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The family dinner is done and over with. Jane has helped Maura do the dishes and is carrying leftovers in Tupperware through Maura's back yard and up to her house. Maura's following behind, shoes held in one hand, bottle of half-consumed wine in the other.
Bass is waiting for them at the door, he thumps his greeting at Maura, who smiles down at him and tells Jane that she's going to go change.
"I'll be up in a minute," Jane is heading to the kitchen, Tupperware still precariously balanced in one hand. She steps around Bass and smiles at him; his stoic charm has really grown on her recently. She puts the food away dutifully and checks the locks before heading upstairs. She doesn't think she'll be leaving tonight.
Jane is usually in charge. She likes the control; she's so tightly wound that she can't relinquish the control. Maura lets her, she likes it, most of the time.
Sometimes, Maura wants to be in control. Jane lets her take it when she wants it. She knows that Maura needs the control sometimes, to feel in control herself. This is their dichotomy. The push and pull of their relationship that Jane can't ever leave alone. She's addicted to it, she can't get enough of it.
She's wearing Jane's shirt. Where the fuck did Maura get her shirt? Jane thought it had been in the bag of clothes that Maura had pressed into her hands last night, when she'd changed into the gym clothes that she sometimes left in that empty drawer at the bottom of Maura's dresser.
Maura looks hot in her shirt, its tails resting mid-thigh. Jane swallows, watching Maura move around the room, the way her ass peeks out from underneath the shirt.
"You look good," Jane starts, hands flexing uncertainly in the air in front of her. "In my clothes."
Even though you've stolen them.
Maura eyes her, hair cascading over her shoulder, still perfect despite the length of their day and the heat of it. She's beautiful as she smiles, teeth flashing and totally easy. "I'm not giving this shirt back."
Jane growls. Maura steals clothing like it's her job and she actually likes that particular shirt. None of this would have happened if this stupid case hadn't thrown her for a loop and forced her into Maura's stupid pink dress and god-awful shoes.
"That." Jane begins, words tight and condensed. She doesn't trust herself to speak in more than short sentences. She's going to surge forward and lose control and take Maura right there, body just barely hidden under her shirt, looking all hot and oddly adorable at the same time. "Is my Tuesday shirt. You can't have it."
Maura blinks, her eyes growing darker in the dim light of the bedroom. Jane doesn't know why she's in here. She should be going home, to the guest room, anywhere but here.
Jane crosses to Maura in two steps, her fingers on the buttons of her shirt. "This is mine."
"No." Maura's tone is harsh. She pushes Jane's fingers down and presses her lips against Jane's lips, teeth and tongue asserting dominance that Jane wasn't expecting. She's being pushed down, against Maura's too-big bed, her hands pinned above her head, Maura's lips rightly claiming every aspect of Jane's defiant tongue. She pulls away, hips pressed tight against Jane's, her smile positively wicked. "I like this shirt."
When Jane isn't expecting this, she's always taken aback by it. She doesn't think that Maura's usually passive attitude can turn on a dime when she's least expecting it. It isn't that she doesn't like it. On the contrary, she wants it, craves it even.
She can't explain how fucking attractive it is when Maura's taking charge. She knows that attempting to instigate it is foolish, Maura does this only when she wants to. Like when she wakes up in the morning and runs five miles just because she wants to someday run a full marathon. Jane's given up trying to figure out when it'll happen, but instead embraces the moment when it does.
They're so few and far between that Jane submits willingly.
But Maura has stolen her shit and Jane will not give up without a fight. It looks so fucking good on Maura, but she won't give up. Not when Maura's been teasing her all fucking day.
She had time to change her clothes, but no, she didn't. She got hit on by other fucking women. Jane can't stand for that. She presses her lips possessively against Maura's, tongue following her motion, her body pushing upwards, against the way that Maura's got her pinned, rolling them over, not conceding the dominance that Maura's so obviously asserting.
Maura flails for a moment or two into Jane's kiss, arms wrapping around Jane's neck and clawing at her back as Jane flips them over. Jane likes knowing that she's got the better of Maura when she's like this.
Their lips are fused, like always, Jane can't stop kissing her. Maura's warm and soft and still wearing Jane's shirt. Jane wants her out of the shirt but doesn't want to be responsible for completely ruining said shirt.
Quite the conundrum.
"Jane," Maura says, breathless in between kisses. There's a warning tone in her voice and Jane knows that she shouldn't push it, that she'll end up with her hands tied above her head and Maura teasing her for fucking hours before she'll even think about bringing Jane off.
