RIZZOLI & ISLES

Handkerchiefs

art_and_lies84

Title: Handkerchiefs

Author: art_and_lies84

Pairing: Jane / Maura

Rating: NC–17

Prompt: playing catch

Warning: Porn with a Little Plot. Kink. I won’t tell you what as I don’t want to ruin the plot, but you’ve been warned. Read no further if you want vanilla fluff sex.

A/N: Don’t own ’em.

Handkerchiefs

art_and_lies84

“What’s that, Maura?”

She had waited patiently through Maura’s excruciatingly lengthy shower. Maura always insisted upon showering before sex. Jane had accepted it as one of Maura’s more irritating idiosyncrasies; something about cleanliness and bacteria transfer – Jane had stopped listening right around the point that she realized she would not be joining Maura in the shower, but would have to take hers separately. Contamination, blah blah blah.

The M.E.’s shower took much longer than usual that night, and Jane called a “hallelujah!” in the direction of the door when she finally heard the water switch off. Jane had big plans for the bedroom, but it looked like Maura had plans to ruin everything with clothes. Well, cloth. When Maura emerged from the bathroom, Jane’s eyes were drawn to a strip of navy blue draped around her waist, tied on her right hip and falling in two lengths down her thigh.

Jane repeated her question when Maura did not respond. “What is that?”

“It is a scarf, Jane,” Maura responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She dried her hair once more before carefully hanging her towel on the hook behind the door and traversing the room.

“Yes,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “I can see that. Why is it there?”

“You don’t know what this means?”

“Should I?” Maura was so impossible. If she weren’t so goddamn good in bed, and such a great coworker, and simply the best friend Jane had ever had… Jane admitted she would probably still keep her around just to look at her tits. Especially in that one sweater. Nothing topped the girls naked, but that sweater came pretty damn close.

“Oh,” Maura said. She looked slightly disappointed, Jane observed. “I thought you would know. Never mind it, then.” She began plucking at the knot on her hip. Before she could remove it completely, Jane leaned from the bed and swiped at the trailing ends of the scarf. She pulled Maura into the v between her legs. The woman squirmed against her for a moment before placing her forearms on Jane’s shoulders and standing straight up. Jane thought her own back might break if she ever tried standing that ramrod straight. That, and her mother would die of shock after a lifetime of squawking at Jane about her posture. She couldn’t imagine Maura standing any other way.

“Tell me what it means,” she said, kissing a pale shoulder. She wound the scarf around her fist and pulled the knot tight again. “It’s soft,” she noted. “Silk?”

“I don’t own any handkerchiefs,” Maura replied. “This was the best I could do.”

She looked at Jane expectantly.

Jane returned the look. What the hell was Maura talking about? “What do handkerchiefs have to do with anything?”

“Handkerchief code. This is my handkerchief,” Maura said.

“But it’s a scarf,” Jane said, running her free hand up Maura’s left thigh. “What do you need a handkerchief for? Are you worried about sneezing during?”

Maura tipped her head in response to Jane’s smirk. She made that same face when she was trying to decide on a pair of shoes for the day, Jane thought. Big decisions.

“Of course not. I have no allergies and am not presently suffering from a viral upper respiratory tract infection. You don’t know about the handkerchief code, Jane?”

“No! Come on, Maura. You made me wait through that long ass shower all by myself,” she said and stuck her bottom lip out. Maura swatted her arm.

“Oh, all right. Tell me about the ‘handkerchief code.’ But afterwards, Dr. Isles, I am going to have my way with you,” Jane said. She drew the scarf through her fingers and spread the fabric over Maura’s abdomen. Maura shivered and her nipples hardened, much to Jane’s delight.

Jane leaned in for a kiss but Maura pulled back and smiled brightly at her. Jesus, at least sex would happen at some point this evening. Maura didn’t give her a smile like that unless she planned on fucking – er, intercourse. Couldn’t let Maura hear that word.

“Just let me go get the laptop. I have the page bookmarked for you to read.”

At this, Jane released the scarf and flopped back on the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes in what she hoped would be the most spectacular pity–invoking display ever. She moaned pathetically. Maura would get the point and see how ready she was, right? She had forgone a robe after her own shower with the intent to seduce Maura quickly and effectively. Jane usually prided herself on being able to seduce Maura with little more than her naked body. Maybe if she just wrapped her legs around Maura’s hips…

She tried it. Maura wiggled away just before Jane could lock her ankles at the small of her back, then stepped out of Jane’s reach entirely. Then she left.

