A/N: Thanks so much for the kind comments on chapter 9! "Bad" news is: This one has rather sneakily drifted quite far into M-rated territory. As in completely. Solid. Genuine. M. So if you don't like that stuff, skip the second half of this. Good news is, this means that this isn't the last chapter after all. I am pretty nervous, because I haven't written anything M-ish in a loooong time. I hope this is like riding a bike ;-) Right. *takes deep breath*. Here we go.

The world was dark gold. And warm. And smelled like Lisbon. During the last remaining moments of sleep, Jane pushed his nose deeper into the scent, her hair tickling his face. Her sleeping body responded by mirroring his, shifting, pushing, wriggling, until her nose was pressed deeply into his neck, a sigh escaping her lips, perfectly in tune with the one he breathed into her hair. The sound made his mind finally follow his body back into the waking world.

Five. It's five. There's one more thing that needs to go on that list.

It was the kind of weird first conscious thought, that he suspected only he could come up with.

But it was an important one. He had to add one more item to his list of fears. For the sole reason of crossing it out again.

Because it was gone.
Finally gone.

This fear was the least serious in terms of actual harm either to life or general sanity. But what it lacked in physical danger, it made up in recurrence. It was something he couldn't escape from, something he had no control over and something that happened almost every morning. It was the moment between sleeping and waking. The moment in which the mind, already conscious, but not in control yet, tried to get its bearings. The moment when dream and reality collided and for a fraction of a second the mind, even his superior one, didn't know which was which and convinced itself 85 percent of the time that the two were reversed.

Often, when he dreamed of red terror and death and loss, his mind would flood his body with relief, while at the same time initiating the bubbling up of laughter at a silly nightmare. Sometimes, when he dreamed of love and laughter and endless summer, his mind would fill his body with warmth, while at the same time forming sweet, grateful words of love he was going to whisper to her upon waking.

When consciousness took finally over and reality was restored, the laughter turned into something that pushed all the air from his lungs or the words of love crumbled to dust on his tongue. Both scenarios ended with a strangled sound of pain and regret and loneliness. Always. And with his hands desperately reaching for her, but only grabbing cold linen. Or nothing at all.

It was the only time he still felt truly broken. And lost. Every time he woke up. Every single time.

Except.

There was warm skin under his hands. Real and soft. Warm breath on his neck. Tickling and caressing him all at once. He pressed his hands experimentally a little harder into the warmth, terrified for a last fraction of a last second that she might still disappear and his hands would touch nothing but cold air.

The only thing she did, though, was to snuggle closer and make a tiny purring sound.

He rubbed his cheek softly across the side of her head, her hair drying the tears that suddenly ran down his face. He pressed a light kiss behind her ear, his lips on her skin preventing the sobbing, choking sound inside him from leaving his mouth. He brushed his thumbs over her skin, trying to distract his hands from giving into the almost irresistible urge to grab her harder. Because he needed to try to breathe, feel, navigate his way through this strange moment of pain and relief and clarity and fear without waking her in the process.

Trying not let her see a crying, shocked mess of a man upon waking.

She might draw very wrong conclusions from that.

Her left hand, until now firmly attached to a fistful of shirt at his waist, let go and wandered over his chest and up towards his neck, until her fingers found something much softer than fabric to slide into. The choking sound finally escaped his lips, when he felt her hand in his hair, unable to keep it in at the soft, warm touch. She frowned, still asleep, but at the distressed sound he made, her hand slid out of his curls and came to rest on his wet cheek. The frown deepened.

She was waking up.

Jane moved his head under her fingers, so he could press a soft kiss into the palm of her hand.

The frown turned first into a smile, then into a murmur.

"Just five more minutes."

The hand travelled from his cheek to his neck. He leaned forward and pressed another kiss into her hair, feeling the hand on his neck tighten its grip, when he whispered softly:

"Go back to sleep, love."

