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ladyriot · 8 days

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Right in the Kisser Rizzoli & Isles Rating: E Words: 4119

Blood pools in Jane’s mouth as she runs the tip of her tongue along her teeth, a quick and dirty inventory she repeats twice before hocking a glob of thick red spit onto the pavement. She holds up one bloody palm to halt the frantic approach of a wide-eyed Maura.

“I’m fine,” Jane gurgles. Her lips are lightly coated and there’s a faint mist of pink when Jane hits ‘f’ in ‘fine’ that belies her claim. Her mouth is watering or at least she hopes it is—she definitely wants all this wet to be a result of excess saliva production and not blood loss. She spits again, frowns at the new spot of streaky red on the pavement and wonders why the two fluids combine to be so much grosser than either one of them on their own. She keeps her face pointed at the ground but tilts her gaze to peer up at Maura.

The extent to which Maura doesn’t believe Jane’s claim of being fine is being broadcast silently across her features but she has nonetheless heeded to the red-smeared hand held up at her. She stands helplessly, still holding the bat, radiating guilt.

“It’s not your fault,” Jane says, and drools a little as she says it. She wipes the edge of her mouth with the back of her hand and winces as she inadvertently brushes against the cut in her lip.

It’s a little Maura’s fault.

It’s mostly Jane’s, at least 90%, but there’s a small portion of blame that can be laid at Maura’s feet, though Jane isn’t sure she’s ready to admit to her exactly why.

Their friendship is an affectionate one and always has been. Lately, it’s grown to become even more flirtatious and increasingly physical. They’ve both toed the line in the sand so much that it’s become impossible to tell where it had initially been drawn and today is another new twist.

A couple hours before now, Maura had skipped out of her house wearing an outfit so reminiscent of Jane’s high school gym uniform that it was virtually impossible Maura hadn’t researched it: royal blue track shorts with white piping down the sides and along the (very short) hem, paired with a worn-soft heather grey t-shirt, one that seemed unfairly threadbare considering Jane had never seen Maura wear it. It’s not like Maura’s regular exercise clothes leave a ton to the imagination, but something about swapping all that form-fitting lycra for baby soft cotton had Jane reeling from the jump.

Jane had done her best to return the favour once they got to the cages. She stood unnecessarily close when adjusting Maura’s form, let hands linger on her hips when showing her how to engage them in her swing, corrected Maura sharply when she didn’t follow instructions and praised her generously when she did. She could tell it was all getting to Maura. When, rather than just telling Maura to widen her stance, Jane had instead kicked her feet apart exactly as she would before patting down a perp, Maura had outright gasped.

Perversely, it had resulted in one of their most productive practice sessions yet. Whether it was all the flirtatious energy fueling it or just Maura’s stubborn refusal to be thrown off her game, she had been making considerable progress on perfecting her swing. Between loaded words and heavy looks the ball had really started to sing off Maura’s bat.

And then it’d happened. Jane had been loudly reminding Maura about relaxing her grip, shouting soft hands, soft hands as the pitching machine loaded the next ball into its little trebuchet, and Maura had fixed her eyes on Jane and said it:

“Yes, Coach.”

Jane’s brain had short-circuited right when Maura fouled off the pitch.

Now, with her hands and face streaked with red, Jane is very aware that her one saving grace is that she booked the two of them for these particular batting cages instead of the better ones further out of the city. She prefers that location by a lot, despite the traffic on the drive, because the machines there are loaded with real softballs and she can use her good bat. But today Maura wanted to get dinner in town afterwards so it just made sense to stay in the city, and thank goodness they did. If Jane had been hit in the mouth with a real softball she surely would have loosened several teeth. As it stands, the dense foam balls that fill the machines at this location succeeded only in mashing the soft flesh of her mouth hard against her teeth. The inside of her cheek feels a little like ground chuck and her lower lip is split open near the edge of her mouth. Against the backdrop of Maura’s vocal dismay, Jane gathers up a fistful of her shirt and presses it to her lip to stem the bleeding.

