Maura had expected more.
She hadn't expected that when Jane finally kissed her it would be a clash of teeth, beer breath, and an awkward angle for her neck.
She'd had some kind of fairy tale fantasy about it. That it would be soft and tender and sweet and loving. Or it would be hard and crushing and passionate and breathless.
But it was awkward, and they were both more than a little drunk, and Jane's hands never worked well after a few beers and her nails had scratched the soft skin at Maura's waist, a welt raising in their wake. She pawed at Maura like she'd lost all motor function, and her mouth was so wet it was like she hadn't swallowed for a week.
It wasn't, sadly enough, the worst kiss Maura had ever had. She'd hoped to redirect some of Jane's energy, to persuade her to slow down, maybe brush her teeth and remember that Maura was half a foot shorter than her. But Jane was a juggernaut, her eyes screwed shut as though she was afraid that seeing too much would make this real.
But Maura hadn't actually expected this at all, so she went with it, making what small adjustments she could for her own comfort. She let Jane clumsily undress her, let Jane touch her however she wanted, and she let the idea of Jane be more satisfying because she'd waited for so long that Jane didn't need to be skilled at all to get her off, Jane watching with eager eyes, tumbling after Maura a moment later at the mere touch of Maura's hand against her slick, waiting flesh.
Maura had imagined it, of course. Making love with Jane Rizzoli and her exquisite long bones.
They'd be in the lab, late at night, and Jane would notice how the lamps in there made her hair and eyes shine gold. Unable to look away or speak, she'd approach as though enchanted, tilt Maura's face to hers with a single slender finger and kiss her like a prince in a fairy tale. Turning all of her straw into spun gold.
Or they'd be hiding in the dark from a criminal, Jane covering Maura with her own body, always between Maura and the threat, and in a moment of silence, their heavy, anxious breathing the only noise in their seclusion, Jane would decide that their lives were in too much danger to let Maura go unkissed a moment longer. She would turn and lean down, and she'd be soft and smooth and she'd shoot anyone who dared interrupt that sacred moment.
Or they'd be on the couch, pressed against each other as usual and Maura would be half asleep and leaning on Jane, and Jane would struggle out from under her and their mouths would brush and Maura would wake as though from the sleep of a thousand years, watching Jane with hungry eyes, ready to be devoured.
Or Jane would rescue her, the way she usually did, and she would envelop Maura in her embrace, holding her like a precious jewel that would save the kingdom, and she would pull back with a tear stained face and say something like 'I don't know what I'd do without you' in a tortured voice, and Maura would cup her cheek and say something like 'good thing you'll never have to find out' and kiss her with enough tenderness to break any curse that could ever befall them.
Or it would be Christmas and snowing and all the Rizzolis would be at Maura's house but none of the Martins or Isles, and Maura would be having a private sulk in the courtyard and Jane would join her but not to cheer her up, just to be with her on Christmas and as the snow started to fall Maura would raise her face and see Jane there, the way Jane was always there, and Jane would look down at the snowflakes on her cheeks and eyelashes and press her lips to Maura's mouth and fill her with warmth from the inside.
Or Maura would find her birth parents - okay, scrap that one. No, wait. Maura would find her birth parents, and they would turn out to be criminals and Jane would hold them captive until they told her she was enough and that giving her up was the hardest thing to do, and then Jane would let them go and tell Maura she deserved better, and look at her like she was a lost princess and her shining armour would blind Maura as Jane leaned in to kiss her.
Or they would be eating pizza, Jo Friday already full and asleep on Maura's lap and an expose would come on the tv about sEcReT hOmOsExUaLs and they'd laugh and Jane would say she'd be gay for Maura but not anyone else and Maura would take the pizza and put it back in the box and tip Jane backwards on the couch so she could crawl over her and kiss her senseless.
She hadn't imagined that Jane would drink too many beers, her leg bouncing with nervous energy, until she was brave enough to reach over the counter to snag Maura with unsteady hands, pull her close and make out with her so sloppily that Maura was almost worried about Jane's ability to consent, only the happy little grunts from Jane's throat keeping her from stopping Jane, only the way Jane pressed insistently against her enough to quell her fears.
