This is a Rizzles story, and it doesn't fit anywhere specifically into the R & I television realm that we know and love (sometimes). I prefer to pretty much ignore the characters of Casey, Jack, etc. because they are boys and boys are boring (sorry, but that's the truth!)
This story doesn't have anything to do with anything else that I have written, so it's completely stand-alone from my other fics.
Feedback / Reviews / Messages make me write faster. I'm just kidding. Not really. Am I? Whatever.
Merry Christmas.
Her hands; it always came back to her hands. Long and strong; feminine and masculine, her hands express both the deftness required to play a classical piano piece as well as draw a semi-automatic weapon, click off the safety, and acquire a kill shot on a target 25-feet away in little more than a nanosecond.
In all truthfulness, it takes her approximately one billion nanoseconds to draw her weapon, depending on what blazer she's wearing.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at myself, knowing that is what Jane would do if she knew what I was thinking about. Shaking my head slightly, I roll over and sigh into the quiet darkness of my room.
"I should be thinking about Jack," I tell myself soberly. After years of dating, I've finally found a man who celebrates my quirks, doesn't mind my unusual job, and most importantly; isn't a sociopath. I try to force myself into thinking about him instead, but my mind quickly wanders onto a more interesting subject.
She frequently finds something to fidget with; sometimes it's the label on her bottle of beer, a pen, or even the edge of her cuff. Her fingers twitch when they are unoccupied and I've seen her reach out for a paperclip or scrap piece of paper just to have something within her grasp. I often find myself mesmerized by the gentle and repetitive motion of her unconscious movements – is she even aware of what she's doing?
Do her hands grope as eagerly at the flesh of her lovers? Are her movements frantic or more controlled?
I shift uncomfortably at the thought of Jane sharing her bed with anyone. Sighing again, I make yet another attempt to relax and fall back asleep.
I really haven't been sleeping well. Chalk it up to a newly-acquired habit of having an extra glass of wine before bed, or the atrocious lack of healthy leafy greens in my diet lately due to all of the holiday goodies available at the precint; regardless, a good night's sleep has eluded me for the past few nights. I am fairly certain that the cause of the issue is Jane, yet I still want to stubbornly cling to the notion it could be something environmental. What's unusual is that I'm falling asleep relatively easy; after my usual meditation session, that is. However, around the same time each morning I am being interrupted from my most crucial stage of sleep, N3. After only a few days of sleep deprivation I am already showing clinical signs such as moodiness, a decrease in energy, and frequent headaches.
Closing my eyes, I arrange the soft bedclothes to form a cocoon around my shoulders. I purposely slow and steady my breathing and concentrate on relaxing my muscles; starting with my clenched jaw. As I sink further into the mattress, my mind wanders once again, always to the same subject.
Her hair is such an enigma. I am certain she doesn't color it, yet sometimes it appears as black as a raven's wing at midnight and other times the color of finely burnished mahogany from the most environmentally-friendly sustainable forest. When she leaves it down, the tangled curls are a true testament to her personality – utterly mussed and disoriented on the surface, yet in perfect order. Once pulled back, her angular face is the star and no one can question that she is a force to be reckoned with.
I love the grimace she makes when she rips the rubber band out of her hair; the slight head shake she does to release the curls back into freedom, and the little half frown she makes as she pulls any loose hair out of the now-empty rubber band. She used to insist on wearing the band around her wrist until I told her about the hidden dangers of circulation loss. Now she keeps it stowed in her back pocket, a much more appropriate place. How quickly she hooks one long digit into her pocket, retrieves the band, and effortlessly contains all of the curls using her extremely dexterous fingers.
I find myself watching her make daily motions such as this with my mouth slightly open; my eyes half lidded. My breathing hitches each time she quirks an eyebrow in my direction. What must she think? Does she have any idea what her hands do to me? How every gesture she makes leaves the inside of my thighs quivering? Whenever I mention Jack, she wrinkles her nose in displeasure. What would she think if she knew I had to imagine it was her I was with instead of him, pretending it was her who was spreading my legs open roughly? Wishing it was her elegant hands palming my breasts instead of his coarse ones?
My eyes snap open and I worry at the side of my cheek with my canines. I have to stop thinking about her hands. Perhaps I have hand partialism? I've never had a hand fetish before, but there is something about Jane's that are my very undoing.
