She's My Man- Unbetaed Teaser

[oroburos69]

Title: She’s my Man
Pairing: Grace/Rigsby/Jane, Grace/Rigsby/Cho, Cho/Lisbon, Grace/Rigsby, Cho/Lisbon/Jane, Grace/Jane, Rigsby/Jane, Lisbon/Grace/Rigsby, Lisbon/Grace/Jane, Lisbon/Cho/Jane/Grace/Rigsby, Lisbon/Jane... et cetera
Summary: Grace isn’t about to take Jane’s manipulations lying down. Well, actually, she is, but that’s not the point. The point is that he is not going to get away with threatening Rigsby!
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Inconsistent POV, and more OOC than perhaps it ought to be. Smut. Unrepentant smut. Spoilers for 2x11 to 2x13.
Disclaimer: The show will never go in this direction, and my lack of acceptance for this has lead to my rambling night-time fantasies taking over. Forgive me, CBS.
A/N: Tee Hee!

“He did what?” Grace asked in shock. Her spoon hovered in mid air, pudding forgotten. A smudge of chocolate dotted the corner of her mouth, and Rigsby was deeply tempted to lick it off.

“He threatened to tell Lisbon about us, unless I helped him in his scheme,” Rigsby whispered back, eyes flickering nervously to make sure that no one was listening. Cho and Lisbon were talking about gun maintenance, and Jane was psychic, so they were fucking screwed anyway. “And he made me make him tea.”

“That’s appalling!” Grace exclaimed, waving the spoon. The gob of chocolate on it wobbled precariously.

Rigsby winced as he hushed her. “No, it was Earl Grey, and I got a cup too, so it wasn’t that bad, I was more afraid that he would tell Lisbon anyway.” Cho glanced over, and Rigsby half-shouted something about baseball to make their conversation seem more innocent.

“The Red Sox are not sissy britches!” Grace gasped, her face twisting in rage. Cho looked sort of pissed, too.

Rigsby paled, remembering their last argument over baseball. “I didn’t mean it,” he promised, looking over at Lisbon, who wasn’t paying attention at all. “I was trying to distract people.”

Grace gave him a once over, glaring to make sure that yes, Rigsby had not lost his mind, and yes, she could continue to suffer him to live. “Well,” she began, her voice cool enough to freeze over the Gulf of Mexico, “I suppose we should do something about Jane, then.”

Rigsby nodded vigorously, relieved at his escape. “Exactly! Who know what he’ll make us do next?” Rigsby sighed mournfully. Jane was the kind of bastard who, having found a weak spot, would come back every week or two to prod it to make sure it hadn’t gone away. They had to nip this thing in the bud.

Grace said as much to Rigsby.

“But how?” he responded, curious as to whether she had actually thought this out.

Grace’s eyes twinkled, and she sent indecipherable look toward Jane. “Why don’t we talk about this over lunch?”

 

 

The bistro was ill-lit, warm, and smelled strongly of salami. Grace hated salami, but Rigsby loved it, and she was going to need him in a good mood to get him to agree to her Plan. Therefore: Mr. Panchetti’s Deli and Dinner.

“Hear me out,” she warned him, resting her hand over his, and widening her eyes just so. “I have an Idea.”

Rigsby nodded, his mouth filled with food. He noted, warily, the emphasis on ‘Idea’.

“You see,” she began, a trifle awkwardly. “It’s not fair or right that our dating has led to this.” She noted Rigsby’s sudden pallor, and hastily amended her statement. “I’m not breaking up with you! It’s just completely unfair, you know?” Rigsby nodded loyally, and she was struck again by how much she liked him. He was adorable! “So, I say we make sure it never happens again. Not only that, we make him regret ever trying to blackmail us.”

Rigsby swallowed, and sipped carefully at his drink. He had no idea how she intended to achieve this, but he was on board so far. “How do we do that?” he asked.

