RIZZOLI & ISLES

Noises Above

art_and_lies84

Title: Noises Above

Author: art_and_lies84

Pairing: Jane / Maura

Rating: Probably NC–17

A/N: Don’t own ’em. Also, this would not be possible without my beta, heartsways. She dutifully read draft after draft and, I imagine, will be the first to complain about how this turned out…

Noises Above

art_and_lies84

The neighbors complained about the noises above. Maura Isles knew this because she had seen the imploring notes they left on Jane’s door: silly requests such as “Please put carpet down” and “Another late night, eh?” One was even so bold as to congratulate Jane on her obvious prowess. Really, it would be more convenient, not to mention less difficult socially, for them to conduct their affair at Maura’s house.

But Jane could be stubborn about things like this. Her temperament, often volatile and explosive, did not allow for much negotiation in these situations. She wanted to sleep at her own house that evening. She had absolutely and quite without reason refused to visit Maura. Maura had finally resorted to the guise of delivering beer and doggie treats to secure an invitation.

She was fairly certain that the neighbors would complain once again tomorrow morning, given her plan. She had it in mind, this evening, to prove Jane Rizzoli wrong about an item of contention between them and she suspected that in doing so Jane might become rather vocal. It bothered her only insomuch as she did not enjoy knowing that the inhabitants on both adjoining floors, not to mention the tenants on either side of Jane’s apartment, could hear them. Her exploits were to be shared only with Jane.

A raucous crash sounded through the door just as Maura lifted her unencumbered hand to knock. “Jane?” she called. She heard another muffled crash, followed by a string of curses, then a yelp. She called Jane’s name at full volume, knocking frantically.

“Yeah, yeah! Coming! Hold on!”

“What happened?” she asked a few moments later when Jane opened the door to let her in. The detective was out of breath and covered in a white, powdery substance. If Maura had to guess – which she never would, not even if Jane offered her completely unrestricted access to her body and a whole drawer full of toys – she would say it was flour. However, as fresh flour had no detectible scent and she wasn’t about to put an unidentified substance in her mouth, she decided to wait until evidence confirmed her secret suspicion.

“I… I threw something at the T.V. The Sox were just shut out by the Giants,” Jane said, out of breath. She wiped at her face as Maura stepped past her into the living room, suppressing a smile at the white caking on her. The woman was just hopeless. Her only saving grace was that she did not spend her money on high fashion; everything would be ruined within a week.

Maura’s eyes swept over the next room. She took note of an overturned throw pillow on the floor, several magazines scattered on an end table, and four curiously empty beer bottles. Jane had not mentioned drinking already when Maura had offered to bring beer, and she did not want to conduct her plan with an inebriated Jane. Still, it was entirely possible that the bottles were a remnant of a previous evening’s adventure. The detective was a notorious slob.

“So, you threw something at the T.V.?”

Jane nodded, reddening under the haze on her face.

“And that resulted in your being covered in –” Maura waved her finger incriminatingly at Jane’s upper half “– whatever this is… how?”

“Jo Friday.”

“Jo Friday, what?”

“She chased it–”

“Chased what?”

“The ball I threw!”

Maura gave Jane a look that she hoped would convey her disapproval. “Really, Jane,” she said. “You can’t expect to throw a ball in the house and have Jo Friday not pursue it. Terriers have an overdeveloped sense of the hunt. They were bred for it.”

“Yeah, I get that now,” Jane grumbled as she pushed Maura towards the kitchen. “It’s flour, by the way.”

“Where did the flour come from?” she asked, simultaneously pleased that her suspicion had been confirmed and disturbed that she had a suspicion in the first place. She observed the bag leaking lucklessly all over the kitchen floor. The dog lay next to the mess, nose buried happily in it, chomping away. Maura leaned down to give her a scratch behind the ears, then set the six–pack and bag of treats on the counter.

“It was sitting on top of the fridge. Jo ran into it and the bag fell.”

