little_firestar | [ The Mentalist- Fanfiction] vezon's prompt/Red Blood Circulation chapter two

Based on Vezon's prompt, from one of the last scenes of 3.6 [Pink Chanel suit]

Questioning Doctor Ed Saban until the early hours of the morning had been a blessing for Lisbon, almost. The man was a sick bastard, who obviously didn’t give a damn about the Hippocratic Oath, but, as bad as it had been listening to his sorry excuses, at least it gave her time to think, or, to be more accurate, to not think, about what had almost happened between her and Jane.

Good Lord, please help me… She couldn’t believe she had been that stupid to give it away everything that easily, she couldn’t believe she had almost confessed the man her feelings were a way more than platonic, she had almost given up to temptation….

Good Lord, now I’ll never hear the end of this. Figures if Jane will keep it quiet about the fact that I basically lust after him… she thought as she grunted incoherently, moving to leave the office, only to stop in trance once arrived at the door, all because of the sight that was presenting itself in front of the dark haired agent, on the other side of the glass…

The first emotion that ran through Lisbon’s heart was happiness: Jane was resting on his couch like he used to do before his encounter with Red John few months prior. She took it like a good sign, like he was silently showing that he was trying to move past it, to not alienate himself from the unit, and her, not any longer.

The second emotion she felt was confusion, mixed with sadness and rage (and a taste of jealousy). As she saw the scene taking place in front of her, she didn’t know what to make of Jane’s behavior, how she was supposed to react, what she was supposed to feel. She felt like her heart was shattering in millions of pieces, everyone of them going into a different direction, each one of them trying to make her and her rationality follow its path, she felt like her feeling were controlling her, and she didn’t like it. She wasn’t used to it.

Jane, the same man who had tried to make put with her just few hours prior, had kissed Hightower. Patrick Jane had kissed Madeline Hightower, innocently, and on the cheek, that was sure, making her speechless and blushing. It had been quick and nonchalant and only on the cheek, but it had been a kiss nevertheless, and it still counted. And he knew it, since she had already told him, that time, a couple of years prior, when he had kissed Sophie Miller thank you and goodbye at the same time. But he had still made it, kissing Hightower, and it still hurt because he wasn’t supposed to kiss other women, especially after he had almost kiss her on the lips not too long before…

Oh, please, whom am I trying to kid? It obviously didn’t mean anything to him. Patrick Jane never gave a damn about Teresa Lisbon the woman or he’d already made a move by now. He was just being his usual self-center asshole, using people for his own goals. He was just trying to charm his way into me to get away with that huge mistake he had done, and preventing the use of lethal force on my side if he was incorrect again. After all, he had never shown interest in moving on before, not for real, at least. Frye doesn’t count, everybody knows he was doing it to prove Hightower wrong… I mean, I didn’t give a damn when he dated her, I wasn’t worried about it, not that I particularly care about his love live, just for his general wellbeing. I knew nothing was going to happen between them, or he’d removed the band, but he didn’t… he still wears it.

“Lisbon?” she stopped, immobile, as their eyes met, blue melting into green, making Teresa realize that she had been so lost in her small and personal Jane-world that she hadn’t noticed the presence of the real deal in front of her, a real deal that wasn’t grinning as usual, but fixing his gaze on her, worried and with lifted questioning eyebrows… she blushed in a dark shade of red, feeling hot, when she wondered if Jane was gifting her with such an unusual expression because he was reflecting on their little encounter under the table at the Judge’s mansion, if, maybe, deep down he was reflecting on the night’s events as well…

“Were you leaving?” Lisbon felt like the land was shattering under her feet, fireworks exploding with the force of a million of suns… she was almost sure that what she was hearing in Jane’s voice was concern and disbelief. Did he really mean it? Did he really want to finish that “chat”? Was he looking forward to?

“What? Oh, no, I still have at least an hour before to call it a night. I was just going to grab a coffee, caffeine keeps me going, you know. But it doesn’t matter, it can wait. The coffee, I mean.” She tried to explain, studding a little, feeling the heat in her cheeks and butterflies in her stomach as she retreated back to the safety of her office and of her desk, hoping that he’d take residence, as usual, on the red couch in the corner, or even the chair in front of her desk. Yep, she could deal with having Jane in front of her. Or maybe, even better, he could get the message that she had work to do and get lost, and retreat back to his own couch, so that she could think about a decent way of talking, or not talking, about what had happened and may had happened between them, or, at least, a way of dealing with the “issue” without damaging his feelings too much, if he had any feelings for me at all, and, more important, without giving away too much about her own feelings yeah, sure, like it could even be possible. He is the great and almighty mentalist, and I’m Miss Translucent…

