Author's Note: So because I'm sick of all the angst between these two on the show, I decided a fluff piece was in order. So it's set sometimes in the future, post-Red John. It was meant to be a drabble, but, um… I got kind of carried away again haha. I seem unable to write anything less than 5,000 words these days. I've never written a humor piece before, I don't know how well the humor came out… so let me know please! And I'm not sure about the rating–I don't think it's quite M, but if anyone feels uncomfortable I can always move it up that. Please review! They make my day. :)

Lisbon was high.

Full on stumbling, flushed, giggling high.

Giggling. Giggling!

Jane hadn't ever thought Lisbon even could giggle, let alone heard her do it, and now she couldn't seem to stop. It was a much higher pitched, softer cadence than her normal throaty voice, and entirely at odds with the image of herself she usually portrayed. As were the lidded eyes and gaping, foolish grin that had replaced her daily scowl.

Seeing her like this was so strange that he couldn't fully wrap his head around it.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" yelled a man angrily outside Jane's window, his enraged voice accompanied by a tinkly bell, and Jane tore his bemused gaze from Lisbon's face to see that he had nearly run over a fat man on a bike.

Oops.

Lisbon's dying giggles erupted into renewed hysterics at the near murder, and Jane muttered an apology under his breath. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he carefully checked his rearview mirror before making a left turn.

It was hard to focus on driving when Lisbon was struggling to catch her breath through now soundless, wheezing laughter. Her hands were clutching her stomach tightly, and her eyes were squinted shut, a few tears leaking out of the corner. Jane would have thought her to be in pain if not for the astounding grin that had taken over her entire face.

"I - I told you that this contraption would wind up ki-killing somebody - someday," she wheezed between guffaws.

Jane chanced a quick glance to his right to see her fanning her face with one hand, and covering her mouth with the other, trying in vain to stop her laughter. She was practically choking now; Jane couldn't tell whether he was more amused or worried.

"Breathe, Lisbon," he said calmly.

He kept his eyes on the road, reached out blindly with his right hand until it met her forehead, and lay his palm against the skin. She was hot, unnaturally, incredibly hot, and Jane decided worry was definitely taking the lead over amusement.

Until she grabbed his hand with her own and tried to bite his fingers.

Jane felt her teeth softly nick his index finger and unexpectedly let out his own startled laugh. She actually growled - growled! - and tried again, tugging his hand closer as he reflexively tried to pull it away.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, a startled grin on his face even as he kept his eyes on the car in front of him. "No biting!"

He managed to reclaim his hand; she let out a pitiful little whine like a dog, then burst into giggles again at the sound of herself. She rocked forwards with the force of her laughter and most likely would have hit her head against the dashboard if not for the seatbelt keeping her upright.

Jane let out a sigh as he pulled up in front of her building, and slowed to a stop before killing the engine. By the time he had unbuckled himself and walked around to her side of the car, she had ceased giggling and was staring at the misted window with an intensely concentrated expression on her face. Her tongue was actually poking out slightly at the corner of her lips, and she frowned as she tried to focus through glazed, half-lidded eyes.

Jane watched her silently as she raised a finger up to the glass and traced her finger through the condensation.

A wonky circle… a wobbly line… A very shabby stick figure.

Jane quirked the corner of his mouth up. Even his daughter had had more artistic ability than that. But she drew her finger back and regarded her masterpiece with a proud, lopsided smile, until Jane took the initiative and opened the door for her.

"Come on," he coaxed, "time to go inside."

She let out a dramatic sigh and fumbled with the buckle on her seatbelt, her uncoordinated fingers failing to press down the button. He stifled a grin and reached across her, moving her fingers out of the way so he could press the release for her. There was a quiet click and he started to pull back, then stilled as he felt her nose brushing against his neck, nuzzling the skin behind his ear.

"Hmmm," she hummed, drawing in a quiet breath.

Jane froze, not quite sure what to do. Was she… was she sniffing him?