The words, stowed away and unspoken for so long, never expected to be used anywhere else but in a dream, fell from him as easily as happy tears. He knew it was probably way too early to use the one after the comma, but he hoped that she was still drowsy enough not to notice.

Or to freak out. Because that — knowing Teresa Lisbon as well as he did — was still a very real possibility.

She raised her head from its resting place on his neck, let go of his cheek and his shirt and blinked at him. The frown was back. And it intensified. Her body went tense. The frown shifted into the next gear. And in that moment Jane realised both his hands were still under her shirt.

Knowing that mere possibility was going to turn into reality any second now, he quickly disentangled himself from her, got up in one fluid movement and headed for the fireplace. After inspecting it, he grabbed his boots and his jacket. Maybe giving her some space might help.

"Fire's almost out. I'll be back in a minute."

"Jane?"

Hands already busy unlocking the front-door, Jane half turned to her, slowly, carefully, making sure the expression on his face was neutral.

"Yeah?"

She looked at him over the top of the sofa, eyes still sleepy, her cheeks glowing in the last remains of the light from the dying fire. She smiled at him. A warm content smile, followed by warm, content words.

"Be quick. And be careful."

He was so stunned, it took him longer to simply unlock the door than to pick the lock the day before.

A biting scream of cold wind wheezed into the cabin when he finally opened the door. The storm was raging on outside and Lisbon could see that Jane needed all his strength to get out. A few inches of snow had already advanced on the front steps of the cabin and were blocking the door. The wind lashed out against the remaining small flames in the fireplace, pushing them into the black remains of the logs, that had kept them warm during the evening and the night.

What time was it anyway?

Lisbon looked at her watch. 4:30 AM.

The last time she had checked, it had read 4:40 PM.

She'd been asleep for twelve hours.

"Shit."

She reached for the radio, but it wasn't where she'd left it. Looking around, she finally spotted it on the floor between two cushions, close to the space where Jane's head had been. So he hadn't been asleep for 12 hours. And kept an eye and ear on the radio. And obviously nothing had happened so far.

Despite the early hour and the off-chance of anyone getting this, she repeated their SOS. No answer came. She put the radio on the floor and let herself sink back into the sea of cushions and blankets, stretching her arms and legs, arching her back, feeling muscles sigh in contentment and relaxation. With a big yawn, she rolled onto her side to watch the dying fire, grabbing the nearest pillow and pushing it under her head.

It smelled like Jane.

She watched the flames flicker, getting smaller and smaller, the darkness now clawing its way back into the room, shadows moving closer, the red glow barely able to defend the last patches of light against the darkness.

She stared at it, at the ebb and flow of darkness and light, thoughts drifting in and out of her mind, until there were two that decided to stay.

What the hell was she doing? And why wasn't she freaking out? Jane had clearly expected her to freak out and she was 100 percent with him on that one. She should be freaking out. She should feel anything but relaxed and content for a hell of a number of reasons. Starting with the most practical one — being stranded on a mountain in the middle of a snow-storm —, followed by the most obvious one — she had just broken up with her boyfriend —, and ending with the most familiar one — being in danger of letting Jane into her head and her heart.

Although, she had to admit, the damage was probably finally done on that front.
On both counts.

And it was her own doing. She had invited him into her daydream, by asking him about the sweater. And she had pulled his hands back under her shirt when she'd woken sometime in the night, because… well, she wanted them there. Needed them there. Needed him. Close. Closer.

"Oh god, here we go."

She closed her eyes, ready to take on the familiar panic and the fear and the doubt and the million reasons why this was still the worst idea ever. Bring them on, brain, bring them on, she thought defiantly.

"Because you never *had* to let him get too close, did you? You wanted him when you couldn't have him and now that you could, you have a million reasons why you won't."

Instead of fear, panic and a million reasons, her brain chose to replay Marcus's voice in her head. It was a pretty efficient brain, after all.