She soon realized she wasn’t going to have any of it, as he decided that, of all the places he could choose to stay in her office, sitting on her desk, at her right, was the best option available… he was grinning, amused, with an expression that was a mix between the “cat got the canary” look and his (in) famous Cheshire cat grin, and… Good Lord… well, apparently, in the few moments between the damn kiss with Hightower and him breaking in inside her sancta sanctorum, while she had been far, far away with her own mind Jane-world, he had managed to lose two layers of clothes (vest and jacket, both nowhere in sight) to roll up his sleeves, free the pale blue stripped shirt from the trousers and unbuttoned the first three top buttons of said shirt… he looked so… with the unshaved, lightly tanned skin, out of bed blonde curly hair, she could only describe him as free, at easy, sexy, wild and alive. And if it wasn’t enough, the glimpses she was having of his chest were just sending her brain into overdrive, making her remember vivid dreams she had from a while, both an night and at open eyes, concerning the two of them, no clothes, the office, the bed (and even her kitchen table in few occasions) and sweating and entangled and satisfied naked bodies… Why do I always have to associate Patrick Jane with either kittens or sordid images of our bodies, completely naked and busy with sex?

“I know what to do!” he exclaimed happy, like a baby on a sugar rush, clapping his hands with such an enthusiasm that she got scared. He positioned himself at her back, and started to massage her neck, her shoulder, her back, and her sides with well known and expert movements, soft touches from light fingers that burnt the skin they skimmed over. She knew she was supposed to relax, but how could she, with Jane doing what he was doing, after what had almost happened between them just few hours before?

“Geez, woman, the whole reason behind this massage was making you relax, not tense even more!” he chuckled, falsely annoyed, clearly enjoying the little game that was going on between them, not making fun at Lisbon’s expenses as she thought he would have. No, Jane was really trying to put her at easy, because there wasn’t anything he wanted more than alleviating the tension between them. He knew it was something they both needed, because, if on her side, she was (still) tense under his touch, on his side, he was, for the first time in a lot of years, at loss of words.

Jane knew that he had to do something about what was going on between them before it was too late. He was aware that he was being selfish and a glutton, but he couldn’t help it. He had to act on his feelings, show her how he felt, even if he knew it wasn’t right and it was risky (mostly for her), he couldn’t suppress them any longer, the feelings, the attraction… he shouldn’t, wasn’t supposed to, he knew it, oh, he was well aware of this simple but yet so important fact! He had been aware of the effect he had on her from a while (was it just physical attraction or deeper feelings, he still didn’t know it for sure, even if he doubted his Lisbon could just desire a man for his mere appearance) and he had deep feelings for her, a great affection that went beyond mere friendship, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to put her life in jeopardy like that, because that was what loving Lisbon, starting something with her, would mean: putting her life, the life of the new, shiny toy, (as Stiles would have probably called her) in jeopardy, a life for Red John to take, steal from him and the world…

But he really couldn’t fight it any longer; last night, when they had practically screamed that their feelings were beyond platonic, it had been the proverbial last drop, and, even considering the possibility that it was just physical attraction (which he doubted), there was just that much that a red blooded man like he was could handle. And he couldn’t stand the thought of his Lisbon with someone else, was he Bosco, Mashburn, the “hot mailroom guy”, Bertram’s assistant (who kept checking her out and hitting on her since the first time they met, hence the extreme dislike and the dead mouse in the suit thing) or the deputy AG she had a date with just few days prior (third date), a man he really hated, because the guy made her laugh and smile and giggle, and Patrick Jane was the only one who was supposed and allowed to make her laugh and smile and giggle. He wanted to be the only one to do it. Lisbon loved him, cared about him and he loved Lisbon and cared about her, and it was about time he thought a lesson to Red John, that he showed him that he wasn’t going to let his enemy win, keep him away from his heart’s desire, he wasn’t going to give up on life or his Lisbon…

“My, My, My, Lisbon, you are so tense, but I think I may know a way to make you really relax…” still at her back, he lowered himself, so that he could whisper into her ear, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Lisbon took a big breath and gulped. If he thought he could make her relax, he was obviously wrong, because there was no way she could relax if Jane kept doing what he was doing to her it’s not him, the fact that he is the one doing it to me makes it worse, but it’s not the fact that he is Jane that affects me… repeat with me, Teresa…