Well. This was unexpected.

Jane had never had to deal with surprise contact from Lisbon - if anything, she tended to avoid any sort of physical contact with him at all.

She was… way too close. His finger twitched against the seatbelt and he swallowed uneasily, before clearing his throat.

"Come on, Lisbon," he coaxed, forcing joviality and confidence into his voice, "let's go."

He retreated back out of the car, and she let her head fall back against the headrest, her eyes closed.

"Hmmm," she repeated, but this time she sounded disappointed.

Jane shifted his feet awkwardly, waiting by the door. He was inexplicably nervous about touching her now, though he didn't want to dwell on why.

"Lisbon," he repeated, slightly more anxiously.

"Yeah?" she murmured drowsily, eyes still closed.

She seemed to be on the verge of passing out, and Jane couldn't have that. Pushing all unwanted thoughts from his mind, he placed his hand on her elbow and started to gently pull her out of her seat, murmuring encouragement until she gave in and stood up outside the car. Jane let go with one hand to lock the door, then quickly placed it on the small of her back as she started to sway dizzily.

"Come on, let's get you home."

He guided her to her front door and unlocked it for her, then led them both inside and closed it behind them. The sound of the closing door was like sealing fate, and Jane gulped. He was uncharacteristically nervous and unsure of what to do. He did not want to be alone in Lisbon's house, with no one to stand as a distraction or buffer.

"Okay, why don't you sit down," he suggested, leading her slowly to a chair and pressing her shoulder down until she caved in.

He made sure she was stable, then searched through her cupboards for an empty glass, filled it with tap water, and placed it in her hand, curling her fingers around it to make sure she was holding on.

"Take a drink," he said, and waited until she obediently took a few sips.

She brought the glass down slowly when she was done, then let her arm fall to her side and let her grip slacken; the glass slipped from her fingers and would have smashed on the floor if Jane had not managed to catch it at the last second.

Startled, he reflexively wiped the spilled water off of his jacket. He was soaked.

"Woah, okay," he exclaimed, half muttering to himself and half reassuring her.

He stood up by her chair and frowned worriedly as he got a closer look at her. She seemed to have passed out of her giggling stage, and was now just swaying slightly in her chair, utterly quiet with a concentrated look on her face, as if she was trying and failing to make her vision focus. She scrunched her eyes shut and roughly rubbed her fingers across her eyelids, letting out a soft sound.

"Lisbon?" Jane called, and moved to stand in front of her, placing his hands on the armrests and leaning forwards to look her directly in the face. "Are you okay?"

She lowered her hands and opened her eyes, but they seemed to be focusing on something behind him. Her pupils were heavily dilated, and her mouth was gaping open slightly, a blank look on her face. She didn't seem to have heard him at all. Jane waved a hand in front of her eyes, then leaned closer at her lack of reaction.

He placed his hand on her forehead, then nearly recoiled at the heat. Woah, okay, not good. She was burning up, so hot that he worried for her health. He didn't know what to do. The others had assured him she would be fine, she just needed to get to bed, but this… was not fine. He wondered if he should take her to the hospital, despite knowing she would get into a lot of trouble.

"'M hot," she murmured.

Her head dropped to her shoulder and her eyes slid shut.

Jane panicked.

What was he meant to do?

She wouldn't want to be taken to the hospital. If anyone found out she had broken into a suspect's home without a search warrant (damn him and his refusal to obey the rules), she would be in deep trouble. Hightower would not be happy with Lisbon, to say the least. And Lisbon would not be happy with him.

Okay, no hospital.

"Mmm," she whimpered uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of her shirt as if wanting to pull it off.

Jane panicked more.

How was he supposed to cool her down?

"Okay, okay, let's go… let's go take a cold shower, hmm? Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"

"Hmm," she mumbled incoherently.

