Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist. A fact that Bruno Heller is probably pretty happy about because I would do very naughty things with Jane and Lisbon.

Author's Note: I bet you guys thought that I wouldn't get this up tonight, right? No worries, I come bearing small gifts of smut. Please note the rating change, as this chapter is about to take this fic in a rather lemony direction.


"Funny that you should mention jealousy, Jane."

This isn't the secret that she had intended to tell him, but in light of the way the first round had turned out, it was probably more appropriate.

What she's not sure of, however, is how it will go over.

Jane had been throughout the years, at turns, casually possessive and protective of her. Lisbon had always just assumed that it was out of a desire not to lose his connection to the Red John case, and then she had believed that his small touches and little demonstrations stemmed from a need for friendship.

His confession had altered her whole view of their time together at the CBI. Now that she knew, really knew, that he cared, that he had always cared, this was a secret that needed airing.

Lisbon found herself wishing for something stronger than tea. Some truths were best given with a shot of tequila.

"I, um…hmm."

As this was a secret that she had never had any intention of telling anyone, let alone Jane, Lisbon had no idea how to proceed.

Her thoughts were jumbled, her words were running into each other, leaving her tongue-tied. Oh well, she thought, try and try again.

"I, uh, I saw―"

Now, it was Lisbon's turn to bury her head in her hands. She was desperately trying to sort out a coherent sequence of thought to give to Jane. She had no idea as to why this should be more difficult than her first secret, as well as admitting to Jane that she had been jealous of Lorelei and all the others, but it was.

"Please, Lisbon, just tell me. I can handle it, I promise."

Suddenly, she knows: the fear that she hears in Jane's voice is the same as the fear scrambling her words and shutting down her reason.

Still, logic tells her that this secret should be no more earth shattering than the previous two, but experience informs her that she can never really know how Jane will react to something.

Fuck it, she thinks. Just bite the bullet and get it all out. Worry about Jane when you're done.

"I saw Walter Mashburn more than once."

Silence met her declaration, so she pressed on.

"It wasn't a steady thing, just when he happened to be in town."

She chanced a slightly sheepish look at Jane; uh oh, this was not looking good, finish this fast, Lisbon, end it on an amusing note.

"He, uh, he was in town a lot during the Lorelei thing. You know, Walter flew me to Seattle for dinner one night; I was so tired the next day that I was shocked that you didn't say some―"

She looked up again during her confession and Jane's hardened eyes arrested her own.

Lisbon has to admit, in the privacy of her mind, that this was not the first time that she had been wrong about Jane and his reactions.

What part of his brain that is still operating on a rational level knows that Lisbon has every right to a relationship, a sexual relationship, with someone that is not him. Hell, his rational brain knows that that is why she is with Special Agent Marcus Pike right now, and that that relationship is what has brought Lisbon to him tonight.

His rational brain knows all of this and accepts it without condemnation.

His not-so-rational brain, the Neanderthal lurking within him, could not accept anything of the sort.

Pike was one thing. Pike was safe because he was stable, a known quantity with not a truly spontaneous bone in his body. Asking Lisbon to go to D.C. with him was an aberration, a quirk caused by how overwhelming fantastic Lisbon was. The man worked in art theft, for God's sake! He was the kind of man that Lisbon went to in periods of vulnerability because he offered very little in the way of emotional turmoil.

Mashburn…Mashburn, and men like him, was an entirely different story. Lisbon was drawn to excitement, to the thrill of chase, and the victory of a capture. Mashburn might run in a different social circle, but he was bored, and his boredom had him seeking out all manner of new ways to entertain himself. Lisbon was not of his world; she was shiny, sparkling new, and gorgeous to boot. Mashburn was drawn to her like a moth to flame, but the attraction was supposed to burn out.

Jane would not have encouraged Lisbon to indulge in the mindless, 'empty glamor' otherwise.

One night, the one night he knew about, that was it!

