'I do it on a whim, with no motivation following this line/ and I don't know why, but I've learned to capture time/ It's my redirection'

It didn't happen after a particularly hard case or at the end of a long week. It wasn't due to the flash of too much skin during a heat wave or the sudden explosion of a deep passion they both possessed for the other.

It was a Tuesday evening, actually, the breeze just enough to usher in a cool night. She had gotten home less than an hour before, had changed into sweats and gone for a run, and was just contemplating dinner when the doorbell rang. She ponied her wet hair and answered it to find Patrick Jane, suit on his body; grin on his lips; and for some strange reason, flowers in his hand. He passed them to her, cheeky, before he did the unthinkable.

He kissed her. Though firm and real it was quick; she didn't have time to react save for dropping the blooms before he was brushing past her and into the apartment. All she could do was stare after him, befuddled, until he disappeared around a corner. She closed the front door and gathered the flowers off the floor, praying that her neighbors hadn't gotten a show and telling herself that when she found him he would brush off the kiss as a way to distract her enough to enable his entrance into her home. She dumped the bouquet, which looked rather worse for the ware having been met the carpet, on the hallstand before heading off in search of Jane.

She found him in the kitchen and he smiled at her over his shoulder from his place in front of the stove, "Caesar salad with chicken okay? You can pick the wine."

She gaped at him for a second before moving; if he was going to ignore it than she could too... at least for now. Dinner was a quiet affair; Lisbon studied Jane across the table and though he seemed nonchalant she knew that he was doing the same to her. They cleaned up in silence, save Jane's humming, moving around the room and each other with ease. They ended up back in kitchen chairs across from each other when they had finished and she waited for him to speak. He didn't, just paused in his humming to smile at her, eyes crinkling, and she rolled her own at him.

"You want something or are you just planning on staying here all night?"

"The second one, actually."

She stared at him, "You want to sit here and have a silent staring contest all night."

"That's not what you asked. I believe that you asked if I was planning on staying here all night. The answer to that is yes."

Her jaw dropped and she was unsure of what words would exactly allow her to successfully quash his plan.

"They're waxing the floors in the bullpen tonight and they moved my couch into the hallway."

She raised her eyebrows, "What about your house?"

There was a sudden, tension filled silence between them.

She finally broke it with a sigh, "Fine, Jane; the couch is yours."

He gave her a happy smile before bounding out of the room, presumably to get ready for bed.

Seriously, how did he do it?

--

It was dark when Teresa woke with a start, whirling to hit whomever was sliding into her bed behind her. Her fist was caught by Patrick Jane; she gazed at him, wide-eyed, mind uncomprehending. He leaned forward, closing his smoldering eyes and kissed her for the second time. This one was longer and she found herself responding, her free hand moving behind his head to grasp his curls. Their clothing was removed piece by piece between kisses. They explored each other slowly; Jane kept his eyes closed while he placed kisses; she ran her hands up and down his form, eyes on him the whole time.

He entered her eventually and they began building towards a climax. It was neither slow nor wild, but some indescribable pace that fit them perfectly. They were silent with the exception of heady breathing and the rustle of bedclothes with each thrust; even at the peak there was but a gasp from Teresa. Patrick simply opened his eyes and smiled sweetly down at her, leaning in for another kiss. They curled into each other, spent, and he placed his warm lips against her neck, noting the sheen of sweat that covered both of them.

"I didn't have to see you," he whispered into her hair, answering her unspoken question, "I know what you look like. I just needed to feel you."

She rolled over, pressing her body flush along his, legs tangling with his own.

He grinned cheekily at her, "Are you playing footsies with me, Agent Lisbon?"

"Don't try to distract me from what you just said," she murmured, playfully punching him in the stomach, "Just so you know, I think that you're-"

He kissed her again, effectively cutting her off.

She pulled away from him for air after a moment, resting her forehead on his own, their noses touching, "Yeah," she breathed out heavily, "that's it exactly."

Woohoo! A quarter of the way there! And I forgot to say it last time, but over 200 reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you! So my gift to you is the first steamy romantic scence that I've ever written; hope it's satisfactory and deserving of being the 25th chapter. Once again: you're all wonderful and brilliant, thank you for your reviews and in advance for any you post for this chapter. I promise that I'll write to you all individually at some point by the end of this because you all deserve it!

Love, Moksgmol

Lyrics from:

The Fray. (2003). Without Reason. Reason EP