He tugged on her hand until she stood up, then placed his other one on the small of her back to guide her up the stairs. She stumbled and he automatically shifted until he was holding her more securely around the waist. She giggled breathily and hid half of her face in his chest, the other half obscured by her dark hair. He wondered if she was trying to hide a blush.

Then he wondered if she was even consciously aware of what she was doing. He doubted it.

He quickly found her bathroom, and sat her on the toilet as he turned the shower on. He checked the temperature–cold, but not icy–and turned around to find she had taken her shirt off.

He froze.

Okay, maybe he couldn't deal with this.

No, he was being ridiculous. Of course he could. It wasn't like she was completely naked. She still had her bra on. And he was a grown man, for God's sake, not a hormonal teenager. He could deal with seeing his boss in her underwear.

"'M so hot," she whimpered uncomfortably, her eyes clenched shut.

"I know," he soothed. "Come here. Take off your pants."

She did so, fumbling, clumsy. It was perhaps the least erotic way he had ever seen anyone remove an article of clothing, and he almost wanted to laugh.

Except then she was standing before him in nothing but her bra and panties, and suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. He was feeling a little hot himself, actually. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, and swallowed nervously.

Right. He could do this.

"Okay, come on, get in the shower," he coaxed, and placed a hand on the small of her–naked!–back to guide her there. As soon as she stepped under the spray of water her body seemed to relax. She tilted her face into the water and closed her eyes in contentment, letting out a little moan. Jane's fingers tensed on her skin, and he pulled back his hand uneasily.

Oh, this was dangerous.

"Feels good," she mumbled quietly, as if to herself, and Jane hid a smile.

His smile disappeared completely when her body went limp and she half collapsed against the shower wall.

"Woah! Okay!" he exclaimed, startled, and automatically stepped in to right her.

He was immediately drenched–and wow that water was icy–but he hardly paid any attention to it. He grasped Lisbon's upper arms and pulled her so she was standing upright again. She giggled breathlessly, once, and Jane's fingers clenched around her skin.

"I–I need to sit down," she breathed.

"Okay, okay, come on."

He slowly pulled her down with him, until he was sitting with his back against she shower wall. She sprawled against him, her naked back against his chest, her legs splayed out in front of her, and Jane hesitated, wondering where he should put his hands. He let them rest against her shoulders nervously. Shoulders were safe, right?

She wiggled slightly against him, trying to get comfortable, and Jane was suddenly very glad that the water was ice cold.

"Lisbon," he bit out tensely. Stop moving! he wanted to tell her. Instead, he said, more gently, "Just relax."

"'Mkay…"

She relaxed against him, letting more of her weight rest on him, and Jane tried very hard not to think about how good it felt. He focused on the cold, instead, on the goosebumps lining his skin under his suit.

His drenched, ruined suit, he realized.

Damn.

Eventually, her body temperature cooled down until her skin felt relatively normal; he placed his hand on her wet forehead just to check.

"Feel better?" he asked softly.

"Mmhmm…"

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and Jane grit his teeth when her breath ghosted over his neck, unable to contain the spark of arousal.

"Patrick Jane…" she murmured dreamily, dopily, and Jane grinned despite himself.

"Yes, that's me."

"Hey," she slurred, "you know what your initials spell?"

She giggled once, softly, and Jane raised his eyebrows in amusement. He tried to think. Patrick Jane… P.J.… PJs…

"Pajamas?" he questioned incredulously, with a huge, amused grin, and she snorted.

"Uh huh."

Her body writhed against his when she laughed, and Jane decided pajamas were an excellent idea right now. Anything to get her out of the shower and cover up all that skin–he didn't know how much longer his self-control could last.

Why hadn't he made Grace do this?

Right, because he was a glutton for self-punishment.

"I think pajamas are a great idea, hmm?" he suggested, his voice tense and strained. "Let's get you out of here…"

"Okay…"

She sighed in disappointment, but obediently sat forward while he stood up. He left her on the shower floor while he dashed to her bedroom and searched through her closet, returning with men's sweatpants and a large t-shirt (her brother's, he convinced himself sourly) for himself, and her pajamas. Which consisted of whatever article of clothing he found lying on her bed.

