[ The Mentalist- Fanfiction] vezon's prompt/Red Blood Circulation

[little_firestar]

Based on Vezon's prompt, from one of the last scenes of 3.6 [Pink Chanel suit- why the titel, then? there wasn't a pink dress in the whole ep!] and wrote in less than a hour....

 

They were waiting under a table, hidden in the dark, close, a way too close for comfort, but Jane hadn’t been able to resist. At first, he had got that close by accident, but as soon as he had heard the breath dying in her throat, the heat coming from her body, and her heart speeding up at his unwanted touch, he had to stay that way, feeling her, so close, so alive… and he couldn’t help but grin, satisfied. He had always known that Lisbon had a thing for him, but she had always hidden it, denied it, even. Now, that he had physical evidence of it, she could no longer…

“If you are wrong yet again it will be hell for my career, and as much as you may be gold for the department, you’ll be kicked off the CBI as well, because Hightower will already be outside waiting to kick your ass, and I’ll be glad to help her out on this one” she whispered, snapping furious at him, at closed eyes, trying to forget how close Patrick Jane was to her, and how good he smelt, a unique cologne (probably not an aftershave, since it looked like he hadn’t shaved in the morning) something that looked like pine and wild musk, which was weird, because she had always thought of him more like a sea kind of guy, and feeling the mountain’s smells on him… it’s kind of reassuring, though, in a weird and twisted way, it’s like his scent could made her relax, made her forget that in that moment, they were hidden under a table to arrest a killer: no, in that moment, while she had her eyes closed and he was on top of her, they were cuddling together somewhere else, enjoying themselves, enjoying life, thinking about not a killer obsessed in destroying his life, but thinking about creating a life where there could be space for the both of them, together.

She hated when she did that, forgetting who they were and what they were supposed to do, how they were supposed to act towards each other, but, with Jane, sometimes, it was so simple forgetting… he was fun, easy going (when he wanted), charming, smart, brilliant, and so damn handsome. If she had to be honest, the first thing that made her fall for him had been his look: she had never felt the urge to run her fingers through someone’s hair at first sight, but as soon as she had met Jane, made speechless by his trademark smile, as soon as she had seen that blonde curls, and those cerulean eyes, and those lips… she had to remember herself that Minelli was there, and that she wasn’t a stupid child, in order to not jump on him, and kiss him and run her fingers through his hair…

“A, as I said, what are the chances of me being wrong twice in a row?” he asks her, awakening her from her reverie, his breathing hot as it tickled the soft and receptive sweet spot on her neck, and she so could feel him grinning satisfied on her skin, the subtle hint of beard (Don’t think about how hot and sexy it his on a man, Teresa, don’t, just don’t…) tickling her neck… she started to moan, both for the desire awakened in her vein by him and his presence at her side, so close, so alive, so… Jane, and for the discomfort, because she could really feel her legs any longer. God, she hated stake-outs… how was she supposed to run after and chase suspects, when her legs were failing her? And Jane was making her life miserable, on top of everything! Not that she minded that sweet torture, quite the contrary, having him that way was better that not having him at hall, but, maybe, it had been in the security and privacy of her closed and sealed office, she’d be more happy… “B, that’s not gonna work unless you’re quiet” he told her, quite annoyed, and a bit mad, but never letting it go of her, his hands still steady on her petite form, feeling her under his fingerprints- he hoped that she thought he was skimming over the bare skin between her pants and her shirt by accident, or, otherwise, in few minutes a very important and vital part of his anatomy was going to be missing.  

“I can’t be quiet! My legs are asleep!” she hissed, turning in that sort of embrace, her cheeks pressed against the soft material of his white shirt and grey three pieces, making her blush furthermore, a color that deepened again in few seconds time, with the knowledge that Jane could see it and, probably, since she was the translucent one, guess why he was making her sort of speechless and behaving in that weird way….