“Onto you,” Maura pointed out. It looked as if Jane had taken as much of the mess as the floor had. Normally dark twists of hair were infused with the substance. Long, rich lashes sent out mini whooshes of the stuff with every blink.

“Yes,” Jane said. She smiled sheepishly.

Maura returned a wide smile. Jane was exquisite, even sullied. “Your propensity for accidents is disturbing, Jane,” she said, still peering around the room.

Jane huffed and ran a hand through her hair. Maura, in a moment of what she knew was inexplicable fear, leapt back as a cloud of white erupted around the other woman. It would not do to get flour all over her dress. She had just picked it up from the dry cleaner’s the day before.

Jane gave her a confounded glare and marched pointedly towards the bathroom. Maura waited until she heard the water switch on before returning to the entryway and placing her purse carefully underneath the piano bench. She took a seat upon it, crossed her ankles, set her hands delicately in her lap, and thought about the woman in the shower.

In addition to wanting to sleep in her own bed most of the time, Jane was stubborn about a number of other things. At the onset of their sexual relationship she had confided in Maura that she was really very conventional in the bedroom. It wasn’t that she hadn’t experienced several of the more inventive positions, or partners; Jane insisted that she had tried many things with both men and women, but that she was perfectly happy when it came to her sex life with Maura. That she did not want things to change.

The M.E. suspected that given Jane’s penchant for shielding Maura – sometimes to the point of keeping her in the dark altogether – Jane was really more concerned with exposing Maura to practices that she would be uncomfortable with. Or corrupting her.

Maura smiled at the thought. Corruption was such a relative term; it was imprecise, one of those English words that was so thick with meaning, yet absolutely empty all at once. Corruption could only truly apply to the persuasion of those in power, or possibly to describe putrefaction. It most certainly could not apply to Maura herself – not in this case.

Maura had asked about toys one evening. Jane shook her head forcefully in response. “No, no toys. It seems… It seems wrong. Impersonal.”

No amount of discussion could influence Jane. The woman was convinced that artificial aids in sexual acts were a form of cheating. It perplexed Maura to no end. When Maura had asked Jane to elaborate, she’d said in a whisper, “I just don’t want to, Maura! If I can’t get it with my hands and my tongue, I’m not doing it right!”

“But Jane, that’s not the point. You are completely capable with just your hands and tongue,” Maura said bluntly. “Your sexual experience could be vastly improved; relative to your experiences with me, you could sustain prolonged and more intense orgasms with the addition of a phallus. Do you know how rare it is for a woman to orgasm vaginally as frequently as you do? Biologically speaking, I can’t provide the same sensations that a man can. Wouldn’t you like to try other things?”

“We did try other things!” Jane protested.

“Yes. You didn’t like that?”

Had Jane not liked it? She seemed like she had at the time. That navy scarf had certainly made more than one guest appearance in the bedroom since that night.

“Aw, Maura, you know I did,” Jane said in a voice perilously close to a whine. “Do we have to talk about this right now? I mean, Jesus… Can’t we just enjoy what we have?”

“Yes, Jane.”

She had left it at that, at the time. But the plot was hatched, and Maura Isles knew she could not leave it be forever.

Maura’s revelry was cut short by a mostly–naked, sauntering Jane, cleaned of the flour and toweling her hair in what appeared to be an unintentionally provocative display. She traced her eyes down the woman’s lithe body, aware of a tightening in her chest and a hitch in her breathing. Strong, athletic shoulders capped a proportionally perfect ribcage; barely–there breasts rode high on her chest before they gave way to a flat stomach that tapered into luxurious thighs; a slight flare of the hips and buttocks accentuated her athletic form. What a specimen Jane was.

“What?” Jane asked when she caught Maura’s eyes roaming all over her. “Did I miss some?”

“No,” Maura said and shook her head slightly. She reached forward and gently tugged Jane in front of her and pressed her face into the warmth of the other woman’s torso, breathing in the air of her.

