Disclaimer: neither the Mentalist nor tvtropes is mine. The story, all of it, is.
"We sleep together."
Covered by the bedsheet, Van Pelt slid off her ex's lean body, laid next to him, rested her head on his chest, kissed his left hand. "Yeah."
"How did this happen?"
"Well, that's—" Van Pelt realized she had no idea herself. She felt as if life just jumped from Rigsby's saying "we are not going to sleep together" to his saying "we sleep together". As if they were characters of a fanfiction writer who purposely ended the first chapter with the former and start the second with the latter. To make a point about Gilligan Cut.
"That's what?"
"Never mind." She cuddled Rigsby, felt warmed by his body.
And the bedsheet.
"Hey, you realize every time we sleep together, there's a bedsheet covering us?"
"Um...yeah. What about it?"
"It doesn't make sense. We've already seen each other naked. Why do we need to avoid exposing ourselves to each other?"
"Know what...doesn't make sense to me either."
Van Pelt looked up at the ceiling, found a Lampshade Hanging. She reached her iPhone on the nightstand, careful not too expose her breasts. "Let's find whether it's in Tvtropes."
"You're not serious, Grace. I mean, we just—"
"There. Modesty Bedsheet."
"What?"
"Meaning bedlinen is used to cure for nudity."
"That's ridiculous. Guess what, I'll prove I'm not limited by this trope." Rigsby stepped off the bed—
And found Van Pelt put her hand on her eyes.
"Grace?"
"Please Put Some Clothes On."
"What?"
"Seeing you naked disturbs me."
"But we just had sex!"
"I know. But as much as Mr. Fanservice—"
"Mr. Fanservice—"
"Means eye candy for women."
"That from tvtropes?"
"Yes."
"I like that one, actually."
"Well, good. But wWayne, as much as Mr. Fanservice like you are, I don't really want to see you naked. It's not allowed!"
"By who? Why I'm not allowed to stand naked in front of someone I'd just f—"
"No, don't say that."
"Sleep with?"
"That's better."
"So why?"
Van Pelt wished she could answer Instead she gaped her fingers a bit and looked at Rigsby. He seemed confused. One day she'd answer it. For the meanwhile, though, she was satisfied with the sight of his body. His height...his muscular arms...his hard chest...and he chose to be a cop instead of a model! A Fair Cop, all right.
No wonder she liked gazing at him. Any woman would. The trope for it, if she recalled it right, was Female Gaze.
But somehow she couldn't gaze below his stomach. Ugh. How frustrating. "Wayne. Just come here. Lay beside me."
"Fine." He did.
"Let's talk about something else."
"I very much agree."
"Aren't you used to be a Big Eater three years ago?"
"Big Eater?"
"Someone who likes to eat a lot and often."
"Oh, yeah. I used to snack all the time during stake-outs."
"But you don't do it anymore."
"I don't." Rigsby rose, much to Van Pelt's envy. He could rise and expose his chest while she couldn't. "Hold on. You're right. Why don't I snack anymore?"
"Maybe because our lives aren't real."Van Pelt didn't understand why such Cloud Cuckoolander line came from her mouth and why she couldn't help herself. "And you're only a TV character played by Owain Yeoman, who'd become vegetarian after the first year we met. That's the case of Real Life Writing the Plot—"
Rigsby laughed. "All this isn't real?"
"Yes."
"If my life isn't real then I may as well call Sarah and tell her we're breaking up right now. Which I won't."