kiss with a fist
Title: Kiss With A Fist
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Yeah, right.
Spoilers: 3x08
Summary: “You forget that I only ever let you win because I want to.”
Word Count: 2161
Author’s Notes: I started this as part of Porn Battle XI, but then life happened and I’m only finishing it now. It’s set post-3x08 in an AU where Jane and Lisbon are already in an established relationship, the exact details of which are up to you. Because really, that couch scene at the end of the episode leaves several threads that need to be explored in fic.
Thanks to yaba324 for betaing/encouraging.
xxxxx
Her apartment is dark as he enters. The swift, quiet sound of the front door closing behind him seems to echo in the stillness, the emptiness. He doesn’t have to check his watch. She won’t be home for at least another hour, but he doesn’t mind.
The wait is part of the thrill.
He tucks himself away in the back corner of her living room and settles himself down against one of her love seats, set back behind the bookshelf. He’s hidden enough for his purposes. And so he waits.
He hears her curse when she stumbles through the door just over an hour later, as he predicted. He smiles to himself, or perhaps in spite of himself, at the sound as he imagines her trying to maintain possession of all of her paperwork. She’s always grumpy on court days.
She doesn’t flick on the light and heads straight for the kitchen, finding her way easily even in the darkness. It does not take a psychic -- real or otherwise -- to predict her actions, even on days like today. Especially on days like today.
On an average day, the evening transition from Senior Agent Lisbon to Teresa comes gradually, whereas the morning transition from Teresa to Senior Agent Lisbon comes in an instant. This early in the evening, her home routine and her work routine would not be dissimilar; her senior agent persona still intact and her instincts still heightened.
But today is a court day and he didn’t even endanger the DA’s case, so she has no reason to be frustrated. He’s counting on that.
He hears the emphatic but somewhat muffled thud of her paperwork landing on the kitchen counter before she finally flips on the light.
Choosing his move carefully, he waits to grab her wrist until the exact moment that she turns the corner. He’s glad he prepared himself or else, between her quick reflexes and natural strength, he’d probably be flat on the ground already -- even on one of her more relaxed evenings. Instead, he has her pinned against the wall.
The element of surprise has her struggling against his hands, cursing louder than before once she realizes it’s not just anyone, but him.
“Jane? What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
He tries to focus on her eyes as she snaps at him, yet he cannot help but notice the subtle flush that settles on her skin as her pulse races beneath his hold.
“You’re a smart woman,” he says matter-of-factly and leans in, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
When she shivers involuntarily in response, he knows he’s already won the battle, but he enjoys watching her try to fight him anyway.
“I think you’d better tell me.”
She resists defiantly, trying to press back into the wall, but he only leans in closer, covering her body with his own.
“You called me creaky.” He pulls back, appreciative of the way she instinctively tries to move toward him. “I’m not creaky.”
“So you break into my house because I hurt your feelings?” She tilts her head back, peering up at him warily. “Do you want me to apologize?”
He fights back a grin; this is even better than he had hoped. “It wouldn’t hurt,” he shrugs casually.
“Fine,” she huffs, her lips pouting defiantly. “I’m sorry I called you creaky, Jane. Now will you please let me go?”
“No.”
He doesn’t fight the grin this time as she mutters to herself that he has some nerve. He leans in to whisper in her ear once again, “I think you’re forgetting that I never promised to let you go, Teresa.”
He draws out her name as she curses again, more frustrated at the fact that he’s right than anything else.
“And you waited over a week for this?” she grumbles finally. “You have an odd sense of timing, you know that?”
“Mmhmm.” He takes one hand, still holding firmly to her wrist, and runs her own fingers along the side of her ribs.
“You see the doctor today?” she asks, her head falling back in response to the movement of her hand. “That why you’re here tonight?”
“If you really think that, woman,” he breathes, “then I have more to prove than I originally thought.”
She smirks at him through narrowed eyes, but before she gets a chance to retort, he cuts her off. For all of her defiance earlier, she accepts his kiss without protest. He presses her back against the wall as his tongue darts out to taste her. There’s a trace of coffee still, and the bear claw he brought to appease her before she went to court.