He proceed to suck voluptuously the lobe of her right ear, the one he had whispered into, while his hands wondered on her body, through the thin fabric of her clothes, in a manner that didn’t let space to imagination or to any doubt. He knew where he wanted to go; he knew that he wanted to go there with her; he knew she wanted to go there as well, but was scared, but he knew that he had a way to convince her to go there with him, and Lisbon knew it. Well, I doubt he’ll have to work too much to convince me. I’m pretty sure he managed to as soon as he entered in the room…

She moaned as his hands lifted her pale shirt and went under it, in search of the tender and already heathen up skin of her breasts, while his mouth had left her lobe to pay the rightful attention to her slender neck, kissing and sucking her sweet spot, the pulse point, making her breath dying in her throat, quickening her heartbeat, making her freeze on the spot… she arched her back, throwing back her head to give him better access, moaning at closed eyes, breathing heavy, intoxicated by his mountain scent, her fists clenched around the armrests so firmly that her knuckles were turning white.

“You just have to say it, Lisbon. If you want me to stop, you just have to say a word and I’ll stop…” Jane whispered huskily into her ear between his owns moans, kisses and sucking, his breath as heavy as hers as his hands cupped her breasts through thin green silk and lace, stimulating her nipples with experts fingers.

As he said so, images of the two of them flashed through her eyes, of them naked and entangled fraternizing on that chair, on the couches, on the pavement, on his unused desk… those images made her come back to reality, with her feet on the floor, and only then her mind, her rational side, realized what was going on. I’m going to have sex with Jane. I’m going to have sex at the office with Patrick Jane. I’m going to have sex at the office with a man who wears his wedding band even after seven years he has lost his wife, a man who’ll eventually end up in jail for murderer or dead…

“Jane, please…no” she begged, fighting back the tears as she struggled with herself to free herself from his marvelous and sweet embrace, moving in the blink of an eye to the opposite side of the room, far away from Jane, her back to him.

“Jane, please… no, as in please, you don’t stop it, or as in please I don’t want it? Because there’s quite a difference, my dear” as he said, joking a bit, almost sure that she was just trying to push his buttons and making him chase after her, he got closer and closer, until he was again at her back. As soon as she felt his presence, him trying to take her back in his somehow strong and muscular arms, she retread farther more from Jane. He remained speechless and astonished, and although he knew that it was something it was going to happen during the night, he thought that other reasons were going to make him in such a state… he took Lisbon by the shoulders, forcing eye-contact, and what he saw in them, it destroyed him. He couldn’t believe she was feeling such an emotion, not for him. He had never given her reason to feel that way…

“You… you are scared of me… Lisbon, you know that I’d never hurt you… force you into anything… you know, right?” he didn’t know how it was supposed to sound, if it was an affirmation, a question, or a mere request of confirmation. Her eyes, her gorgeous green eyes, were giving away everything they were feeling for him, and it broke him.

“It’s not of you that I’m scared of, Jane. It’s of what you do to me, what you’ll end up doing to me that terrifies me!” she screamed like in agony, unable to hold back the tears, to hide the sufferance and devastation she was feeling because of what he was putting her through, and everything for an almost kiss, not even a real kiss..

“Lisbon, please… you know I promised to be at your side not matter what, and that I’d protect you, always, that you wanted it or not, that I’d never hurt you intentionally…” he was facing her, unable to do anything but whisper his plea, as white as a ghost. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t handle it… he had wore his heart on his sleeve, and she had rejected him, her, the one who had healed him, taught him to love again, the one who had brought him back into the world, giving him hope and a purpose, the one he loved with all his heart…

“Repeating all your empty promises will not make them real!” she kept screaming “repeating them will not change you or our reality, and I can’t allow myself to suffer again, not when I can avoid it! You are going to sleep over it and forget everything; we are going to forget everything, because I’m not going to allow you to break my heart just because you need a distraction!”

As she stormed out of the office, with tears in her eyes and in her voice, reality struck, and Jane realized what she had meant with her words, what she really was scared of. Watching at his wedding ring and skimming over it with his fingers, he understood how important Lisbon had become for him, and that he was going to win her over, once and forever, whatever it took.

Title: Red Blood Circulation [because every good menalist fic should have the word red in teh title, let's face it]
Chapter title: Red Blooded Man
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rated: T (for the mention of sex and sexual situations- no "real" sex of any kind, though)
Spoiler: 3.6, Pink Chanel suit
Words count: over 3000
Discalimer: saddly, not mine.