I can't resist any longer. I have to have her, even if it's in the only way possible. Reaching for my phone, my heart lurches at the thought of hearing her voice. My hand trembles as I tap at her name on my phone and then place it to my ear. She'll answer; she always does. It barely rings before I'm rewarded with her voice.
"Maur," her low timbre sends a tremor down my back. "Whassa matter?"
"I can't sleep," I answer honestly. It shouldn't be a surprise; I've called her like this every night this week. She sighs gently; the soft exhale of her breath makes my throat suddenly go dry. What it must feel like to have her hot breath on my neck as she works her long fingers inside of me.
"Oh God," I bite back a sob as the visual will not leave my mind.
"God is sleeping. Just Jane," she mutters and yawns softly. From the groan that follows, I know she is stretching. We went for a jog after work and then grabbed a quick bite for dinner. She looked exhausted when we parted; she said she was going to go to my guest house to visit Angela quickly and then head home to bed. Once home she probably opened a beer, drank half of it while in the shower, and threw on the first pair of clean boxers and white t-shirt she could find. She probably dozed off on the couch; beer never finished, and only a short time ago woke and groggily made her way into the bedroom. Right now, if I was kissing her, she would taste like Spring Rolls and Sam Adams; her hair still damp from the shower.
Would she like it if I ran my tongue down her elegant neck? Is she as dramatic in the bedroom as she is in her daily life; flailing hands and exasperated sighs? Or does she possess the cool, calm, and deadly serious persona she takes on when standing down against a suspect? My entire body shudders as I picture her eyes fixated; hard and dilated on her prey as her intelligent mind figures out the best way to get what she wants and the quickest way to do so.
I have never needed anyone like I have needed her right now. My hand drifts down to the apex of my thighs, past the part in the soft silk of my dressing gown, to tease my naked skin underneath.
"Maur?"
My eyes snap open and my hand freezes just before I touch myself where I am aching for her to be touching me so desperately. I clench my thighs together in agony.
"I'm here, Jane."
"Do you want me to come over?"
She's asked the same thing during each midnight phone call and I've always declined.
No. I can't possibly be held accountable for my actions if I see you right now.
No. If you come over, there is an extremely good chance I will throw myself at you and make a complete fool of myself.
No. If you come over, I will answer the door in nothing more than my sheer dressing gown and beg for you to put your mouth on me.
No. If you come over, I will have brought myself to the brink of orgasm and it will only take one glance from your brilliant eyes to push me over the edge.
No. If you come over, I will push my obnoxiously large strap-on into your hands and get on all fours in front of you before you even have time to take your shoes off.
My voice betrays me. "Yes, Jane. If you wouldn't mind, I think having you here would be good for me."
I hear her nod her head as if she were in agreement. "No problem. Be there in a minute."
As she ends the call, I groan into the darkness at my own stupidity. She will drive fast and there will be little traffic. My pounding heart beats faster with the anticipation of seeing her again so soon. Right now she's rubbing her eyes with the backs of her palms, her long lanky form rising from her bed and shuffling into the bathroom. She will wince at the brightness of the vanity light and hiss in displeasure as she splashes water on her face in the attempt to wake herself up quicker.
The very thought of her, even in such a rudimentary setting, sets my core aflame. Desperate for some release, my fingers work their way through my drenched center and I allow the low and ragged moan to echo off the otherwise quiet walls of my bedroom. Would she leave her pajamas on and just throw a pair of Boston PD sweatpants over her boxers? A faded and worn hoodie hastily pulled over her thin t-shirt? As she approached her front door, I can picture her sliding her bare feet into the first pair of shoes she shuffled into; sighing dramatically at the thought of going out in the cold. Still, she would, her muscles contracting and her nipples formed into twin, tight peaks once the frigid wind made its way through her cheap cotton clothes. Does she know how incredibly desirable I find her to be in her 'scuzzy' clothes, as she likes to call them?
Once here, she would lay sprawled against the plush cushions of my couch; one hand in the waistband of her sweatpants and the other flopped over her forehead. Her long and lanky form would take up the entire length of the sofa. She would look so supine; so comfortable, and irresistible. I craved her like no other.
