"Uh, I hope I didn't . . . you know." Jane stroked Maura's hair lightly in the place she'd pulled on it without realizing.

Maura grinned. "Hurt me?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Jane mumbled, casting her eyes away.

"No, it fell within the range of pain I find enjoyable," Maura replied matter-of-factly.

"Okay, good, I was—wait, what? You . . . like that stuff?"

Maura sighed. Her fingertips brushed across Jane's side, causing an involuntary deep groan. She smiled. "Studies have shown some kinds of otherwise-unpleasant physical stimuli can enhance feelings of pleasure during sex," she said. "The most common being hair pulling, followed by biting, light corporal punishment—"

"Okay," Jane interrupted quickly. "I get it. And you . . . you like it?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, though Maura could sense an undercurrent of discomfort.

"Does that bother you?" she asked, trying to conceal a sudden slight discomfort of her own. Her fingers paused in their topographical assessment of Jane's body. "It's not unusual, statistically, and I'd say my own enjoyment of it could be classified as . . . well, normal, I guess."

"No," Jane said, touching Maura's cheek. "No, it doesn't bother me. It's just . . . I dunno. Not something I would have expected."

"Jane, my tongue has been in your vagina for the past forty-five minutes. Is that what you expected when you got up this morning?"

"Maura!" Jane blushed furiously, then shivered as Maura's hand resumed its lazy explorations.

"What? Is that not true?"

"It's true," Jane managed, a little more huskily than she'd intended. The sound of her own excitement made her blush even more pronounced. She cleared her throat. "This is all a little surreal," she said.

"Is it bad?" An edge of worry crept into Maura's voice, furrowed her brow.

"No!" Jane cried. Maura smiled widely. "It's good. It's . . . uh, really good."

"Good," Maura whispered, closing her eyes. She continued to work her fingertips over every inch of Jane's skin that she could reach, drawing slow spirals across her hips, long, smooth strokes over her belly. Jane's breathing quickened. She bit her lip as Maura pressed closer to her, lips resting lightly on her neck. "I agree." The soft vibration of the words against Jane's skin made her groan. Maura smiled again and slipped her hand between Jane's legs. Her touch was light, deft, extraordinarily effective.

"Code 1," Jane whispered through gritted teeth. "Vehicle maintenance. Code 2. Radio maintenance and repair. Code th—code three—ahhh . . ."

Maura pulled back abruptly, not removing her hand. "What are you doing?"

Jane's eyes snapped open. "Oh. Uh."

"Well?" Maura stared at her expectantly. When Jane didn't answer, she raised her eyebrows. "Are you reciting police code?"

Jane didn't understand how it was possible for a blush to extend to the air around a person, but there it was, radiating off her, practically visible. "Yes," she mumbled finally.

"You recite police code in bed? Is this a usual part of your routine?" She eyed Jane with a hint of mirth. "Because I am familiar with a bit of that myself."

"You know," Jane gasped after a pause resolved only by Maura's expectantly-twitching fingers. "To prolong the magic."

"I see," Maura nodded. "Well, the female sexual organs are much more resilient than the male. When undertaken properly, a woman's sexual experience can last . . . oh, hours."

"Resilient organs, Maura? Really?" Jane tried to roll her eyes but was cut short by a soft nip on her shoulder. She looked incredulously at Maura, who returned her shocked expression with a mocking playfulness.

"I just offered to make you orgasm for hours, Jane, and you're focusing on terminology?"

"That's a very good point," Jane said, trying to keep her breath even despite Maura's expert attentions. "So you know something about the proper undertaking of a woman's sexual experience?"

"Hmm?" Maura murmured, not lifting her head from where it had landed on Jane's breast. Jane shuddered as Maura's tongue darted across her skin. She jerked as Maura lightly grazed her nipple, her hips thrusting involuntarily against Maura's hand.

"You've . . . you've done this before?" Jane's breath was ragged. Her body had begun moving of its own accord, unconsciously sliding against Maura's, her hands reaching out to touch her face, her hair, her soft skin. "With women?"

"Mm-hmm."

"When?" Jane hadn't wanted to sound so surprised, but Maura's fingers sliding into her gave the word a life of its own.

Maura sighed, lifting her head from Jane's breast. "I did go to an all-girls boarding school, Jane," she reminded her.

"Oh," Jane breathed, squirming a bit as Maura's fingers pushed deeper. "I thought that was just something people said."

"There's often some validation to be found in even the most lurid of clichés," Maura replied. "It wasn't like a pulp novel, but when in Rome . . ."

"I thought you were in France," Jane said, immediately cursing herself and her ingrained impulse to clarify. Just shut up, Rizzoli, and let her touch you.

"Jane," Maura said half-impatiently, pulling away from her. Jane gave a slightly petulant moan as Maura's fingers withdrew from her body. "You are in my bed, with me, naked, having already experienced more than one orgasm—yes?"

"Uh-huh," Jane nodded, unable to stop the bashful, lopsided grin from spreading across her face.

"—and you want to talk about where I went to boarding school?"

"No," Jane nearly whimpered, running her hand over the smooth curve of Maura's waist and hip, trying to pull Maura closer to her.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" Maura's tone was high, sweet, a touch of wickedness in it as she caught Jane's hand and raised it to her mouth, sucking lightly on each of Jane's fingertips in turn. She widened her eyes innocently, batting her lashes as her tongue flicked over the ridges of Jane's thumb.

"Maybe talking is overrated," Jane finally managed to choke out.

"Maybe," Maura agreed. "I can think of better uses for both our mouths, can't you?"

A/N: Okay so it has been YEARS since I last wrote any fic, and this is a completely different genre, subject, style, and . . . basically everything than I have been known for in the past, so hey, let's all love our OTPs, be they crazy-ass witches or butch detectives and the femme your femme could femme like. LADY PARTY GO!