All fluff and sex :)
The sleeping profile of Jane Rizzoli makes you wish every morning that you were a good artist so you could sketch her before she stirs.
"Jane."
"Mmmmh." Her head lolls the other way.
You follow, smiling, pressing a kiss beside her ear.
Last night you talked until your voices went dry, dissecting every moment from each side. That closeness had been the next best thing to making love, and you fell asleep together in her chair with arms tight around each other.
You're surprised you ever fell asleep at all, with how ready you've been for morning to arrive.
"Wake up, you big dumb idiot."
..
"Wanna go anywhere?" she asks, finishing her breakfast.
"No." That was a bluff anyway. She's wearing her not-going-out-today sweatpants. "How's your inbox?" you ask, watching her thumb flick across her phone.
"Kinda quiet. Yours?"
"Nothing that can't wait," you reply, trying not to stare at her too expectantly.
"Well, then... if there's anything you gotta respond to today, you should do it now," she advises.
"Why is that?" you ask, already starting to smile, and forgetting instantly about the empty plates you just stood to collect.
"Because we're gonna go back up to bed after this, and the only body I want either of us thinking about for the rest of the day is yours."
You light up.
"You have plans?"
"I've had plans ever since.." she doesn't want or need to finish that sentence. "Unless you have any requests."
There are many things you want, but what you want most might be to just see what she does.
"Depends what your plans are."
"Lemme try a quick summary." She stands, cups your face gently and kisses you. Very slow and deep and soft, thumb stroking along your jawline. Its perfection is its own demise; you ruin it by smiling.
You knew this time was not going to be ordinary. Extra soft was likely, but extra hard was a possibility too.
You thought about her shoving you against the nearest wall for an aggressive kiss, the kind suggesting a desire to fireman carry you up the stairs to a fierce, cathartic fuck. And it's not that you don't want that, or that you wouldn't have let her do it, but you think you would have been a little disappointed. You wanted softness, and you couldn't be happier that she has the same thing in mind.
"Exactly like that." You kiss her lips again lightly, knees already weakening.
The tips of your noses brush when she nods.
"Absolute mush. And lots of it."
You smile, eyes closed. "The softest ever."
"I want to kiss you everywhere," she murmurs between kisses. "Take my time. Nothing but orgasms and naps for you all day."
If you did have anything important to do this weekend, you certainly don't remember what it is now. You link your arms around her neck, grinning.
..
She rolls you back into the sheets with a kiss, hesitating for a second.
"This okay?"
Whatever she means, the answer is yes. You nod and sigh at the satisfaction of feeling her come to rest above you. Kissing you softly and deeply. Your legs wrap around her, not to seek more already, but just to be closer to her.
Somehow, there's going to be none of the frantic desperation of having almost both died, none of the rush of having ached for this for weeks. Only reverence. You know this is going to be not only an expression of love but a celebration of life, as well as an apology whether you want it or not.
She kisses your lips and your face and your throat, with a specific kiss just for your new scar. Her lips are soft and warmth pools between your legs as you reach a delightful simmer.
"Jane," you moan, fingers playing in her hair.
She pulls back, twisting her mouth to one side thoughtfully. Appraising how much you want her already.
"Minor change of plans... what do you say we begin with an appetizer before we both have an aneurysm."
You laugh out loud, more from gratitude than amusement. Stoking would soon turn to teasing, and that isn't her goal. "Sexual arousal doesn't cause aneurysms."
She stills you when you reach for the button on your slacks. "Leave 'em." She moves a leg over yours.
Her weight against you makes you moan even before she starts to move. It feels so good to have her close like this again.
Your love for her stings your eyes and then spills from one, then the other, and you know those will be the first of many.
The two of you are a tangle of soft but deep kisses, pushing against each other in sync. No words, because there would be too many. The sound of each others' breathing is more than enough.
Neither of you is trying to draw this out or make it sexy. It's just to vent pressure. Your climaxes arrive quickly, rather quietly, and nearly overlapping. She never removes her lips from yours even when breathing grows labored, and you draw in her moans so eagerly that they still feel warm in your lungs.