The thought of Lisbon having something more with Mashburn…did something terrible to him. He could feel his rational brain being slowly subsumed by his irrational one.

Her words became white noise, and his awareness of them lessened every second that he spent imagining Mashburn and his Lisbon in a passionate clench; Mashburn flying Lisbon off to some location for an elegant evening. Do the things that he'd been longing to do for years because Lisbon was worth all of that and more.

Jane could hear Lisbon becoming more concerned at his unresponsive state.

"Jane? Jane! Jane, dammit, answer me!"

Sudden and vicious clarity sank in: Lisbon had gone to Mashburn because he had been involved in a cat and mouse game with Lorelei and Red John simultaneously. He'd given all of his focus to playing one so that the other would overextend themselves and reveal their hand.

Lisbon had been angry at Jane for excluding her so thoroughly from the whole affair, jealous of the closeness that he had exhibited to get Lorelei's guard to drop, and so she had sought the distraction that Mashburn so ably provided.

Except…except it could have been more than that with Mashburn. He offered Lisbon the kind of mindless excitement that she craved to take her mind of the job. As far as Jane had known, Lisbon had been in a good enough place emotionally that a relationship could have been a real possibly.

Lisbon, having a relationship right under his nose because he was to goddamn stubborn to give his attention to someone other than Red John.

It burned that he hadn't been there for Lisbon, that he'd left for six months only to return and find that what they had had, what they had shared, was…diminished.

"Jane!"

The light touch to his shoulder startled him out of his inner world, launching him fully into the present, and made him intensely aware of the fact that Lisbon was close. Close enough for him to breathe in, to feel, touch, and taste.

His rational mind gave him one more clear thought before being taken entirely over: Face it, Patrick, you're upset that she was with Mashburn because he's too much like you.

Jane's irrational self took that thought and transformed it: Lisbon had been with Mashburn because he reminded her of you.

That thought is the one that has him propelling out of his seat and grasping Lisbon to him.

"Jane, what the hell are you doing? Ja―"

He cuts her off with a fierce kiss. Jane opens her mouth with a few deft swipe of his tongue, inwardly crowing with victory when Lisbon gives in with a whimper.

The Neanderthal in him is crying out 'Mine! Mine! Mine!' every time Lisbon shudders, every time a little moan escapes as he gives her lower lip a light nibble.

Jane feels one of her hands sink into his hair, anchoring his face to hers, while the other finds his waist and pulls his hips to hers.

It's his turn to let out a moan. The feeling of Lisbon kissing him, touching him, arching against him, satisfies an ache that had been weighing on him for years.

The kiss turns soft for a moment, and they exchange small caresses.

A thumb stroking across a cheek, an eyelid; Jane frees a hand from Lisbon's hair and runs it down to her jaw, grasping it and tilting her head back.

He drags himself away from her lips and presses a series of kisses down her arched neck, before gently biting down on her exposed clavicle.

The moan that Lisbon gives in response is unhindered and Jane revels in the sound. Lisbon was moaning because of him, for him.

He exalts in the sensation it causes in him.

The desire to touch Lisbon is overwhelming him, so he lets his hand abandon her neck in favor of running it down her side, glancing over her breast before arriving at her waist.

Jane runs his thumb under her shirt, pushing it up slightly, then smoothing over her newly exposed skin with his other fingers.

Lisbon follows suit by gliding her hand along his waist, but she shocks him by slipping her fingers under his waistband.

He feels his breath whoosh out of him at the sensation of her soft hand touching his heated skin.

"Jesus, Lisbon!" His voiced is strained with surprise and arousal, "Lisbon, be careful down there, I'm liable to go off any minute if your hand moves any more to the left."

The hand she has in his hair pulls his mouth back to hers. Before he can even blink, Lisbon has her tongue in his mouth, sliding along his own, and darting back out so that she could nip and suck at his lips.