When he draws a moan from the back of her throat, he grins against her, pleased with himself. He releases one of her hands while she is still too distracted to notice, and begins to run his free hand along the exposed skin of her stomach where her blouse had ridden up. That’s when he notices that her gun is still in her hip holster, and his hand stills in confusion at this unexpected discovery.
In one stunned moment, he’s stopped kissing her, and then she lets out a triumphant cry as he feels her handcuffs close around his wrists.
She laughs as his eyes go wide with shock. “You forget,” she quirks an eyebrow warningly as she tugs gently on the cuffs, “that I only ever let you win because I want to.” She winks and adds, “This is for making me apologize.”
“Lisbon,” he whines, but he thinks better of it when she glowers in response.
“So now we’re back to Lisbon?” she asks, amused. “You’d better behave yourself, Patrick.”
He risks her warning glare when he says, “Yes, ma’am,” but he follows her direction up the stairs just the same.
Once in her bedroom, she shuts the door with enough force to make him turn around, startled, and then acquiesce obediently when she motions for him to sit on the foot of the bed. She manages to get him almost entirely undressed before realizing that the handcuffs are going to pose a problem.
He cannot resist raising an eyebrow. She glares back menacingly before pushing him back on the bed. “If I take these off,” she offers, leaning her weight forward as she places her fists on either side of him. “Will you behave?”
He nods.
“Good.” She stands up straight once again and sashays towards the door. She whirls her head around as she opens the door and says, “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”
He groans as she disappears down the stairwell, and glances down at himself, clad in only his shirt, vest, and boxers; his state of arousal obvious and his hands still cuffed.
“I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.”
And he realizes, not for the first time, that this woman really will be the death of him.
xxx
In the fifteen minutes before Lisbon comes back upstairs, he comes to the conclusion that waiting is decidedly less thrilling when he is not the one in control.
She finally reappears, looking inordinately pleased with herself as she flashes the key at him and relaxes back against the doorjamb.
“It took you,” he stops to check the clock on her bedside table, “seventeen minutes to find those? It appears you’re not the detective I thought you were.”
“Tell me truthfully,” she grins, eyebrows raised, and she moves across the room to stand directly in front of him. “Does that seem like a wise thing to say to me now?”
He shakes his head. Her grin grows wider still.
“And you accuse me of being impatient,” she chides, but she leans forward and releases his handcuffs all the same.
“I never said I wasn’t, though,” he says, rotating his wrists. She’s already working on the buttons of his vest. “Especially when it comes to you.”
“Patrick?” She can barely keep a straight face, although she tries to sound as threatening as possible.
“Yes, dear?” he says sweetly, flashing his most innocent grin in her direction. She quirks an eyebrow in response.
He expects a warning remark for his last comment, but he likes that he can still make her laugh, even in moments like this. She leans over him, and he feels her warm breath over his ear as she says, simply, “I could always get the cuffs back out now if you’d prefer.”
He shakes his head, and that’s when he realizes that she managed to divest him of both vest and shirt while he was otherwise distracted. His hips rise up to allow her to pull his boxers off as well.
“That’s okay,” he finally manages. “This is better.”
She straddles him and kisses him quickly, smiling when she feels him grow harder beneath her. She nips at his lower lip, then pulls away and rises from the bed. He groans at the loss until she strips down before him.
She climbs deliberately back onto the bed, hovering carefully over him, and she kisses him again, longer this time. She takes advantage of his being otherwise preoccupied and pins his arms above his head, placing them on her headboard. He does not complain, just this once, because the sight of her in complete control is too much to pass up.
She releases his hands, finally content that he will not move them, and continues kissing him, trailing a line from his jaw down to his neck until she finds his pulse point. Her hands wander, alternating between the soft pads of her fingertips and the sharper sensation of her nails. It takes all of the self control he has in reserve to keep gripping the headboard, with her so close while he is forbidden to touch her, but that fades away the instant she wraps her hand around him. His senses, normally hyperaware, are unable to focus on anything except for the feel of her as she strokes him with nimble fingers.