Still, she plays innocent. "Yes," she asks, fluttering her eyelashes in an obviously fake way at Maura.
Maura picks up on it, she rolls her eyes and frowns. "Get on your back."
She should concede. She should let Maura win. It's what Maura wants, when she gets all bossy like this, and Jane loves every minute of it.
Jane relaxes and rolls off Maura, tank top riding up and still grateful that she's not wearing that tiny-uncomfortable dress any more. She settles herself on her back, hands folded together on her stomach. She's looking at Maura out of the corner of one eye, watching as she sits up and begins to carefully unbutton Jane's shirt.
"I still want that back," Jane says despite the fact that every instinct in her is screaming at her to be quiet and just let Maura do what she wants.
Maura gives her a withering look and Jane shuts up, entranced as Maura folds the shirt carefully and sets it aside.
She's not wearing a bra. Jane swallows.
Getting up off the bed, Maura crosses to her closet, disappearing inside of it for a moment before reappearing with a simple cotton scarf. Jane supposes that she should have seen this coming.
"I fully intended on returning it," Maura taps her chin thoughtfully, hip cocked at an angle that gives Jane a more than ample view of her body. "Only now I'm not so sure."
Jane begins to sit up, she's half-way there but Maura's suddenly sitting on her lap, pushing her back down with kisses and assertive touches. She wants to make sure that her shirt is protected, that it's not going to end up as Maura's latest pilfered piece of her clothing. She's lost her Tom Brady jersey to Maura that way and she's not letting it happen again. Thing was goddamn sixty five bucks too.
The scarf in Maura's hands is around her wrists, pulling tightly against the ornate metalwork that makes up the head of Maura's bed. Jane knows that she cannot protest, that she's stuck, completely at Maura's mercy.
Her body squirms under Maura, Jane's fucking already wet and she can't stand the fact that she's already caving. She had wanted to fight back, to draw it out, to make Maura work to assert her control.
Maura likes it that way. She's confessed it, privately to Jane in hushed tones and bright red cheeks. She likes it when she has to wrestle the control bodily away from her partner, and then gets off on relishing in their surrender. Jane thinks that Maura's a bit out there at times, but when Maura told her that, Jane thought it was the hottest fucking thing she'd ever heard.
Who knew under all the science and technical language and quoting Wikipedia that Maura Isles was a goddamn freak in bed?
It's always the quiet ones.
"So..." Jane begins as Maura sits back and examines her handiwork. Jane pulls against the bounds a few times just to make sure that she's not going to easily be able to escape. That would ruin it. They're out of the game right now, just two people about to engage in rather kinky sex.
"Tell me if it gets too much," Maura smiles, eyes flashing darkly - almost cruelly. "You know the word."
Jane hasn't cried uncle yet. She's not gunna start now.
"I still want my shirt back." Jane points out as Maura pushes up the t-shirt that Jane's wearing so it's up around her chin.
Maura hums deep in the back of her throat, her expression pensive. "How much do you like this shirt?"
"Don't you fucking dare," Jane can't help herself. Maura likes to do this. Likes to cut her clothes off her so that she can buy Jane new ones that fit her more ... expensive - yes that's the word - taste in clothing. Jane isn't that attached to this simple cotton t-shirt. It ended up in the wash her mother did last week and is probably Frankie's or potentially even her father's, but it is the principle of the matter.
Maura's found the scissors that for some reason live in the bedside table drawer.
Well, shit.
Cold metal slices along the arms of Jane's shirt, down the seam and then on to the other side. Jane swallows, watching as Maura wields the sheers, impressed at her impeccable precision. She shivers and Maura's hand freezes, waiting for Jane to calm herself and the blades to warm at the touch of Jane's skin. When Jane is still Maura cuts the rest of the fabric of the t-shirt away and pulls it off of Jane.
Lips push against Jane's as the remnants of her shirt flutter to the floor. Maura's teeth are forceful, biting down on Jane's bottom lip, coaxing her mouth to open. Jane can't resist, she doesn't want to, she lets Maura's tongue slip into her mouth. She sucks on it obediently, reverently even, as Maura's hands playing over her body.
Jane doesn't know how she gets off on this. She likes control far too much to have it taken away from her like this. And yet here she is, about to get fucked like a pillow queen.
She turns her head, Maura's kissing moves down her jaw and Jane swallows. Maura could very well linger here, whispering the dirtiest fucking shit in her ear for hours. Jane hopes she's not in that sort of a mood.
"I'll bet you didn't like it," Maura whispers, lips grazing just behind her ear, making Jane shiver. "That in wearing your clothes other women found me attractive."
