A/N: Be prepared for a few good lines in one two many paragraphs of subpar. I'm amused and desperate for, an outlet to spar.
"Question one," Maura spoke. Her feet laid gently in Jane's hands and her body reclined comfortable against the sofa Jane has made comfy now with throw pillows and a soft rug by the sofa, on the floor. She insisted. She didn't complain. Your feet have been in heels all day, all evening, Jane had removed Maura's heels first and then stockings. An old school accessory. They require pampering. She insisted on the massaging, of feet and toes that have been pinched together all day, quite too close. Strong soft hands kneading into muscles tired; unspoken wishes and thoughts of care and love, alongside each stroke. Maura continued, "Who would you invite over for dinner?"
"Hope."
"What do you mean?" Maura moves to sit up, and Jane's hands pause from their kneading. Muscles loosened beneath her tightening.
"Hope." Jane worried she might have misspoken. "Your mother."
"But why her?" Maura moved closer. In need of an explanation, a sound reasonable reason as to why Jane would choose to dine with a dead woman.
"Because you must miss her," Jane's voice soft but with each word heavy and loud, to Maura's ear.
Perhaps to fall in love, one must have first space to be safe to be vulnerable. To be exposed as a plant might to sunlight after years kept in shelter, in the shade and away from all it has always needed. Maura's heart lifts at her own thoughts. Trepidations. She reaches to hold her hand in hers. There must be love.
Jane smiles, her thumb tracing circles along the back of Maura's hand. Are you falling Rizzoli? She asks herself. Haven't I already. She turns to Maura, who meets her smile with lips she'll never tire of learning to kiss.
"Why not your own?" Maura's voice soft against her cheek. She's left so many since against Jane's skin now that they've become friendly. Since they've began trading dreams even when neither of them speak.
"Because you have two mothers," Jane shrugged. "It would be unfair to make you choose only one to have dinner with," Jane answered, matter-of-factly. "Besides, I have Tommy to replicate Ma's cooking if you like it." Maura think she's sinking, sunk, falling. Falling. Is that what this feels like? She rests her head upon Jane's shoulder. To be loved. To be placed before and above another. Her hand feeling safe in Jane's. She's become accustomed to Jane's lavishing of physical contact. Her hand holding her close, and steady. She smiles when Jane wraps an arm around her and they lean back against the cushions, her choice of jazz a partner for this comfortable silence.
Jane's never been one so forthcoming. Reckless, maybe. Impulsive, perhaps. True to her heart and gut, most certainly and her heart is beating. Her hands are sweaty, even when she's sure and steady. Her heart is beating, and Maura's perfume is intoxicating when really it's just Maura's proximity to her that's causing to be reeling. Protect and serve. That was her oath. To the citizens of Boston, to the academy, to now Maura and she did not come here today if she hadn't been ready. She came here today because she's ready. To confess to feelings, to turn maybe into certainly if willing. She can feel Maura's other hand resting on her thigh, warm and comfortably heavy. Go big or go home Rizzoli, she reminds herself. But I am home. She admits. Maura gave me a key. She smiles, remembering her duty. Protect and serve.
"Maura?"
"Yes, Jane?"
"Does this mean," Jane will fight dragons for this woman. Her duty.
"Yes, Jane?"
"May I be your partner?"
Jane exhales and hopes to high heavens she's deserving. Dash the possible consequences of Doyle and the police. She's got savings. She can whisk Maura away if need be. Barry will alert her to the beans. They can run away and turn fantasy into reality. Tommy and Frankie aren't children anymore and she needn't weld a plunger forever nor need she ever need to enter again into the police academy. She can keep Maura safe, just as she is. Jane thinks. She can keep Maura safe if that's what she wants and needs. She feels Maura shift away from her, to move again closer. Her heart stops a fraction. Maura's eyes meet hers. If she wants me.
Maura presses first a kiss to the underside of Jane's chin. An admiration of the woman's jawline. She plants a trail of kisses. Stopping beneath her ear. Later, to savour. Sweet whispers under the covers. Next, she leaves a faint lipstick print. Against Jane's clavicle. Her exposed shoulder bared to be kissed. Jane had taken off her top previously at her insistence. Her now in a singlet, and her in a blouse with already two buttons loosened. It's the candles, they might indeed be too warm. Jane's justification when requested. Jane's bottom lip. A brief grazing. Her own hand now a gentle cup against Jane's ear whilst Jane's rested hers against her hip. I'm more than my father's daughter. Maura hears Constance's reminder. Keep her safe. Maura remembers Hope's instructions to her foster mother. I can love this woman and be done with Boston, be done with the dangers her father's business will put Jane through. We can live, she thinks as her lips meet Jane's. Together.
She guides her hands to her hips.
Her own tugging at the button of Jane's jeans.
[insert your own delightful style of love-making haha.]
(only kidding*)
"Maura?"
"We won't be a one-time thing," Maura kisses her cheek, "Partner," Maura promises with a kiss.
Jane takes over as lead.
There's love and then there's love making. She starts at Maura's wrists. Skin sensitive to fluctuations of moisture and heat. Saliva left, a cool condensing. Smooth and tender and in need of loving. She removes Maura's watch. A watched pot never boils, a timed moment ceases to exist. They have all the time they'll need. She sets the watch gently by the glasses of wine. Maura, a nod. Approving. The drummer drumming a beat escalating in speed matching Jane's own heart fast and beating. Jane persists, gently with lips to skin protecting the capillaries underneath. Her mind giving thanks to the blood turning Maura slowly a shade of rosy pink. It travels. To her cheeks. That flush of pink across skin fair and smooth as the moon might seem. She'll travel along too that expanse later. First, attention to the garments that need shedding. Promises, of pleasure she can now be making. She plants light kisses along Maura's abdomen. Blouse now with buttons popped open. Maura resting against the sofa with Jane, between her legs. They'll move again, later. Jane learns rhythm and understands melody. The saxophone a honeyed shrill against Maura proclaiming. Maura's quick against her own eager, their hands now warm against each other's skin. Lips meeting between breaths taken to whisper sweet endearments. Maura's lipstick marking a gentle smear from the scramble. Jane's singlet shed. Only brassieres left to conquer. Maura's blouse, a crumpled heap on top a growing pile of jeans, and lacy underthings. Wrinkles, crinkles, there's dry cleaning for a reason. She's glad she's kept her nails trimmed and tidy. As an explorer of the crevices and folds of another comes, one must discharge first the responsibility and respect of and for hygiene. Of making sure there's comfort. Jane's thumb knows circles. Maura knows Jane's lips against hers, and a tongue too quick to savour. Maura wrote this moment different. Jane's restraint and discipline, an earlier challenge.
"Wait," Maura holds Jane close to her.
Jane remembering patience. "I'm listening."
"I should do the writing."
"The writing?"
"The riding."
"Okay," Jane's pinked from the heat.
Maura holds her hand to stand and they walk to a more traditional setting.
Jane thinks it's not so bad the plunging in.
Of seeing stars and a head of hair tousled against the warmth of light Maura's lighted candles are casting.
(*yeah, right. I'm not kidding. I don't know what I'm doing.).
A/N: Not finishing this for the moment. Hahaha. 3:39pm. June 19 2020.
I wrote then, and now uploading. I'm so sorry that y'all have to put up with me and this fic. Thank you for the time.