She was stunned. Had he been right about this, after all? Had she chosen Jane, because she knew he was… well, Jane? Too damaged, too secretive, too manipulative, too controlling, too… much? So that she knew, she always had a million fire exits to escape through, when she came too close to the fire? Too close to getting burned? Too close. Full stop? And had she chosen Pike as her new fire exit, because Jane had slowly and softly started to close all the old and familiar ones? Being easy around her, telling her about his plans, trying to fit in, giving her space, asking her to come with him and not manipulating her into changing her mind when she refused. He had even, after a while, accepted that Marcus was part of her life now. Too possessive? Another fire exit closing with a silent thud.

She pushed her nose into the pillow, inhaling deeply. Jane's scent was all around her.

The door flew open and he staggered back in, arms loaded with firewood, using his left foot to kick the door shut. She watched him in silence, as he put the logs down and coaxed the fire into motion again. The shadows retreated. She watched him shed his boots and jacket, rubbing his hands and holding out his palms towards the fire to get them warm again. Watched the reflection of the fire dance in his eyes.

Watched him. Calmly.

No, she was definitely not freaked out. She did feel a little uneasy now, but that was down to guilt. Directed at her behaviour towards Marcus. Who had been good to her. But who had left her heart as fast as he had entered it. For which she was sorry, because she hated him to think she'd just used him. She had never intended to do that. Aside from that there was no panic. No fear. And the million reasons why this was a bad idea had suddenly dwindled down to just two. Two they could talk about. Work on. Deal with. Maybe. She closed her eyes. Both melted into an image. A bench. A winter morning. Ducks on a lake. She smiled. Jane was right. Daydreaming was a brilliant thing.

"That should do it for a while", he said, tossing one more log onto the fire.

"I tried the radio while you were out", Lisbon replied. "Still no luck."

"Even if we don't get anyone on the radio, I'm sure at first light they'll start looking for us anyway. Hopefully when they find the car, they will start checking the surrounding area. They'll find us. Eventually. Don't worry."

She smiled up at him.

"It's nice here. I'm not worried."

He stood in front of the fire, looking down at her, marvelling at how calm she was. He'd expected her to pace the room, hell, he'd expected her to *leave* the room. He'd expected arguments, flight, embarrassment, denial, guilt, awkwardness, but never this. Her still stretched out in front of the fire, looking up at him with that big smile that she so rarely let anyone see.

"I am getting cold, though."

She reached out a hand towards him.

"Get back down here."

And — not in a million years — had he expected this.

Not even trying to hide the huge grin on his face, he did as she asked and slid down onto the floor next to her.

"Come here then", he whispered, trailing a coaxing hand softly from her shoulder down her arm, tugging at her shirt-sleeve, until she scooted closer.

He fished a blanket out from beneath two sofa cushions and wrapped both the blanket and his arms around her. She suddenly gave a soft laugh, reached out a hand and ruffled his hair. A few renegade snowflakes, that had settled there, fell out of his curls and melted away before they even hit his shirt. Once she was done clearing the snow out of his hair, she let her hand trail down behind his ear and then back to his cheek. The smile was still on her face, her emerald eyes shining, reflections of firelight and love and something he didn't even dare to think about dancing in them. He couldn't stop looking at her. And with something close to shock he realised there was no reason anymore, no reason at all, why he had to. Slowly she moved her hand down his neck and onto his chest, resting it above his heart. Just as he was about to say something very soppy, very cheesy and probably very foolish, she suddenly looked away, as though she'd just remembered something. Her cheeks started to redden and her body was going so tense, it felt like he was hugging a tree all over sudden.

Just in case she was really switching into angry-little-princess mode, he eased his grip on her, pulling his arms out from under the blanket and just letting them fall lightly on top of it. Giving her space. But not pulling away. Yet.

"Jane?" she said in a small, but slightly irritated voice.

"Yes?"

"Last night… there's something…" she looked embarrassed now. Squirmed a little in his grasp. But was not freaked out. Yet.