“You didn’t come over here to bring me beer, did you,” Jane stated quietly. She shivered slightly as Maura’s hands wrapped around her and skimmed down her buttocks. The towel promptly fell to the floor.

“No, I didn’t,” Maura agreed. She worked her fingertips between Jane’s legs from her buttocks and brushed lightly there. “Are you angry?”

It was an honest question. Maura could never be entirely sure unless Jane told her.

“Of course not,” Jane hissed as she leaned to work her hands beneath the edge of Maura’s dress. Jane always strove for nudity first. Maura suspected that her impatience stemmed from a hatred of any and all barriers in her life. She was hell–bent on ripping them all to pieces… as, Maura thought with growing alarm, she seemed to be with this dress. She hastily swatted the other woman’s hands away and carefully unzipped the dress herself, then stood to remove it.

Before it reached the floor to join the discarded towel in a haphazard pile, Jane swept her up in a whirlwind kiss. It spoke volumes of the dark woman’s desires. Maura thought she tasted frustration there, and maybe a touch of apprehension. She had learned to appreciate the many forms of telling that Jane’s kisses visited upon her. And, she considered, she had become adept in interpreting these kisses. The kisses gave Maura a reprieve from the constant decoding of emotion. Jane was nothing if not straightforward when she reached a certain state of arousal.

This kiss requested domination. The tentative press of Jane’s tongue against her lips, the gentle splay of fingertips on her back working to release her bra, the quiet grind of the bowl of hips against hers all indicated that Jane did not want control this evening.

Maura could not have been more thrilled. She did not like to think that she had manipulated Jane into submission to get her way, so when Jane willingly handed over the reins, she happily took them. She allowed Jane a few more moments to remove the rest of her clothing, then wrapped her hands around Jane’s shoulders and pushed her down to sit on the bench. She took a deep breath and knelt in front of the other woman.

Maura placed her palms on the inside of Jane’s thighs and applied steady pressure there, slowly, slowly pushing her legs apart and spreading her wide. When Jane was angry, or unsure – when Maura knew she felt these things because Jane told her outright – Maura found that it was best to move in measured steps so as not to startle her. If Jane was startled, she would bolt. She was a flighty creature, drawn from wildness and freedom, only Maura’s as long as she did not realize that she was being captured.

She watched Jane’s face as she opened her with her thumbs. Indicators of arousal abounded: her zygomaticus majors were drawn, creating a tight plane of want over her features. Her frontalis and corrugator muscles contracted in a mixture of concern and need. A rush of blood swam over her olive skin and spread up her long neck into her cheeks.

But Maura did not need these indicators. Her tongue moved through all the evidence of arousal she would ever need. Jane moaned and leaned into the piano behind her, apparently indifferent to the tinkling of the keys against her back.

It was not something Maura would have ignored; she could no more have let the keys sound against her than she could fabricate a lie without fainting. It was too distracting. The sounds would jar her. They would snap her out of her want and into the reality of having sex on a piano bench. It was all Maura could do not to stop the movement of her mouth against Jane to suggest that they relocate to the bedroom. She had some idea that doing so would ruin “the moment” – at least, that is what she believed Jane would say.

Instead she pressed her tongue further. It was not enough for Jane. This never was. Soon Jane would ask her for manual stimulation.

Almost as if on cue, Jane grabbed Maura’s right hand and pressed it roughly against her. It usually did not progress this quickly, Maura reflected, even after Jane had had a few beers. She slid her fingers deep into the other woman and delighted in the rush of hot breath that washed over her shoulder as Jane curled forward.

The next moments would be crucial. She had to be sure that Jane did not reach orgasm, not yet, but she wanted the other woman right on the edge. Maura stilled her fingers and waited for Jane to straighten back against the piano again before making the speech that she had been planning for weeks:

“I want to… I want to fuck you, Jane,” she said, pushing the last syllables out in a rush of air against Jane’s thigh. She felt the other woman stop writhing immediately as her body went rigid. The stiffening of muscles was consistent with surprise, or fear. Had Maura been able to guess, she would have chosen the former.

