It's her eyes, he can tell.
It's the sheer power of the way they pull him in, making him want to dive so deeply into them, to submerge and disappear from the face of the earth. Now that he had finally found himself, he knew there was no chance of getting lost again.
After a long, harrowing and lonely walk in the dark, he had finally seen the light– she was his light.
He's never looked into her eyes so intimately before, he's well aware of that. So viscerally, almost the same way he feels inside of her right now. So up close that he can almost see his own reflection in them as his body lies on top of hers, right between her bare, glistening thighs.
He's never been like this before, either.
There are so many firsts happening at once that it's overwhelming. And at the same time, it's not. At the same time, nothing seems too much, nothing seems enough. And they want to feel everything they're entitled to.
Flickering stars dance behind her eyes. There's a vibrant, warm light that ignites them, a tight urgency and longing that consumes them.
There's so much longing in her piercing gaze.
He is her longing; he knows that much. Just as she is his. But it's all right, they're here now. And now is– wonderful.
"You okay?" Lisbon wonders sweetly, her right hand coming up from his shoulder to cup the side of his face.
"Y–yes," his voice is raspy and breathless. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he knows it's not just because of their ongoing activities.
Jane had stopped moving some time ago for a couple of simple reasons: the first being that he was trying to cradle the image of her in a safe, treasured place in his mind, so that he could visit it later as often as he pleased. For the privileged view he had of her, from where he now stood, was the finest. Lisbon was the most exquisite, beautiful sight there was. And the other reason was that he just didn't want that moment to come to an end.
Earlier, while undressing her, he had told her in a shy way that she wasn't used to seeing in him, that if he didn't last long, he would make it up to her. Lisbon flashed him a heartwarming smile, always so understanding and patient, and quickly put his mind at ease: "It's okay, it's going to be okay." It's going to be perfect.
"Come here," she asks, pulling him down slightly as she presses her hand to the back of his neck.
There was no need to tell him any more. Words, they silently agreed, had suddenly become overrated. Ordinary. And this moment was anything but ordinary.
Their mouths collide for what seems like the millionth time that night. The kiss is sloppy, lazy and full of tongue, just the way they need it to be.
Once they got a taste of how incredible and wonder-filled it was to have their lips locked together, any given moment when they were alone, any given excuse was good enough to kiss. And they were both exceptionally good at it.
And it was then, before that expectant room, as her legs bent a little further up and back, wrapping more tightly around him, that Jane resumed his deliberate pace.
Their brows furrow as they utter a moan into each other's gaping mouths, Lisbon's in between gasps; his more guttural, reverberating from deep in his throat, and they both lose the ability to continue moving their lips. The lush sensation emanating from their lower halves had become too intense to allow them to concentrate on anything other than the synchronized motion of their hips.
The clock on her nightstand ticks 2:20 a.m, and he's in bed waiting for her to return from the bathroom. His heart rate is still slowing and leveling out with his breathing. Lying on his back, he shuts his eyes and lets himself drift for a little while.
It had been a week of what can only be described as pure honeymoon bliss.
Lisbon had nursed him through his ankle recovery. And even though he'd tried to act tough (because now he had a girl to impress), he absolutely loved all the special care and attention he got from her.
They'd only been to his Airstream on a couple of occasions, spending most of their time at her house, and for Jane, that included overnight stays. Every minute of every day was spent together: talking; cooking; making each other laugh; cuddling and making out on the living room couch. They got to know sides of each other that they hadn't seen before, not in the first person, since they had never experienced a romantic relationship together. And it felt weird, and yet so natural. And scary, and yet so exciting. And wonderful, and utterly life-changing.
That day, he took her for an Airstream ride through the beautiful scenery of the Hill Country, and when they returned late in the evening to the spot where he usually parked his motor home, after enjoying dinner under the stars, Lisbon drove herself back to her place.
They seem to have telepathically agreed that they wouldn't be one of those clingy couples who never leave each other's sides. That wasn't who they were, and moreover, they didn't want to impose themselves on each other, especially at such an early stage of their relationship. Surely it couldn't be healthy to be together 24/7, could it? What if they got tired of each other? That would be devastating, highly unlikely, but still devastating.