Grace smiled, pleased. Plans worked so much better with someone to prompt you! Not that she had been practicing this speech in front of her mirror for that last few weeks. Or months.

“I think we need something to hold over his head. Something to make sure that whenever he tries something like that again, we can just give him a look, and he’ll back down.” She leaned in, voice hushing to an intimate whisper. It was best to get Rigsby’s blood pumping now, she justified, quite deliberately twining a lock of hair around her finger.

“That sound great,” Rigsby enthused, “But what could we possibly hold over Jane’s head?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Grace warned him again, hair curling turning a little frenetic. One in the hand, one in the bush, and, although that didn’t sound too bad, she wanted both in her hand. Or in her bush. “And I think that we should seduce Jane. As revenge.”

Rigsby choked on a sausage. “As what—why—the hell Grace?” he managed to wheeze out as she whacked him on the back, helping to dislodge the meat stuck in his throat.

“It’s perfectly logical,” Grace lied, handing Rigsby a napkin. “If he’s sleeping with us too, then he’ll have no reason to blackmail us.”

“Wait, sleeping—as in you want to do it more than once?” Rigsby sputtered.

Grace gave him a benevolent smile. He was already considering doing it once. Excellent.

“He looks so lonely, Wayne,” she said it softly, her eyes brimming with crocodile tears. “I just can’t bear to think—” she broke off the sentence and allowed Rigsby to fill in the blanks.

Rigsby hesitated, thinking of how lonely Jane looked. Not very, to be honest, but if Grace had seen it then maybe he had just missed it. “Do you really think that seducing Jane into having a threesome with us so that we can blackmail him into not blackmailing us will make him be less lonely?”

Grace curled her hair around her finger. “I just can’t think of what else to do,” she murmured sadly, dropping her eyes to the tablecloth.

“We could get him chocolates or something,” Rigsby suggested.

“But then he could still blackmail us!” Grace protested, meeting his eyes. She gave him her very best disappointed face, learnt at her granny’s knee. “Just think about it, won’t you?”

 

 

Rigsby sat at his desk and tried desperately to not think about it.

Grace walked by, giving him a look that made him feel like the scum of the earth for not agreeing to have a threesome with another man so they could blackmail him into not being lonely. And not blackmailing them. Her face cleared when Jane walked in and lay down on his couch, and she glanced back over at Rigsby, a slow smile blooming.

She sauntered over to the couch and leaned over it, ostentatiously closing the window blinds. Rigsby was struck by the knowledge that the edge of her skirt was brushing across Jane’s arm. All Jane had to do was—

Jane opened his eyes, breathing in the sweet, clean scent of Grace. Her silk skirt brushed over his arm, and she glanced down at him, a challenging half-smirk telling him that it was deliberate.

Grace stretched up a bit more, reaching for the very edge of the window and un-tucking her shirt. Jane could see straight up it to the flimsy lace bra that covered her breasts, the faintest hint of rose colored nipples peeking through the white mesh.

He lifted his hand, brushing it along the inside of her thigh as a test. Grace glanced down, smiled, and put a knee up onto the couch to give her that extra inch she needed to close the window. His arm was concealed by her skirt.

Jane brought his hand up in a slow caress, trailing over the soft, smooth skin on the inside of her leg. Grace shuddered softly and suddenly had a great deal of difficulty with the third latch.

He reached higher, her skirt draping around his arm as he ran his fingers over her—

“I can’t get it to close.” Rigsby heard Grace telling Jane, her voice shaking him free of the fantasy. “Will you help me?”

Jane stood and pushed the window in as Grace worked the latches, murmuring a comment too low for Rigsby to hear.

Grace laughed in response, thanking Jane—

And sinking to her knees, her fingers hooking onto Jane’s belt. “Allow me to thank you,” she purred, deftly unzipping him.

Jane smirked down at Grace and ran his hand down her cheek, holding it under her jaw in a distinct gesture of possession. “If you insist,” he replied huskily.

