Chapter Text
The Airstream was quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of cicadas outside. The night was warm, and Jane's hands were warmer—every touch deliberate, every kiss slow, as if savoring Lisbon like she was the last good thing in the world.
They were skin to skin, limbs tangled. Lisbon, breathless and flushed, straddled him—her hands splayed across his chest, fingers flexing with each roll of her hips. Her hair fell in wild waves around her face, a dark curtain veiling the hunger in her eyes. Jane’s head had tilted back, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as he anchored her with his hands at her waist, guiding her rhythm but letting her take the lead.
“God, Lisbon…” he groaned, voice low and wrecked.
They’d been coiled tight with tension from the case—long hours, lingering stares across desks, brushes of hands that didn’t last long enough. There’d been no time and they were starved for each other.
So the moment they locked the Airstream door behind them, the dam broke. Shirts, pants—gone in seconds. Then Lisbon was straddling him, fierce and unhesitating, and he was inside her in one fluid, breath-stealing motion. Jane, ever the tactile creature, couldn’t stop touching—her skin, her hair, the curve of her back, like memorizing her all over again.
The small bed creaked beneath them, protesting under every roll of hips, every shift of limbs—but they didn’t care. Not tonight. Not when Lisbon’s moans and Jane’s low groans filled the air, tangled with the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting again and again. Good thing they’d parked in the middle of nowhere—God help them if anyone was around to hear.
“I missed you,” Teresa gasped, her voice cracking between ragged breaths.
“You don’t say,” he rasped, grinning through his haze. They both laughed, breathless and delirious, even in the middle of their desperation.
Jane’s hands were everywhere—cupping her breast, thumb grazing the peak before his mouth followed, sucking with the precise pressure she always responded to. Her moan was guttural, raw, her head falling back as she whispered his name like a prayer. She tugged at his curls, pulling him up into another kiss—slow and deep, their tongues sliding together, stealing air from each other as they moved.
Her hand tangled in his hair while his trailed down, fingers finding her slick and swollen.
She gasped into his mouth when he circled her clit—once, hard, then again with a featherlight pat. The alternating pressure was maddening, perfect, enough to make her grind harder against him.
He heard her plead in a whisper: his name, then something about fucking her harder and a please.
His lips dragged along her neck, open-mouthed kisses that turned to wet strokes of his tongue as his fingers continued to torment her.
She leaned against his shoulder, panting, looking down at the hypnotic and erotic thrust of their bodies—in and out and his fingers working her relentless yet tender, pressing tight circles with every draw back.
She was close—they were close. Every movement was a heartbeat away from shattering.
Then—bzzzt bzzzt.
Lisbon froze.
The phone buzzed insistently on the counter. A second later, Jane’s did too. Cho’s name lit up the screen.
“No,” Jane said immediately as Lisbon eyed their phones on the nightstand, still inside her, chest heaving.
“It’s Cho,” she said, eyes flicking to the screen.
“I don’t care if it’s the president,” Jane growled, his grip tightening just slightly around her hips. “He can wait. I can’t.”
He surged up and kissed her hard—possessive, urgent—then resumed the rhythm of his hips, drawing her back into motion. She yielded instinctively, chasing the friction, caught between the heat and the need to answer the phone on the off-chances it's an emergency.
“Jane… are… you… sure… it’s…” she tried, breathless between kisses.
But Jane answered without words—his mouth deepened the kiss, his fingers found her clit again, and he whispered dirty talks in her ear, all the things he knew made her fall apart. Not that she needed it—her thoughts were already a blur, lost somewhere in the pulsing heat between her thighs.
The call ended.
Then it rang again.
Lisbon stilled, sense of duty crashing in like cold water. It took everything in her to stop. “Ugh. Sorry,” she breathed, trying to steady herself. “It could be important. You know Cho.”
“I don’t care.” His hips shifted upward just slightly, teasing her.
Her hand slightly trembled as she grabbed her phone.
Jane pressed a kiss beneath her jaw, slow and maddening. “Let it go to voicemail.”
But she didn’t. “Hey, Cho,” she answered, voice trying—and failing—to sound steady.
