[Fic] Fancy Footwork
Jul. 8th, 2010 12:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Fancy Footwork
Fandom: The Mentalist
Characters: Patrick Jane, Theresa Lisbon
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,450
Summary: Jane calls Lisbon's bluff when she accuses him of letting her do all the legwork.
A/N: Written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo prompt "Shoe or foot fetish"
"It was just a joke!"
"No, no, I insist… Here. Put your feet up…"
Jane had deigned to let Lisbon share his couch, in lieu, perhaps, of closed-case doughnuts. She'd made some comment about not having time to sleep on the couch like he did, having to do all the leg-work, and he'd offered a foot massage. Because his usual response when she scolded him was to push.
She gave him a funny look for it, one of her usual what are you up to you brat type looks. Tempered with a quirky smile, because it wasn't related to a case so there was at least a limit to the kinds of consequences his pushing could have.
"Come on, I won't bite." Jane smiled and patted the cushion next to him. "Sit down, put your feet up. Relax. That's it," he added, as she sat down, and patted his lap. "Come on, put your feet up."
"This is ridiculous," she told him, but she did put her feet in his lap and allow him to take off her shoes. Thank god she wore the black socks today and not the ones with the little flowers on them or something else like that. There wasn't he could do with black socks.
He started by rubbing his palm up and down along the top of her foot. Getting her used to the contact, she decided, since this wasn't exactly standard operating procedure for them. "You should wear a little more color. Something more cheerful."
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I can't win with you, can I." Which was unfair since he couldn't exactly hear her earlier thought about socks, but she was so used to him anticipating her movements and her thoughts that sometimes she forgot that. Anyway, he just laughed. Patted the top of her foot before he got down to the more serious business of a real foot massage, now that, presumably, they'd achieved something resembling a comfort level with each other. With her leaning against the arm of the couch, feet propped up on his lap.
He started with rubbing his thumbs along the arch of her foot, long-ways, digging in just enough to stretch her foot a bit and make her feel it. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Not his hands, she figured he'd picked up massage along with his many other skills somewhere along the line when he'd offered. He wouldn't have offered if he wasn't confident. He never did.
And before she knew what was happening to her (which always seemed to happen with him) she really was relaxing, slumping back into the couch and letting him rub the tension out of her feet and calves.
"You're unfairly good at this," she muttered. Lisbon closed her eyes before she said anything, too, because if she had her eyes open when she said that she would see his smile. That smug, bright grin.
Lisbon would never admit that she found Jane handsome, not to his face, not more than abstractly or when relevant to a case. She might call him the pretty one or say he was more suited to charming someone or using wiles. He had more wiles than the entire team put together, when it came down to it, and she wasn't afraid to use that. Okay, she was a little afraid, because she knew how quickly he could take things out of her control. But that didn't mean she would hesitate to use that. It also meant she was aware of how aware he was of his ability to charm and seduce.
She wouldn't be seduced. She couldn't afford to be. The second she placed herself under his power like that, she'd lose all ability she had to control him. Maybe not all respect from him, but then again she wasn't sure how much respect he had for her in the first place.
His hands on her foot made it hard to remember that resolve, though. He didn't say much of anything, didn't talk, just rubbed her feet and kept his peace and let her relax in relative quiet. No one else in the squad room said anything, either, but that was probably because most of them had gone home. She'd stayed behind to do paperwork. Jane stayed behind because he hated to go home.
Lisbon still didn't understand why he stayed there, in that house. If it had been her she would have moved first chance she could.
"Doesn't that feel better?" he asked, easing up on the pressure and now just stroking the sole of her foot. It didn't even tickle.
She nodded, not opening her eyes to see the expression on his face. Again, she was more than a little nervous about what she might see. "Much."
His touches had slowed while she hadn't been paying attention. Not that the massaging had stopped but she was more aware. More aware of each individual fingertip pressing against her foot, more aware of the way the sensations traveled up her legs. It made her skin shiver as though she didn't have any pants on or anything, was exposed to the cold air.
"Jane..." except the way her voice sounded she didn't even want to continue that. Not just being careful of her words but he could extrapolate even from the tone of her voice and oh god, what did her face look like right now? She didn't want to think about it. If her face gave her away, if she had that lips-parted half flushed look like she thought she had.
God, she really didn't want to think about that. He was smirking. She knew he was. "Hmm?"
"Oh, nothing."
