It's strange sometimes, this morning I was complaining loudly about my writer's block, then I started writing this… it's just short, nothing much, and I just wrote it to deal with my disappointment that Jane again isn't telling Lisbon anything about his plans.
I think it will go on like this, and it will end up with Lorelei and Jane being fugitives in 5.08, possibly without Lisbon knowing anything about it… I can't say I like it, and at the moment, being a Jane/Lisbon-shipper hurts somehow. I hope they'll give us some kind of closure in this one episode and don't drag the story out, I'D HATE THAT!
I don't think I will write again until this more angsty part of the season is over, because Lorelei scares me and I still haven't decided if I watch 5.08… I hope 5.09, on December 2nd, will be "back to normal" and I can relax a little! I hope Lorelei won't stay…
This is M-rated and really not a stellar fic. Just a teeny little something I wrote off my soul. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own "The Mentalist" and I don't make money from fan fiction.
On My Own
Patrick Jane lay down on his makeshift bed and sighed so loud it could probably be heard in the next building.
The mattress was thin and hard, he was surrounded by dust, moths and decay, goose bumps rising all over his skin from the unforgiving cold. He was freezing. He longed for warmth, something soft, protecting.
No matter what he tried, he couldn't forget the last look Lisbon had given him. Her eyes so huge and questioning.
He knew she was sad. He knew she worried beyond measure. Was utterly desperate because he just wouldn't let her in.
But it couldn't be helped.
He had envisioned his hunt, had pondered plans about how he would get Lorelei out of prison, to a place where he could question her in peace. When that hadn't helped at all, he had mused about the way of the world- women fell for bad men all the time. Lorelei for Red John, Teresa for him... that was just the way it was, nothing but examples of fate's cruelty.
Lisbon had always known that he lived for the hunt. So she should just stop complaining now.
But he couldn't sleep. Felt haunted by those eyes, the shimmer of stubborn tears deep inside them, her lips pursed as if waiting for his kiss.
He hated it when she was sad. Hated it with a vengeance.
When the clock stroke midnight, he gave up. There was no way he would find sleep like this, and he needed to concentrate on Lorelei, not cradle his aching heart like a love-sick schoolboy.
He had done nothing wrong, dammit! He had found his missing link to Red John! And Red John was all he cared about.
He angrily donned his jacket and stormed through the darkened building like a blizzard, not even pausing to say some casual nice words to Jim.
He drove way too fast, but he didn't particularly care tonight. He would talk to Lisbon, tell her to back the hell off and spare him her pouting, and go back to plotting Lorelei's escape. Nothing was more important, dammit, and he had never lied to her about this.
There was light in her living room, and he wasn't surprised. She most likely was as worked up as he was, unable to sleep, lonely and miserable. His heart clenched, a searing ache deep in his chest, and he rubbed the spot to get rid of it. She just didn't understand it. She couldn't join him, couldn't help him. Why didn't she just stop sticking her little nose into his business?
He pulled the key out of the ignition and walked across the street without locking his car. He would be fast, deliver his speech, get the hell out of here.
The night was dark and cool around him, the streetlights much too bright as if they were accusing him with their unforgiving light. Guilt burned inside him like a fire, devouring his senses one by one until he felt numb all over.
His knock was much too harsh, he almost banged against the door as if he wanted to threaten her. He took a deep breath and forced the anger to recede slightly. He shouldn't have bothered- the hoarse rage inside him evaporated as soon as she opened up and he saw her face.
She had cried. Badly. Possibly for hours. The way a desperate child cried, her whole face was wet, her eyes red, she kept wiping at her nose. And she glared at him as if he were the devil incarnate.
Her pain got to him so sharply it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs. He felt his own mouth fall open, no words escaping. She looked much, much too small in her oversized terry cloth bathrobe, his arms were itching to hold her. He forced himself to swallow the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat.
"Ahhhh... that was obviously a bad idea, so I'll just... leave again. Sorry."
"Fine." She growled, her voice small and croaky. She shut the door into his face, slamming it hard enough to produce an echo from the houses' walls around him.
Jane groaned and walked back to his car, his knees weak and wobbly. He flopped down onto the driver's seat and shoved the key into the ignition, using much more force than necessary. But he couldn't start the engine. He just sat there for a long time, staring ahead until he was shivering from the cold and the myriad of emotions racing through his mind, until every single light in the street had gone out except the one in Teresa Lisbon's house.
When he was about to start crying himself, he put his forehead against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
Dammit all to hell. Nobody would come out of this unscathed. He had always known people would get hurt, he had always thought himself wise enough to keep his distance, so why didn't he just turn away, drove to some nice hotel where he could soak in a hot tub and develop his plan to free Lorelei? Why?
He pulled the key out of the ignition and stepped out, locking the car this time.