The mutual realization that you've both started to cry, and simultaneous smiles and brushes at each others' cheeks, is a moment you would keep in a scrapbook of favorite memories if you could.
For a quiet time you just look at each other from an inch apart. Barely smiling, eyes shining and noses pink. Just being that close. Just taking your time.
No one else has ever made you want to get an orgasm out of the way first so you could focus on making love.
Very soon, you realize that her plans were meant much more literally than you first thought.
"What," she glances up at your delighted laugh, completing another careful, parallel row of kisses along your upper arm.
"I know you."
"That's your crime scene search pattern." You laughed not at her, but about how much you know and love her. She is going to be very thorough.
Jane chuckles too. "I said everywhere."
And she means it. She doesn't rush any places to get to any other places. She kisses your arms, your hands, each finger, before she even removes your shirt, and then every inch of your chest before removing your bra.
You arch a little against her kisses, hissing in pleasure when her hot mouth accepts your nipple. Even though this is the destination you've been waiting for, you don't want her to spend long there after all, because now you're starting to want her elsewhere even more.
In a very subtle hint, you remove your slacks and panties in the same motion, but she puts you back down on your stomach.
She catches you nearly rolling your eyes as you settle on the sheets.
"I said everywhere."
"Yes, you did."
"Do you need another one first?" she kisses your shoulder. "This isn't to tease you."
You shake your head, smiling.
"You sure? You tell me when and how.. that's all today is about."
You could absolutely come again now, but you could also enjoy having your appetite stoked a little more.
"I'll let you know," you smirk.
She kisses your scapula.
"I always wonder.. doesn't it hurt your boobs to lie face down?"
You laugh.
"Why are you asking like you don't also have breasts?"
"Well, mine are more... lie-on-able." You feel her hair drag along your skin as she kisses your trapezius. "Do we need a pillow or something under there? I want you to be comfy."
"I am," you reassure her. "And if they do get uncomfortable, I'm sure you can help them feel better."
"Gladly. Now," she runs a finger straight down your spine, "Teach me how many bones are in here."
"Thirty-three."
She asks you to name them and help her find each to make sure they all get a kiss. If she notices you getting a little misty when she placemarks T5 with her finger to go back and give T4 a better kiss, she doesn't mention it.
"The five segments of the sacrum are fused together..."
"Venus," you barely hear her murmur to herself, and she kisses each of your sacroiliac joints.
"Yeah," you smile.
You could try to think of something clever to say about her kissing your buttocks, but you won't.
"The um.. four segments of the coccyx are usually... Jane?" you swallow. Her thoroughness has left with you with one increasingly burning curiosity.
She wouldn't.
"Hm."
You feel her breath. If there was a smile on your face, it drops off immediately at her next few kisses.
You don't even know what that word or sound was that just caught in your throat. It wasn't one of pleasure - you don't even think of that until after - but of disbelief.
"Jane-"
"I said everywhere."
You curse under your breath.
"You never told me you were into that," she sounds amused.
"I'm not- I mean, it's not a... I just didn't think you'd..."
"Oh, I would definitely never," she agrees, both hands kneading gently. "Except for you. Feel good?"
It does, but that's not what feels good about it. It's just knowing that there's no part of you she won't lavish her love upon. You didn't think anyone would ever do that for you as an act of affection, or that you would get emotional about it.
Her question might have been a real one. It seems very unlikely that she's ever permitted that. "Very," you answer shakily.
A small laugh comes from down by the backs of your knees. Oh. You have to remind your hands that the reason they're still squeezing fistfuls of sheets has apparently been over for some time. Although, you would like a different reason now.
"Jane," you breathe, turning over. "Jane, please, now."
"At your service."
Strong hands wrap your thighs, but it's you who opens them wider, wider. You feel eyelashes on your iliac crest and warm breath down low. And you see her look at you like a treasure before she closes her eyes and brings her lips to you.
Your head tilts back to release a long, low moan at the delicious heat of her mouth.
"So good. So good," you moan, your breath snagging on your dry throat.