It was only after he was trying to put it on her that he realized it was just a jersey.

A Chicago Bears jersey.

That barely reached her thighs.

He groaned aloud.

"Hmm?" she questioned sleepily.

"Nothing, nothing."

He pulled her second arm through the sleeve, then spun her around and gently marched her to her bedroom. She didn't protest. If anything, she seemed asleep on her feet already. He figured this was his chance to escape. He could sit in a chair–far away from her–and just watch over her to make sure she didn't stop breathing in her sleep.

Except when he sat her down on her bed, she didn't let go. She leant backwards and rested her head on the pillow, smiling dreamily, and pulled Jane along with her, until he was hovering over her form, resting his weight on one hand while she clutched the other. He held his breath.

"Um, Lisbon?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping…" she murmured.

He tried to tug his hand out of her grasp, but she had a remarkably strong hold.

"Yes, well, I kind of need my hand back…"

"Stay," she murmured sleepily, already drifting off.

"Uhh…"

He was sure he looked like deer caught in the headlights. He was also sure that was the least of his worries right now.

Did she really have no idea how tempting she was?

He froze, hovering over her, trying to make a rational decision. She still hadn't let go. So, really, he was obligated to stay, wasn't he?

No, he couldn't. She was inebriated. He was taking advantage.

But he wanted to stay.

She was his boss.

He really wanted to stay.

She was wearing nothing but a jersey and panties.

He really, really wanted to stay.

Screw it.

He lay down next to her, carefully, cautiously, on top of the covers, with his back straight and his arms hanging down by his sides. This was okay. This was safe. This was reasonable. After all, he had been planning on sitting by her bed anyway, to look after her. Surely he could do that while lying down?

She muttered something incoherent, then turned on her side and curled into him. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her bare thigh draped over his hips, and Jane stopped breathing.

Okay, maybe not so safe.

He scooted slightly away, and turned cautiously on his side to face her. She made a sound of protest and edged closer to him, closer, closer, until they were practically touching, face to face, and Jane was paralyzed. She curled into his chest and draped her leg over him again, and Jane wanted to hit himself in the head with a blunt object.

He eyed the naked skin of her thigh warily (and eagerly).

It was so tempting.

So dangerous.

Stupid, damned jersey.

Stupid pajamas.

If it wasn't for those damned pajamas, he would be perfectly okay right now, instead of clinging on to the last shreds of his self-control.

He felt a light, warm pressure against his neck, and realized dazedly that Lisbon was kissing him. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. He had a sudden image of flipping her onto her back and kissing her neck, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Not good.

Then suddenly that same soft pressure was against his lips, light and warm and cinnamon-y, and he swore his heart stopped. He went stock-still, rigid, hardly daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, his entire body tensed. His entire body thrumming.

Lisbon–was–kissing–him–!

Before he had time to react–before he had time to consider how he even would or should react–she was pulling back. The next thing he knew, she was stumbling off the bed, and making her way clumsily to the bathroom; the sound of vomiting helped him gain control of himself before he went to check on her.

"Lisbon?" he called softly.

She was kneeling by the toilet, bracing herself over the bowl, her body shaking and heaving as she threw up the contents of her stomach.

Well, better out than in, he supposed. Especially considering the experimental drug in her system.

He crouched down behind her, and carefully, tenderly pulled her wet hair back, holding it away from her face. He gathered it in one hand and used his other to rub her back soothingly.

And those damn bare legs were still taunting him.

"I know that most girls who've kissed me had a strong visceral reaction," he commented nonchalantly, "but I think you're the first to throw up from it."

"Bleurgh," replied Lisbon.

"I'm almost insulted, really," he continued. "Was it that awful?"