Her fears that Jane didn't want her and would never want her. But Jane had pulled back with obsidian eyes, bitten her bottom lip while gazing at Maura like she was David's Michelangelo and Maura had known it hadn't just been the alcohol. It was the only way Jane would be brave enough. And she was too drunk to turn down what might be her only chance.
Maura woke, still half-dressed, caught in clothes neither of them had quite bothered to remove. Jane was curled up next to her, wrapped around her, and Maura considered the night before realistically.
It hadn't been awful. It certainly hadn't been the worst Maura'd had, and Jane had been so enthusiastic and adamant that Maura's pleasure was taken care of. And it had been nice. Some of it had been nice. This, now, was nice, cuddled up with Jane. The way Jane had shattered at her touch, the way Jane had caressed her when they'd finished, as though Maura's skin was noteworthy.
It hadn't been awful, but it had had a lot to live up to, which it hadn't either.
Maura had expected intense eye contact and muffled exclamations of wonder. She'd expected the intimacy and tenderness of their relationship to shine through. She'd expected that she would have been the driving force, that she would have been in control rather than Jane.
But perhaps Jane had had her own fantasies, where it was messy and enthusiastic and mostly guesswork, Jane's standard operating procedures.
She'd expected Jane to bolt during the night, or whenever she woke, but when Jane woke, she stared at Maura like a star in the night sky. Like a guiding light.
"Hey," Jane said shyly, almost coyly. And she kissed Maura, and this was more how she'd imagined it. Jane's mouth was closed in deference to her morning breath, and her lips were soft, her touch was gentle. Her fingers stopped at the raised skin over Maura's hip, her brow crinkling in consternation. "I hurt you," Jane said, looking upset before she ducked her head down to cover the mark with kisses.
Maura had definitely not expected this. Not soft, warm morning-after Jane. Not a Jane that acknowledged what they'd done the night before without shame. Not a Jane that would kiss her in the morning, kiss her wounds, her mouth dropping lower.
Based on last night, Maura wanted to stop her. She didn't want those teeth that had grated her lips and tongue last night anywhere near the parts of her that required more delicacy. But Jane was different this morning, her tongue as gentle as the look in her dark eyes as she watched Maura hungrily, lapping at her too lightly, forcing Maura to push back against her for pressure. Maura stifled a cry, her hand in Jane's hair and felt Jane's grin against her.
She hadn't expected Jane to be good at that. Hadn't expected Jane to kiss her afterwards, her lithe body pressed to Maura's until she stifled her own cry from their mere proximity, the friction between their sweat-slicked bodies.
When Jane showered, Maura crept out, leaving an instant coffee on the counter for Jane in her wake.
Maura hadn't expected to be the one reluctant to pursue a relationship. She'd expected Jane to baulk if they ever even kissed, but there were flowers waiting for her on her desk when she got into work.
It was complicated. They worked together, and only two of the kisses they'd had were nice enough for Maura to want more of them. The percentage was off, way off.
The morning had made up for the discomfort of the night before, and neither of them had expected it or prepared for it. But it was a net zero equation; Maura had enjoyed last night almost as equally as she hadn't. Jane was bony, all elbows and knees and awkward angles, but she was also soft smiles and breathtaking breasts and flowers and everything important in Maura's life.
Maura could turn her down kindly. She could. It wouldn't be the same between them, and she'd have to explain why.
Or she could follow Jane home and let Jane trace lines only she could see over Maura's skin for an hour before following those lines with her mouth. She could let a minty-fresh Jane Rizzoli kiss her like she mattered, with a gentle tenderness and a look in her eye that made Maura feel adored. She could pin Jane beneath her and reduce her to a quivering mess until she begged for Maura to finish her.
So she did.
It wasn't what she'd expected. It was better.
Notes:
I had a thought last night that Jane Rizzoli might not be good at the sex and Maura might regret it a little after wanting it so much for so long.
But that was mean, and this is not.