You're breathing her name. Knees bent, toes curled, fingers in her hair. Trying to stroke at her head instead of pulling on it, succeeding only occasionally. Right now her tongue is your entire world.
She knows what you like because you enjoy it and what you like because you need it, and when to shift. It's good and swift, just like you need. She brings you over the edge so easily, and every part of it - the orgasm, the roll of your hips, your moans of her name - is rich and smooth as butter.
Although she doesn't seem done, she obeys when you tug at her, knowing what you're eager for. You sigh at the taste of her kiss.
"You've gotten so good at that."
"I have a good coach," she grins into your kiss.
She settles next to you, stroking at your hip.
"I want to feel your skin." You tug at her t-shirt.
You let her sit up to shed her shirt and her bra. She moves like she's going to slip her thumbs under the waist of her sweats too, but pauses.
"That's okay." More skin would be delightful, but you'd rather have her more comfortable than more naked. Today is sweet and soft and simple. No challenges. No explanations. "Jane. Really."
She glances over and you can tell she's relieved.
"I.."
You shake your head once. "Just easy today."
She smiles, eyes a little wet again.
"Rest awhile." You scoot down in bed, pulling her upper body against your lips. Side by side, not top and bottom.
She approves with a barely detectable happy sigh, closing her eyes and resting her head. Your fingers trace the smooth dip of her waist while your mouth roams her collarbones, her chest, her breasts.
"You're so lovely, Jane." You suck softly at a nipple until it slips from your lips. You find her watching, and she closes her eyes with a little smile, so you do it more.
How you'd love to pamper and please her like she's just done for you.
"I wish I could make love to you." When her face begins to react, you add, "Not asking. Just saying. You said I could say."
You rest your head where it is, just looking up and sharing her loving and wistful look.
"You think you never have."
"Hm?"
"You have a hundred times." She chooses a strand of your hair to twirl between two fingers.
"Like when we used to talk in the dark?" you guess.
She shakes her head. "Like just now. Every time you've ever let me off the hook."
"What?"
"Every time you make it okay to change my mind. And just.. hold my hand and watch TV or let me fall asleep with you instead of whatever we were gonna do. Every time I lost my nerve, again, and you could've finally gotten annoyed but you didn't make me feel bad. Every time you pretended you were the one who wanted to stop." The corner of her mouth goes trembly, an excess of emotion threatening her smile. "That's not making love how you mean it, but... if the point is feeling like you love me, it is to me."
"Oh, Jane."
"I know when we do more it's gonna be great. But I don't know if anything'll ever beat the way you always just.. let me come home."
Her fingertips ghost over your heart, and you know she doesn't mean home like the house.
"You are too precious to comprehend." You hug her harder for a moment, pulling her sternum against your kiss. "I adore you, Jane."
Her lips are on yours when she replies, but you get the idea.
It's wonderful when she rolls and settles on top of you again, giving you practically all of her weight, ready to find her own release against you. You grin, loving every second, your hands feeling the muscles in her lower back flex as she works herself insistently against your bare thigh.
You recognize the little noise she makes when she tucks her face into your neck.
Jane may be your protector, but this is when she relies on you for protection. In order to let go, she needs to feel safe and home and hidden from the world.
"I've got you," you promise, scrunching at the back of her head and then tightening your embrace. Making her feel safe at her most vulnerable moment is a duty you cherish.
You hold her tight until she relaxes, chest warm and bare and heavy against yours. You can predict almost down to the individual breath when she's going to shift off of you, and that she's going to want to rest beside you with her head cradled against your chest instead.
"You'll always be welcome home, Jane," you tell her, stroking her hair. "No matter what."
She sighs silently and kisses your heart.
Your fingers trail up and down her back until the light in the window is different. Maybe you dozed off.
Everything so far has felt good, but the next part is what makes you cry. Really cry, out loud. To a degree that you used to think would be disastrously awkward and mood-ruining. But it isn't, because she's crying with you, and you aren't sure which of the tears on your cheeks are yours.
She's above you, whispering "I love you" in your ear and filling you gently.