He watches the sly smile that tugs at her lips, her eyes wide with desire, and that alone almost pushes him over the edge. She releases him abruptly and moves her hands over his stomach for leverage as she sinks down on him. Her eyes close as she arches back and begins to move, and finally he cannot be completely passive, his hips rising to meet hers with every thrust. He studies the graceful rise and fall of her body, dark locks framing her face as she bites on her lower lip.
It doesn’t take long before her rhythm speeds up and he notices the subtle changes that signal she is close. The soft sounds that escape her throat only urge him on, and unable to resist any longer, he reaches one hand between them to touch her at long last. Before she has a chance to protest, she’s shuddering above him, falling forward and bracing herself as she rides out her high. He runs his fingers gently along her side as the tremors begin to slow.
When she comes back to herself, she simply smiles at him lazily and begins to move again, this time offering no protest as his hands roam freely over her. He lets himself go only moments later, hard and fast, arching up into her as he cries out in release.
He finally collapses, boneless and sated, back against the sheets, groaning when she rolls off of him. She doesn’t quite rest as close to him as he’d like, so he pulls her closer. He still has a few things to teach her about lounging lazily in bed.
He would be content just to lie here, idly stroking her hair, as she finally relents and curls completely into his side, but after a while, she grows restless and props herself on one elbow, peering down at him.
“Yes?” he asks finally, one hand still stroking her hair.
“I’m hungry.”
He drops his hand and laughs despite his best efforts not to. She whacks his chest.
“Always thinking of your stomach, woman,” he teases, groaning as he rolls out of bed and begins to gather enough of his clothing to make himself presentable. “Okay, if you insist, I’ll go grab the take out menus. Any requests?”
“An apple,” she says. “You still owe me.”
He throws her own shirt at her in retaliation. “Anything else, then?”
“No,” she replies, catching the shirt before it hits her. “And just for the record,” she calls out as he reaches the door, “if you were trying to prove that you aren’t creaky, this doesn’t count.”
He turns around and glances appreciatively over her form as she stretches lazily in bed, looking completely content. He raises a suggestive eyebrow and says, “Oh, I know.” before disappearing out the door.
He’s not really worried about that right now.
After all, there’s always later.
xxxxx
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Yeah, right.
Spoilers: 3x08
Summary: “You forget that I only ever let you win because I want to.”
Word Count: 2161
Author’s Notes: I started this as part of Porn Battle XI, but then life happened and I’m only finishing it now. It’s set post-3x08 in an AU where Jane and Lisbon are already in an established relationship, the exact details of which are up to you. Because really, that couch scene at the end of the episode leaves several threads that need to be explored in fic.
Thanks to yaba324 for betaing/encouraging.
xxxxx
Her apartment is dark as he enters. The swift, quiet sound of the front door closing behind him seems to echo in the stillness, the emptiness. He doesn’t have to check his watch. She won’t be home for at least another hour, but he doesn’t mind.
The wait is part of the thrill.
He tucks himself away in the back corner of her living room and settles himself down against one of her love seats, set back behind the bookshelf. He’s hidden enough for his purposes. And so he waits.
He hears her curse when she stumbles through the door just over an hour later, as he predicted. He smiles to himself, or perhaps in spite of himself, at the sound as he imagines her trying to maintain possession of all of her paperwork. She’s always grumpy on court days.
She doesn’t flick on the light and heads straight for the kitchen, finding her way easily even in the darkness. It does not take a psychic -- real or otherwise -- to predict her actions, even on days like today. Especially on days like today.
On an average day, the evening transition from Senior Agent Lisbon to Teresa comes gradually, whereas the morning transition from Teresa to Senior Agent Lisbon comes in an instant. This early in the evening, her home routine and her work routine would not be dissimilar; her senior agent persona still intact and her instincts still heightened.
But today is a court day and he didn’t even endanger the DA’s case, so she has no reason to be frustrated. He’s counting on that.
He hears the emphatic but somewhat muffled thud of her paperwork landing on the kitchen counter before she finally flips on the light.
Choosing his move carefully, he waits to grab her wrist until the exact moment that she turns the corner. He’s glad he prepared himself or else, between her quick reflexes and natural strength, he’d probably be flat on the ground already -- even on one of her more relaxed evenings. Instead, he has her pinned against the wall.
