. He had made her bed, in a sinfully smooth and erotically soft surface. Silk. The fabric of lovers. Of wild, kinky sex.

The simple idea that Jane could have done that aroused her in a way she couldn't think possible, and her panties were wet, drenched in the blink of an eye. Right before her, she felt Jane inhaling her scent, moaning, and that made it only so much worse. If he would have tried to enter her in that instant, he would have found no resistance at all. She was so, so wet... wet to her knees.

Yet again she felt his fingers dance on her skin, but this time, they were everywhere. And then... he started to undress her. Delicately. Soft. With a reverence no lover... because she knew they were about to become that... had ever showed her.

It was probably one of the most sensual experiences of her life.

He delicately untied her shoes and removed them, and then he slowly made slid her socks down her calves; at the end of the operation, he kissed one foot first, and the other next. He then stood up, and started working of the buttons of her jacket and of her shirt, removing them together with a single gesture. She felt him leaving, the heat radiating from his body going away, but before she had finished that thought, he was back again, and she moaned, purring like a kitty, in satisfaction. In answer, feeling her thoughts, reading her body like the master he was, he grinned against the skin of her neck, chuckling.

He worked on her pants as slowly as he had done with the rest of her clothes, but strangely, she didn't feel like trying to speed up the process. If anything, his slowness made her hotter, but in a good way. Because she felt like it was special, like she was special. And there was something that told her that it was how he felt, too. That he wanted for it to matter.

She suddenly was aware that she was before him just with her underwear and the silk around her eyes, and she blushed of a dark red, trying to cover her nudity, to avoid what she knew were prying eyes. She hoped he liked doing it in the dark, maybe even under the covers, because she was well aware how she looked like. Yes, she knew that this way she wasn't going to see him, but she wasn't so sure she wanted for him to look at her, and see her. She wasn't as young and beautiful as the other women he had been with previously. She was well into her forties, plain, petite everywhere, and scarred in more than one place. She had always been a tomboy, being raised in an house full of males, and not having a mother growing up to teach her how to be a lady, and she still was.

Yes, as arousing as the thought that he wanted her it could be... it was still strange.

"Don't do that, Lisbon. You are beautiful. Inside out." he said as she felt his weight on the bed, at her side, his hands dancing on her skin, playing with her bra, with her panties. "and I love this emerald green matching set. It compliments your eyes. And yet... it has to go"

He removed both items so quickly that she gasped, and Lisbon was almost positive that he had used one of his magician tricks. She was naked, saved for the tie, and his words had just made her stronger, braver. She wasn't scared about being seen any longer.

He undid the tie, and she looked at him, smiling with tears of happiness. With her peripheral sight, she noticed the white roses everywhere, the petals on every single surface, the candlelight's, and, on her nightstand, a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Happy anniversary, Lisbon. If every year counts as two, it's almost twenty, right?" he grinned, and she cupped his face. They were so close she could feel his breath on her skin, and they were, maybe for the first time, completely in tune. She could feel his emotions, could see how he really felt about... everything. He had no mask on.

She kissed him, and he quickly answered to her kiss.

It was a quiet, slow, and yet sensual affair. As the tips on their tongues touched each other, they could feel the tension rising, his hands became braver and braver, but they still stayed quiet and delicate. There was no rush, everything was filled so much with love, sweet tentative love...

She wondered if it was what he wanted, or if he was going slow for her benefit. She wasn't sure she wanted for that to happen that way. She thought... after so long... she just needed to consume it, feel the fire lapping at their own being, the lust, the passion...

She grabbed him for his curls, and tried to push him further into her. He gasped, almost surprised by her actions, and gave shortly up, giving into her. Their frames touched, and she could feel against her side his desire, a hot, massive, hard-on, one of the biggest she had ever had.

Her free hand went there, and she rubbed it over his cock, through his clothes, and he groaned, suddenly coming back to his senses, and, hesitantly, he parted, putting some distance between the two of them.

She whimpered like a disappointed kid, pouting, and just looking at her did sinful things to his self-control. He was having an hard time- pun very intended- to control himself.

He tsk-tsked her with his cheeky, Cheshire grin. "C'mon Lisbon, you know the old saying... good things happen to those who wait!"

She pouted yet again, even if this time it was tainted by anger. He wanted for her to wait? She wasn't so sure she actually could. She had done so for over eight years, and now that they were reaching out for haven...he wanted for her to wait? It wasn't right. Nope. No way.

The bastard had to pay. With interests.

Looking into his eyes, smiling like the minx she knew she could be, a real tease, she stretched on the bed, languidly, opening her legs just enough for him to have a good sight of her core. She sighed, and lazily started to skim with a single digit over her folds, again and again and again, until, when she finally saw his Adam's apple going up and down, she penetrated herself with the same finger, sighing in ecstasy as she fingered herself for him.