“Oh god, Jane, don’t use your shirt.” Guilt is quickly replaced by exasperation, as if Jane being unsanitary about her injury has absolved Maura of her responsibility in causing it. Maura looks around and then over her shoulder. “There’s a first aid kit here, just give me a moment.”

Jane grunts, pulling her shirt away from her mouth to get a sense of how badly she’s still bleeding. The fresh patch of red isn’t overly concerning. She feels the need to spit again and so she does, another pink streaked pile of saliva joining the others on the ground just outside their batting cage. It seems a little less bloody than the first two and Jane takes some solace in that.

Jane realizes Maura has been missing too long for a retrieval of the nearest first aid kid. She looks around and spots the gangly teenager standing awkwardly by the door to the little booth where they checked in. The young man had repeatedly warned Jane that the rules of the facility prohibited two people from being in the same batting cage and had loudly protested when she stepped out past the glaring red safety line. He relented only when she’d flashed her badge at him, despite Maura’s insistence that she was sure that the rules existed for good reason.

Rather than looking smug about how clearly right he was, the teen looks terrified that Jane will lash out at him for her somewhat self-induced injury. There’s an open first aid kit on the counter behind him, clearly abandoned there when Maura found it lacking. He’s holding an ice pack but won’t approach.

Good.

Maura finally reappears. She’s holding an actual factual medical bag—not her work bag for crime scenes but the one she keeps in her car in case she should encounter a medical emergency involving the still-living. Like right now. Jane spots a clean t-shirt folded over Maura’s arm as well. She has her very serious doctor face on and the combination of that with the medical bag and the bright blue gym shorts would almost be funny if it weren’t instead absurdly hot. Maura exchanges a few quiet words with the terrified employee, takes the ice pack from him, then makes a beckoning gesture at Jane. The memory runs through Jane’s head again.

Yes, Coach.

Jane heaves herself up back to a standing position and trudges over towards Maura. Wordlessly, Maura hands Jane the ice pack then starts walking, and Jane presses it gingerly to her face. She follows after Maura, eyes falling down to those shorts again as she trails her into the ladies change room. Maura turns around just in time to catch Jane’s eyes making the return trip to eye level. Maura raises one eyebrow sky high. Yes, Coach.

Jane swallows hard, opens her mouth to explain herself (how is she going to explain herself?) but she gets distracted when she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror over the sink. She blinks, drifts a few steps closer to the mirror and pulls away the ice pack to get a better look. While it’s quite dramatic, with blood both still wet and already dry, it’s not actually as bad as she thought it would be. She was expecting her face to be swollen or badly bruised and it’s not especially either. There’s definitely a faint, developing bruise along her cheek and her lip is a bit puffy but it’s altogether fairly tame. She feels a firm nudge against her arm and looks down to find the butt-end of a water bottle pressing against her bicep then back up to see Maura’s expectant face.

Yes, Coach.

“Rinse out your mouth, please.” Maura is still in doctor mode and using her doctor voice. It’s very clinical and no-nonsense and it shouldn't make Jane feel the way she does but it does and it has been. For years now.

When Jane takes the bottle and frees up her hand, Maura washes her hands in the other sink. Jane slowly unscrews the cap of her water bottle as she watches Maura’s reflection in the mirror and when Maura looks up, they lock eyes. Lately the escalation of their obvious chemistry has involved playing some kind of eye contact-based game of chicken and Jane has mostly been winning but not this time; Maura stares back with such confidence that Jane can feel her ears grow warm. She quickly looks down at her water bottle, ripping off the flimsy label like it might somehow interfere with her ability to use it. Maura makes a small, satisfied noise then busies herself with pulling what she needs out of her bag.

Jane brings the bottle to her lips and fills her mouth with water. She swishes it around with a sharp wince—blowing out her cheeks causes a dull stab of pain on the injured side of her face. She spits into the sink, making a yeugh noise when she sees the peachy-pink colour of the water. It looks like the liquid inside of a package of raw chicken breast. She does it again, less painful and less pink, and sighs with relief after she’s done. The third and final rinse-and-spit produces very little blood. Jane washes her hands of the blood and spit that had dried on them.