"Bleeeeuuuurghhh," she repeated from low in her throat, accompanied by chunks of vomit hitting the toilet bowl.

"Right."

When finally she had nothing left to regurgitate, he helped her stand up and make her way to the sink, watching as she gargled with mouthwash. He then guided her back to the bed, and this time he had no trouble lying down next to her. In fact, when she automatically curled into him again, he curled right back into her, tangling their legs together and tucking her head under his chin.

"Go to sleep," he whispered.

"'Mkay…"

Within seconds, she was out like a light.

He smiled fondly, and tightened his hold around her, clenching his hands in the material of her jersey.

That stupid, damn jersey.

Stupid pajamas.

Honestly, he sort of loved them.

Kind of like how he loved her–

His mind instinctively recoiled from that though, like it had done so many times in the past. It tried to automatically focus on something else, anything else, but this time Jane noticed his subconscious reaction, and he frowned. For the first time, he deliberately went right back to the original dangerous thought, and refused to let his mind trick him into ignoring it again.

He loved her–

His mind immediately rebelled, trying to escape from the thought. He held it in place, refusing to be swayed by his own conscious.

He loved her.

There. He had admitted it.

He waited for the fireworks and blasts and deep emotional upheaval to hit. He waited for his world to come crashing down.

Except… well, he didn't feel any different really. Huh.

He shrugged mentally. Eh, he should have expect this all along. She was sneaky that way, managing to crawl under his subconscious and slowly change his entire world without him even noticing. And, really, it was so obvious now. Of course he loved her. Why the hell had it taken him this long to acknowledge it?

He had taken his ring off as soon as they had caught Red John; his past was no longer an issue, and hadn't been for a while.

And he knew Lisbon was somewhat in love with him too. Oh, sure, she was pretty good at hiding it, but she had always been translucent to him.

So why was he still stalling?

Well, that was just stupid, really. No more stalling, he decided firmly. Those stupid pajamas had set everything in motion, and now he was determined to help things run their course, even if she put up a fight. He would convince her, in the end. They had wasted enough time, and he was adamant they wouldn't waste anymore.

He mentally patted himself on the back, and physically pulled her even closer, tangling his fingers in her jersey and breathing her in until she became a part of him, just like he now knew she always would be.

He couldn't wait till she woke up.

The first thing she became aware of was a pounding in her head, like steel drums banging against her skull. In response, her eyes clenched shut even more in an attempt to block out the pain. Eventually, it faded to a dull, muted throb, faint enough that she could begin to think clearly.

What the hell had happened?

She remembered throwing up.

She remembered… a cold shower?

"Let's go take a cold shower, hmm? Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"

She shook her head to get rid of the voice.

Why on earth would she have taken a cold shower?

She tried to concentrate, tried to think past her confusion, tried to break through the fog in her memories.

She remembered Jane convincing her to break into a suspect's house without a warrant–damn the man. What had she been thinking? She knew better than to trust Jane.

She remembered… she remembered the suspect was there. She remembered calling Cho for backup before rounding the corner–straight into the suspect. Who had injected her with… something. The experimental drug he had been working on. Not the one that had killed the victim, she had quickly realized, but another one. The one he had injected the victim's sister with. She remembered the needle piercing her skin, a sharp pain as the drug entered her bloodstream… and after that, things became a little bit foggier.

She remembered giggling. Lots of giggling. And heat.

And… Jane?

Had Jane taken her home?

… had she kissed Jane?

Oh, God, she had. She remembered that pretty clearly. How mortifying. She was blushing red as a tomato now, she could feel it. He was never going to let her live that down. What had she been thinking?

She hadn't been, that was clear. And she would make sure to tell him that, the next time she saw him.

… which, as she became aware of the arm draped around her waist, she realized might be a lot sooner than she was expecting.

Oh, God.

She didn't want to turn around.