“What do you mean your legs are asleep? Legs don’t sleep, it’s absurd, and I don’t understand why people say that…” even if he was talking kind of out aloud, it was clear that his monologue was more internal, or, maybe, thought to drive her mad more-after all, her answer to his crazy statement had been rolled eyes, and she still remembered a time when Jane had told her that she was extremely cute when she did that, so, if he enjoyed that reaction, maybe he had done it on purpose, in order to get that reaction from her… or maybe she was just reading too much into that, because, with her damn crush on the man, she kept seeing things that weren’t there, ad tell things that she wasn’t allowed to say, because they weren’t (he wasn’t) ready to face the consequences of said speeches (like that time she had told him, just few months before “you’re pulling away from me, and I know that you are scared of losing me, because you think that everyone that come close to you gets hurt, but I’m a cop, I’m always in harm’s way, I can defend myself”; only later she realized both how wrong she had been, and what had happened to Bosco proved it, and how much of her feelings she gave away, but in that moment, she had needed to say it, to get him back in their lives, and she just hoped that the events of the last months had shaken him enough to avoid him from finding out the truth)

“Here, let me take care of it…” he whispered, so low that Lisbon barely heard him, with his breathing still hot on her skin, as his hands left the spots where they were previously busy, and moved south, lifting the legs of her pants, rolling down the socks, and starting to massage her skin with known and calculated gestures to restore the circulation, slow, loving, tender and caring and so damn erotic caresses… she couldn’t deny that Jane knew a very good way to get her blood moving again… for a second, she thought it was foreplay for something that required much less clothes on and much more privacy and time at their disposal… (Don’t think about Jane and sex, don’t think about having sex with Jane, don’t associate the word sex and Jane, stop thinking how much of a great lover he definitely is, Teresa, just, drop it, will you?)

Suddenly, as he went on with his ministrations on her legs (moving his hands further north, in direction of her thighs, sometimes on bare skin, sometimes on soft and thin fabric) she didn’t know exactly why and how, but she had ended up in his lap, and, when she turned her face to look at him, she realized two things: first, even if he was grinning, there was a small shadow of doubt, of insecurity (or maybe it was even curiosity) on his face, while his eyes, those marvelous cerulean eyes of the same shade of his car, those eyes that she kept dreaming of at night, were dark with desire… second, his lips were so close to her owns, their faces were so close that she could feel loud and clear his now erratic breathing, and they were practically nuzzling each other…

She couldn’t resist any longer, she simply had to give up. She knew it was a risk, but she had to let him know, in some way, how she felt. She knew it was probably the best way to ruin whatever they had going on, was it friendship or just partnership, but she couldn’t go on this way. She couldn’t go on with Jane keeping alienating himself from them, from her, she couldn’t go on with Jane flirting with other women, making them fall for him, and she couldn’t go on just to see him dating some damn woman who obviously just wanted to have some fun at his expenses and didn’t give a damn about Patrick.

Without closing her eyes, to test his reaction, Lisbon moved closer to him, clutching like for dear life at his shirt, scared,  but brave enough to be sure of what she was doing. He was mimicking her movements, getting closer and closer, their lips already skimming over each other, when they heard a sound coming from the door, and they stopped where they were…

“Damn” he muttered as soon as he felt the lack of contact with Teresa, already missing it, already addicted to heat irradiated from her body. She smiled, giggling in silence as a schoolgirl, as she realized that he was totally in that, and that he was sorry that they hadn’t had the opportunity to take that step, blocked by the arrival of the killer himself, busy trying to hide the body in the same place Jane had been sure it was in the first place, the grandmother’s coffin. “Let me clarify this, woman, we’re definitely going to continue that discussion later, in your office!” he whispered to her, taking his cell ready to move on with their plane, pointing a finger at her, serious, his voice low, sensual and husky, but with a note of malice in his eyes that he wasn’t even trying to mask.

Somehow, for once, she couldn’t wait to have Jane in her office, all for her self alone.  

Title: Red Blood Circulation [because every good menalist fic should have the word red in teh title, let's face it]
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rated: T (for the mention of the word sex a couple of times, I guess)
Spoiler: 3.6, Pink Chanel suit
Words count: 1716
Discalimer: saddly, not mine.