“Good,” Maura says. “Now let me see that cut.”

Maura reaches for Jane’s lip with her hand, and Jane automatically stoops her head lower. It’s very gentle when Maura grasps Jane’s lower lip between two fingers, but Jane whimpers pathetically anyway. Maura rolls her eyes.

“Lean over the sink.”

Jane does.

Maura squirts saline solution all over the split lip then carefully inspects in. She flicks a glance up to Jane’s eyes before returning her focus to her lip.

“Considering how many times you shouted ‘keep your eyes on the ball’ at me today, it’s a little ironic that you took one right in the face.”

Jane scowls. “What, you expect me to catch it? I was only like six feet away.”

“You just seemed suddenly distracted, that’s all.” Maura’s tone is a little smug. She won this round and she knows it. She lets go of Jane’s lip, satisfied with her examination. She turns around to wash her hands in the sink again. “The split isn’t that bad actually. I thought it was going to be worse but I guess you’re just a bleeder.” Jane feels a bit insulted but she’s not quite sure how she can defend her coagulation abilities. She watches Maura wet a gauze pad under the faucet before she turns to face Jane again. The two women look at each other for a quiet, loaded moment before Maura reaches up to gently take Jane’s chin between thumb and forefinger.

“Hold still,” Maura says softly. Her expression has lost a little bit of its confidence and the air in the room has shifted. Both of them know that this has now taken a step beyond medical care and Maura is doing something for Jane that Jane could easily do for herself. It would probably even be better if she did it herself, but she doesn’t want to. Instead, she hunches even lower to make it easier for Maura as she carefully cleans the blood off Jane’s face. And maybe in order to be closer. Maybe it’s a bit of that too. Maybe she’s really enjoying how she can hear that Maura’s breathing has gotten a little shaky as she fastidiously wipes at Jane’s face, perhaps she likes being close enough that she could count Maura’s eyelashes if she wanted to.

“Maura?”

Jane’s voice is all raspy. She’s not trying to make it sound so deep but it always seems to happen this way. Her hands hang limply at her sides and she’s desperate for something to do with them so she places them lightly on Maura’s hips, holding her breath as she does.

“Hm?” Maura looks up into her eyes, her expression open and inquisitive, and anyone else would find her the picture of innocence. Jane knows better. Jane can feel the way her body has shifted just a little bit closer. Maura pulls the gauze away, unfolds it and refolds it so that the less soiled inside part is now on the outside, then dabs at Jane’s jawline.

“I was distracted,” Jane admits.

“Is that right?” Maura asks casually, still cleaning Jane up. “By what?”

Yes, Coach.

“By you,” Jane says. “By what you said.”

Jane presses her fingertips into the softness just below Maura’s hip bones. She’s not quite gripping her best friend’s ass but it’s awfully fucking close and Maura goes very still, the gauze pad in her hand now hovering over Jane’s neck. Jane’s thumbs start rubbing small circles over either side of Maura’s pelvis. Her voice drops an octave and this time she means for it to happen.

“I liked it.”

Maura looks at Jane askance, as if in mild disbelief that after all these months of beating around the bush it could be so easy. She wets her lips and carefully takes Jane in and Jane knows what Maura’s looking for. She’s looking for confirmation that this, now, finally is the moment. They both know this was always going to be Jane’s call to make—over the last few months Maura has walked right up the line but she was never going to be the one to cross it. And for Jane, for whatever reason, right now, injured, shirt ruined, recently embarrassed in front of a teenager and suddenly aware she might have a bit of a power dynamic kink (but somehow NOT about being a cop?), feels like the turning point.

Maura hesitates a moment, then asks: “When I called you coach?”

Jane turns red and her eyes go wild and that must be enough for Maura because the transformation is as immediate as it is complete. She tosses the gauze pad into the sink beside them and then her entire comportment changes, the prim posture of Doctor Isles is gone in an instant and replaced by a staggering sensuality. Maura practically melts between Jane’s hands, her movements feline as she closes the minimal distance between them and molds herself perfectly along the length of Jane’s body.