Jane’s jaw dropped incredulously as her eyes followed Maura’s naked ass out the door. Would wonders never cease? Jane was already wet and ready and Maura wanted her to read something? This had better be some fucking fantastic Voyager femslash – not that Jane Rizzoli would ever read fan fiction in front of another living thing. No, not even in front of Jo Friday. She blushed at her secret reading habits and stared at the ceiling.

Maura returned a moment later with the open laptop. She placed it gently on Jane’s lap and sat next to her, pulling the ends of the scarf into her own lap. Jane was beginning to have thoughts about that scarf. She could remove it from Maura’s waist and tie it around her wrists; it wouldn’t chafe like the handcuffs she used last time, even if Maura strained against it as she undoubtedly would. Yes, Jane decided. That was exactly what she would do once this whole handkerchief business was taken care of. Better get it over with fast.

She looked at the bright screen. The cursor blinked innocently over a highlighted passage. It read: “The Practice and Application of Anal Sex.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Maura wanted that? Maura was no saint in bed, not exactly a missionary girl, but that? Jane’s mind was officially blown. She caught the other woman’s eye and was surprised when Maura nodded decisively.

“I understand that many people shy away from anal sex,” Maura stated in her most lecture–like voice. “I believe it stems from a widely–held religious belief that it is an abomination.” Jane couldn’t believe that she was listening to Maura reason through this. The woman was reasoning through anal sex. Holy God. “Early religions likely understood the health risks involved and incorporated those facts while writing sacred texts. Research on the topic is inconclusive.”

“Maura, this really isn’t necessary. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I know, Jane,” she said unabashedly. “I want to. I came across an interesting bit of information while researching common sexual practices among lesbians. I wanted to augment our regular sexual practices with something a little more creative.”

If feeling indignant was fatal, she would die a thousand deaths a minute when she was with Maura Isles. The worst part of it was that Maura had no fucking clue.

“Do you want to know what I learned?”

“Sure, Maura. Why not.” What did she have to lose at this point?

“In gay culture – more frequently with homosexual men than with women – a handkerchief of a certain color, when placed in the left or right rear pocket, signifies a sought–after sexual practice and a partner willing to cater to that sexual practice.”

“Uh huh,” Jane said cautiously. She closed the Macbook and placed it on the nightstand. She did not trust herself to keep it steady on her lap.

Maura tugged at the scarf. “This is my handkerchief.”

“Can’t you just tell me what you want like a normal human being?” Jane whined. She wasn’t sure what the stronger emotion was, at the moment: exasperation over Maura’s complete and utter daftness, or exhilaration over Maura’s implied request.

“The technical term is postillionage. The act dates back–”

Jane could not hold in the glare. She hoped that somewhere beneath it Maura would be able to recognize how painfully aroused she was, and how good she was being by sitting through all of this.

Nah. Maura wouldn’t notice something like that. She would continue to plod ignorantly along, describing every possible sensation while Jane continued to squeeze her thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure building between them.

“– the insertion of a digit–”

If she spoke it aloud, the thrill of the taboo would be broken. Jane had to stop her. Maura was going to ruin this before it could even begin.

“–into–”

“Shut up, Maura,” Jane ordered and pushed Maura back on the bed. Quick to stop the treacherous flow of words, she pressed her lips to the other woman’s and clambered onto her. It was not her most graceful moment, Jane knew, but it served its purpose to intimately acquaint Maura with how far along into the sexual cycle Jane was. She was always talking about that damn cycle.

“Yes, Jane,” Maura said when she was able. Jane pulled back to eye her suspiciously.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

Maura nodded solemnly.

“I’m going to move, and you’re going to roll over,” Jane said. She could feel Maura straining against the demand. She was nervous; she kept doing that thing with her lip. The bite–release–bite thing. God, that was sexy.

“Don’t worry,” Jane said and pecked her lips once more before holding herself aloft on long arms and legs. The look persisted for a moment more before it was hidden by light curls as Maura flipped. Jane leaned into Maura’s back and whispered in what she hoped was her most sexy drawl, “I’ll take care of you.”