“I want to … to fuck you, and I don’t want to do it with my hands,” Maura breathed. The words were difficult for her to speak aloud, but they were words that Jane would understand, and Jane would need that familiarity if she was going to submit completely. This was all so complicated. If Jane could just try to think about things logically for a moment, she would realize that what Maura was suggesting was the shortest possible route to satisfaction.

“What are you talking about?” Jane asked. Her voice broke and she shook with the obvious effort of trying to remain upright. She was so beautiful, her Jane. Maura watched her long fingers flex and release, flex and release around the edge of the wooden bench in agitation. She knew she didn’t have much time before Jane devolved into total annihilative pleading.

With her free hand Maura reached into her purse beneath the piano. She withdrew the strap–on and set it next to Jane. The phallus was unassuming. She had chosen something that would not be frightening. Not that Jane shied away from being filled completely, but Maura did not want some monstrosity; she wanted to be delicate, soft, and commanding. She still wanted to be a woman while enjoying Jane. And most of all, she wanted her hands free to do with what she pleased.

Maura appreciated how it looked there next to Jane’s leg before glancing upwards to meet the other woman’s eyes and pressing her face back into her thigh. She breathed in the warm headiness there.

“Let me, Jane,” she spoke against firm flesh. “Please.” She hoped that her voice was soothing. She did not want to startle Jane. She did not want to “ruin the moment” as she had so many times before.

“Yes, Maura, fine,” Jane growled.

“Fine? That’s not exactly a resounding approval, Jane.”

“If you don’t do it, I will,” Jane said. She bucked her hips and highlighted her need once again. It was what Maura required. She carefully withdrew her fingers and watched Jane watch her as she licked them clean. Jane had explained to her once that this simple action – this one little thing – aroused her more than any touch ever could. Maura did not necessarily understand it herself, but she did enjoy the obvious pleasure that Jane took in watching her do it.

She stood and pecked Jane once on the lips, smiling to herself at the groan the other woman gave her when she did not deepen the kiss. “Patience,” she tsked and turned to put the apparatus on. It didn’t take long. Maura had practiced at home.

When she turned back it was to a reclining Jane, spread across the length of the bench like a sacrificial offering. Her dark eyes were huge, her chest heaving. The flush had spread past her nipples and now threatened her navel. She was lovely. Maura wanted her. Maura wanted her beyond reason and doubt and pain. She wanted her beyond her own caged sense of self and beyond Jane’s colossal sense of freedom.

Maura lowered herself onto Jane. She nestled their torsos together, careful to keep her hips from settling completely. Jane gasped, likely due to the phallus rubbing against her, Maura was sure. She pressed her face close and kissed the detective, usually so strong, now reduced to jerking movements below her. It could have been a moment of extreme awkwardness, what with Maura precariously perched above Jane, bearing down in some places, barely touching in others. She was grateful it was not. At that moment nothing seemed more natural than this: the two of them expressing a mutual desire, a base need.

Maura propped herself on one hand and reached down to tug on Jane’s left leg. She gently drew the long limb over her right shoulder and let it rest there, kissing the calf as it slid towards her neck. The texture of Jane’s skin, deliciously smooth against her own, made her sigh.

Jane was completely open to her. Her hands were free to roam. This had all gone better than she could have hoped.

Maura hugged the limb to her chest and pushed into her.

Chapter 2

Female hips were not meant for this, Maura thought as she moved in again. They were meant for sway and dip, not piston and thrust. Female hips rolled like the sea, never still, always shifting in an undulation of change. It was an organic movement, completely without mechanism or order. She tried it and was delighted with the effect. The resistance changed. Jane was so wet.

A torturously low moan and fluttering eyes alerted her to Jane’s feelings on the matter. She was delicate and luscious all at once.