Don't stop, she wanted to tell him. She was liking this, liking it a lot. The attention, which was partly the result of her being single for far too long, married to the job or whatever it was they said these days. Driven. Partly the result of a tiny little crush she'd had on the blond, blue-eyed, beautiful and infuriating man who was aloof and apart from everything even as he charmed his way into and out of everyone's damn business. A tiny crush from a part of her that had never grown out of high school. Every girl, she figured, had that part of her. The trick was learning how to keep her under control.
And she liked the quiet of it. He wasn't talking, wasn't cracking wise or making jokes or peeling off anyone's armor, especially hers. He wasn't making trouble, he was just doing something nice and, yes, he probably had an ulterior motive for it but she didn't know what that was yet. And she was glad not to know what that was.
And on a purely sensual level, she appreciated the touches. The heat of his palm stroking along the sole of her foot, the pressure of his fingers, stronger than she expected. Lisbon was almost too aware of how her ankle was draped right over his thigh, her heel pointing inwards. It took a lot of trust for him to do that, too. Although right now, being demonstratively pissed off at him wasn't even in her mind. Turning her foot a little sideways and doing something else provocative, now. She could just imagine it, too, which was the bad part. Maybe not all of it, but she could imagine how his voice would drop to a whisper when he asked her what she was doing and
"Lisbon?"
Yeah. Like that. That kind of soft.
He tapped the side of her foot with the flat of his fingers, gently. "Lisbon? You awake?"
"Mm-hmm."
She heard the smirk in his voice too. "Feel better?"
"Mm-hmm." Pause. "Bastard."
He chuckled. "Are you going to fall asleep on my couch or should I pour you into your car so you can go home?"
Falling asleep wasn't on her agenda at all. Maybe she wouldn't pounce him, but she was going to take a long hot bath when she got home. "It's my couch," was all she said. Still determined not to let him know what he'd done to her, although she had the feeling he did know already.
"I'll just leave you to it, then," he said, and now she did dig her heel into the top of his thigh. He let out a chuffing sound, somewhere between a whuff of breath and a laugh.
"I'll tell you when you can stop, Mister," she told him.
He chuckled again, and between the sound and the renewed pressure and warmth of his hand curled around one foot, she even gasped at the sensations. He really did know damn well what he was doing.
Bastard.
Fandom: The Mentalist
Characters: Patrick Jane, Theresa Lisbon
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,450
Summary: Jane calls Lisbon's bluff when she accuses him of letting her do all the legwork.
A/N: Written for the
kink_bingo prompt "Shoe or foot fetish""It was just a joke!"
"No, no, I insist… Here. Put your feet up…"
Jane had deigned to let Lisbon share his couch, in lieu, perhaps, of closed-case doughnuts. She'd made some comment about not having time to sleep on the couch like he did, having to do all the leg-work, and he'd offered a foot massage. Because his usual response when she scolded him was to push.
She gave him a funny look for it, one of her usual what are you up to you brat type looks. Tempered with a quirky smile, because it wasn't related to a case so there was at least a limit to the kinds of consequences his pushing could have.
"Come on, I won't bite." Jane smiled and patted the cushion next to him. "Sit down, put your feet up. Relax. That's it," he added, as she sat down, and patted his lap. "Come on, put your feet up."
"This is ridiculous," she told him, but she did put her feet in his lap and allow him to take off her shoes. Thank god she wore the black socks today and not the ones with the little flowers on them or something else like that. There wasn't he could do with black socks.
He started by rubbing his palm up and down along the top of her foot. Getting her used to the contact, she decided, since this wasn't exactly standard operating procedure for them. "You should wear a little more color. Something more cheerful."
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I can't win with you, can I." Which was unfair since he couldn't exactly hear her earlier thought about socks, but she was so used to him anticipating her movements and her thoughts that sometimes she forgot that. Anyway, he just laughed. Patted the top of her foot before he got down to the more serious business of a real foot massage, now that, presumably, they'd achieved something resembling a comfort level with each other. With her leaning against the arm of the couch, feet propped up on his lap.
He started with rubbing his thumbs along the arch of her foot, long-ways, digging in just enough to stretch her foot a bit and make her feel it. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Not his hands, she figured he'd picked up massage along with his many other skills somewhere along the line when he'd offered. He wouldn't have offered if he wasn't confident. He never did.
And before she knew what was happening to her (which always seemed to happen with him) she really was relaxing, slumping back into the couch and letting him rub the tension out of her feet and calves.
