Disclaimer: last time I checked, I didn't own the Mentalist. too bad. I hoped to get them for Christmas, but, instead, I got a 10 days vacancy in Rome later this winter...
Anyway-these stories are based on prompt by The Mentalist Prompt on LJ, but, incase you'd like to commision me something, I'd not mind. I've always been of the idea that a story is made in 95% of hard work, and 5%inspiration. So, all I need is YOU to inspire me with a word or a quote, the title of a song or of a movie, and I'll be glad to work on it!
SLEEPLESS LEGS
From his couch he heard it all. He heard Lisbon coming back (at eleven pm), he heard her retreating to the safety of her closed (and maybe locked) office, and he heard a noise connected to long lost memories, almost forgotten, something that made him smiles…the noise of a pair of uncomfortable high heeled shoes thrown against a piece of furniture or a wall. Angela… she was so used to walk barefoot or with low and almost inexistent heels that every time she wore high shoes (because she had to go somewhere with him) as soon as she got home she thrown them in a corner once passed the door. Apparently, sharing his late wife's dislike for such an instrument of torture, his Lisbon did the same.
He kept smiling, because, really, how could he not, imagining the always compose Lisbon doing something like that?
And besides… why was she wearing high heels in the first place? He had seen her just once wearing them with that marvelous long dress that did quite a number on her curves, and never, ever at work. And why had she come back to the CBI at such an unholy hour in the first place? And why was the light turned off if she was inside her office? He couldn't keep pretending to sleep without knowing the answer, so, even if curiosity killed the cat, it got the better out of him, and so he decided to tip-toe where his secret heart's desire was, and once he finally managed to open the door…
Here she was, Lisbon, enlightened only by the lights coming from the bullpen, sleeping on her couch with arms crossed and her legs and feet extremely awake and upset. He knew that syndrome of the "sleepless legs" or whatever it was called wasn't unusual in people with a high level of stress, but Jane wondered if it wasn't for another reason as well. Maybe, her legs were stressed after a day in that little black dress (that did a completely different number on her curves), with those high heels, and those high socks… wait, no, those weren't high socks, because what Lisbon was wearing, what she had discharged in the corner near her shoes were a pair of holds-up. When did it happen? When did Teresa Lisbon, Senior Agent to the SCU of the CBI, the cop always ready to enter into action, started to wear holds-up?
With an evil and malicious grin, he sat on the couch, and, her feet in his lap, he started to rub and massage them, receiving a guttural moan of appreciation as answer to his ministrations, and an answer that made his grin only got bigger. She was always so tense, partly (mostly) because of him. Massaging her feet was the least he could do to repay her of everything, from helping him to saving him, to covering up for him to defending him, and so on. And it wasn't only that, it wasn't only because of the job. It was because of everything. She was his saving grace, his guiding light, his reason to live, she was his everything and she didn't even know it. She couldn't know it, not yet, maybe never.
"You know Teresa; one day, when we'll be finally together with Red John out of our lives, you'll be pregnant with a beautiful daughter of ours with your hair and my eyes, and I promise you, I'll never allow you to wear such socks. If nor for just me, that it is." He whispered with bright eyes and smile to the sleeping Teresa, imagining the scene for what felt the 100th time of the day. "Then, I'll spend my whole time massaging your feet and calves. You know, I'm starting to understand why so many males have the fetish of feet; yours are so perfect and sexy, even is petite, like you…"
He released her legs and feet, and once stood, he gave her a quick and sweet, lingering kiss on the forehead, even if the temptation of waking her up with a real, proper kiss of love was strong. "Sleep well, my love. I'll always be here to protect and to save you." He paused, and decided to humor himself and her se well "And, obviously, I'll always be here to massage your feet too."
"I'll always be here for you too, Patrick." but he didn't herd her answer. He couldn't hear it yet, but one day, she was going to tell him.