Jane rolls her eyes. "It wasn't the clothes, Maura." She doesn't know what else to say, how to tell Maura that she's absolutely positively beautiful and that all those chicks who were fucking hitting on her only spoke up because she wasn't decked out in Gucci or whatever. "You're fucking gorgeous. The only reason they were talking to you is because you - ah," Maura's lips close around her earlobe and Jane squirms as Maura introduces her teeth into the equation slowly. "Because you are too fucking hot normally."
"I'm not sure I follow." Maura says, pulling away and sitting up. Her hands are splayed across Jane's chest, fingers idle, nails cropped short. Jane likes that Maura doesn't have ridiculous nails. It's impractical - much like Maura's shoes - and yet for some reason Maura is always fastidiously practical about her nails.
She tries again, "You're the uber-femme, Maura. You in my clothes makes you more approachable, less intimidating."
"I suppose that there is a certain aspect of being attracted to women that is somewhat hard for certain parties to comprehend. Given that I do not meet the archetypal lesbian stereotype as perpetuated by the mass media and popular culture."
Yes. That.
Jane nods, pulling at her bonds. She isn't really feeling like a lengthy intellectual discussion at present.
Maura's just fucking with her.
Hopefully.
"Again, you look good in my clothes," Jane lowers her voice, shifting under Maura, trying to draw attention back to her nakedness, back to the moment at hand. She wishes she could touch Maura. "Very good."
Maura leans down, lips pressing against Jane's temple. "I know," she whispers, all conceited smiles and Jane wants to tell her that she shouldn't brag. Maura's lips press against her cheeks, one after the other, and she hovers, just above Jane's lips. "Why do you think I kept them on?"
Jane had been wondering that, but she just smiles, content as Maura kisses her. It is all tongue and slow and drawn out. Jane arches up as Maura presses against her. Their bodies feel good together, Maura's cold toes pressing against her thigh, Maura's breasts against her own.
Her tongue is unforgiving, Jane thinks as Maura pushes into her mouth again and again. Jane does what she's asked, she sucks and pushes back just enough to give Maura the thrill of control.
Sometimes Jane doesn't want to be in charge at all. She does like this, at times.
Teeth at her bottom lip and Jane can't hold back any more. She groans long and loud into the kiss. Jane can tell, Maura's smiling.
She isn't in control and that is totally fine. Maura's hands are wandering, touching Jane in places she doesn't ever let people touch her. Fingers close around sensitive nipples and Maura is kissing Jane's neck, mouth moving ever downwards.
Jane pulls on the scarf, she wants to touch Maura, to roll them over and assert what control she can over the situation. She wants a lot of things in these moments when Maura's got her pinned and is gleefully taking her sweet-ass time getting to the good part.
The wait is the fun part, Maura will later insist and Jane will, as always, roll her eyes and tell Maura's she full of it.
But as Maura's eyes flick up to meet Jane's, curiosity filling them despite how dark they've become, Jane knows that she'll let Maura do whatever the fuck she wants. Anything as long as she can see Maura looking at her like that.
Jane nods ever so slightly and Maura's lips close around an already too-sensitive nipple. She groans tugging on the scarf that is keeping her hands out of the way, suddenly very angry that she can't wrap her arms around Maura and pull her in close. It isn't fair - it's all part of the game. Jane bites her lip, wet hot heat pooling between her legs as Maura begins to move downwards again.
She doesn't want to cry out, to give Maura the satisfaction of knowing how this is affecting her. Jane swallows, mentally reciting the names and batting average of as many Red Sox players as she can remember. Anything to distract her from becoming completely and utterly undone.
Maura's talking again, oh god why is she talking? She's hovering just above Jane's shorts, fingers digging into Jane's hips - not letting her move.
"You know, Jane..." Oh Jesus that's never a good way to begin a conversation. Jane swallows.
"Yes?"
"It has occurred to me that I should probably be mad at you for going out what that baseball player," Maura says, brow furrowed pensively.
Jane closes her eyes, counts to five, and then says in the more clear and concise voice she can muster. "It was an interrogation. He was a murderer."
There's a smile playing about Maura's lips. "I know, I just wanted to point that out to you."
"Well thank you," Jane replies.
"I am going to take off your shorts now."
Thank. Fucking. God.
Maura's fingers are hooked in the waistband of her shorts, of her underwear too, but Jane's pretending to not notice that. She's too busy pulling against the bonds on her arms, trying to get free. Maura's too close now, Jane has to touch her, has to feel her skin under her fingers.