"That's not going to work, woman." he told her, but meanwhile, she could see that the bulge in his pants was getting bigger and bigger, and he was having serious troubles in controlling himself.

"You're not going to rush me, woman" he told her again, but this time, she could see he was starting to have serious doubts, was re-thinking the whole scenario. Exactly what she had wanted right from the start.

She stopped, and simply crossed her arms, and still she looked at him. At the feet of the bed, Jane started to undress for her, in the same exact way the guy Rigsby had aired did, even if this time there was no music. Even if this time the show didn't disgust her, but turned her on.

Not that she actually cared as, layer after layer, she finally saw what Patrick Jane looked like cloth less-and in a normal situation, and not when he was in danger of dying and there were doctors working on him.

He went on with his sensual striptease, until only a pair of thigh fitting boxers, black, so perfect that they had to be Calvin Klein, remained. It felt like they were to explode, so big he was, and the tip of his cock-dark red with arousal- was already showing itself from the waistband. He sensually removed even that last item, hooking his thumbs in the waistband, and she licked her lips. It was even better than she had thought. He was big, so far the biggest she had ever had. She longed to have it between her legs... and not just there.

Like he had red her thoughts, he came closer to her, and cupped her face, kissing her yet again in that sinful way of his. "I know that you are a dirty, little cock-sucking girl, Lisbon, but be patient... your moment will come. First, I want to enjoy you!"

He parted once again, this time to open the champagne. He drank a mouthful of liquid, right from the neck of the bottle, and then, he proceeded to cover her with the liquid. She shivered, Goosebumps all over her body, as he threw the bottle on the bed and then jumped in right at her side, licking the wine from her breasts, licking and sucking every inch of skin at his disposal.

He ran his tongue from her breasts, playing a lot with her nipples, intermittently sucking them into his mouth just to release them with a pop, then he moved to her stomach, and last but not least, he grabbed her for the sides, and then fucked her core, drenched with champagne and need and desire, with his tongue.

He took her clit between his teeth, gazing it barely, and then he started sucking it, all the while keeping fucking her with his tongue. Her wetness was arousing him to new highs, and the way she moved and moaned told him how responsive she was to his touch and his own persona.

It told him she was his, and his alone.

"Mmm...Jane..." she purred as she lightly traced his scalp with her fingernails, something that drove him crazy, spurring him furthermore into giving her absolute pleasure.

He kept alternating between sucking her clit and scratching it with his teeth, always keeping his thrusting tongue in her channel. She was so, so tight, that it was only because she was wet to her knees that he could fuck her in such a way... and it was just his tongue! How could he fuck her with his cock? He didn't know... his Teresa was so small, and he was huge, there was no way, for sure, that his mammoth cock could fit in her!

Mmm...he guessed that his hot, hard male flesh had to be very, very lubed to fuck her, but he had a certain idea about what it could be done about it... an idea that his Teresa already liked!

He slowed his movements down as hot wetness filled his mouth, her cream immediately awakening something in his taste buds he thought forgotten. Last time he had tasted a woman's cum it had been Angela's, but she had never been such a fan of oral, both ways. Back then, it hadn't mattered, but right now, since he had met Lisbon, having her lips around his cock had become a recurrent wet dream, and he was so grateful that she seemed to be into it!

He finally parted, keeping licking his lips to make sure he couldn't forget how she felt under his lips, and he returned to her. He just wanted to look at her, he wanted to imprint in his memory palace the image of her, coming down from a killer orgasm, but she grabbed him for the back of his head, and made their lips collide.

No woman had ever kissed him after he had gone down on them, it was strange, and yet utterly erotic. He could see that Lisbon liked-loved!- feeling her own taste in their kiss, knowing that his mouth had been between her legs.

"Wonna do something about it too?" she asked, touching his hard-on with her knee. He didn't answer, but moved, going to sit on his knees at the side of her head, legs slightly parted. She simply smiled, already knowing what he wanted. And, just her luck, it was what she wanted too!

She circled the base of his cock with her hand, making it work as a cock-ring, and, slowly, very slowly, she licked it all, from tip to base, 3 times. At the next tour, she put the tip of her tongue in the tiny slit on top, working it without mercy to get as much precum as she could. She grinned as she did so, enjoying the way he shivered and was losing his cool. It was so good, but she knew she was barely getting started.

She took it in her mouth. It all. Like it was nothing, and the fact that she wasn't even gagging made him harder, if something like that was possible. She hummed around his cock in pleasure, and, as soon as she started sucking him, hallowing her cheeks for the effort, an evil finger teasing his prostate through his anus, he lost it all.