The element of surprise has her struggling against his hands, cursing louder than before once she realizes it’s not just anyone, but him.
“Jane? What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
He tries to focus on her eyes as she snaps at him, yet he cannot help but notice the subtle flush that settles on her skin as her pulse races beneath his hold.
“You’re a smart woman,” he says matter-of-factly and leans in, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
When she shivers involuntarily in response, he knows he’s already won the battle, but he enjoys watching her try to fight him anyway.
“I think you’d better tell me.”
She resists defiantly, trying to press back into the wall, but he only leans in closer, covering her body with his own.
“You called me creaky.” He pulls back, appreciative of the way she instinctively tries to move toward him. “I’m not creaky.”
“So you break into my house because I hurt your feelings?” She tilts her head back, peering up at him warily. “Do you want me to apologize?”
He fights back a grin; this is even better than he had hoped. “It wouldn’t hurt,” he shrugs casually.
“Fine,” she huffs, her lips pouting defiantly. “I’m sorry I called you creaky, Jane. Now will you please let me go?”
“No.”
He doesn’t fight the grin this time as she mutters to herself that he has some nerve. He leans in to whisper in her ear once again, “I think you’re forgetting that I never promised to let you go, Teresa.”
He draws out her name as she curses again, more frustrated at the fact that he’s right than anything else.
“And you waited over a week for this?” she grumbles finally. “You have an odd sense of timing, you know that?”
“Mmhmm.” He takes one hand, still holding firmly to her wrist, and runs her own fingers along the side of her ribs.
“You see the doctor today?” she asks, her head falling back in response to the movement of her hand. “That why you’re here tonight?”
“If you really think that, woman,” he breathes, “then I have more to prove than I originally thought.”
She smirks at him through narrowed eyes, but before she gets a chance to retort, he cuts her off. For all of her defiance earlier, she accepts his kiss without protest. He presses her back against the wall as his tongue darts out to taste her. There’s a trace of coffee still, and the bear claw he brought to appease her before she went to court.
When he draws a moan from the back of her throat, he grins against her, pleased with himself. He releases one of her hands while she is still too distracted to notice, and begins to run his free hand along the exposed skin of her stomach where her blouse had ridden up. That’s when he notices that her gun is still in her hip holster, and his hand stills in confusion at this unexpected discovery.
In one stunned moment, he’s stopped kissing her, and then she lets out a triumphant cry as he feels her handcuffs close around his wrists.
She laughs as his eyes go wide with shock. “You forget,” she quirks an eyebrow warningly as she tugs gently on the cuffs, “that I only ever let you win because I want to.” She winks and adds, “This is for making me apologize.”
“Lisbon,” he whines, but he thinks better of it when she glowers in response.
“So now we’re back to Lisbon?” she asks, amused. “You’d better behave yourself, Patrick.”
He risks her warning glare when he says, “Yes, ma’am,” but he follows her direction up the stairs just the same.
Once in her bedroom, she shuts the door with enough force to make him turn around, startled, and then acquiesce obediently when she motions for him to sit on the foot of the bed. She manages to get him almost entirely undressed before realizing that the handcuffs are going to pose a problem.
He cannot resist raising an eyebrow. She glares back menacingly before pushing him back on the bed. “If I take these off,” she offers, leaning her weight forward as she places her fists on either side of him. “Will you behave?”
He nods.
“Good.” She stands up straight once again and sashays towards the door. She whirls her head around as she opens the door and says, “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”
He groans as she disappears down the stairwell, and glances down at himself, clad in only his shirt, vest, and boxers; his state of arousal obvious and his hands still cuffed.
“I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.”
And he realizes, not for the first time, that this woman really will be the death of him.
xxx
In the fifteen minutes before Lisbon comes back upstairs, he comes to the conclusion that waiting is decidedly less thrilling when he is not the one in control.
She finally reappears, looking inordinately pleased with herself as she flashes the key at him and relaxes back against the doorjamb.
“It took you,” he stops to check the clock on her bedside table, “seventeen minutes to find those? It appears you’re not the detective I thought you were.”