Jane was feeling like he was on the edge of great precipice, and he would like nothing better than to fall over it, together, with Lisbon.

He turns their bodies so that Lisbon is closest to his sofa, and he begins to push her down.

She grunts in protest, but the pressure he's exerting is too firm for her to resist.

Then, she's down on the sofa, and he's encouraging her to lie sideways.

"Jane, what―"

"Shh, Lisbon, it's okay. Just let me take care of you, please?"

Apparently, Lisbon had more than one coherent thought left in her arousal-addled brain than Jane did because she tried again to distract him from his desire.

"Jane, it's not right, I'm with Marcus…"

"God, Lisbon, don't you think I know that? Please, think about that later, don't let guilt ruin what you're feeling right now."

He hated even bringing up the possibility of guilty feelings, but they had to be acknowledged in order for Lisbon to feel comfortable with moving forward. Jane also knew that he would do his best to talk her out of those guilty feelings later…much later.

She looked at him, desire and doubt evident in her eyes, and gave a small nod of assent.

"Thank you; thank you, Lisbon. You won't regret this, I promise you, you won't."

He murmured more assurances into her ear as he covered her body with his own. Lisbon's eager hands gave up on tousling Jane's hair and began digging his shirt out of his pants, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt, then running her hand over the light smattering of hair on his chest.

Jane groans at the touch and gives Lisbon a quick kiss before giving her shirt the same treatment.

At the first sight of her breasts, he feels all the breath in his lungs leave him. He looks at them reverently, and then glances into Lisbon's eyes, he doesn't even have to voice his question because she's nodding fervently and moving his hands to rest over the cups of her bra.

Jane pulls one cup down and thumbs her nipple lightly, observing how exposure to the air and the light pressure he applied wrinkles it up most attractively. He can tell from her squirming, though, that light touch will not satisfy her for long.

He brings his thumb up to his mouth, giving it a long, lascivious lick; he watches how Lisbon's eyes dilate at the sight he presents. His thumb is drawn back to her nipple, and this time, he gives Lisbon the pressure that she's craving.

He circles, taps, and pinches until Lisbon is practically panting beneath him.

"Jane, your mouth, please, Jane, your mouth!"

The sound of Lisbon begging will fuel his fantasies until the day he dies, he is sure of that.

But, he's always been as obliging as he could where Lisbon was concerned, so his mouth covers her waiting nipple, and he suckles like a man too long deprived of something sweet.

Above him, Lisbon is cursing and her hands are wound so tightly in his hair that he is convinced that clumps of it will be coming out shortly.

Jane knows, he feels, that she is enjoying the sensations that his mouth is visiting upon her, but it's not enough. He needs to feel her come apart beneath him, he needs her to shatter completely.

He drags a hand down her body, landing on the button of her jeans. A quick snap, followed by a drawing down of her zipper, and his hand has reached the promised land.

Lisbon's panties are soaked clear through and her center is radiating intense heat. A fleeting thought goes through his cerebellum, Lisbon always did make him burn in the best of ways.

He hears her soft moans turn into a sharp cry as he finds her swollen clit beneath her panties. He rubs her in time with his tongue circling her nipple, and Lisbon's whole body tightens, preparing for her release.

Just a bit more, he thinks, she's almost there.

One more rub on her clit, a tight tug on her nipple, his teeth grazing up slightly, and his Lisbon is gone. She's over the edge and falling fast.

The hands that had been holding his head to her so tightly are pushing him away, her body too sensitive for his attentions down. The hand that had been stroking her bud was now soothing up and down her side, guiding her through the aftershocks.

He knows that they're going to have to talk about this. Jane's rational brain is now in control of the rest of him, and reality will soon cover them again. To forestall what he knows is coming, Jane offers up the one thing that he is sure can distract her.

"I think I want to finish that thought that I cut off earlier. My wife, Lisbon, I don't think I ever really showed her who I was."