"What about last night?" he asked carefully. The second hand joined the first above his heart. She looked at them with a serious and slightly panicky expression. And with a frown. Like she didn't even know how they had gotten to be there in the first place. Even though she seemed surprised at the sight, he hoped she liked it nevertheless. She squirmed a little more. He drew his arms back just a little more. Still not letting go, though.

"Jane, did you... kiss me last night?"

He looked at her, trying to figure out what the right answer was and how to deliver it. This was important. He could not mess this up and… and then he noticed. And felt laughter building up inside of him.

Oh, she was good. She'd almost had him there. Almost. But that light movement of her fingers, that light pressure of her palms over his heart had given her away.

When she looked up at him again, eyes still wide and confused, he gave her an offended look and pulled away from her.

"You know, men in general don't really appreciate it, when their heroic efforts at providing comfort and romance lead to snoring", he grumbled.

Knowing that he'd called her bluff, she grinned at him, scooting forwards, until he had no choice but to let her back into his embrace and, once she had settled down against him once more, patted his chest lightly.

"I'm truly sorry. I can only imagine how horrifying that experience must have been — especially for a pro like you. How can I make it up to you?"

He gave a dramatic sigh. "It's ok. No need to. I can handle it. Honestly. Don't worry about it."

She tilted her head, the index finger of her right hand now tapping his chest, as if she was contemplating an idea. Then her face lit up.

"Hey, I'm awake now, so, why don't you try again? You've got my full attention. I promise. No snoring this time."

He raised his eyebrows at her, thinking it over. Then a slightly bored expression settled on his face and he shook his head and he said with a loud sigh of regret.

"Nah… thanks… but the moment's gone…"

She slapped his chest then and squealed when his hands were suddenly back under the blanket, back under her shirt and — no surprise there, really — right on the most ticklish spots on her sides.

She managed a slightly squeaky "Jane!" between two fits of giggles. At which he ceased his attack and moved his hands a little lower, settling them on her waist, then sliding them to the small of her back, a touch so familiar and new all at once it made her draw in her breath. She let her head come to rest in the crook of his neck and slid one hand back up into his hair. It felt already like it belonged there. After a moment Jane said:

"Speaking of moments. You're in a cuddly mood right now. Which is highly unusual, because you don't do that kind of thing. You think it's silly. Soppy. Not your cup of tea. But you do seem to be enjoying this rather a lot. Which I am quite happy about, I might add."

He was right. She never did this. She did sex. Occasionally. And enjoyed that. Occasionally. But once that was over, she was usually glad if she had a reason to leave, to not have to fall asleep with someone's arms around her, suffocating her, trapping her, emotionally and physically. And if she had to stay, she was usually the first one up and in the shower. No cuddling. No snuggling. Just getting up and getting on with it. Had done so with Marcus as well. Every morning making sure she was out of bed before he woke. Never once had she been the one to coax anyone back into bed simply for an embrace and cuddle. Until today.

Ignoring her instincts that always told her to feign indignity at brazen statements like that from him, she just chose to shrug.

"I know. I usually hate it. All this rom-com, cheesy, over-romantic suffocating, silly, embarrassing stuff, that… only serves to make you late for work. Or miss the last bus."

Jane laughed softly, trailing his fingers up and down her sides, then lifting one hand out from under her shirt, to stroke her hair.

"I sense you have a rather strong opinion on the matter."

"I do. I mean. I know as a woman I'm not meant to say that, but I just don't… like it. Okay? It makes me feel… trapped. Suffocating. And... I don't know. I just think it's weird and cheesy and doesn't serve any purpose."

"It feels good", Jane mumbled against her neck, pressing a soft kiss onto her skin.

She closed her eyes.

"No, it doesn't", she managed after a moment.

"No?"

The hand on the small of her back started moving again. Softly. Slowly. Up and down. Up and down.

"N... no."

He chuckled against her neck.

"Greg. Remember Greg?"

"Vaguely", Jane grumbled, the hand in her hair now on her neck, softly stroking, caressing, teasing.