Feeling suddenly like a Neanderthal, he grabbed her head, forcing Lisbon against his groin, fucking her mouth while she gulped down mouthful after mouthful of jets of hot, balmy cum without batting an eye. He roared like a lion, all his sensations increased by the fact that she was giving him such a blow-job like she looked like a pro. My God, how many cocks had she sucked to be that good, such an expert, to like it that much? He didn't want to know, but he didn't care either. After all, what mattered was that his own cock was the last one she was going to have. Her mouth, her tits, her pussy, her hands, her ass... sooner or later he was going to get all of them, and, God be his witness, she wasn't going to escape. She was his. Like he was hers. Until the end of times.

When he was finally coming down from his orgasm, he slide out from her mouth, grunting, feeling bereft, feeling like an addict that needed his fix. He needed more, he wanted more. He had to know the heat of her body, how it felt coming in her hot, wet, tight pussy... but last time he had had a second round, it had been almost a decade before. It had been so long since he had made love with a woman, that he didn't know how long it could take him to get his dick back in action.

He got his answer sooner rather than he expected.

As he slide out from her mouth, in fact, his cock had released a last jet of cream, that had landed on Teresa's chin. The witch had taken it with her index, and had lapped it, sucked it, in the same sinfully and porny way she had previously done with his cock, and that simple gesture had been enough.

Her eyes went huge in surprise and anticipation when his cock returned rock hard in an heartbeat, so hard it was slapping against his stomach.

She giggled at the sight, skimming over the erection of her lover with a single finger, the same she had sucked between her full, red lips, and then she went to lie down on the bed, opening her legs for him.

"Is that a gift for me, Mr. Jane?" she asked, knowing full well the answer.

He chuckled, and still on his knees, he went in front of her. He grabbed her thighs, and he dragged her towards him, until her spread legs were at his sides, groin against groin. He kept chuckling, dark, evil, as she whimpered in protest, squirming to get closer and closer, but still, he kept teasing her, rubbing the tip of his massive cock against her folds.

"Damn it, Jane, you said it was my gift! I want you to fuck me!" she all but begged, and he finally, finally, took pity on her.

He moved his hips in a circular way, and at the same time, he grabbed her ass, pushing her against his groin. He entered her, roaring like a beast in heat, in a single move, to the hilt, balls deep.

He could feel them slapping against her ass, could hear the wet sound of sex that made it all more real, more primal.

"I'm going to make you sore, Lisbon... I'm going to fill you with so much cum that it will run on your legs, you'll be wet to your knees, and you'll remember that I did it and that you are now mine until I'll not allow you to shower... and when you'll do it, it will only be to take my cock again, from behind, fucking on our feet... how does it sound, Lisbon? Do you like my idea? Because I love it..."

She couldn't answer, she was breathless, but her dilated, huge eyes told him that she agreed, indeed, like it did her contracting core... God, she was already coming, and all she had needed had been his words!

He shivered in her, hardening furthermore as he felt her juices covering his rod, her sucking core trying to make him cum, to milk him dry.

But he couldn't allow her to. Not when he hadn't started to fuck her yet.

He grabbed her ass, and started to push into her as forcefully as possible. He was pounding into her with such a strength that Lisbon kept screaming on top of her lugs, kept coming. It was a strange combination: her coming core contracted around him, tried to stop him from loss, and yet, her juices gave him more room, made it easier for his monster cock to slam into her with more strenght each time.

As he fucked, and fucked her with wild abandon, without allowing her to meet him, using her like she was a spent doll in his arms, the slapping sounds of their groins, the visual of his cock leaving her body, covered in their juices, opening her in a surreal, painful manner, it did it, and he started to come yet again, roaring like a beast.

He didn't stop, thought.

He used his own cum as lube, and fucking her like that was paradise. It was heaven on Earth, and he promised himself to do it as often as possible, everywhere they could... he could see them fucking on the hood of his car, or maybe in the attic...or in her office, or maybe...

mmm...maybe he could try to enter into Bertram's office late at night for a quickie? He would have loved to cum in the jerk's office, spattering the furniture with his juices... going in there into meetings, and getting hard, knowing that Lisbon was getting wet at the thought that they had fucked there and their boss was oblivious to that!

Spent, he stopped moving, and he left her body, going to lie down at her side, Lisbon cuddled at his side, spooning each other. He moved the covers, so that they could be underneath them, and started leaving sweet kisses of love and affection all over her neck, her bare shoulders, her back, made happy and complete by her giggles.

God, how much he loved that sound. How much he loved making her happy. And to think...

"What are you thinking about?" she suddenly asked, playing with his arms.

"I'm sorry if I made you suffer in the past, Teresa. Would you..." he paused, like he was scared of her answer. "will you allow me to make it up to you? Make you happy for the rest of our lives?"

She nodded, kissing his skin, feeling tears ready to escape her eyes.

He nuzzled her neck, and fell asleep, as sure as never before that it was almost time for Red John to pay and rot in a jail and die at the hands of the State of California.

He needed for this to be over, knew the time was close. And on that day... he would offer the killer on a silver plate for Teresa as a wedding gift, and he would make her his, in front of the world.

One day. Soon.