Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future
A/N: Lots of love to bloodwrites for reassuring me that this was not a completely insane fic idea.
Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me; Title found in Lady Antebellum's Friday Night.
"Explain to me again..." He leaned over the arm of his seat, reaching across her body to steal a couple peanuts. "What the purpose of this game is."
"To win, you of all peo—" The rest of her sentence died, her beer sloshing over the side of its cup as she stood and gestured towards the ice. "The puck! Get the puck, you asshole!"
"Ah, how could I forget?" Shaking his head, he popped another peanut in his mouth and leaned back in his seat. At first, it had seemed like a great idea, getting Lisbon season tickets to see her beloved Sharks. The ideal anniversary gift.
Not that either of them whole heartedly bought into such occasions, but this was their first, it was important.
And hell, if it gave him one more reason to spoil her, to make her blush and show her he knew just how much she put up with, well, then, all the better.
So yes, tickets had seemed like the best option, it was something she loved yet offered the opportunity for them to spend lots of time together. And, as much as he was so not a sports guy, there was something exciting about the give of letting your partner indulge in what they liked. He'd dragged her to his share of Indian restaurants and nights stargazing, after all.
(Ok, so she hadn't protested the latter much; she was definitely not a fan of the two am alarms that went with it though.)
Still, the game was brutal and impossible to follow and... slow... so excruciatingly slow...
Shaking his head, he tracked the players down the ice and back again, before her arm waving wildly at the opposing team's player caught his attention. He chuckled, his gaze drifting over her as she continued to yell at the man who, as far as he could tell, was nowhere near the puck.
"You know, dear, only you would be so invested in a sport that takes eons to score or get anywhere in."
Finishing her beer, she tipped her head towards him for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a half smile. "What can I say..." Her eyes met his as her dimple appeared. "I'm used to waiting."
Any response died as she turned back to the game, her jab at the nearly eight months post-Red John he'd spent not-so-subtly dancing around her echoing in his head.
Oh, she certainly gave as good as she got; it was one of the things he loved best about her.
That and the fire in her eyes when she really championed someone—a team, a victim, him... it didn't matter, she cared. And when she did there was no doubting it. Not for a second.
She leaned forward as the second period started and the players hit the ice again, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her fingers flexing against the arm of the stadium seat.
"I'm beginning to think that the most interesting thing about sporting events is observing the spectators."
"Hmm?" She glanced over her shoulder at him.
"Well, logically all the people here are fans of some sort, but the differing types are astounding. You have the foam finger waving faction and then there's the group that likes to be vocal..." He winked, his hand cupping her elbow. "Followed by the ones who come for the social aspect, whether they're with a group of friends or a significant other... I mean, the Zamboni was was kind of fun, too, but watching the crowd is infinitely more—"
"Jane, I didn't ask for dissertation."
"Remember that the next time you demand more details in my case report."
"That's different and you know it."
"Mhmm." He nodded, his hip pressing against the hard plastic of the chair as he leaned closer. The slight breeze in the arena blew through her hair and he inhaled sharply, half-heartedly trying to get his thoughts back on track. "You just like to be in charge."
"You know..." Her shoulder bumped against his briefly, a slight flush flaring on her cheeks. "I really, really do."
Her words, the soft teasing of her voice, sent a jolt of heat rocketing down his spine and he gulped, contemplating whether to push it further or to just let it—
Oh, who was he kidding, of course he wasn't just going to let it go. Not when her eyes were looking at him with the same intensity they'd had when she was screaming at the referee earlier.
Pretending to be interested in the game once more, he sat back in his seat, draping his arm between them and, slowly, brushing his fingers across her thigh. She gasped, pressing her lips together before swatting him away as the Sharks scored again.
Not to be deterred, he pressed a quick kiss to that spot just below her ear before splaying his hand across the nape of her neck. His thumb drew lazy circles there, caressing and teasing as he sipped from his beer and watched the puck go sailing into the net once more.
Sighing, she leaned into the touch, her eyes closing slightly as his fingers slipped under the collar of her shirt, massaging lightly, before drifting up her neck and tangling in her hair. His mouth pressed against her throat and she clutched at his bicep, her heart pounding in her chest as he leaned away once more, his hand skimming down her arm.
She blinked slowly, attempting to determine when this had become such a runaway game as she stood. "Come on, let's go."