"He loved to cuddle. Snuggle up. But the only thing he managed to do was tickle me. I felt like dying, but I didn't dare to laugh, because it would have been rude and unromantic and …"

"Wheel clamp."

"What?"

"Marcus. I bet he's a wheel-clamp-cuddler."

"Jane!"

He laughed softly, eyes closed, such contentment on his face, that it made her eyes well up with tears. She should scold him for bringing up Pike, but the only thing she really wanted to do, was to touch his face. So she did. He pressed his cheek into the palm of her hand.

"So is he? Someone who is holding on too tight for too long?"

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out. "Like he is making an arrest."

Jane laughed. Lisbon felt a little guilty at her words. But Jane's laugh had been real and warm and happy and that was worth it. She wanted to hear him laugh like that again. Preferably every day.

"Not his fault though", Jane said. "It's almost an art-form. Far harder to accomplish or get right than sex. Sex is easy. That's just mechanics. This…"

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in, shifting them both, until she was perfectly curled up in his embrace, arms holding her, fingers skimming lightly over fabric and skin, lips softly, ever so softly brushing her forehead, her cheek, her nose, voice nothing more than a whisper.

"… this is far more intimate and requires a far more greater level of trust. Hence the claustrophobia issues when it's not…"

She wrapped her own arms around his waist, then pushed her hands beneath his shirt, moving them across his back, watching him draw in a shocked breath at the touch, his train of thought derailing right in front of her eyes.

Now that was a first.

"And let me guess, of course you are skilled at it", she said teasingly, moving her hands slowly from his back to his chest, feeling his heart beat faster, this breath quickening. His own hands on her body had stilled. He managed to shake his head though after a moment.

"That's my point. Has nothing to do with skills. Has to do with knowing and trusting and feeling and being in synch."

"Hm", Lisbon said with a hum. "I'm not really sure I'm getting this."

Back in control now, he grinned at her. "I probably need to demonstrate this to get my point across."

She grinned back. "Then by all means. Do. Demonstrate."

He tightened his arms around her. Hard. "Hold on too tight and you trigger claustrophobia." He let go again, until she could barely feel his touch, her body reacting instantly to the loss by shifting closer to him. "Don't hold on tight enough and you lose contact."

His hands moved up and down her sides over her shirt. She closed her eyes, wanting, needing him to do this on her skin, not her shirt. He chuckled, reading her thoughts.

"Be too slow and timid and impatience is going to spoil the mood…"

Hands now sliding under her shirt, making her shiver, eliciting the slightest of moans from her, when they strayed just a little from their previous path, brushing the sides of her breasts almost accidentally, then trailing leisurely down to her stomach and around to her back, out of her shirt and over her jeans, lower and lower, tightening teasingly around her soft curves for a moment, before they moved back up under her shirt.

"… be too bold and you find yourself in more… dangerous territory."

"Oh, I don't know, I think I like that kind of territory", she heard herself say. He chuckled, his voice close to her ear, a low, happy rumble.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Cheeky bastard.

"What about…", she said with a curious frown, sliding both her hands into his hair now, lightly scratching his scalp until he closed his eyes. When he sighed happily, she suddenly rolled her hips against him and drew his head down, until their foreheads were touching. Jane let out a gasp.

"… kissing? What territory does that belong to?"

"Ah", he said, his hands now restless under her shirt, leaving hot trails on her skin, warmth turning to heat, wherever he touched her. He was shivering against her, eyes closed, breath coming hard and fast.

"That belongs right here."

"I thought the moment was gone?" She had aimed for sweet smugness, but her own voice now sounded as strained and breathless as his. Her hands were roaming over his chest, his stomach, until her fingers teasingly trailed along the waistband of his jeans.

"hm… think it's back."

"Is it?"

Her hands were stroking his back. Up and down and then her fingers slipped inside the waistband of his jeans, not far, but far enough that she could feel him slowly losing control.