Someone was pressing up against her back, curling into her, a hand draped casually over her hips… and it was moving. The fingers were lightly, softly, faintly ghosting over her body, trailing up her–bare! she cringed–thigh, over her hip, along the dip in her waist… down her stomach, then further down her navel, down, down–

She placed her own hand over his to stop the dangerous path, steeled herself, and slowly rolled over so she was facing him. His hand came to rest on the curve of her hip, cupping it gently, and she forced herself to look him in the eye.

He was awake, and grinning like a Cheshire cat that had won the lottery, his light eyes sparkling–sparkling! she thought sourly, who the hell had eyes that actually sparkled?–with mischief.

She was too embarrassed to say anything. Childishly, she decided to wait for him to speak first.

Except… he didn't.

Silently, with his eyes trained on her and a smirk on his face, he let his hand trail tenderly up her hip towards her waist, then up her torso, across her shoulder, until he was gently cupped her neck.

She swallowed uneasily.

His fingers softly trailed down from her neck, ghosting across her collar bone, the lightest of touches.

She gulped.

Then they travelled even further down, barely touching her skin, almost intangible, until they stopped at the neckline of her jersey, and Lisbon was suddenly aware of just how good it felt. She couldn't contain the rush of pleasure that surged through her, nor her reaction to it.

Oh, God, how was she so turned on by such a simple action?

She let out a little breathless gasp, and suddenly Jane's mischievous smirk disappeared, replaced by an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

Slowly, deliberately, intentionally, he ghosted the tips of his fingers along the neckline of her jersey, just barely sliding under it, up to her shoulder, and Lisbon's body automatically arched forwards, seeking more. When he reached her shoulder he applied more pressure, using his whole hand, sensually sliding down her back then across to the front of her torso. He just barely brushed the underside of her breast, and Lisbon's eyes slid shut in pleasure.

Then he stopped moving completely.

Practically panting now, her eyes popped open to see what had made him pause.

As soon as their gazes met, his hand continued purposefully; and through the haze of pleasure, she glared at him. That bastard, he was going to force her to her watch as he unraveled her completely.

She was too far gone to care right now.

As his fingers made their way down her stomach, across her hip, down to her thigh, she was surprised by just how erotic this staring competition actually was.

His fingers played with the hem of her jersey, and she held still, silently pleading until they slipped under it completely. His hand made its way back up her body, now on her bare skin, and oh, God, this was a thousand times better. He trailed mindless patterns against her skin, slowly swirling higher and higher, tracing up her ribs, spiraling around her breast, and Lisbon stared at him with unfocused, hazy eyes.

He had barely touched her, and she was already straining for release.

How was he so good at this?

He barely brushed her nipple, and her breath caught in her throat. Jane's eyes darkened, the pupils dilating so much his irises were almost entirely black, then his hand trailed down, down, down…

Within minutes, she was nothing but a limp mass of satisfied pleasure.

She lay on her back, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath as Jane's fingers continued to idly trace random patterns against her hipbone. When she felt–slightly–more in control of herself, she rolled over to face him again, and could't help the slight smile that spread across her cheeks.

"What… was that?" she asked slowly.

He smiled back, shyly, and she was amused to see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. Patrick Jane was blushing? Well, this was one for the records. (Or, considering the nature of the incident, maybe it was better kept off the record, she thought hastily.)

"Uh, that was me responding to you kissing me… A little late," he added unnecessarily.

A hint of defiance colored her tone when she replied, trying (and failing) to mask her embarrassment and self-consciousness.

"You realize I wasn't thinking clearly when I kissed you."

"You realize you aren't meant to be thinking when you partake in actions such as these?" he shot back.

She simply stared at him–honestly, who used words like partake anymore?–for a long moment, before shaking her head and leaning closer.

They could talk later, she decided. Considering her actions and his response, she wasn't sure how much talking needed to actually be done in the first place. They had said all they needed to say with actions, words were just unnecessary.

And, right now, words were the least of her concerns.