She sat up and ghosted her fingertips from Maura’s shoulders down to the dimples above the swell of her butt, aware that there was only so much of this gentleness that Maura would stand before she started to get impatient and start talking again. Maura liked it hard, and fast, and rough – so very different from the reserved woman that graced the morgue during the week.

Still, there was something methodical about sex with Maura. The woman deconstructed Jane’s wants and needs so efficiently that it left Jane feeling exposed, tense, and uncomfortable. She didn’t derive sheer joy from sex to the extent that Maura did. She loved the feel of it all, but knew she didn’t appreciate it quite like Maura. Maura took her pleasure from the discovery and rediscovery. Maura cracked her open and peered inside each time, and Jane was only ever able to chip away at Maura.

She wanted to see inside. She wanted Maura to feel broken down and ripped apart and out of control. She wanted Maura to feel like she felt every time Maura made her come.

That was it – that nervousness. Jane was certain that Maura’s nervousness stemmed from the idea of losing control. Well, let her be nervous. This was going to be glorious.

Jane slipped her hands around Maura’s hips, lifted her ass into the air, and pushed the woman into the middle of the bed. She spread toned thighs just enough to allow her to scoot between them and settled her pelvis flush against Maura’s buttocks. The doctor peered back over her shoulder. Her breath came in shallow pants between her parted lips. Jane loved when she did that. It was gorgeous and poetic.

Poetry wasn’t exactly on Jane’s list of favorite things, but a woman that she’d once slept with – a tall, dark, imposing woman with the most striking blue eyes, not Jane’s type at all but incredibly sexy nonetheless – had given her a page out of a Verlaine translation at the conclusion of their encounter.* She could not help but recall the first stanza of that poem as she gazed down at Maura’s lovely ass in her palms. It began, “Indistinct and dark like a violet carnation,” and continued in a blessed wonderment of words. Jane loved it. She loved the secret of it.

She had been in Maura’s position that time – the “catcher” position, as it were. It hadn’t really been her thing, but the woman had taught her volumes about the attainment and release of power under those broad hands. It was certainly something that she had never forgotten. Once in a while, she removed the poem from where it sat discreetly beneath a stack of magazines in her bedside drawer. Jane would sit with the torn page in her hand and trace a finger over the words; the texture of the paper alone brought that illicit feeling right back to her like a punch in the gut, and when she read the words, well… They were magic.

Resisting the urge to grind into the firm buttocks against her, Jane pulled her palms up Maura’s hips and stilled their tense wiggling. She brushed the scarf out of her way and nodded at the other woman. Maura turned her head to focus on the wall ahead of her. Jane did not like witnesses. Not in these moments. Participants were fine. Watching was not permitted.

She spread her fingers to encompass each cheek and bent at the waist, covering them with her torso. Jane had worked through what this moment would taste like – feel like – for a long time. She jerked when her nipples brushed against Maura’s shoulders but kept her hands steady and pinned between them, and began kneading the flesh beneath her fingertips.

Delight coursed through her when she heard the sharp intake of air as she began licking her way down Maura’s spine.

It wasn’t that Jane wanted to dominate Maura. No, not at all. She had quite enough of that bravado crap at work. She just wanted, if for only a moment, to know that Maura really understood her intentions. If she could just really feel it, it would be enough, Jane thought as she dragged her tongue past Maura’s shoulder blades.

What then? What if Maura could see how vulnerable Jane was?

Jane couldn’t answer that question, not now, with her tongue dipping in between her thumbs and pushing against Maura’s tight little buttonhole. A hand rocketed out and grasped her hair in an iron fist, momentarily stilling her mouth in a suffocating hold, and at once Jane was not sure if Maura meant to jerk her away or press her even closer. She dug her fingers in – oh, that would bruise – and waited for Maura to decide as the other woman wobbled on just three limbs. A long, low moan into the pillows indicated approval and she smiled into the warm flesh around her face.

She began slowly, working in ever–smaller circles, until finally Maura was being so loud that Jane grew concerned and pulled out of her grasp. Maura was never this vocal. She might occasionally throw an encouraging word Jane’s way, but this full–bodied rumbling, this jackhammering heartbeat that she could feel even in the sensitive node beneath her mouth… this was so positively un–Maura. Maura could feel this. Maura was breaking open.