"Hh… mmm."

A shiver ran through him, then he brought his body back under his command and slid his hands determinately into her hair on either side of her face. She closed her eyes, feeling his nose nudge hers softly, lovingly, a question and a plea and a confession. So much in a gesture so simple. He was still now, waiting, she realised for her answer. She nudged his nose back and then, finally, slowly, softly his lips moved against hers, all soft pressure and light touch at first, then when he felt her make a small sound in the back of her throat, more insistent, tongue flicking over her lower lip, then pushing slowly into her mouth. It occurred to her that this might be the moment to kiss him back. The sound he made when she did, made her mind go blank for a moment. The thing he did with his tongue just after that, made it stay that way a while longer.

It also made her roll her hips against him, almost involuntarily, feeling him smile into the kiss before deepening it and then, just when it threatened to become too hot and too much too fast, he eased them into a slower pace, his tongue caressing hers softly, lips moving slower, almost lazily, a kiss, she thought, like a sunny Sunday morning spent cuddling in bed.

Before she could help it, she started to giggle.

Jane pulled back and blinked at her through hazy, confused eyes.

"Sorry…"

"Ok, first you fall asleep on me and now you are laughing at me", he said offended.

"That's it. No more kissing you."

The giggle turned into something between a sob and a sigh and a hiccup and it was so sweet, to see her struggle with it, he just couldn't keep up the offended expression on his face. Especially now, that she was reaching up with both hands, cupping his face lovingly, eyes bright and warm and all he ever wanted to look at for the rest of his life. He smiled at her, then leaned back in, kissing the top of her nose, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, softly, lightly, nudging her nose again, sliding his cheek against hers, breaths mingling, soft but fast, then his lips were back on hers and she sighed into his mouth, as he claimed hers passionately, only retreating for as long as it took him to get her out of her shirt, so his hands could now roam freely. He moaned at the almost unrestricted access to her soft skin, touching, caressing, skimming over every inch of her, fingers slowly closing in on the clasp of her bra.

Kissing had never felt like this. Hot and hard and slow and soft at the same time, not so much a touch, a movement anymore, but pure feeling, pure joy cruising through her veins, pure light flowing through her, all white and bright and all because of him. But she needed more. Now that she'd tasted him, she needed more of him. Starting with the feeling of his skin against hers. She tugged on his shirt, her brain processing with the last of its remaining power how lucky she was that they were doing this now and not three years ago.

In this state of mind, she would never have been able to open two complete rows of buttons.

He moved into a half sitting position, sliding his left arm first out of the shirt and then around her, to hold her against him, not willing to part for even a second. Then he pulled the shirt over his head.

"Makes you glad the vest is gone, huh?" he breathed against her ear, once he was free, pressing a hot kiss just beneath it, that made her gasp again.

"I… liked the vest… I kind of miss it", she managed after a moment. Then he had wriggled out of the other shirt-sleeve and his right hand joined the left on her back and he pulled her close. Skin finally touched skin, no more fabric between them.

How on earth had he managed to get her bra off, without her…

He grinned against the soft curve of her left breast and she was about to say something, but then his lips moved over her skin and her words turned into soft moans as Jane kissed his way almost leisurely across and down her body, leaving trails of burning desire behind. Soon, the rest of her clothes were gone, too. How exactly she couldn't remember. Part of her hormone induced amnesia might have had something to do with what his hands were doing to her now. Hot pleasure streamed through her veins, her hands grabbing at anything they could reach for support, her back arching up, moans almost turning into sobs.

"Jane… oh god…"

She knew she should probably start working on getting him naked as well, but her brain had no idea how to work a belt. Or a zipper. It also wasn't really sure where both were located right now. And then it just finally surrendered, when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, his curls brushing against the insides of her thighs, his hands holding her hips in place, while her body screamed for release, closer and closer until his tongue flicked against just the right spot and the scream her body had insisted upon, left her mouth.

