seriousfic

Look, I watched the first episode and it was about as straight as a Xena fanfic. So now this is happening.

Title: Raging neurohormones
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,106
Characters/Pairings: Rizzoli/Isles
Author's notes: Spoilers for 1x01
Summary: Isles has a good way to take Rizzoli's mind off her latest case.

Isles had the weirdest ideas about sex. It wasn't usually a romantic thing with her, which Rizzoli appreciated. It was more like flicking paperclips through someone's finger-goalposts. The woman had no allegiance to beds. She cornered Rizzoli in phone booths, in the backs of police cruisers ("Pull over here"), just about anywhere short of crime scenes, where Isles wouldn't so much as sneeze for fear of disturbing evidence. Rizzoli was pretty sure Isles would mount her in the morgue if it weren't for her modicum of social appropriateness.

So Rizzoli wasn't expecting sex when she stayed over at Isles' place. With her, climbing into the same bed could be less flirting than simple comfort. Isles had sat on Rizzoli's lap a few times, probably because she thought it looked comfy. But the moment she mentioned she was afraid, Isles cocked her head at Rizzoli like a dog hearing birdsong.

"The brain releases oxytocin and prolactin when it experiences orgasm. They cause the body to relax."

Rizzoli smiled. "If I'm going to masturbate, you're going to have to leave the room. It'll get freaky."

Isles rolled on top of her. Just like that, she was taking off her clothes. "Ready for some prolactin?"

Some things Rizzoli kinda loved about her girlfriend: Her sense of romance, which could be sweet and practical at the same exact time. The way she took off her clothes, dropping them all in a neat little pile that would be squared away before anything started. The lack of pretense Rizzoli found way more sexy than she should. The way she was finally on top of Rizzoli, naked, and her eyes suddenly got hooded and she licked her lips and Rizzoli knew it was all from some women's magazine, but she still felt herself clench when Isles was looking at her like that.

"Would you like to do foreplay?" Isles asked.

"Oh no, get to work. I'd hate to interrupt your sleep cycle."

"I appreciate your consideration," Isles said, disappearing under the covers. Rizzoli kicked a little as Isles made all fabric below her waist disappear. She kinda liked to fluster Isles. It made her pout and try to hold Rizzoli down. But inevitably Isles had her bottomless, and Rizzoli laid there and wished she had shaved her legs more recently.

A moment passed. She looked down to see the sheets covering Isles' head like a veil. She was there, right in position for some proper sex, but nothing was happening. Rizzoli moved to put her leg over Isles' shoulder, but then she felt cool air hit between her legs. She processed how bare she was, got the feeling Isles was smiling. Goddamn, why did her girlfriend have to be so good at this?

She felt three of Isles' kisses, rushed little things like sparks off the blonde's slow-burning flame. They were just shy of where she needed them. "Mons pubis," Isles enunciated in an overtly fascinated sort of way.

Rizzoli groaned. A minute ago it had all been shop talk; two days ago they'd fucked on the roof of the police station; now it felt like Isles hadn't touched her in a month.

Isles' tongue made a slow, stately kind of perambulatory over Rizzoli. "Bartholin's glands. Skene's glands."

"Isles, God's sake…"

"Shh." Through that ridiculous sheet, Isles fixed her with a glare. "I'm working."

Isles' tongue was an easy thing, moving into Rizzoli like a fogbank rolled in, which was the kind of loopy poeticism Rizzoli only got when she was being eaten out. Just as painstakingly, Isles' tongue eased out, left Rizzoli shivering.

"Pudendal cleft," Isles announced. "You're going to come, Jane."

Isles only used her first name when they had sex. Probably another women's magazine to blame for that. It always made Rizzoli feel like they were having a threesome.

She would've said something witty, but Isles' tongue was back inside her. "Vulval vestibule."

Isles worked harder, harder, harder. Rizzoli felt her pubic hairs tingle as lips brushed over them, made a deep sound when a finger entered her. Never more than one, this late in the game. A little penetration was all Isles needed.

"Are you touching herself?" Rizzoli asked.

Isles was staring intently at the vulva whose every curve she had tasted. Her eyes were slightly glazed over. "Yes," she said matter-of-factly.

Rizzoli made a deeper sound, somewhere in her chest. "More. Another finger."

Isles didn't say anything, but Rizzoli heard the mattress creak deliciously. And for a moment, she felt Isles' forehead resting against her thigh. It was a short moment of intimacy; and in the end, what made Rizzoli clutch her mattress pad so hard it came loose.

Then Isles kissed her.

"I know this one," Rizzoli gasped, her voice scratching its way out of her throat. "Clit." Such a small word.

"Close. Clitoral hood," Isles corrected gently, before showing her the difference.

Suddenly Rizzoli needed to see Isles' face, her smile. She ripped the sheet away with something like control and saw a Cheshire cat grin as Isles dragged her clit through her lips. Rizzoli could almost hear the phases of her own orgasm sounding in Isles' head. The brunette had once whispered them in Rizzoli's ears while she fingered her, faster and faster like her words were warchants. Engorging, moistening, reddening, darkening, tightening, contracting…

"Coming," Rizzoli muttered, lapsing back against her pillow. In a moment, Isles joined her.

"Yes, you were." Isles kissed her, letting Rizzoli know how she'd tasted. It was Rizzoli's kink, not Isles, but something she'd read in some damn anthropology journal had made Isles try it, and the next time she'd masturbated, Rizzoli had tasted herself in the afterglow, sweet in her bitterness.

They didn't cuddle, not exactly, but Isles laid down close to her so they were sharing the same pillow and her arm brushed across Rizzoli's midsection, where her shirt rode up and her hips were still bare. The sheets were off but it was warm anyway. Rizzoli felt the need to sleep all the way to her eyelids, which pulled at each other inexorably.

"Did that take your mind off the serial killers?" Isles asked.

Rizzoli gave her a look that cut.

"Sorry. I was curious." The look in Isles' eyes was almost tearful, for her.

Rizzoli sighed and rolled on top of her, letting their legs intertwine. Isles wasn't too confused to put her arms around Rizzoli.

"It's okay." Rizzoli was already starting a warm roll of her hips into Isles. "I know a great way to put my mind at ease."

Isles laid back and tried to think of which part of her Rizzoli was fucking.