They were two very independent people. Jane had been free of personal commitments for a very long time in his life and Lisbon was fresh out of one. It was only logical that they would sometimes continue to seek their own space and time alone; their own individuality. So taking a break and not spending the night together seemed like the right thing to do. Only it didn't feel right.
Later, when they were settled in their own beds, Jane called to check on her and wish her a good night. But just before hanging up and shortly after a spell of silence on her end, he heard her confide in a small, almost embarrassed voice, that she kind of hated being alone in her bed now that she had shared it with him.
What was the point of being apart if they couldn't wait to be together again?
The next thing he knew, he was standing in her doorstep, because he, too, kind of hated the idea of having to sleep alone again, after knowing what sleeping next to her felt like.
How crazy was that coming from Patrick Jane?
She did this to him, he knows, she and her love for him had altered the chemistry of his brain. And as unbelievable as it may sound, that didn't bother him in the slightest.
Lisbon tried to hide her mixture of surprise and joy at seeing him as she opened the door, but said nothing, instead taking his hand and silently leading them upstairs. Just as they were about to enter her bedroom, he squeezed her hand between his, causing her to turn on her heels to face him.
"I'm not really sleepy," he said, heart in his throat, hoping that she wouldn't notice the sense of anticipation in his baritone.
"That's fine… We can, uh–"
He rushed over her words, "I don't want to spend the night talking, either."
Lisbon tilted her head to the side, and he caught sight of her eyes roaming over his face.
"Good. I hate when we do that," she eventually retorted with a playful smile on her lips, trying to act nonchalant because he knew how much it annoyed her to have to tell him that she had no idea what he was getting at.
She spun toward the door so they could finally walk into the room, but he pulled her hand back until they regained eye contact.
"Lisbon–", he mumbled quietly. Words ironically failing him when he needed them most, leaving him clinging to the hope that this time she would be the one to read his mind.
She blinked at him, eyeing him quizzically but more intently this time.
They both looked down at their joined hands as he interlocked his fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. When they locked gazes again, Jane discerned the nanosecond in which she suddenly became aware of the heavy breathing rising from his chest and the raving passion in his eyes. A very conscious awakening to what was about to happen engulfed them like a wave.
They had been awkwardly dancing around the whole having sex thing from the very beginning. His ankle injury had slowed things down a bit and taken some of the pressure off of them, giving them time to enjoy the non-naked parts of being a couple. But once that setback was out of the way, it became increasingly impossible to keep a lid on the sexual tension that was growing louder by the day, and of which they were both painfully aware.
And when he finally cradled her beautiful little face in his hands and began to peck her lips once, twice until he felt her respond and match his pace, his desire; making him kiss her a little harder, hold her a little rougher than he ever had before, it was like feeding gasoline to the flames. There was no way they could put out the fire now. More importantly– they didn't want to. The time had come.
Jane's thoughts are left behind the moment he feels her presence again. Feeling her nearby without having to look at her is something that comes so naturally to him, purely instinctive, as if he had developed a new sense just for her. He props himself up on one elbow and as soon as he opens his eyes, sees her slipping quietly into the bedroom.
There she is.
His gaze skims over her petite naked body, brazenly, and this fine detail - that she felt no need to cover herself up with a garment as she climbed out of bed (the same detail that might have flown under the radar of any other man) - not only paints an ineffable picture of how comfortable she must feel with him, but also stirs in her a sensual confidence that he's not quite sure she believes she possesses.
Jane is completely dazzled by how easily they've fallen into familiarity.
He pulls up the sheet inviting her in, and she crawls across the mattress without taking her eyes off him. Lisbon lies down on her side of the bed, facing him, and he mirrors her position on his.
She nestles her head on the pillow. "Hey," she breathes lightly, gazing into his hooded eyes.
"Hey," he echoes back.
And the urge to pull her flush against his body and squeeze her in his arms sweeps through him. But for now, he will fight his primitive instincts. They have time, all the time in the world. And they can breathe, at last.
Somehow, in his flattering eyes, Lisbon looks younger in the afterglow. Her features are smoother, her expression lines barely noticeable. It is as if all the chaos of the past few years has melted away from her. If he could, Jane would give her those years back. But it was the chaos, the hardships that had made them as bonded and as strong as they were, and in spite of all the not-so-good moments, he knew that Lisbon wouldn't change a thing about their shared past.