He'd continued to kiss and caress her until her body had stopped shaking, loving every second of it, her almost surprised scream telling him beyond the shadow of a doubt that no one else had ever made her feel even close to this before. He felt like going back to all the Pikes and Gregs and telling them they hadn't deserved her anyway, if they had only been able to have sex with her and not making love to her. Like she deserved. After a while he moved back up her body slowly, placing kisses on every bit of skin he passed, making her sigh with content pleasure and push both hands deep into his hair, when he flicked his tongue around the dark peak of one breast, while this fingers caressed the other. She mumbled something incoherent, but kept her eyes closed. He had reached her neck now, kissing her rapidly thumping pulse, then her flushed cheeks. Still shaking hands reached around his neck and pulled him to her, her lips claiming his, her tongue darting into his mouth, a moan escaping her, when she tasted herself on him. She deepened the kiss, all insistent and hot and demanding and he let her take control, let her flip them, so she was on top now, still kissing him, hands planted firmly on his chest, hips rolling against him, eliciting a moan from him, every time she did so. Then her mouth moved from his lips to his neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to it, that turned his muscles into liquid, his skin into fire. He moved his head, trying to capture her mouth again, but misjudged and landed in her neck instead. Not wanting to waste any opportunity, he gave her neck a short lick of his tongue, which made her push against him more insistently.

"Jane… you… now"

It sounded very much like begging. He was about to say something rather cheeky, when her hands had finally managed to open his belt buckle and his jeans and pushed inside. He almost cried out at the intensity of her touch, no amount of body control or biofeedback preventing his hips from jerking violently, the world turning bright and hot and in on itself until all that was left, was the incredibly gentle brush of her fingers against him, stroking softly, curling around him and... And then his memory faulted on him as well. Or maybe he had blacked out for a moment. But either way, his clothes were finally gone. Before she could touch him again, though, he had pulled her roughly up to him, flipping them again, needing to be in control once more, not because he didn't trust her, but because he didn't trust himself. After all, it had been a while and he was not sure how long he could make this last at the pace she was trying to go. She made another noise, part protest, part impatience, part pure want, hands reaching for him in wild desire and finally wrapping her legs around him.

He thrust his hips forward hard, then let the rest of his body follow, burying himself deep inside her, reaching for her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, stretching to touch his forehead to hers, panting hard, his body screaming at him to move. Now. Hard. And fast. But he stayed still, until she opened her eyes and looked at him.

He needed her to see.

Her eyes were dark with desire and feeling and something close to shock on seeing the amount of emotion in his own.

He needed her to hear.

"I love you", he whispered softly.

He needed her to feel.

He started moving. Slowly. Deep, but slow strokes. Making her gasp with every single one and every so often capturing a moan in an equally slow and deep kiss. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, but then, when her breath came in short panting sobs, when her hips jerked against his own, when her hands pulled him down for a long, very long and very hard kiss, when she urged him on to go faster, deeper and her fingers trailed down his back, hot and burning, he closed his eyes.

And then every thought was gone and all was pleasure and heat and light and love. And it was all too much. He almost sobbed, needing to let go, but suddenly afraid to, unaccustomed to feeling anything like this for so long, his body and soul were close to short-circuiting at the emotional overload. But none of those feelings he was able to put into words. Because all words were wiped from his mind. Simply gone. Except for one. The only really important one. Her name.

"Lis…bon…"

He felt a shaking hand on his face, another one around his arm, holding on tight. Felt first her lips brushing softly against his neck, then her breath, hard and loud and fast.

"…with me…" she panted through clenched teeth. "I…right...here…love…"

The rest of the sentence drowned in the intense pleasure of their combined release. And both their moans and cries and muffled gasps following it until the only sounds left in the room were the crackling of the fire and the wind howling into the approaching dawn. At least for a while.

A/N: The fact that they somehow just couldn't keep their hands off each other means that I get to write another chapter. Which is unexpected. But nice. Because somehow I don't want this story to end just yet.