“Tell me truthfully,” she grins, eyebrows raised, and she moves across the room to stand directly in front of him. “Does that seem like a wise thing to say to me now?”
He shakes his head. Her grin grows wider still.
“And you accuse me of being impatient,” she chides, but she leans forward and releases his handcuffs all the same.
“I never said I wasn’t, though,” he says, rotating his wrists. She’s already working on the buttons of his vest. “Especially when it comes to you.”
“Patrick?” She can barely keep a straight face, although she tries to sound as threatening as possible.
“Yes, dear?” he says sweetly, flashing his most innocent grin in her direction. She quirks an eyebrow in response.
He expects a warning remark for his last comment, but he likes that he can still make her laugh, even in moments like this. She leans over him, and he feels her warm breath over his ear as she says, simply, “I could always get the cuffs back out now if you’d prefer.”
He shakes his head, and that’s when he realizes that she managed to divest him of both vest and shirt while he was otherwise distracted. His hips rise up to allow her to pull his boxers off as well.
“That’s okay,” he finally manages. “This is better.”
She straddles him and kisses him quickly, smiling when she feels him grow harder beneath her. She nips at his lower lip, then pulls away and rises from the bed. He groans at the loss until she strips down before him.
She climbs deliberately back onto the bed, hovering carefully over him, and she kisses him again, longer this time. She takes advantage of his being otherwise preoccupied and pins his arms above his head, placing them on her headboard. He does not complain, just this once, because the sight of her in complete control is too much to pass up.
She releases his hands, finally content that he will not move them, and continues kissing him, trailing a line from his jaw down to his neck until she finds his pulse point. Her hands wander, alternating between the soft pads of her fingertips and the sharper sensation of her nails. It takes all of the self control he has in reserve to keep gripping the headboard, with her so close while he is forbidden to touch her, but that fades away the instant she wraps her hand around him. His senses, normally hyperaware, are unable to focus on anything except for the feel of her as she strokes him with nimble fingers.
He watches the sly smile that tugs at her lips, her eyes wide with desire, and that alone almost pushes him over the edge. She releases him abruptly and moves her hands over his stomach for leverage as she sinks down on him. Her eyes close as she arches back and begins to move, and finally he cannot be completely passive, his hips rising to meet hers with every thrust. He studies the graceful rise and fall of her body, dark locks framing her face as she bites on her lower lip.
It doesn’t take long before her rhythm speeds up and he notices the subtle changes that signal she is close. The soft sounds that escape her throat only urge him on, and unable to resist any longer, he reaches one hand between them to touch her at long last. Before she has a chance to protest, she’s shuddering above him, falling forward and bracing herself as she rides out her high. He runs his fingers gently along her side as the tremors begin to slow.
When she comes back to herself, she simply smiles at him lazily and begins to move again, this time offering no protest as his hands roam freely over her. He lets himself go only moments later, hard and fast, arching up into her as he cries out in release.
He finally collapses, boneless and sated, back against the sheets, groaning when she rolls off of him. She doesn’t quite rest as close to him as he’d like, so he pulls her closer. He still has a few things to teach her about lounging lazily in bed.
He would be content just to lie here, idly stroking her hair, as she finally relents and curls completely into his side, but after a while, she grows restless and props herself on one elbow, peering down at him.
“Yes?” he asks finally, one hand still stroking her hair.
“I’m hungry.”
He drops his hand and laughs despite his best efforts not to. She whacks his chest.
“Always thinking of your stomach, woman,” he teases, groaning as he rolls out of bed and begins to gather enough of his clothing to make himself presentable. “Okay, if you insist, I’ll go grab the take out menus. Any requests?”
“An apple,” she says. “You still owe me.”
He throws her own shirt at her in retaliation. “Anything else, then?”
“No,” she replies, catching the shirt before it hits her. “And just for the record,” she calls out as he reaches the door, “if you were trying to prove that you aren’t creaky, this doesn’t count.”
He turns around and glances appreciatively over her form as she stretches lazily in bed, looking completely content. He raises a suggestive eyebrow and says, “Oh, I know.” before disappearing out the door.
He’s not really worried about that right now.
After all, there’s always later.
xxxxx