He knocked again, calmly, the sound nothing but dull and deep in the silent night. When she opened, she looked considerably more composed, her face drier, her eyes huge and hot, burning with feelings she refused to let show on her face.
Jane dug his teeth into his lower lip.
"I want to talk to you. Can I come in for a minute?"
Yes, a minute. He would stay a minute. She stepped aside to let him enter, and when he did, he instantly realized his mistake. The whole house smelled like her, a mixture of flowers and cinnamon, warm, loving woman, a gentle being with a hot, passionate heart. He shivered. He needed to get out of here, what was to become of his plan? He needed to give this some thought, fast!
He turned and looked at her.
"So," she said slowly, and he could hear in her voice that she didn't believe he would do it, but just had to try, "will you tell me anything about what you found out about Lorelei Martins' whereabouts?"
He shook his head.
"No. I won't."
She lowered her head and nodded, calm, resolved. She was so strong even when hurt was radiating from her like a fever, he couldn't help admiring her. She was simply magnificent.
"So what are you doing here then?" She shrugged. "You want to keep your plans from me. Why risk meeting me face to face? Trying to smooth things over with the authorities before all hell brakes loose?"
He blinked. Authorities. Yes, that was what she had been once. Just a means to an end.
He stepped up to her, closer, closer, until her warmth lured him like a siren's call, beckoning him to get wrapped up in it, let himself get engulfed by sweetness and gentleness just for a short while... he coughed to get rid of the tension.
His voice was low and dark, almost dangerous.
"You're right, Lisbon. I'm keeping things from you. I don't want to tell you. I want to keep you out of it. If it were up to me, you would know nothing, you would live your life in blissful ignorance and go home every night after solving another boring murder case. Nothing could make me happier than the thought of you tucked away inside your little bed, safe, warm, dreaming of your next vacation. When I joined your team, I thought you were nice. I thought you could be useful. I never wanted to fall in love again, and I hate it, Lisbon. I hate it every second of the day. I hate it when you smile at me, when you do outrageous things for me in this loving, caring way of yours, and I especially hate it when you touch me... because it feels so good, Teresa, and I'm always scared that I can't stop. I don't want to see you look so sad. But I want you out of this. And no- I won't console you. Because who will console me if he takes you from me? Nothing would give me comfort, ever again. Nothing."
The thought alone made his insides convulse in shock. Losing another love, going through a fate worse than death again. He always stopped the thought from getting too close, but he always failed miserably, she never stopped to remind him, rubbed his nose in the pain that could await him if Red John ever got his hands on her...
He tried to swallow the tears, felt the traitorous rivulet that ran over his cheek.
"I won't say I'm sorry," he pressed out, "for I'm NOT. Not at all!"
Almost blinded by his tears, he stumbled to the door and walked out into the crispy cold of the night, slamming the door himself this time.
He tried to regain his composure, there were things which needed to be done, but he felt nauseous, violently sick, and just sank down onto the pavement, clutching his middle to stop the dry heaves of agony that coursed through his body. He gasped and shivered, felt himself walking the brink of sanity before he finally managed to get up by the sheer power of his will.
He hammered against her door, desperate, drowning, never stopping until he felt the wood swing open beneath his fists, and he didn't think at all, just grabbed her tiny body and pushed her against the closest wall, covering her small frame with his much larger one.
His lips sealed hers, swallowing every words of protest, except there were none, he just felt her fingers drive into his hair, fisting in his curls, pulling him closer, closer.
He thrust his hand beneath her robe just as his tongue entered her mouth, drank her hot sweetness like a drug, sucking and tasting with a greed that scared him deeply.
His fingertips skimmed her bare buttocks and he knew everything was lost, he was naked, like a precious gift he just needed to unwrap, her heat soothed the pain, the worry, the loneliness, and in this moment he knew he loved her more than he'd thought, loved her so much it didn't pale against the feelings he'd had for his wife, but stood its own, just as bright, just as dangerous.
He almost whimpered in despair, the one unforgivable sin, it was FORBIDDEN, could crush him as easily as nothing else in the world. He had painted a target on her back. Had given Red John the one way to finish him off forever.
But when her fingers started to unbutton his shirt, her touch grazing his hungry skin, he forgot everything, and her kiss was the only force that kept him alive.
He wanted to cry her name but she stopped him, shoving her tongue down his throat, sealing his fate in a tumble of lust and delight. She tasted too good, felt too good. The fire burned his skin, his clothes seemed to fall away without resistance, his world reduced to his woman's kiss, her probing tongue inside his mouth.
He pushed the rough bathrobe from her shoulders and was almost shocked at how soft her skin was, warm and taut over her sleek muscles, silky beneath his touch.