“I see,” Maura murmurs, her hands gliding up Jane’s arms.

Blood roars in Jane’s ears and Maura’s fingertips soon nestle in Jane’s hair, nails scratching against the nape of her neck. She grips her hair firmly and pulls Jane close, bringing her lips to Jane’s ear.

“Well, you’re a very good coach,” Maura coos and Jane shivers and groans. When Maura draws back the smile on her face is wicked and Jane hopes the expression on her own face isn’t as dopey as it feels.

Fuck.

Two seconds ago things were mostly all business and now Maura is throwing herself into this like it was the role she was born to play. One of her hands has abandoned its post in Jane’s hair to caress her jaw, fingertips skimming so tenderly along Jane’s cheek. She covers the split in Jane’s lip ever so lightly with the pad of her thumb and then presses her lips to the uninjured side of Jane’s mouth. Jane can feel the shuddering breath she releases bounce back against her face.

“We really should be icing this,” Maura says with a pout. Jane is about to protest—I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt, I have literally never felt better—until she realizes that despite her words, Maura’s hand has tightened its grip in her hair and is slowly, purposefully pulling Jane’s head down into the crook of her neck.

“But I feel like you still have so many things to show me,” Maura purrs. “Coach.”

The word rockets through Jane’s body yet again, ricocheting off every erogenous zone and lighting Jane up like a pinball machine. She moans deep and latches on to Maura’s neck, sinking her teeth in as she seals her lips against the tender skin. It hurts. The cut on her lip stings at the pressure and when she sucks at Maura’s throat her mashed up cheek aches at the effort and absolutely none of that matters.

Maura inhales sharply as Jane sucks hard and it’s enough to cut through the fog in Jane’s head. She goes to pull back, suddenly cognizant of how wildly unprofessional it is to leave hickeys on any grown woman, let alone a doctor, let alone the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, but she can’t because Maura’s grip holds her firmly in place.

“No,” Maura hisses, her other hand coming up to assist in forcing Jane back down against her neck. “Do it. Please.”

Jane doesn’t need to be told twice and if anyone has a wardrobe big enough to hide a few marks for a while, it’s Maura. She restarts her onslaught on Maura’s neck, leaving a wake of bite marks and burst blood vessels all along the doctor’s gasping throat. She yanks Maura’s shirt down by the collar, lathing at her clavicle with a hard tongue before nipping at her with her teeth.

Maura whines and mewls through the rapid fire assault, her whole body writhing against Jane’s and after one particularly vicious bruise is left against her chest, she moans loudly.

“Oh fuck, Jane.”

Jane practically goes feral. Hearing that erudite voice reduced to cussing, those overeducated lips wrapping around her name in pleasure, it unleashes something. She hooks her hands just beneath the swell of Maura’s ass, waits precisely one second so Maura understands what’s about to happen, then lifts her up. Immediately, Maura’s bare, toned thighs wrap around her torso while her arms hook around the back of Jane’s neck.

Jane has thought about this a lot. A lot. She hadn’t actually been sure if she’s strong enough to hold Maura up but she is and thank god and it’s fucking amazing. She groans loudly, deeply pleased with herself and unashamedly turned on by her own strength, then pushes Maura roughly up against the lockers just off to the side of the sinks. They rattle like thunder in the small room and the debauched noise that Maura makes at the show of force makes Jane’s blood grow heavy with lust.

Deep in her heart Jane always knew there was going to be a first time, but she never imagined it like this. Her loss.

“Hold on tight,” Jane instructs, her forehead now pressed against the lockers right beside Maura’s head, trying to work one hand between their bodies.

“Of course, Coach,” Maura croons against her ear, thighs and arms tightening obediently around Jane. Jane curses, dragging out one very long fuuuck, Maur as her hand slips beneath the waistband of those goddamned shorts.