Grace grinned at him wickedly as she undid his belt, leaning in close enough that Jane could feel her breath through the thin layer—

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Grace asked, leaning against Rigsby’s desk. She skimmed a finger over his paperwork and turned, heading back to her desk—

Where Jane was waiting, sitting on the edge of the desk in a casual sprawl, his legs spread wide.

Grace returned to her knees, her hands tucked behind her back. She leaned in, pressing her cheek against his inner thigh, brushing her lips over the cloth that covered his—

Jane tapped on Rigsby’s desk, tearing his attention away from Grace. “Working hard?” Jane smiled broadly and glanced toward Grace. She waved.

Rigsby stuttered an answer, blushing furiously. Jane leaned in—

“Or playing hard?” Jane asked, barely an inch from Rigsby’s face.

His breath smelled like cinnamon, Rigsby realized, as Jane brushed a chaste kiss over his lips. Rigsby’s eyes fluttered shut, welcoming the second, bolder advance.

Their lips parted and Jane crawled onto Rigsby’s desk, the ridiculous motion sublimely graceful when Jane did it. Rigsby would have looked like a beached whale floundering on a beach. Jane reached out and grabbed Rigsby’s tie, using it as a handle to pull him closer. “Do you want me?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Rigsby swallowed, watching Jane crawl over the edge of his desk and into his lap. Jane tugged on his tie, using it as a leash to pull Rigsby’s head to the side. “Do you?” Jane grazed his lips over the edge his ear, the faintest hint of teeth scraping—

Jane grabbed a pen and retreated to his couch, giving Rigsby a strange look.

“You’re totally thinking about it.” Cho muttered out of the side of his mouth as he passed by.

Rigsby jolted to his feet, following Cho. “How the—” He glanced at Jane, and moderated his tone. “How did you know?”

“I have ears,” Cho replied, giving Rigsby the flat look that totally meant he was laughing at him.

“You weren’t even there,” Rigsby hissed, grabbing Cho’s arm and steering him out of the office into the hall. “How did you know?”

Cho glanced down and then gave Rigsby his, ‘well, this is uncomfortable’ look. Rigsby let go of his arm, and looked down at himself. He cursed.

“Look, we’ll talk about this later, okay?” Rigsby called over his shoulder as he strode quickly towards the washroom.

“Right,” Cho replied, walking back into the office.

 

 

Grace settled contentedly into her chair. A wicked grin slipped out before she caught herself.

 

 

Jane watched the team through half-closed eyes. Van Pelt was up to something. He could sense it in his scheming bone (actually a ligament located slightly above his knee). And Rigsby was freaking out about it. He didn’t need his scheming bone to figure that out.

Jane pressed back into the couch, thinking. Rigsby looked pale and a trifle panicked every time Van Pelt so much as twitched. When he had followed Cho out—Jane licked his lips—Rigsby had most definitely been aroused. He was nervous and thinking about something intently. Something sexual. Something Van Pelt had suggested to him.

Jane shifted restlessly, nestling into the warm embrace of the couch. What could make Rigsby—

Wayne pulled against the restraints, looking over his shoulder at Grace. “Listen, Grace, I’m not sure about this.”

She smiled enigmatically. “You agreed,” Grace murmured, rising up and over him, pressing her naked body against his back, thigh high stockings sliding over his skin in a smooth caress. She traced lines down side, provoking a shiver. “You said you would try it,” she breathed onto his neck, redirecting her hand to rest on the small of his back.

Wayne tensed under her touch. “I can still say no though, right?” he asked, twisting to watch her as she rose to her knees.”I can tell you to stop and you will?”

Grace smirked at him as she opened the nightstand, pulling a mass of gleaming leather straps from the drawer. “Of course,” she promised sweetly. “But you don’t want me to stop.”

Wayne settled into the bed sheets, warily content with her answer.

