As we inch towards the Mentalist and NCIS: LA season premiere, and the release of Taylor Swift's Speak Now . . . how amazing was the Gossip Girl season premiere, though? And Inception.

your string of lights is still bright to me. wasn't it beautiful, when you believed in everything. and everybody believed in you. wasn't it easier, in your firefly-catching days.
before the monsters caught up to you. (Innocent, Taylor Swift)
DYSPNEA

Patrick dreams.

"Talk to me." Does she have to? Yes. This is Patrick; Patrick dreams. Patrick dreams in blue-green, wonder-eyed, cinnamon-lipped Lisbon and tea in Lisbon's favourite mug (Black, with a great big green FRIDAY splashed across the front). "Don't fall asleep, woman. I'll crash the car."

Patrick dreams; Lisbon never wakes up when she falls asleep. (I'llalwaysbehereforyou,LisbonbreathIneedyoutoknowthat)

"Do you know my favourite colour, Lisbon?" She is signing paperwork, which means he doesn't deserve a response. "Mint green, or burgundy. But you, Lisbon dear, you could become my new favourite colour." He worries about her. It's late and the right side of her bottom lip is slightly bruised from where she has been biting it. (This is Lisbon, she is too world-weary for her bright green eyes and too betrayed to be as sweet as she truly is. Lisbon dreams too, and in her dreams Jane doesn't suffocate her.)

Jane ushers her into his car, stands close and drowns her in him.

Jane never hurts her. He holds her so gently that it strangles her, and she sometimes (always) wishes that he would push her against the kitchen counter and fuck her (passionately) like she knows he wants to.

But he teases the skin of her collarbone, smiles against her cheek when she leaves stinging (burgundy) trails down his spine. (She's drowning in him.) He kisses her shoulder and touches the inside of her thighs, is slow and careful and infuriatingly gentle when he lifts the chain of her cross over her head, like he isn't to himself when he rips his shirt off. His hips press softly against hers and her body is in ecstasy, but More, Jane . . . just, more. I want all of you.

The resulting tingle is still trailing through her toes when he rolls over, careful not to press down on her with the weight of his body.

And tomorrow morning after he smiles, kisses her (too fucking!) gently, suffocates her and tells her he'll see her at work, she'll cry in the shower because he won't be here to try and fix her. (And this is the monster: She doesn't need a protector in him, she isn't weak.)

"Good morning, dear." He smiles, steers her discreetly around two agents demonstrating a wrestling move they saw last night, smiles conspiringly at her: "Again."

Next post will be better, longer, and hopefully happier, promise. Just wanted to get back into things after having taken a short two weekish break from fanfiction.