Maura is so wet. So much so that it makes precision difficult, but the debased noises coming out Maura suggest that precision is currently not required. Which, thank god, because Jane’s mostly working on instinct. So instead of slip-sliding as she tries to find purchase against Maura’s clit, Jane just rubs her whole fucking hand against the entire length of Maura’s slick cunt as best she can. Maura confirms loudly that yes, just like that, oh god, oh fuck and does her part too, grinding herself back into Jane’s palm as she holds on even tighter. Jane presses in tight, which limits her mobility but allows her to use her pelvis to push her hand hard against Maura, occasionally grinding herself onto her own knuckles as well. The metal of the locker behind Maura groans and pops with every thrust, making a strange symphony with the obscene, slippery sounds of their sex. Jane gasps and grunts and Maura is quickly, vocally approaching an orgasm.

Jane wishes she could watch Maura fall apart, but the position just isn’t going to work for that and Jane’s not about to stop. But Maura’s lips are right beside her ear and hearing it is just as good. Maura can clearly tell what this is doing to Jane and she’s laying it on thick for her.

“So good. You’re so good, Jane,” Maura breathes, licking her tongue against Jane’s ear. Her voice is broken, almost tormented, and it’s the most beautiful sound Jane has ever heard. “You’re fucking me so well. Finally—oh—took what was yours—god. I’m so close, Jane.”

Between Maura’s words and the intermittent friction she’s getting as she uses her body to force her hand against Maura’s cunt, Jane’s on the precipice as well. She fucks Maura even harder, and as much as she was enjoying the narration she likes it even more when Maura is reduced to nothing but a gasping, repeating ah, ah and soon Maura is spasming all around Jane’s palm, sobbing in Jane’s ear as it happens, rolling her hips messily, coating Jane’s whole hand until she’s slick well up past her wrist.

Jane’s own orgasm hits her when Maura’s at her peak and it’s nice, very nice, but it’s entirely an afterthought to the show Maura puts on.

In the aftermath, they remain where they are for a few moments, motionless apart from the heaving breaths they both require. Eventually, with a groan of discomfort rather than pleasure, Maura unlocks her stiff legs from around Jane’s waist and gingerly lowers them to the ground.

Jane is suddenly a little nervous. Contrary to what people might think, it was never the sex she was afraid of, it was the-what-happens-after that she often worried about. She draws her head back enough to be able to look Maura’s in the eyes.

Maura looks thoroughly fucked out. Her eyes are dark and glazed over with satisfaction, her hair a mess from where it was rubbing up against the lockers, Her neck littered with deep red marks. Her shirt has been stretched out at the neck and wrinkled and those royal blue gym short are not fit to be seen in public. She smirks up at Jane, but her devious expression fades into something more tender as she recognizes some vulnerability in Jane’s eyes. She lifts a hand to place it lightly against Jane’s injured cheek and coax her down.

“Come here,” Maura murmurs and Jane easily complies. The kiss is sweet and perhaps overly cautious of Jane’s injured lip given what they’d just gotten up to.

“That was wonderful,” Maura sighs against Jane’s lips and a lot of Jane’s concern melts away. “If perhaps a little unexpected.” Maura grins. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Jane’s eyes go wide. “Yeah, I mean… Did it not seem, uh…”

Maura laughs. “No, it did. I just… Maybe you thought it’d be a little more romantic the first time.” Maura’s expression has softened into something no one’s quite ready to say yet but any idiot could see. Jane’s chest heats up at her words, because ‘the first time’ implies a next time and that’s all she wants. “What’s more romantic than baseball?” Jane asks. “Hundreds of things,” Maura replies. “Possibly thousands. But I’m glad you think so.” She strokes Jane’s cheek lightly and then looks off to the side at the mirror. She sucks a sharp breath in between her teeth when she catches her reflection. She takes a moment to look down at herself and Jane watches as Maura’s cheeks redden when she shifts her thighs together.

Maura glances back up and Jane tries not to look too proud of what she’s done.

“Well. You’re definitely going to have to go to the car and get me the change of clothes I keep there.”

“And then?” Jane asks, fingertips playing with the hem of Maura’s shirt. Maura smiles serenely.

“And then,” she says, “we take this practice session back to my house, Coach.”

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles fanfiction #read later

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