It isn't fair that Maura's apparently a fucking boyscout and can die knots like a goddamn sailor.
Maura isn't as respectful of her shorts as she was with Jane's shirt. They're thrown unceremoniously on the floor and Maura's hovering over her, eyes bright. Jane won't lie, she's fucking hot as hell down there, tongue just barely peeking out from behind half-parted lips. She's preparing, Jane knows, Maura always needs a second to ascertain how to best handle a situation.
Holy shit, when she's prepared. Jane swallows, anticipating building within her. Maura's fingers are back on her hips, planted firmly. Jane's not going to be able to struggle or squirm away. It's probably for the better.
Her tongue, oh god her tongue. Maura's tongue is fucking heaven-sent, she can do the most amazing things with it. Things that Jane doesn't even think that there are words for.
She's on Jane now, fingers with short nails digging into Jane's hips, tongue pushing forward, tentative and yet self-assured. Jane can't think, she can't even breathe. Maura's tongue, her mouth, is so hot and so wet and is burning as she begins her assault on Jane's most intimate place.
Jane's watching, but her head is falling back, pressing against the pillow as her hips jerk involuntarily against Maura's ever present tongue. She moans, she can't help herself, Maura's too fucking good. "God babe," she groans out. Words are failing her now.
Maura's eying her wickedly, a smile playing about her lips as she flicks her tongue and then does that thing that makes Jane's hips buck upwards every single goddamn time Maura does it. It's her undoing, that thing. Jane has no idea what the fuck it is about how Maura's moving her tongue, but good christ it feels amazing.
One of Maura's hands moves away from Jane's hips and then Maura's mouth is gone and Jane moans at the loss of contact. Maura drags her body back up along Jane's, fingers pressing up and into her as Maura begins to kiss Jane once again. This time she's aggressive and Jane is spreading her legs and trying to get Maura to go deeper.
She hates this sometimes, hates how Maura can get her to act like this. Like she's desperate and so fucking girly that she just has to get fucked like a girl. Jane sometimes wonders if this is why she likes the control almost as much as she likes the moments when Maura wrests it away from her. When she's in control, she can do the fucking, she can take what pleasure she wants without feeling uncomfortable. She's just ... more herself.
But when Maura's fingers are scissoring inside of her, pushing her higher and higher and her hands are bound above her head. Jane can't help it. She loves this feeling, loves how good it feels to have Maura in her, taking her.
Jane moans into the kiss and Maura's fingers hit that fucking spot again.
She supposes that she's lucky. Jane has always been able to come this way, it's probably why it took her so long to realize that she didn't particularly enjoy fucking men. Maura can't. It's a shame, but Jane likes bringing her off in other - more blatantly sexual and depraved - ways a lot more.
"I'm gunna -" She can't finish, Maura's hitting that spot again and again and Jane's just babbling. Maura's teeth close around the sensitive skin on her neck and all that Jane can concentrate on is how fucking amazing it feels, how fucking amazing it always feels with Maura. Oh god, oh god.
"Come on," Maura's voice is breathless, there's a lot of exertion that goes into doing this. "Please Jane."
Fuck. Jane is close.
Her hips push upwards and she doesn't care that she's acting like a fucking girl or that she's getting fucked like one. She loves it when Maura's like this, when she's relishing the control she's so clearly stolen from Jane.
Jane's wrists strain against the bonds that keep her immobile and unable to touch Maura. Her eyes are squeezed tight shut and her breath is coming in shallow pants. She's nearly there, Maura must know it as she shifts the angle that she's been using and her thumb brushes up against Jane's clit and holy fucking god.
Orgasms with Maura are the fucking greatest thing in the world. Jane can't say anything but Maura's name over and over again, riding the crest of the orgasm, reveling as Maura drags it out for as long as Jane can stand it. She's a twitching mess, covered in sweat and still unable to touch Maura, who is all smiles and kissing her gently on the cheek.
"Who do you belong to?" There's that harsh undertone in Maura's voice and Jane knows that even though she can't form a single coherent thought that this is still payback for going out with that fucking baseball player who killed someone.
Jane pulls on the scarf and Maura reaches up and undoes the knot with one hand. Her hands are free and Jane's fingers are instantly in Maura's hair, cradling her face as she continues to come down from the amazing high that Maura's taken her to. "You, beautiful, only you."
Maura's smile is beautiful and Jane's grinning right back at her. "Good. That's what I thought."
Jane laughs and rolls them over, the scarf is still attached to one of her wrists and she's kissing Maura long and hard, her tongue and hands promising everything that she can't quite find the words to express.
"I'm taking my shirt back."