A/N: inspired by this headcanon posted by thepriceismeg via Tumblr.
"headcanon: Jane has a habit of tracing lazy doodles on Maura's shoulderblade when they're spooning. One night Maura realizes they're not random doodles but letters. She concentrates to feel what letters and realizes Jane's been writing "Iloveyou" over and over until she falls asleep basically every time"
with this tag...
"#but once in a while it's like REFRIGERATOR and Maura's like wtf"
Enjoy, friends.
She doesn't think, she can't, she can only feel. She can feel Jane above her, around her, inside her, she can feel Jane everywhere, and she breathes Jane in with each shuddering breath. Her mind is near silent and while strange, it is not unwelcome. Sometimes, when Jane is around, she can't stop the chatter in her mind, nor can she stop the facts from spilling out, tumbling one after another, until Jane is staring, bemused and perplexed. But when Jane gets close, too close, Maura cannot hear anything but the rapid and deafening beat of her heart. Like a taiko drum, an ō-daiko, deafening and full, resonating through her whole body, through her soul. And when Jane touches her, she feels a trail of fire in the wake of Jane's hands, her skin burns, feels too tight, as if her insides been pushed into a body too small, but her body fits to Jane's, to say perfectly would be an understatement, but it feels like a destiny she can't fathom. It's too big, it's too much. But she can hear drums, a building crescendo, and she moans.
One of her hands is tangled in Jane's hair, wild and soft between Maura's fingers, and the other is pressed against Jane's left clavicle. She pulls Jane closer for a kiss, but her other hand pushes her back, "I want to look at you, but oh god, kiss me, Jane. Kiss me."
And Jane does, slow and sweet, until Maura is gasping, stealing the breath from Jane's own body as she comes. A sforzando, and then, stillness. She whimpers as Jane pulls away, her hand still grasping a fistful of raven hair. Jane's low chuckle, full of sex and smoke, sends a ripple through her and she pulls Jane back to her.
"I can't think when you're this close," she murmurs, a strange twinge of desperation creeping into her tone, before she crushes her lips to Jane's. She's clawing at Jane's back with her other hand before she even realizes what she's doing. She writhes against the sticky sheets, her knees are bent and her heels dig into the mattress with surprising force.
"Easy, tiger," Jane raises herself up on her elbows, she's still nearly dressed. Her work shirt is somewhere downstairs, along with her boots, and her pants are unzipped, hanging sloppily from her slim hips. Maura walks her fingers across the ribbed white fabric of Jane's tank top, taut across her stomach. She can feel Jane flex beneath her fingers and she smiles, inching the material upward, exposing the smooth tanned skin of Jane's stomach.
Jane flops onto her back beside Maura. She shimmies out of her pants, her long legs kicking about above her, before the pants finally hit the floor. "C'mere," she turns on her side, her right arm tucked beneath her cheek.
Maura does as she's asked and allows Jane to wrap her arm around her middle to pull her close. She settles in against Jane, her back pressed tightly to Jane's front, and she smiles. "I'd say you leave me speechless," she says after a moment. "But you leave me thought-less, which I'd thought was entirely impossible. How can one simply lose all thought with so little scientific evidence to," she trails off.
"Especially with a brain as big as yours," she can hear Jane's smirk, and she feels the absence of Jane's arm as the other woman reaches for the blankets they'd kicked aside earlier. "The brilliant Doctor Isles, unable to Google-mouth me a fact for the moment." Jane's fingertips brush against the back of Maura's left shoulder until Maura can only feel the gentle press of her index finger. Her touch is light and her finger swirls against the light freckles, moving from the far left of her upper back, to the inner edge of her shoulder blade. Jane is concentrated, watching the way the landscape of Maura's back changes with each gentle loop, each curve of a letter against Maura's skin. Jane loves the way her freckles darken near the curve of her shoulder, but lighten and fade toward the middle of her back. Her fingers can form the words her lips aren't quite ready yet to say. I love you.
This is one of Jane's favorite things.
"I love you too, Jane," Maura always whispers. She is patient. She understands. She would hesitate too, she did, but now she knows. She knows the way her heart hums softly when she lays in Jane's arms, she knows the way the simplest touch from Jane calms her most frenzied anxiety and panic, and she knows the way they fit, as if they were never meant to be anywhere else but pressed against each other. And she knows Jane knows, but where Maura is words and thought, Jane is equal parts impulse and action and her body knows before her mind. She can feel it in her gut, in her chest, her heart, and her index finger moves without thought.
It is when Maura is almost asleep that she feels the familiar scrawling script change and she squints, bringing her hand in front of her face to mimic Jane. She can feel Jane's smile; when Jane smiles, she smiles with her whole body.
"Start over," she whispers, and she tries, without success, to orient herself. She is only as alert as three AM will allow, and her body is exhausted and sore. Jane pauses for a moment before she gives in and her movement slows for Maura. One letter at a time. Plain print.
R... E, F, T - no, I. G, E R. No, P. No, R. A. T. O. R?
Maura takes a moment, piecing the letters together as if they are clues, complex pieces to a whole. Jane can barely contain her laughter and Maura's brow furrows, "Refrigerator? Did you just spell refrigerator? Jane! Jane Rizzoli!"
Jane breaks, her laughter bounces off the walls and echoes into the rest of the house and Maura can't help but feel warm at the sound. She loves the sound of Jane's laugh, the way it's so full and unabashed. So she laughs too, because she's in on Jane's joke, because Jane loves her, and it's the most wonderful thing in the world.
Jane rolls onto her back and Maura does the same. They gaze up at the ceiling as their laughter subsides, and Jane reaches for Maura's hand. She is content, they both are, and she turns her head to look at Maura. Her eyes follow the gentle slope of Maura's nose to her lips, curved up into a peaceful smile, and Jane smiles before she turns onto her side again and wraps both of her arms around Maura's middle. Her own eyes are bright and Maura's lips find her forehead.
"You think you're so funny, Jane Rizzoli," is all she says.
Jane squeezes Maura before she leans closer, burying her face in Maura's neck. She smells like roses and mint and there's a hint of spice and sex and Jane closes her eyes. "I know I'm so funny, Maura Dorthea Isles."
"Full name," Maura murmurs. "You must be serious." She's teasing, but the way Jane holds just a little tighter does not go unnoticed.
"I love you," Jane says. Her eyes are pointed at Maura's stomach, but she's not looking, not really. She's seeing things she's not sure how to say, but she's right here, with Maura. She tilts her head back to look at Maura, her eyes are closed and she hasn't spoken. "You did not just fall asleep," Jane groans before her voice turns to a whine, "You have to tell me you love me too."
"I'm awake, Jane." Maura's eyes open slowly and Jane feels something in her stomach flutter when she sees the glassy green and gold of Maura's eyes, as if it's the first time she's truly seen Maura's eyes. "Of course I'm awake," she smiles fully and Jane's heart melts. "Of course I love you too," Maura pulls Jane close again. "Even if you think 'I love you' and 'refrigerator' are interchangeable."
"Not out loud, they're not," Jane swings a leg over Maura's and she smiles. "I love you."
Jane Rizzoli loves her. And it's the most wonderful thing in the world.