Sharp fingers dug into Maura’s neck in an effort to pull her down on top of Jane. Maura wanted to see her. She wanted to see her whole body and watch how she moved; she wanted to study her, which would be impossible if let herself dissolve against Jane. From her vantage point at the moment she could see the flexing of Jane’s abdomen, the slight shift of her breasts as she took more of the strap–on into herself; she could see the wild spread of hair above her head and the eyes that one moment pressed together in delicious pain and in the next went wide with astonishment as Maura moved inside of her.

The leg that rested over Maura’s shoulder began to curl into her, hooking an unrelenting heel into her right latissimus dorsi. Maura smiled in defiance at the dull pain searing her back, happy to withstand whatever Jane’s body needed to attain release. Jane couldn’t control certain physical reactions, much like she frequently couldn’t control her emotional ones. Where Maura was calm and composed, Jane was tumultuous and turbulent. It was part of what made them them, Maura thought.

Maura did not mind the occasional involuntary bodily reaction that resulted in pain, either; she was used to it, and it wasn’t as if Jane ever caused her any real harm. Once, in a moment of complete abandonment, she had accidentally clawed eight nasty welts down the length of Maura’s arms. Maura had had to wear long sleeves for two weeks that time. During another particularly enthusiastic coupling in the entry way Jane had shoved her much too forcefully against the wall. An abrasion had blossomed across her lower back immediately and, despite Maura’s protestations to the contrary, Jane had insisted that they discontinue the activity right away. The detective had been horrified at her own display of power.

It thrilled Maura.

Maura had begged her to use her fingers to take her and Jane had staunchly refused, insisting instead that she work long fingers against the bruised muscles that she’d caused. It made for a pout–filled evening for all.

Those same fingers were winding into Maura’s hair now, still pulling her down. She was concerned with the leg over her shoulder. If she leaned down, it would be trapped between them – a position that, while making Jane more open to Maura, would also be somewhat uncomfortable for Jane if sustained for a long period of time.

“Please, Maura.” Maura felt a rumble in Jane’s chest below her own. It was enough to convince her. Jane wanted to feel her – all of her. She couldn’t deny Jane that.

She gave in and pinned Jane’s leg between them to kiss her, reaching for the edge of the bench to steady herself. She thought Jane was magnificent, with long limbs wrapped all around, pulling Maura in. Jane held her tight, desperately clinging to whatever piece of the world that would keep her anchored and not let her float into the heavens altogether.

That Jane trusted her enough to allow this discretion was not lost on Maura. Jane confused her in so many ways: she was a complicated woman, with complicated needs and wants. Maura’s own lack of perception when it came to social cues and illogical displays of emotion only compounded the problem. But in these moments when Jane gave herself completely over, when pleasure overcame logic, Maura was sure that their dissimilarities were inconsequential. Every movement and sound made while bringing Jane pleasure broadcast emotion in vivid colors throughout Maura’s normally monochrome mind's eye. She couldn’t plot love on a chart. She couldn’t categorize or label it. Maura Isles could see it clearly on Jane’s face, though, and she could feel it in the heat of Jane’s skin.

The resistance changed again as Maura moved into Jane once more. Maura had known it would. She grasped the knee on her shoulder with her right hand and held herself aloft with one trembling arm. Jane was heaving below her, eyes giant and mouth open in an eternal hum of pleasure. Maura rewarded each moan Jane gave her with a deeper thrust. The other woman was breaking open, cleaving, severing from the world.

It wouldn’t do. Maura was not done with her. She crashed her lips against Jane’s in a hungry conflagration of teeth and tongue. For a moment Maura was heedless to the joining of their hips, the phallus working within Jane, and the pressure she was applying to Jane’s body. The kiss was all that mattered. The kiss would keep Jane here with her. The kiss would not allow this to end.

“Maura,” Jane whispered as she broke the kiss, and then sucked in a sharp breath as Maura drove into her again.

