MBC #2: 'Breathe In, Breathe Out' (Jane Version) (Patreon)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a simple bed with white sheets and two white pillows. The title, 'Breathe In, Breathe Out', is in a heavy, black font with some shading around it.]

A quick reminder for Evergreens and Hickories to read the extended and spicier version of this writing if they would like to! 🔥 This one still packs some heat for a Valentine's treat. 🥰

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Your eyes are already wide open when Jane carefully slips into her spot in your shared bed with a gentleness that very few truly possess.

She doesn't want to risk waking you up.

Too late, you've been waiting.

A whisper of touch on your shoulder isn't from the flannel sheets barely grazing you, but from her fingertips seeking out contact. It's as tentative as usual, a confirmation that you're there. She has her own extra blanket for late nights like this to let you have all of the cozy bedding. These nights drag on into the early morning hours when she has to tip-toe back into Turn the Page's apartment, navigating the dark like a shadowy specter without a word.

Jane has always been good at going unnoticed except where you're concerned.

She's still propped on her side, not quite leaning over you, yet the sensation of being observed is difficult for you to shake, especially when her hand eventually returns. She starts at the ball of your shoulder, resting it there before applying a bit more pressure, a weight. For someone so strong, she's always tender with you unless you demand otherwise or it's been a very long day.

Jane is wordlessly asking you to turn over and face her, but you stubbornly stare ahead, although you do kick off her quilted blanket. It lands lower on the bed with a muffled thump, barely disrupting the silence that's grown heavier. Her hand has too, solidifying a grip on your shoulder before she pulls you close.

A cheeky smile threatens to curve your lips when you go along with the action, back flat against the plush mattress and head cradled by a pillow. Your preferred 'pillow' wasn't here for you to rest against. The down feathers lack a steady, soothing heartbeat and won't hold onto you through the grueling nights. Finally, you meet her gaze in the dim light of your room, nightlight adding a glow off to the side.

She's searching your expression, while you're too preoccupied carding your fingers through her damp hair to add weak spikes of ebony that Fernweh's detective wouldn't be caught dead having out in public. It took longer than you'd thought for you to see Jane with her hair down, less practical and buttoned-up. Her faint concern starts to slip, slowly ebbing, as your attention continues. She's still shower-warm with her simple, white T-shirt snug in places; it was quick and efficient without you included.

"Why aren't you resting?"

She whispers that question as if afraid you'll lose the lull of sleep if she speaks too loudly. It remains unanswered—an unknown—much like the culprit she's currently after because you can feel the tension in the hand that's pressing you into the bed. It's goading you to ratchet it higher and higher before things unwind. You're about to finish the floppy, spiked hair design when Jane catches your wrist, though you're undeterred, easily able to cup her cheek instead.

She's balancing on her side, both hands on you and now half over you to better fill the space.

"Why aren't you resting?" you wonder. "I was laying here, minding my own business."

"You were lying in wait," she disagrees. "I know."

She could probably tell based on your breathing pattern or the fact that you do lay a certain way for her to slot into place. Jane does know, just like you know she needs to de-stress. "Then you've kept me waiting long enough"—your tone goes from bold to mildly bratty to create sparks against her innate steel—"Detective." Her jaw briefly sets at the use of her job title.

The intense hue of her eyes is shaded by something darker after you refer to her by her role, pine needle green harboring something else. It has been a while since Jane has been this weighed down, carrying it with her back to your apartment. She cares so much—too much.

The case can't be going that badly, right…?

It isn't a legitimate—

Jane doesn't lean forward; no, she looms, giving you exactly what you asked for even if you're ready to push for more. Spiked hair and clinging T-shirt, she's beautiful as ever while the nightlight adds a moodiness to how she's watching you, darkening the love and ingrained devotion. It's still there; it always has been, but you don't mind this side of her—all of Jane Corvin. Her hand stays on your shoulder to pin you down while she joins your lips in a soft kiss, guiding your hand away to rest on her shoulder, so she frees up her other one to better explore.

It's a warning you don't heed.

Within seconds, you're teasing her, messing with the V-neckline of Jane's shirt that's ten times better than the round neck ones. (It's as if you bought this Valentine's present with an ulterior motive. It was a small, pragmatic gift in addition to what else you gave her.) Heat from her skin seeps through the thin material as you trace the 'V', weighing if you should really tug on it or not. It would somewhat irritate her; she's conscientious about gifts given to her.

That’s why you bought them in every color!

You stop your tracing to pull on the fabric, fingers meeting more and more skin as the neckline gradually stretches out. Your knuckles brush against the softness of her breasts as you fist the material that's hiding her from your sight. Jane's kiss turns insistent, yet you still push until she breaks away. Her sharp exhale is like a blade of air against your neck that makes you shiver slightly after she was almost pressed up against you. You're barely aware of her unhooking your fingers from the cotton blend because she shifts to be on top, placing your hands on either side of your head in surrender.

More delicious pressure is applied whereas her actual grip is less gentle now; the pillow sinks.

"Tell me what you want," she requests.

It's obvious. The newfound 'U' neckline of her shirt, that provides a peek-a-boo effect of her tantalizing breasts, is all the clue she needs. Well, that and how you dare to shimmy some, not quite bucking. Jane just wants to hear it from your mouth once you catch your breath from the harsh kissing. It isn't happening. When you—

Your wrist is encased in down feathers before you can lift it a centimeter in the air. She didn't even let you try to reach out for her shirt again, easily putting you back into place. (There won't be any back and forth tonight.) Jane does lean down after your failed retaliation to softly kiss your cheek, a consolation. You manage to turn your head to steal a deeper kiss from her.

"Your words, [Name]."

After Jane murmurs that in a firm tone, your short-lived smugness turns needier. It doesn't help she purposefully shifted her leg, knee now nesting between your parted thighs to be out of reach. It's a suggestion of pressure—of how you could work against it or at least grind until she caves and takes care of you properly.

The problem is Jane is way more patient.

Your fingers clench at empty air, curling in the phantom bundles of her T-shirt that is still on, which should be a crime at this point. She's hovering over you, letting you get an ample view of her as you peer into the opening you forcibly widened. To be fair, you could be filling in some of the fine details of her body from memory and past encounters.

You slowly glance back up at Jane to let her notice how attracted you are to her, but also growing impatient while she maintains her calm.

She's waiting.

"I thought a detective should be able to figure out a motive," you taunt her, a touch breathy. "I could help you connect the dots? If you want?"

Jane's eyes narrowing is both a good and a bad sign along with the severity that cuts into how she was once openly admiring you beneath her.

Neither of you will be getting much sleep tonight.