Comfortable Jane equals confident Jane. And confident Jane is oh, so fucking sexy. Dozens of images of confident Jane surge through my head; each bringing another rush of wetness as I can't help but flick my fingers over my clit mercilessly. I imagine Jane finding me like this; on the edge of orgasm. Would she push my hand away and bury hers inside me instead? I moan; long and low and ragged and push a finger inside of myself, my walls clenching. It would feel so much better if it were Jane's fingers; a good inch longer than my own and twice as resilient. Her weight would anchor me to the mattress as the curtain of her curls tickled my face and shoulders. She would whisper lovely things, nasty things, sweet things, and disgustingly filthy things into my ear as she fucked me slowly and deliberately; words that would make me flush. I imagine telling me things that I would soon beg for her to do, as she moved me into positions that I had only imagined to be possible, telling me how much she loved me.
Thinking of her declaration of love causes my orgasm to arrive with a shuddering surprise of emotion. So caught up in my imagination, I am unable to resist crying out her name loudly and repeatedly until I've finished. My voice hoarse, I whisper her name raggedly one last time as tears well in my eyes; imagining just how unrealistic my fantasy really is.
I'm so angry at myself for allowing my imagination and emotions to take control. Sitting upright, I wipe my hand off on the bedclothes and slide my dressing gown off as I get up and turn on the light. She will be here soon, and I need to get dressed in something more appropriate; not to mention needing a few minutes to compose myself.
I let out a small gasp as my vision adjusts to the light. My eyes widen in surprise as I see her standing in my doorway, now clearly lit by my bedside lamp.
"How did you," my voice falters. How long has she been standing here?
"I, uh, I was at Ma's still," her voice is low, even for her. Her eyes dart back and forth from my naked form to the floor in front of me. "I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up when you called with a blanket over me. That's why I said I'd only be a minute."
I can tell she's unsettled; and rightly so. It's not like her to offer a lengthy explanation for anything, and her downtrodden expression and uncomfortable posture is something I've never seen from her.
"I thought it was merely a figure of speech," I respond, uncertain of what she saw and how to proceed. She was still in her workout clothes, the tight pants leaving nothing to the imagination and her sweatshirt skewed. Her hair had obviously started out as pulled back into her trademark ponytail, but most of the curls had attempted an escape. Her running shoes were shoved on, left untied.
"Um, I'll let you get dressed," her face manages to appear both ghastly white and flushed red with embarrassment.
Before I can say another word, she is gone.
Standing frozen next to my bed, I have no idea what to do. She clearly knew what I was doing, and it is highly unlikely she avoided hearing her name called out. I close my eyes in despair, knowing I have quite possibly ruined the only friendship I have ever had.
Moments pass, maybe even minutes. My normally active mind is a nearly-empty void, the shocked expression on Jane's face and her downturned eyes as she moved away replaying over and over through my head like a scene from a terrible movie. I have never felt more powerless or vulnerable; literally and figuratively stripped naked in front of the person who means more to me than anyone else ever has or ever will. I would never claim to have the powers of psychic premonition (not that I would ever admit such a thing to exist), but I am assured that Jane is 'the one'. It's just never been the right time to tell her. Truthfully, I've declined to mention my feelings to her in fear our friendship would suffer. I don't know what I would do without her in my life. My eyes well with tears; fat blobs of prolactin, adrenocorticotropic, and leucine encephalin begin rolling down my cheeks. I close my eyes and put my hands over my face; before I was old enough to understand basic physics, I believed this position made me invisible. I would give anything to believe in invisibility again.
I furrow my brow as I hear the floor creak. Jane's scent; an intoxicating mix of spiced vanilla and stale coffee infiltrates my senses as if she's standing directly in front of me. I'm almost afraid to open my eyes in case I am wrong.
Then I feel a touch; tentative at first as it barely graces my hip and fidgets upward to my waist before trailing away. Her hand; I would recognize her touch anywhere. I hear a sigh; or was it a bitten back moan? I feel gentle pressure on both of my wrists; and when I fail to uncover my face, the pressure is more demanding and my hands are forced to my sides, encircled firmly in Jane's grasp.
My eyes snap open to meet the gentle chocolate depths of Jane's. They glitter like the finest cut gemstone, heavy and laden with emotion. She glances down guiltily at my trapped hands and releases them quickly, a faint blush coloring her neck. Jane reaches a tentative hand toward my face and her touch is so soft; almost awed, that it's almost imperceptible.