“Yes, Jane?” Maura said. Her volume surprised her; she had meant to whisper, but her voice came out in a shrill gasp instead. She did not want to break the moment. She did not want words to force their way in between them; there was no room for words here in this perfection. There was barely room for what Maura had.

“Maura, let me get on top,” Jane ground out.

Maura stilled herself, stunned. On top? Jane on top would mean an end to this incredible feeling of authority. It might also mean the end of the experience as a whole. Did Jane want this to end? She felt so good; Maura couldn’t imagine that she wanted this to stop. Then again, she had completely ignored Jane’s opinion on the matter of toys and had all but forced their current encounter. A flash of guilt scored her conscience.

Insistent fingers drew Maura’s hair away from her face. Jane looked up at her, breathing heavily, and raised an eyebrow.

“On top, Maura. Let me get on top. Come on,” she said again, then gave a sharp tug of Maura’s hair in the direction that she wanted her to move.

Maura smiled down at her. She loved when Jane did that. Jane knew it, too.

She waited for Jane to remove the limbs that were wound closely around her, then pulled out gently and sat up. She swung both legs around to the front of the bench and straightened her back. Jane laid still for a moment more, then lifted herself in a leonine roll of hips and shoulders. Lovely, Maura thought. Absolutely lovely and incredibly arousing.

Jane stood and set her hands on Maura’s shoulders. She looked down at Maura, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, eyes twinkling darkly.

“You’re not angry with me?” Maura questioned.

“No,” Jane said, shaking her head. “Not angry at all.” The smile fully reached her eyes this time.

“How are you feeling, then?” Maura said. She hoped that her fear was not as outwardly evident as she felt it was. Moments ago she had been wholly sure of herself and of her status with Jane. She had known Jane wanted her, wanted this – but that had been when she was on top and in control.

Jane pushed Maura’s hair behind her ear and bent to put their cheeks together, her left to Maura’s right. She stood that way for a moment, just breathing. Maura wasn’t sure about Jane’s motives. She didn’t know what to expect and felt her cheeks flush in the confusion of waiting. When Jane finally spoke, Maura felt relief burst through her like a flash of sunlight through a fog.

“Turned on, Maura,” Jane said in her trademark husk. “I’m feeling turned on.” Maura shivered at the words, her fear melting with the warm breath washing over her neck.

Then, to Maura’s everlasting surprise and glee, Jane propelled her back against the piano, climbed into her lap, and lowered herself onto the phallus.

While Jane sat heavily on her lap, adjusting to the new feeling, Maura catalogued the muscles of her back that would sport ugly bruises tomorrow. The keys bit mercilessly into her back: serratus anterior, erector spinae, serratus posterior inferior, not to mention sore spinous processes on thoracics 11 and 12, and probably lumbar 1. She only had a moment to think before logic was banished and Jane began moving again.

A rare thing occurred: Maura was proven wrong. Her back striking the piano keys did not jar her in the least, though she expected that it would; her eyes and hands were locked on Jane and no sound could draw her out of that. Jane was the only thing that mattered in this swiftly shrinking world of hers. Her blood sang with the notes, filling her up, putting her together in an intricate ensemble of sound and desire and Jane.

The lean woman rose deliberately on her shins, drawing up the length of the shaft, retreating from the closeness of Maura. Yes, there was the sway and dip, Maura observed as Jane lowered her body to rest on her hips. Dark hair swam out and encompassed the two of them in a curtain of want; through the locks Jane caught Maura’s eye and held it before lowering herself once more.

A steady sound was growing within Jane. Maura could feel the vibration of it all the way down to the buttocks that shifted profoundly against her lap. The quick exhalations of breath escaping Jane weren’t meant to incite arousal – it was another involuntary response, Maura knew – but they served the purpose nonetheless. Electrifying noises above her, razor–sharp noises behind; Maura was surrounded by a surging symphony of D flats and Jane’s sighs and groans.

