Title: Things That Turn Maura Isles On
Chapter: 1. Those Smoldering Eyes
Fandom: Rizzoli and Isles, Jane/Maura
Notes: Yes, I'm *hoping* this will become a little series of little shorts (2-4 pages I'm thinking) of things that turn Maura Isles on. You know, little p0rnlets (or kicklets, maybe a flufflet even). :D We shall see how successful I am at actually writing new ones and at what pace. In any case, here's one at least.
Chapter 1: Those Smoldering Eyes
Sitting in her favorite chair in the living room, legs tucked up under her, lamp turned on beside her, glass of wine nearby, Maura Isles had been trying to read one of her medical journals, specifically, a fairly comprehensive article about the current state and possible future of using imaging devices to conduct autopsyless autopsies.
But as fascinating as that was (and, really, it was *quite* fascinating), it was proving impossible to concentrate on. Impossible, at least, since the moment she saw Jane out of the corner of her eye.
Maura had expected to see the detective sitting over on the couch playing something on her iPad. That's what the detective had been doing the last time Maura had glanced over at her. But not this time. Not now.
Now the detective wasn't looking at her iPad, but was looking at her. Watching her. Watching Maura.
Maura had only gotten a fleeting glance but she could see that Jane's lids were slightly narrowed, her eyes were dilated making them look entirely black, and the doctor could see the desire written in them and written on the small smirk that just barely tugged at the edge of the dark haired woman's lips.
Maura tried to ignore her favorite detective at first. She took a sip of wine, swallowing it carefully before pointedly going back to reading her article.
Jane would not be deterred. She simply continued to stare. And smirk.
Her gaze was most definitely purposeful. It was meant to have an effect.
And despite Maura's attempts at dismissing it, it *was* having an effect.
Especially when Maura allowed herself another surreptitious glance over to the couch to find that Jane was still starting. But not at Maura's face. No. At her chest. Her breasts. Jane licked her lips.
If the doctor's nipples hadn't already been rock hard they would've have tightened into points right then.
Maura quickly cast her eyes back to her article. Determined, *determined*, not to let Jane get the better of her. But it was no use. She recognized the physiological changes within her, the elevated breathing, the elevated levels of oxytocin, the hyper-awareness of her own body. And she knew it was no use. She could never resist how Jane looked at her. Never.
Because how Jane looked at her… it was… well it was a series of looks and expressions and emotions that Maura knew were *just for her*. No one else got those looks. The micro-expressions that can't be faked, the involuntary pupil reactions, and that extra something that Maura had yet be able to explain scientifically: the way Jane saw her. The first person to ever *really* see her. And know her. It was a depth and an intensity.
And it was that ability to see, that depth, and that intensity in those smoldering eyes of Jane's that was capable of empting the doctor's mind, filling her heart, and setting her body on fire.
Which was exactly what it was doing right now.
So, yeah, it was no use. She'd held out as long as she could. Thirty, maybe even 40 minutes.
But with her body feeling flush and warm, with her heart beginning to beat harder, and with other parts of her body also starting to pulse, she could hold out no longer.
Maura raised her head and her gaze and caught Jane's eyes with her own. The two women stared at each other silently. Then, still without speaking, Maura closed her magazine and tossed it aside. She pushed herself up from the chair, uncurling her legs, feet landing on the floor, and stood. She then wordlessly put her hands to her waist, hooking her thumbs into the elastic band of her light sweatpants and pushing the fabric down past her hips, shimmying out of both the pants as well as the scrap of fabric she called underwear.
Never once breaking eye contact with Jane.
Now, nude from the waist down, with first one step and then another, she stepped out of the pool of clothing at her feet and still silent, sauntered the two or three more steps across the living room to the sofa. The sofa where Jane was waiting. And watching. Still watching.
When she arrived at her destination Maura didn't hesitate. She immediately climbed onto the sofa, and on to Jane, straddling the detective's hips, sitting in the detective's lap, one hand on each of the detective's shoulders.
Jane had to admit that she was a little surprised by her girlfriend's boldness, but not displeased, and she recovered quickly, one of her scared hands landing on the bare skin of Maura's thigh, the other reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind Maura's ear. "Well, hello," the detective's voice held a trace of humor along with the pure sex it so frequently contained.
But Maura wasn't in the talking mood, she ground her hips and body against Jane's, making it even more abundantly clear what she'd come for, laying small kisses to the side of Jane's face and neck and jaw. "No more teasing…" she breathed her plea, her request into Jane's ear.
Jane, of course, knew exactly what Maura was talking about and exactly what Maura was asking. But, again of course, she played dumb. "Teasing?" the detective murmured as if incredulous, though her voice still dripped with promise, and her fingers stroked lightly through Maura's hair, "How could I have been teasing you?" Jane pulled her head back and once again caught Maura's eyes, looking into them as she finished, "I haven't even touched you."
At Jane's words, Maura grabbed the sides of Jane's face. "That," the doctor responded as she broke eye contact, closing her eyes and leaning in to kiss the detective fully on the lips, quickly, but passionately, "is exactly," Maura kissed the detective once again, "the problem!" she concluded.