Grace stretched back toward the nightstand, her breasts swaying beautifully in the dim lamp light. She pulled back, holding a white bottle advertising ‘the smoothest glide!’ Grace dropped a kiss in his shoulder as she uncapped the lid. She nipped at the nape of his neck and tilted the bottle so it poured out onto his back.

Wayne squeaked and fought against the leather cuffs. “It’s cold!” he complained, trying to turn over and wipe it off.

Grace sat in the middle of his back to pin him. “It should be,” she replied. “It was in the freezer until about half an hour ago.”

“What? Why?” Wayne questioned, wiggling under her. “Why would you put it in the freezer?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Grace gave him a gentle smack as a warning to behave. He quieted.

Grace up ended the bottle again, pouring it over his back, drawing it down so the clear trickle of liquid dripped into the crack of Wayne’s ass.

Wayne shivered, the muscles in his legs tensing as he fought to keep from moving. The cold liquid slid down, trailing over—

“Jane, I’m making tea.” Grace leaned over the arm of the couch, looking into his face. “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Jane managed to reply after a moment. He coughed. “With honey?” he requested, smiling up at her.

“Okay, it’ll be done in a second.” Van Pelt pulled away, wandering back into the break room.

Jane got up and wandered off to the washroom, passing Rigsby at the door.

 

 

Rigsby passed Jane in the doorway, the sleeve of his jacket brushing over Rigsby’s arm. Rigsby hesitated, only for a moment, then hurried over to Cho’s desk.

“So seriously, how did you know?” Rigsby whispered despite the fact that they were alone. Lisbon could walk in at any moment. Or Jane could, which would also suck.

“It was obvious,” Cho waved away the question. “So are you going to do it?”

“What—? No! Of course not.” Rigsby shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m not—”

“Gay?” Cho suggested when Rigsby didn’t continue. He signed another form, adding it to the pile.

“Exactly!”

“Not really an issue though, is it?” Cho pointed out, skimming through the newest lawsuit before throwing it into the trash. “It’s Jane. It’s not like she’s not asking you to have a threesome with me.”

Rigsby hesitated, looking Cho over and thinking—

Cho rose to his feet, hooking his hands on his belt in a deliberate challenge. “Or would you prefer it was me?” he asked, stripping off his suit jacket—

“No.” Cho rapped Rigsby’s knuckles, scowling. “I asked if you really thought wanting Jane makes you gay, not if you wanted to sleep with me.”

Rigsby blushed. “Jane is a guy,” he protested. “That’s pretty gay.” He deliberately didn’t meet Cho’s eyes.

“Pfft,” Cho told him seriously. “If wanting Patrick Jane makes you gay, then there aren’t any straight men in this building.” He nodded decisively. “Wanting to fuck Jane? Totally not gay.”

“You’re sure?” Rigsby asked tentatively, wanting to take the reassurance, but sensing that there was an issue with it. “I mean—wait.” He looked at Cho suspiciously. “Everyone? Like, the including you kind of everyone?”

Cho gave him a level look. “If Jane was tied up and in my bed, no one would ever see him again.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Ever,” he reiterated, signing off on another report.

Rigsby blinked and leaned back carefully. He had no idea if that was a positive or negative response, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tie up Jane and put him in Cho’s bed now. Not that he was going to do that before, but now he had made a note of it. If Jane needed to be tied up and thrown into someone’s bed, it ought to be Rigsby’s bed. Or maybe Grace’s, she had nicer sheets.

“It’s not gay, and your girlfriend wants to have a crazy threesome. Do it.” Cho pointed his pen at Rigsby for a second, and then paused before continuing, a little wistfully. “And, if, when you’re done with him…”

Rigsby backed up and nearly ran into Grace, who was holding two mugs of tea. “I’ll—ah—Grace, I mean…Van Pelt, hi!” He grabbed one of the mugs for her. “Let me help you with that.”

Cho returned to his paperwork. “Subtle,” he muttered.