Her heels hit the first step of the stairs and she grapples to keep her balance. Fingers are already working at the hem of her shirt; very nimble, very attentive fingers and they're moving faster than her mind can process.
Skin.
Touching skin.
Jesus, they should have done this before.
There are fifteen steps behind her and another one hundred and twenty inches to her bedroom door and surely, surely that calculation has to be off because her mind is reeling and her stomach is in knots and there is a pair of soft lips pressed against the base of her neck and she absolutely positively cannot fathom that her bedroom is that far away.
One button.
Two buttons.
Three buttons.
A stream of cool wind brushes against her bare stomach from the open window just across the room. Goosebumps erupt against her stomach but she can't decide if it is from the cold or from the hand that is moving closer and closer to the latch of her bra, or even maybe the hand running up and down her sides with a tantalizing slowness.
The last button pops off and her blouse is being pushed off her shoulders and she doesn't care that it is falling down onto the steps and getting wrinkled.
She just doesn't give a damn.
Her subconscious is screaming at her to take charge and she listens because, to its credit, her subconscious got her in this position in the first place, and all be damned if she isn't going to follow through to the very end. Her hands find strong shoulders and push back towards the wall, somewhat thrilled at finding what power she holds and that the previous power relinquished so easily.
Kiss.
The couch is close but the bedroom is closer.
Kiss.
She's pinned against the wall.
Kiss.
They move a few steps up, never breaking.
Kiss.
One more step.
Kiss.
"Jane..." she pulls away because Jane has stopped moving and their lips are swollen and Jane's hair has never looked more untamed and Maura still doesn't care that her shirt is at the bottom of the stairs or that, during the journey up the steps, her skirt was pushed crooked and the zipper is now pressed against her hip. "Can I take you to my bedroom now please?"
Jane is smirking and that twists Maura's insides even more.
Makes her want more.
"I don't know," says Jane, her head tilted back and resting against the wall. "You're not really my type."
Mirroring Jane's smirk, Maura leans in, bringing Jane's hand to the zipper on her skirt, and whispers: "Unzip me and tell me if that's still true."
Just a short little ficlet.