Jane gave Maura’s ass one last squeeze and sat up. This was shaping up to be one of the most positively enthralling evenings of their sexual relationship. She couldn’t wait for more, and neither could Maura if the way her ass was moving was to be believed. If Maura’s ass spoke its own language, Jane mused, it would whisper romantic nothings only in swear words. Naughty, filthy swear words.

“Maura, if you keep moving like that… I just, I can’t… I’m going to fuck you harder than I mean to. So stop it. Hold still,” she warned. At her least–favorite word Maura’s head snapped up from the pillow. She stared owl–eyed at Jane. The sway of her hips stopped, as did the moaning.

Jane was more than a little disappointed about the latter. She needed that confirmation of her success.

Jane took stock of the body before her: angry little bruises were blossoming over otherwise pale skin where Jane’s fingers had dug in to pull Maura towards her. The woman’s back was uniformly flushed, with a sheen of perspiration beginning to slick over the skin, and a number of long curls stuck to Maura’s upper back and shoulders. Her whole body trembled. Above the woman’s right shoulder Jane could see Maura’s face in profile, with her long lashes resting against rosy cheeks, lips parted, chin dipped towards the bed – on the whole a study of how a quiet storm, personified, would look.

A quick rifle through the nearby nightstand produced a small bottle of lube that she tossed on the bed. She dipped two fingers experimentally into Maura’s wetness, unsurprised by the lack of resistance she found there, and gave a few quick thrusts, just enough to get Maura undulating at that heartbreak of a rhythm again.

“You feel so good, Maur,” Jane whispered as she teased at her entrance. “You sure you don’t want me to just, you know…” She scissored her fingers suggestively and leaned down to bite her ass. Hard.

There it was! Maura let out a full–throated groan that went on for ages, then began to pant and thrust backwards. She thought she might have heard a breathed “please” in there, somewhere.

Jane couldn’t contain herself any longer. She grabbed the bottle up from the bed and with a flip of the cap sent a cool stream between Maura’s ass cheeks. Jane wasted no time in spreading the gel around. God, she was excited. She needed to slow down. She wanted to fuck Maura, but she didn’t want to hurt her.

“Are you ready, Maura?” Jane asked in a gravelly voice. She began working her fingertips against Maura’s anus.

“Yes, Jane,” she heard Maura exhale over a trembling shoulder.

Slowly, slowly Jane worked her way inside of Maura, then let her partner set the tempo. It was a tidal pace, agonizing and intense. Maura pulled on Jane like the moon on the sea. She came on strong like a rolling wave, then receded, leaving Jane with only her fingertips touching pebbled crevices and an incredible desire for more. Her cries crashed over Jane, swept her under her need, pushed her to the bed of her desire, and then drowned her altogether.

Jane felt it happening. She reached forward and slid her free hand through Maura’s hair to the base of her skull and held on for dear life. If it meant a lifetime of this, Jane would gladly drown in Maura, but she wanted it to be a voyage of equals – not quite like this. A few more twists of Maura’s hair and she had a handhold that provided some leverage with which to position herself. Jane thrust into her with the full force of her pelvis against the heel of her palm. It was delicious and all–encompassing, everything that Jane could have wanted from Maura and so, so much more.

And all at once a full–bellied climax was upon them. Jane thought for an alarming moment, Please, let her bend, but don’t let me break her. Maura threw her head back and bowed towards the bed. Jane released her hair and splayed her fingers against the wet skin of Maura’s back, careful not to move her other hand. She felt the pounding heart beneath her fingertips, the greedy suck of air into Maura’s lungs, but she felt no control in that taut and quaking body.

Jane had never been as grateful for her height as she was right then, able as she was to bend fully over Maura’s back and place a kiss on her neck. She wanted Maura to know that she was loved, that it was O.K. that she was falling apart, that she could let her world fold in upon itself and explode outwards all at the same time. She let her weight fall on to the heaving body, resting fully on top of it, holding Maura together. Maura could still learn how to hold Jane together in moments like these. It would be enough if she did.

~ ~ ~

*From what is possibly the greatest story ever told: The Speed of the Beat of My Heart, by Michal Salat and Joann Muscolo. Kind of hard to find online nowadays, but if you can… read it. Right away. And only if you can handle some rough treatment.

*Some moon metaphors borrowed from “That Moon Song” by Gregory Alan Isakov.

*Thanks owed to heartsways for the beta.

~ ~ ~