It was the sum of all the ups and downs that had brought them here. If they hadn't gone through the bad, would they now be able to appreciate all that is good to the full extent that it should be appreciated?
"You look like a hot mess," she hums, smiling at him all smitten.
Jane instinctively runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.
"You did that, you know?"
Lisbon nibbles at her bottom lip in acknowledgment, and there's a hint of self-pride in a grin that she tries to suppress but fails to hide from him.
Jane relishes the silence, the heavenly stillness of the room to admire the woman he loves, by the dim light of the lamps. He reaches out until his fingers meet her naked chest. There are so many freckles there, more than he can count. He is endlessly fascinated by her shoulders, her bare chest, reminiscent of a starry sky. And like a moth to a flame, the tip of his forefinger brushes across her silky skin in a feather-like touch as he tries to make constellations out of imaginary lines.
He hardly seems to notice when Lisbon dips her chin to try to follow the path of his finger, only becoming fully aware of what he's doing when he feels her stare scorching his cheeks. But Jane, being Jane, is not the least bit embarrassed to have been caught.
"Enjoying yourself?" She teases, her voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes are drawn to hers, and the right corner of his mouth curves into a parenthesis, blossoming that boyish grin she's come to know so well.
One beat later and he's serious again, and there's not an ounce of wit in his voice as he breathes in a soft, sobering whisper: "I'm so in love with you."
He can tell just by looking at her that Lisbon felt his words sink deep into her core as her eyes immediately brimmed with tears, just like the first time he admitted his feelings to her. Onlythis timeit was just the two of them. There was no one there rushing him off; no emotions driven by the despair of never seeing her again; the lingering uncertainty of what lay ahead.
This time he said it with a reassured, peaceful heart.
In no time at all, her small frame gravitated toward him in response, and within a heartbeat they were sharing the same pillow. Their bodies intertwined so tightly that it became impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.
He gently rubs the tip of his nose against hers and a short while later she tucks her head under his chin; a hand finding its way into his hair, slender fingers twirling through blond curls so deliciously he almost purrs. The fingertips that had been connecting her freckles not long ago are now running up and down her spine. It's enough of a tender caress to make her draw a long, contented sigh and sink deeper into him until he can feel her melting into his embrace.
Jane wants to smell like her; like real, never-ending love.
As he hugs her tightly to his chest, all he can think is: "How could I have gone so long without this?"
How could he have gone so damn long without knowing what her intimate touch, her loving affection, felt like? And not that he wanted to, oh no, but in that very moment he knew more clearly than ever that he couldn't go back. He couldn't go back to life before her – for there really wasn't one.
She was so easy to love. Truly. He'd known it for years. And to deprive himself of that, of loving her openly, had been such a heavy burden to carry that when he finally allowed himself to do so, it felt as if the whole world had been lifted from his shoulders, making him so weightless that he could almost float.
From now on, he would make it a point to tell her and show her every single day of her life just how much she was loved and adored and appreciated.
Her quietness, her serene breathing had tricked him into thinking that she was slipping into a slumber. She wasn't. Shortly afterwards, he feels her fingernails tickling his stomach, teasing his skin as her lips begin to pepper his neck with kisses.
"I want you again," she croaks, her entreaty muffled against his throat.
Jane didn't even have to weigh up her words. In one fluid motion, he rolls her onto her back and hovers over her again, his mouth fastening on hers in a blur.
"Oh…okay," she sounds pleasantly surprised by his willingness and it makes them giggle in mid-kiss.
Their goofiness abates as he pulls back just enough for them to meet eyes, gradually sobering up again. He smoothes her locks away from her face and checks his urge to kiss her again, taking just a little of their time to soak her in. She lets him.
Her hair is spread out on the pillow, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving as her fingers tighten around his sturdy shoulders.
His girlfriend, his Lisbon, his Teresa, looks a little bit like a Monet painting, because she's all lush meadows and sunrises and spring flowers and blue skies.
So beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
He wants her again too. He wants her so bad that his whole body aches.
It's the way she looks up at him from beneath her curling lashes. Her honest, pistachio eyes shimmering with sweet emotion, so evocative that they can't help but reflect the undying devotion, the safe haven, the mature love she has for him.
That look was unique. It was hers and it belonged to him alone, so healing that it could almost make him forget how broken he had once been.
She made him whole; complete. And completely alive.