Jane couldn't help but chuckle low in her throat, but also had to bite her lip against the sensation of a half-naked Maura undulating on top of her, pushing her hips down again and swiveling them, and of the doctor's breasts pushing against Jane's body as the doctor went in for another kiss, one full of lips and tongue and wine and want, and one accompanied by a small plaintive sigh of pleasure when the doctor felt Jane's tongue enter her mouth and felt Jane's hand lower such that both finally landed firmly on the doctor's hips, her thighs, her quads, skimming upward…
Yes, yes, so close, right there, so close. "Please, Jane," Maura rasped out, breaking the kiss but not pulling back, placing her forehead against the brunette's, "Please," she rasped out again.
Again, Jane knew exactly what Maura was asking for, but she loved, probably too much, hearing Maura say it. She traced her fingers back down and back away, along warm skin, the outside of Maura's legs, up and down and further inside, tickling, taunting, and yes, very much teasing, practically feeling the nerve endings come alive under her touch, "Please what, Maur?" she rasped back.
Maura made a sound that could only be described as a low growl as she continued to move her body and her hips in a desperate attempt to get Jane's fingers where she really wanted them.
But Jane's fingers continued to evade. Coming closing, so close, almost grazing sensitive pink flesh, then flitting away. "Please what, Maur?" the detective's voice, her question enveloped the doctor.
And like moments before, there was no resisting it. She gave Jane what Jane wanted so that Jane would give her what she wanted. "Please do to me what your eyes have been doing to me for the last half an hour," she answered on a desperate breathy whisper.
Jane's lips curled in a small sign of victory, "You mean this?" the detective's asked with own brand of growl as she quickly positioned her hand and then slid two fingers fully into Maura without further delay or warning.
Maura, never one to hold back, let out a loud almost crying gasp, pushing up on her knees, arching her back, dropping her head back and dropping her hands again to Jane's shoulders, all energy and brain power drawn to the fulfillment of her request; the filling of her body and the processing of the resulting sensations emanating from between her legs, the intrusion, the penetration, that longed-for penetration, deep and thick, of Jane's callused but so long and so very talented fingers.
And another gasp escaped her as those fingers pulled out and pushed in again, and pushed in again and again, the detective dragging the rough pads along the front wall of Maura's passage, hitting all the spots she knew to be in there, massaging hot flesh that was already slick, so slick, with Maura's essence, exciting it further, making it even wetter, making it even hotter.
Making Maura hotter.
"Jane," Maura breathed as she tried to find and match Jane's rhythm, rotating and pulsing her hips and inner muscles with the detective's movements, but unable to establish a smooth counter to Jane, the doctor's body involuntarily twitching and jumping as Jane would push in deep enough to hit Maura's cervix or accurately enough to find that spongy flesh at Maura's very core, that flesh that set the doctor aflame, "Yes!" she cried out as her body pulsed and spasmed with each movement of Jane within her.
Jane, for her part, just held on, one arm buried between their bodies, one wrapped around Maura's ass, and her face buried in Maura's chest, listening to the doctor's verbal reactions, feeling the doctor's physical reactions, responding to them, giving, and pleasuring, and loving this body on top of her as much as she loved the woman who inhabited it.
And it wasn't long before those reactions, Maura's movements, the sounds she was making, were less and less coordinated, and more and more desperate, more and more needful.
Fluids running down her fingers and hand, Jane pushed in again, rubbing, dragging, scissoring, thrusting, twisting her wrist, thrusting in again, penetrating, filling, attuned, so attuned to the signs, the quivering of Maura's muscles, the hitching of her breath, the gripping of her hands, the small plea in her voice, "Jane…Jane…"
All signs the detective understood, and understood well.
Wrapping her arm just a little tighter around Maura's waist, she thrust into Maura's body one more time while also pushing her thumb up and over Maura's clit.
The doctor's body jerked.
"I've got you baby," Jane rasped out as she held on tight and ran her thumb over and over Maura's tip, "I've got you," she repeated and she pulled her fingers out one more time only to push in one more time and again pass her thumb up and over that oh so sensitive tip, back and forth and back and forth, circling, massaging…
This time the doctor's body went rigid. Just for a moment. Just a moment.
Then she was thrashing, feet kicking the couch cushions below her, back arching, hair cascading, fingers digging into Jane's shoulder, as the pleasure washed over and through her.
God, how her body responded to Jane's fingers, to Jane's ministrations, to Jane.
Waves of it as Jane's thumb continued to move, continued to circle, as the detective's voice continued to assure, Maura's passage clamping down, gripping Jane's fingers, gripping so hard.
And then releasing.
Maura's body collapsed into Jane's.
Spent. Breathing heavy. Twitching slightly when Jane extracted her hand in order to wrap both arms around the doctor's body.
God that was good.
That was so fucking good.
Of course, it was always good with Jane.
After allowing herself to catch her breath and allowing for the haze to lift from her brain, Maura finally lifted her head and lifted her gaze once again to that of her lover's. And in that gaze she saw desire, yes, and that seeing and that depth and that intensity…
But in that gaze she also saw affection. And love.
And she knew. She knew that's why it was always so good with Jane.