Jane groaned like it physically hurt him.
Lisbon immediately covered her phone's mouthpiece and shot him a warning glance, but she didn’t move off him. She couldn't. Every nerve in her body was screaming, lit up, strung tight, and Jane, damn him, took full advantage.
While Cho started talking on the other end, Jane’s hands roamed again. Slowly. Teasingly. Lisbon caught one, stilling him with a firm grip, trying to anchor her voice in professionalism. “Uh-huh… Yeah… Wait, slow down…”
But Jane just smiled, devilish and pleased with himself, and rocked his hips upward with a torturous slowness. Lisbon’s breath hitched, her spine arching slightly in reflex. She bit down on her lip to trap the sound clawing its way out of her throat.
“Lisbon?” Cho asked.
She blinked hard. “Y-yeah, I’m here. Go on,” she managed, though her voice betrayed her—tight, thin. Jane looked delighted.
Cho droned on, talking about a potential lead, but she only caught fragments. Her hand covered the mouthpiece and she shot Jane a glare, lips forming a sharp stop.
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He moved again, slowly, deliberately, and her eyes fluttered shut for a beat too long.
Cho’s tone shifted—urgent. They had to be on location. Now. A break in the case.
“Yup! Great,” she squeaked, far too brightly. “Can you just—uh—text me the address? I’ll be there in twenty. Sorry, I just… woke up.”
They ended the call, mercifully without suspicion (she hoped), and she tossed the phone aside like it had burned her.
Jane raised a brow. “That sounded important.”
“You’re evil,” she mouthed.
“I’m not the one who answered a call about work in the middle of sex,” he mouthed back, eyes gleaming.
Lisbon looked down at him, flushed and breathless, and took his face in both hands, like she needed him just as much as he needed her. “Okay, Jane,” she panted. “You have less than twenty minutes to fuck me.”
His pupils blew wide.
“So do it hard,” she breathed, grinding down on him again, “and do it fast.”
Something in him snapped—whatever leash he'd been holding himself back with was gone, incinerated by the way she said it, by the sheer need in her voice. He started to shift, to flip her onto her back, but she pressed a palm to his chest.
He understood.
He nodded, eyes dark with heat, utterly undone beneath her as she rode him with brutal, relentless rhythm. Her hair clung to her damp skin, her movements rough and unyielding, desperate to chase the high they’d been teetering on before Cho barged in.
Each thrust she gave pulled a sharp moan from deep within his throat; each deep, steady motion he returned drove her higher, hips snapping against his with fierce intent. His hands gripped her hips hard, fingers digging in as he pushed inside her, again and again, each movement hitting the perfect spot that made her cry out—raw and guttural.
Her walls tightened around him, drawing him deeper still, and he slipped a hand down, fingers seeking her swollen clit with no hesitation—stroking hard and fast, no teasing this time.
“Fuck, Jane—yeah, like that,” she cursed, unraveling as he coaxed her over the edge.
Then the world exploded inside her—an unbearable wave of heat and shuddering release that tore through every fiber of her being. Her muscles clenched tight, then trembled uncontrollably, cries ripped from her throat as her body convulsed in fierce, glorious surrender.
She collapsed forward, legs trembling, muscles quaking, the aftershocks rippling through her in shudders.
She felt him falter, his rhythm hitching just enough to let her ride the wave without breaking apart from overstimulation—but not enough to stop.
“No,” she rasped, voice thick with need. “Don’t stop. Cum inside me, Jane.”
With one final, desperate thrust, he let go—his body convulsing, muscles twitching and jerking beneath hers, muscles taut as a bowstring as he spilled deep inside her. A ragged gasp escaped his lips, morphing into a low, guttural groan muffled against the hollow of her throat. He clung to her like a lifeline, arms wound tight around her trembling frame
They stayed there, tangled and slick with sweat, the Airstream filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing.
Lisbon lifted her head, hair falling into her face, and glanced at their phones.
“We’ve got about ten minutes left,” she muttered.
Jane gave a breathless laugh, fingers tracing down her spine. “Plenty of time... for a quick shower. Maybe.”