You cry like I'm so glad you're alive and you almost weren't. She cries like I'm so sorry and I'll never let anything happen to you ever again and she kisses your lips and your cheeks and your throat.
And you never breathe faster or harder because that's not what this is at all. This isn't really even like sex. She's just being in you, deep and slow and reverent.
"Oh," you hiccup with realization, and squeeze your eyes shut. "That's it."
She takes that to mean she's found a good spot, and she has, but that's not what you meant.
You shake your head. "I love you."
It's that feeling caught in you. That deferred hug, that restless need for closeness that's been trapped like an air bubble you couldn't reach. But she can. It's like she's found it inside you and is massaging it directly.
But you don't have the words to explain this.
You lie utterly open to her, letting her love cover and fill and envelop you, and you trade those three words back and forth, yours a jagged whimper and hers a deep soft promise. And although by the end you might have said it hundreds of times, not one is said of mindless repetition but each is brand new and individually genuine.
It's so perfect that part of you is disappointed for it to reach a crescendo. Your last few confessions come out as quiet flinching sobs, your body hugging her fingers like begging them never to leave because she's finally as close as you needed her.
She whispers to you while you come down, saying it for both of you now, covering your cheeks and your nose and your closed eyes and your open mouth with small kisses.
"Stay," you sigh, and she does, knowing you aren't asking for another round. Neither of you are done with this closeness.
She kisses your brows and your chin and your nose and she Kisses your forehead. That one is a particular kiss, one you've never asked her to define, bestowed purposefully on your head after every time she has ever made love to you this way. It's certainly affection, but there's also something solemn in it - maybe a thanks for your trust, perhaps a promise not to take that for granted. There is a purity about it that always melts what little is left of you.
With her forehead resting on yours, she stays for long after, even slower, with no more words.
...
Tired smiles. Blinks long enough to be short naps. A lazy, oxytocin-drunk morning. You don't remember dreaming.
You stroke a fingertip delicately over her eyebrow. Its arch is so perfect you don't know what else to do. She's been playing with your hair for at least an hour.
"You stayed in bed."
"Mm-hmm," she smiles.
"Did you sleep ok?"
"Mm-hmm," again, happy and proud. You trace her mouth where the corners have spread in a little smile.
There's no need to tell her you love her again. You've never said that as many times in your entire life as you did last night, and your eyes haven't stopped saying it yet.
The entire previous day is a blur of lovemaking and naps just as she promised. The last thing you can recall is your longest, loveliest, most contented make-out to date. It must still have been early in the evening when you fell asleep.
You're hungry.
"We never ate except for breakfast," you realize.
"Speak for yourself."
"Pff," you roll your head away to chuckle.
That's right. At some undetermined hour of night, she remembered that part of your right shin still needed kissing, and when she had done so, she helped herself to you again. Still half-asleep and blissfully helpless, you released yourself once more into her adoring mouth before fading back into slumber.
All told, you still got a few more hours of sleep than usual.
"I haven't slept in like that in years," you rub you eyes, sleepy from too much sleep.
"Sleep more if you want. I'm gonna make you breakfast. And then I want to feel you come again.. so you might as well just stay in bed."
"You're spoiling me," you grin into her affectionate kiss, tugging lightly on the ends of her hair. Fully aware that if you asked for another orgasm before she leaves the room, she would do it, and that's almost reason enough to ask.
She gets out of bed, still bare above the waist. Your eyes take in the beautifully lean muscles of her back in the morning light, and for a moment you think she's going to fix breakfast like that, until she grabs a shirt from the dresser on her way out.
You file a mental note that you want to see her nude in every room of the house.
Alone, you stretch hard and roll into Jane's warm spot, pulling the sheets against your skin and smiling at her scent.
Don't fall asleep again, you remind yourself, or she'll probably bring you breakfast in bed. As nice as that would be, it's not worth crumbs in the sheets. You'd better get up and shower and make your way downstairs.
But if you get your way, you will not be setting foot outside this house for the rest of the weekend.
More like this from now on, yes?