"You'll get no argument from me." He quickly got out of his seat and, pushing two drunk college students out of his way, began following her up the steps. "I didn't realize you wanted to beat the traffic so badly..."
She laughed, her head tipping back as they reached the top of the stairs and turned left, heading for the exit. His fingers clasped hers, a genuine smile spreading across his face as she pulled him along, their joined hands swaying in the air between them.
"Ok, you realize I'm not running home, don't—" He groaned as she suddenly stopped and he stumbled into her, the curve of her hip against him, her thumb brushing across his palm, quickly reminding him why they were in such a rush.
Inhaling slowly, he glanced behind them and...
"Jane, what the hell?" She gasped as the door to the maintenance closet (ok, maybe closet was underselling it; her office was only a smidge larger) slammed shut behind them, the lock immediately sliding into place.
And really, she didn't even want to—need to—know how he knew the closet was there and readily available, but what the hell was he...
"Oh god, what are you..." Her eyes slipped shut as he tugged at her shirt, his lips pressed against her throat.
"Couldn't... wait..." He stepped forward, his mouth brushing kisses across her skin even as he pinned her against the back of the door.
"You never did master self-restraint, did you?"
"Meh, control is overrated."
"You would... ohhh..." It felt like his hands where everywhere, dipping under the waistband of her jeans, skimming up her back, caressing the curve of her neck, making her dizzy and hot and...
Damn it, how had he gotten such a big advantage?
Pushing against his shoulder, she put some space between them, her half-hooded eyes drifting slowly over his body before she leaned forward and slowly, sodamnslowly, unzipped his pants.
Her knuckles brushed against his erection as she moved closer and she grinned as his hand flexed against her shoulders and she heard his breath hitch. All movement stopped as their eyes met and then he was against her once more, the remainder of their clothing flying through the air as his mouth crashed down on hers.
His teeth tugged at her bottom lip as the last scrap of material between them (Really, she'd worn those teeny, tiny boyshorts to a hockey game? No wonder she was always freezing...) fell to the ground. She gasped beneath him, her tongue stroking over his as she arched against him.
"What are you..." Her nails dug into his shoulder, her other hand buried in his hair as her legs wrapped around him. "Waiting for?"
"Who's impatient now?" Laughing, he leaned back, groaning at the sight of her disheveled hair, the slight blush staining her cheeks... she was so damn gorgeous and that he was the one that made her feel this way...
His lips pressed to hers again, hungrily, demanding, as his hand flattened against the wall next to her head and he slid home.
"Can you bla— Shit, that's..." Blowing out a shaky breath, she pressed her heel into the small of his back, urging him forward.
"Good? Amazing? Staggeringly... damn it, Lisbon..." His jaw clenched as he began to move, his hands cupping her hips, guiding her back to him over and over again.
"Mmm?" She was lightheaded, desire spiraling out of control as his tongue drifted over her collar bone and he increased their rhythm.
"Not gonna... last... FUCK." He groaned as her chest pressed into his, her knees tightened at his sides. "You're..."
"Yes, there, right... ohgod, yes... yesyesyesyesyes..." Her back bowed, head thrashed against the wall as the heat washed over her and she came, chanting his name.
He returned to her once, twice, more before the feel of her shaking around him, her lips pressing lazy kisses to his jaw, was too much and he let go, his orgasm shaking him.
"Wow." Her hands drifted down his chest as she lowered her legs and brushed her lips over his.
"Yeah, that..." He shook his head, stepping away to gather their clothes. "I must admit, I didn't know if you had it in you."
"Hey, I'm spontaneous!"
"Mmm, yes, but in a semi-public place?" He tossed her her bra, which had somehow landed on top of an industrial sized bottle of bleach. "I must be rubbing off on you, dear."
"I don't think rubbing is the only thing you're doing..." She ran her hand through her hair, laughing lightly as his jaw dropped slightly.
"Saucy, little minx." He planted a kiss on her cheek before unlocking the door and leaning out of the room to cheek for any loiterers.
"We good?"
"Indeed. The coast, as they say, is clear."
"Perfect." Smoothing the twisted hem of his t-shirt, she smirked. "Now let's get moving, I wouldn't mind going a few more rounds tonight..."
"Isn't that the wrong sport?" He laughed as she nodded and her arm tightened around his waist as they stepped out into the crisp night air; he'd gladly play more with her any day.