"Hi." It's a stupid thing to say, foolish even, but it is the only sentence I am able to muster at the moment.
She smiles; that sly half-smile usually reserved for only me. Combined with a gentle downward jut of her chin and bashful eyes, she is completely alluring. My breath hitches in my throat as I notice that her eyes have traveled downward to fixate on my breasts. The tip of a fleeting tongue appears as she licks her lips. Her chest is flushed and her breathing erratic. Her eyes meet mine briefly again and I notice her pupils are dilated, before they return to stare at my exposed body.
Clear physiological signs of arousal.
Before I can process what any of this means, I feel her lips on mine. What begins as a timid, almost chaste, kiss quickly turns into one that leaves my legs quivering as she becomes more bold. Her hands spread as wide as possible at the palm to cover the majority of my naked skin; roam over my back before quickly moving to the front to tease the undersides of my breasts shyly.
My fingers deftly move between the layers of her clothes, desperate to feel the taught and toned skin of her abdomen and I can't help the moan that escapes once I am rewarded with her muscled flesh.
She jumps back away from me as I trace her musculature; a nervous smile on her face as she self-consciously runs her hands through her mussed curls in a thinly-veiled attempt to return them to her ponytail. My fingers twitch; already missing the feel of her skin. My body deflates as I assume her movement away from me is a rejection.
"Jane," my voice is dry; hoarse. "I know we need to talk. I'm so sorry, I should have told you sooner; should have been honest with you, I should have…"
She interrupts me with a sharp shake of her head. "Why haven't I ever told you how incredibly beautiful you are?" Her voice is hushed, reverent. A tone I've only heard from her before when she's spoken about happy childhood memories or the Red Sox winning something important.
I shrug silently, lifting one shoulder. Our eyes meet and I gasp at the intensity I see in her dark depths. As I reach for her, she shakes her head again, more of her wild hair escaping from the thin band.
"I want this Maur, more than you'll ever know," her voice is haggard, hungry. "I just need some time." She takes another step back from me and my shoulders sag. My eyes refuse to leave hers and I try to implore her with all that I am feeling. My words are failing me, and for the first time in my life I feel as if I open my mouth to speak I will begin to cry.
"Okay," I tell her in a soft voice as I nod in agreement.
We stand there, staring at each other. I'm completely fascinated at the range of emotions flickering over her face; regret, disbelief, adoration, nervousness, a slight flash of anger even. Yet in the end, the only expression left is of pure unadulterated desire. I know her so well, I know that most of the others were reserved for her, but the desire is solely for me and me alone.
"Fuck it," she mutters and crashes against me in a crushing kiss before I can begin to lecture her on her language. Her hands, those glorious hands that I have been fantasizing about for what seems like forever, boldly claim my entire body. Her kiss consumes me and I claw at her back; wanting to feel her skin against mine. Pushing my hands under her clothes I am once again rewarded with her muscled flesh and I smile against her mouth.
"I need more of you," I tell her and she nips at my bottom lip before her tongue meets mine again. Without preamble she enters me with two long digits, her prominent knuckles scraping my rigid walls as she slowly moves in and out. Unintelligible sounds leave my mouth as I gasp and throw my head back and I'm vaguely aware of her hot and wet mouth moving down to do purely obscene things to one nipple as her free hand works the other.
Somehow we move together back toward my bed and I am rewarded with the welcome weight of her, just as I've imagined. I bite back a smile as she carefully tucks herself around me as to not hurt me. Satisfied that I'm comfortable, she starts her ministrations again as her mouth finds mine once more.
She is an amazing kisser; both gentle and aggressive. I can't help but pull her closer as my hands entwine around her mussed curls.
Her pace is languid and deliberate as she fucks me, using her strength to push one of my thighs further apart so she can reach inside deeper. I groan and shriek as she rubs inside me where no one else has ever been able to reach and she lets out an evil sounding chuckle. She continues her slow pace until my toes curl and I feel as if I don't come soon I will die from the intoxicating pleasure.
"Jane," I claw and nip at her as I shamelessly grind myself down further onto her hand. "You feel amazing, please don't stop,"
"Nuh huh" she says, a mouthful of my nipple. She releases it with an audible 'pop'. "Never going to stop, Maur. This is heaven." She gives me an-almost feral grin before taking my nipple in her mouth once more; biting down just enough to send a sliver of pain up my back.