She was facing what could potentially be the worst hangover in the history of mankind, and Patrick Jane seemed to be the only cure.

Well, there was only one way to remedy that.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she murmured.

And he did.

His lips were soft, warm, and very, very demanding, halfway between giving and taking. He tastes like tea, was her last thought, before her mind shut down and her body took over.

He rolled them over so he was hovering on top of her, barely touching her. Frustrated by the lack of contact, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, until he was almost crushing her, and the weight felt so heavenly she could hardly stand it. She pulled away from his kiss, and trailed her lips up his stubbled jaw, gently raking her teeth against his earlobe.

"Ungh," he grunted, and his hip jerked against hers, sending a spark of arousal thrumming through her entire body.

He kissed his way down her neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses, until he reached her collarbone, and Lisbon's eyes slid shut, rolling into the back of her head. His hands were on her bent knees now, palms tracing up her bare thighs, until he reached the hem of her jersey. He started to pull it up, slowly, infinitesimally slowly, teasing her, and she growled at him.

"Patience, woman," he murmured, grinning, and seriously, she just wanted to hit him right now.

Then he was pulling the sweater over her head, laying his mouth against her newly-exposed skin, and suddenly violence was the last thing on her mind. Panting slightly, she tangled her fingers in his hair, clenching, tugging, straining against him. She bucked her hips against his, and he hummed from low in his throat.

She slid her hands from his hair, down his neck, to his shoulders, caressing them, and belatedly realized he was still fully clothed. Well, that wouldn't do. He barely paused as she tugged his t-shirt up and over his head, and she started trying to pull his sweatpants down with her feet.

His palm slid hotly up her inner thigh, stopping just short of where she needed it, and she bit her lip in anticipation.

"Jane–" she breathed, frustrated when he didn't continue.

"Considering what we're currently up to, don't you think we should at least be using first names?" he mumbled against her stomach.

"Patrick," she tried hesitantly, then wrinkled her nose. "Sounds weird."

He laughed once, against her skin, and she could feel more than see him grinning.

She tugged on his arm, pulling him up, and then their mouths were too busy to talk. She flicked her tongue against his pulse point, and smiled when he let out a low groan. When she did it again, his eyes slid shut, his mouth gaping open with pleasure, and she watched him unabashedly. How was it possible that he was so ridiculously beautiful?

More importantly, how was it possible that he was so ridiculously good at what he was doing?

"I could say the same about you, you know," he murmured quietly against her neck.

Lisbon blinked, wondering how he knew what she had been thinking. Then he was sucking on her pulse point, and suddenly she wasn't wondering much of anything at all.

When they were divested of the last of their clothing, and Jane was hovering over her, staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch, she came back down to earth for a brief second. She was suddenly aware of just what they were doing, and the implications behind it; and if it kind of scared her, then how was he feeling?

Pausing him with a hand on his chest, she asked tentatively, "Are you sure about this?"

"I think it's a little late to stop now," he laughed, and there was a strained lilt to his voice as he held himself back.

"I'm serious."

But she was smiling.

"So am I," he shot back with a grin. "I'm sure," he replied more softly. "Are you?"

She regarded him for a long moment, judging him, trying to see past the mask, trusting him. Then she nodded once, and smiled slowly.

"Yeah, I am."

He smiled back, shyly again, and they didn't talk for a long, long time.

Later, much later, when they were finally settling down and going to sleep, Jane uncomfortably pulled a piece of cloth out from under his body, intending to throw it to the floor. He paused when he recognized Lisbon's jersey, and Lisbon watched with bewilderment as he smiled at it.

"Stupid pajamas," he said fondly.

Lisbon blinked, then decided she didn't want to know. She was sure there was a method to Jane's madness, but right now she had better things to focus on. Like kissing him.

The jersey lay discarded on the floor, where it would stay for a very, very long time.

Jane was sure the cartoon bear was smiling right at him.

He winked back.