"You're unfairly good at this," she muttered. Lisbon closed her eyes before she said anything, too, because if she had her eyes open when she said that she would see his smile. That smug, bright grin.
Lisbon would never admit that she found Jane handsome, not to his face, not more than abstractly or when relevant to a case. She might call him the pretty one or say he was more suited to charming someone or using wiles. He had more wiles than the entire team put together, when it came down to it, and she wasn't afraid to use that. Okay, she was a little afraid, because she knew how quickly he could take things out of her control. But that didn't mean she would hesitate to use that. It also meant she was aware of how aware he was of his ability to charm and seduce.
She wouldn't be seduced. She couldn't afford to be. The second she placed herself under his power like that, she'd lose all ability she had to control him. Maybe not all respect from him, but then again she wasn't sure how much respect he had for her in the first place.
His hands on her foot made it hard to remember that resolve, though. He didn't say much of anything, didn't talk, just rubbed her feet and kept his peace and let her relax in relative quiet. No one else in the squad room said anything, either, but that was probably because most of them had gone home. She'd stayed behind to do paperwork. Jane stayed behind because he hated to go home.
Lisbon still didn't understand why he stayed there, in that house. If it had been her she would have moved first chance she could.
"Doesn't that feel better?" he asked, easing up on the pressure and now just stroking the sole of her foot. It didn't even tickle.
She nodded, not opening her eyes to see the expression on his face. Again, she was more than a little nervous about what she might see. "Much."
His touches had slowed while she hadn't been paying attention. Not that the massaging had stopped but she was more aware. More aware of each individual fingertip pressing against her foot, more aware of the way the sensations traveled up her legs. It made her skin shiver as though she didn't have any pants on or anything, was exposed to the cold air.
"Jane..." except the way her voice sounded she didn't even want to continue that. Not just being careful of her words but he could extrapolate even from the tone of her voice and oh god, what did her face look like right now? She didn't want to think about it. If her face gave her away, if she had that lips-parted half flushed look like she thought she had.
God, she really didn't want to think about that. He was smirking. She knew he was. "Hmm?"
"Oh, nothing."
Don't stop, she wanted to tell him. She was liking this, liking it a lot. The attention, which was partly the result of her being single for far too long, married to the job or whatever it was they said these days. Driven. Partly the result of a tiny little crush she'd had on the blond, blue-eyed, beautiful and infuriating man who was aloof and apart from everything even as he charmed his way into and out of everyone's damn business. A tiny crush from a part of her that had never grown out of high school. Every girl, she figured, had that part of her. The trick was learning how to keep her under control.
And she liked the quiet of it. He wasn't talking, wasn't cracking wise or making jokes or peeling off anyone's armor, especially hers. He wasn't making trouble, he was just doing something nice and, yes, he probably had an ulterior motive for it but she didn't know what that was yet. And she was glad not to know what that was.
And on a purely sensual level, she appreciated the touches. The heat of his palm stroking along the sole of her foot, the pressure of his fingers, stronger than she expected. Lisbon was almost too aware of how her ankle was draped right over his thigh, her heel pointing inwards. It took a lot of trust for him to do that, too. Although right now, being demonstratively pissed off at him wasn't even in her mind. Turning her foot a little sideways and doing something else provocative, now. She could just imagine it, too, which was the bad part. Maybe not all of it, but she could imagine how his voice would drop to a whisper when he asked her what she was doing and
"Lisbon?"
Yeah. Like that. That kind of soft.
He tapped the side of her foot with the flat of his fingers, gently. "Lisbon? You awake?"
"Mm-hmm."
She heard the smirk in his voice too. "Feel better?"
"Mm-hmm." Pause. "Bastard."
He chuckled. "Are you going to fall asleep on my couch or should I pour you into your car so you can go home?"
Falling asleep wasn't on her agenda at all. Maybe she wouldn't pounce him, but she was going to take a long hot bath when she got home. "It's my couch," was all she said. Still determined not to let him know what he'd done to her, although she had the feeling he did know already.
"I'll just leave you to it, then," he said, and now she did dig her heel into the top of his thigh. He let out a chuffing sound, somewhere between a whuff of breath and a laugh.
"I'll tell you when you can stop, Mister," she told him.
He chuckled again, and between the sound and the renewed pressure and warmth of his hand curled around one foot, she even gasped at the sensations. He really did know damn well what he was doing.
Bastard.