“Jane,” Maura whispered, overcome with desire. She couldn’t stand it. Jane was too beautiful in this moment, too much herself. She was too much all of the things that Maura wanted in life.

She placed her hands in the dip between Jane’s hip bones and her thighs, resting her thumbs in the creases she found there, and drew Jane’s pelvis roughly against her own. Maura could move her own hips very little, but she could manipulate Jane’s body in a way that would simulate the movements that she would perform if she were able.

The piercing “Oh!” that erupted from Jane was divine. She continued to drive and retreat rhythmically against Maura and, contented with the pace, Maura took a moment to admire the swells of small breasts before her. Jane’s athletic build allowed very little body fat to cling to her and so, unlike Maura’s full figure, Jane’s was defined only by slight variations of cushion over her bones. Still, Maura loved her breasts, just large enough to fill her petite hands. She prized the sounds that she could elicit with just a wet brush of her tongue up the underside, or what a sharp tug of a nipple could do.

The thought broke her composure and Maura couldn’t resist any longer: she leaned into Jane’s chest and took a dusky nipple between her teeth. She bit down hard enough to leave a mark but not so hard as to distract Jane from her beat, though she was pleased with the other woman’s instinctive wrench back. After a few cursory swipes of her tongue she released the breast and leaned back against the keys once more to watch the woman on top of her.

Jane threw her head back and moved impossibly faster. Maura did her best to ignore the sharp fingers kneading her shoulders; she was grateful that Jane found purchase there rather than the piano behind her. She wanted to feel the pulsing of Jane everywhere: in her hands, in the thighs tightening and releasing against her own, in the mouth that momentarily swooped down to kiss her own before returning to its skyward calling.

She watched the orgasm rip through Jane, felt it radiate up her long body and could almost snatch from the air the moan that escaped through her open throat. At once Jane was urgently pressed against her everywhere, clutching Maura’s head to her chest, flattening Maura’s breasts against her stomach, wrapping thighs tight around Maura’s hips. Maura listened to Jane’s stalwart heart pushing blood through her tremulous body. She loved the sound more than any other she’d heard that night.

“Maura, that was…” Jane said when she was able. She loosened her vice grip on Maura’s head and shivered, then took a deep breath and continued, “That was…”

“Remarkable?” Maura offered. She smiled into Jane’s chest. “Wondrous? Awe–inspiring?”

Jane leaned back and eyed her suspiciously. “I was going to say ‘beautiful.’ But yeah, all of those things, too.”

“You’re beautiful, Jane,” Maura blurted seriously, then raised a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. She squirmed on the seat of the bench without thinking and was bewildered when Jane let out a squeak and clamped her legs against Maura’s hips painfully.

“Don’t move! Still sensitive,” Jane gasped.

Maura continued to hold a hand over her mouth, unsure of what to do next. She wanted to ask Jane to touch her, to feel how aroused she was – to see how Jane’s beauty affected her. Speaking it aloud, though, would split the sated air surrounding them. It had to be an unrefined moment, come to freely and without process.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” Jane said softly and completely lacking conviction. So unlike her, Maura thought. Jane pulled Maura’s hand away from her face, brought it to her own, and kissed her fingers.

Maura made up her mind. It always had to be action with Jane, never words. Words were never enough.

She snuck her free hand behind Jane and beneath her backside, then between her own thighs. Maura ran her fingers purposefully along the gracilis muscle, skipping over straps and into her own heat. Jane’s eyes never left hers.

When Maura withdrew her hand, slick with her own wetness, she held it in front of Jane’s face. It was not her most perfect presentation of evidence, she knew, but she was somewhat confident that the look on Jane’s face conveyed understanding.

“Yes, Jane. I really do think you’re beautiful,” Maura said, a smile breaking through the seriousness of the moment. Jane wrapped her fingers around the wrist in front of her, moved Maura’s hand aside, and kissed her soundly.

* * * * *

The note on the door the next morning read, “Congratulations to you both!”

~ ~ ~