In engulfs me with a passion I never knew I had. "Jane, please. Harder."
"Don't want to hurt you," she murmurs around my voluptuous breast.
"You won't. Jane, I won't break. Please."
Perhaps it's the desperation in my voice that finally allows her to let loose, or it's the sensation of having a completely open and dripping wet woman at her mercy, just begging to be fucked. Regardless, she begins to piston her hand in and out of me, somehow managing to hit that unreachable spot inside of me on the upstroke and my clit on the down stroke, perfectly, every time. She growls as she feels me come undone underneath her and clamps down on my nipple, holding it roughly in her teeth as she flicks the tip with her tongue.
It's all too much and not enough and as I scream and moan and pull her hair, she somehow does everything even harder.
I have felt pleasure from my own hands as well as others; men and women alike. However, nothing could have ever prepared me for the feeling of being completely consumed and loved by Jane. The reality of her makes all of my fantasy scenes seem generic and idiotic now that she is everywhere; on top of me, around me, and so deep inside me I can't even remember what it was like to be without her. Before I know it my orgasm arrives and it is so strong that my entire body shakes and convulses and yet she still doesn't stop fucking me as she urges me on to an even greater high. Once I become limp and boneless, she uses her superior strength to flip me over and smoothly reenter me from behind, going in even deeper than before. She savagely bites my back and shoulders as she coaxes me into yet another orgasm; pushing and prodding and pulling at me until I collapse onto the mattress a sobbing and shuddering mess, screaming her name like I have never screamed before.
It is only then that she is soft; engulfing me with her long form, peppering kisses to my damp skin and whispering unintelligible words. The ringing in my ears prevents me from hearing all that she's saying, and when I order her to remember everything in order to repeat it back to me once I'm able to listen, she chuckles. She presses her still-clothed body against mine until I stop trembling, her hands caressing every part of my body. Fiddling with my hair, tracing the curve of my waist to hip, tickling the back of my thighs, and returning back to my hair before repeating the pattern again; her hands are relentless. Just as I imagined they would be.
Once I'm completely relaxed, she gently encourages me to turn over in order to place an indolent kiss to my mouth. I return the kiss freely; enjoying the gentle and leisurely pace she's offering now.
"Sooooooooo," she drawls softly once she breaks the kiss, "um, that was fun." Playfully waggling her eyebrows at me, I can't help but giggle.
"Fun? That's the best you can come up with? I could think of several more suitable words to describe what just happened if you hadn't given me several amazing orgasms." I smile to let her know that I am only teasing.
"Three," She responds smugly, "I'm pretty sure it was three orgasms."
"I'm very sure it was," I agree as I tuck my head into her well-defined shoulder and allow my own hands to wander. "Jane, I know there's a lot to talk about but all I can focus on at the moment is getting you out of these clothes."
She smiles and I feel my heart lurch; overwhelmed at the emotion I'm feeling. We continue to grin at each other for several seconds until hers slowly fades. I look at her quizzically, my hands stalled.
"Jack?" Her face is pained; concerned.
"He has been very kind and sweet to me, and I do care for him." Her face falls and I hurry my next sentence. "Jane, he's been a distraction; something to keep me preoccupied while I gathered the courage to tell you how I really felt." I place my hand over her heart. "There's never been anyone like you for me. You must know that."
The relief on her face is evident and she gives me an easy grin. When her eyes flash, I know I'm in for some much-deserved teasing. "I, uh, think you made that pretty clear tonight when I walked in on you screaming my name." She puts the back of her hand to her forehead, fluttering her eyes dramatically as she continues, "Oh Jane, Jaaaaannnneeeeeeeeeee, Jaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
I laugh with her, content in the security of her embrace and the realization that nothing has to be different between us. As her ever-fidgeting hands somehow find the way back to my breasts to tease once-again erect nipples, my eyes flash with rekindled desire. Well, one thing will be very different for us. Growling, I push myself on top of her prone form, taking in the delicious sight of her lying languid beneath me. She quirks one eyebrow at me; and the simplicity of the gesture sets me aflame.
"It's time to hear what it sounds like when you scream my name."