"Teresa," he growled and spanned her waist with his hands.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, her bare, wet sex caressing his erection, so hard it ached with need for her. He cried out, lustful, devastated, he needed to escape, but it was too late. He engulfed her in his arms and walked with her through the semi-dark apartment, blindly finding the way to her bedroom while his lips were busy with hers, playing, nipping, teasing the soft, plump flesh.
He let her scent guide him, it was stronger the closer he got to her bed, a sprawl of flowers warmed by the summer sun, he needed to be there, needed to make her his, and he groaned in relief when his shins hit the mattress. He all but threw her onto the bed, allowing himself nothing more than a few seconds of looking at her, the creamy, shimmering skin, the firm breasts made for his touch, the slim waist flaring out into perfect hips, legs slender and strong, already spread for him.
Groaning, he crawled over the mattress on all fours, covering her body with his. Her fingertips slid all over his face, just the tender breath of a caress before he caught her fingers with his lips, sucking so hard she writhed beneath him.
She spread her legs wider, wider, arching her body to invite him in, her eyes wide, begging. He managed a shaky smile.
"I love you." He whispered and pushed down, his length sliding into her several inches before he met firm resistance.
He gasped softly, every thought vanishing into the delirious throbbing inside his head and loins. She was so tiny, almost too small for him, but he worked his cock into her fiery tightness, entering her with fierce, pounding strokes that made her squirm with delight.
He buried his lips against the side of her neck, gently biting down on her soft skin, and she cried out in ecstasy just as he drove into her to the hilt.
He gasped with sheer lust. He had never felt something like this, the need to take her, own her in every way possible so urgent it made him breathless.
Her snug walls burned all around his cock, the feeling so delicious he moaned loudly. His nerve endings were already aflame, the pleasure pooling in the small of his back, and he whimpered in nameless relief when she started to come on the first thrust. He felt her unravel, her body arching, rearing up against his tight grip, his hips slamming against hers, sending his shaft over tissue so soft he wanted to weep with bliss.
She convulsed violently, her screams of ecstasy swallowed by his greedy mouth.
He took her harder, harder, prolonging her release, silken aftershocks rippling along his cock with every new, merciless thrust, his rapid rhythm not giving her a chance to catch her breath. His kisses were passionate, biting, until he could hardly breathe any longer and pushed his torso up on his arms, quickening his thrusts, his hips were jackhammering, taking her as forcefully as he could. He knew he went deeper like this and saw her eyes widen before her sheath contracted again, squeezing his shaft like a vise.
He ramped up his act one last time, powering into her with deep, hard strokes that pushed her up on the mattress. His fingers dug into her hips to hold her in place, pulling her onto his cock with every thrust, the sweat running over his skin in hot rivulets.
His eyes rolled back into his head when the tension coiled and exploded, his release so violent he couldn't even scream, just a hoarse gasp escaping his lips as his seed flooded her core. He came in sharp, voluminous spurts, more, more, so much semen it overflowed from her body and made an incredible mess, and still he couldn't stop, spilling more and more as if a dam had been broken inside him, making him pour his essence into her until he was completely spent.
When he was finished, feeling utterly drained, he collapsed on top of her, his arms wrapping around her slim frame, clutching her to him until he was almost sure she couldn't breathe. But she didn't struggle, just rubbed her hands over his back while exhausted sobs wrecked his body, soothing his aching heart, hammering against his ribcage.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, raising his head to look at her.
She looked hot and disheveled and sinfully beautiful, her eyes still glassy from the passion they had shared, her breath sweet and panting.
"For what?"
He wrapped a strand of her silky dark hair around his hand, the scent of flowers luscious and heady, making his cock tighten inside her.
"For hurting you, Teresa. Again and again."
She raised her lips to his and kissed him, the heat of her mouth inviting his tongue to play. He indulged, groaning with delight every time she sucked on sensitive skin. His whole body jerked with renewed arousal, his want for her like a steady river inside his veins.
"You won't tell me anything," she said softly, "you'll let me in the dark until the chips come down, and then leave me alone to sort through the mess."
His breath trembled in his lungs, and shame made his stomach clench for a second.
"Yes."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"Be careful, Jane. And come back, dammit. You're not the only one who could die of a broken heart."
He stroked her face tenderly, his eyes drinking her beauty like an addictive potion.
He nodded.
"I love you, Teresa. So much. Whatever you doubt... don't doubt that."
He covered her lips with his and ground his hips against hers before he pushed deep and started to move again, smiling when her body arched up, welcoming him into the only home he knew.
The End
As I said… needed to get that out of my system. Nothing much, but I just had to make him SAY SORRY and lose his darn CONTROL! So, feel better now. Seems to be a hard time for reviews, but if you give me a little feedback- I'll be forever grateful.