mirroring: a social phenomenon in which a person mimics another person’s posture, gestures, speech pattern, and/or attitude, often an unconscious behavior and a sign that people are attuned to and in sync with each other. mirroring may be more pervasive in close friendships or romantic relationships, as the individuals regard each other highly and thus wish to emulate and/or appease each other. additionally, individuals who enjoy close relationships may have more similarities than two strangers and therefore may be more likely to exhibit similar body language.
@lemmonlyman prompted me a fic inspired by slow hands (my first niall horan song i’ve ever heard!) and here we go! it’s not necessarily smutty.
Lucien was driving her crazy and judging from the sly look on his face, he knew it. She had been clear after their cocoa kiss in the kitchen that she needed established boundaries. Too much kissing, too much touching led them both to temptation.
So they had agreed: hands over clothes from the waist up; chaste, fleeting kisses to the lips, hand, and forehead; back and neck rubs; and comforting hugs. These were all safe touches, just enough contact to keep the fire of desire between them sparked and alight.
But Lucien, as usual, was bending the rules and it was going to break her. Today, he stepped behind her while she stood at the sink and dried the dishes, hands resting at her hips and his nose nuzzling into the curve of her neck.
“Lucien...,” she trailed off, warning him. He was flirting with the edges of their boundaries. But subconsciously she stepped back into his touch, pressing against him. Grinning against her neck, he trailed slow, careful hands up from her hips, ghosting over her ribs.
“I’m not breaking the rules,” he rumbled against her skin, rubbing his beard against her as he adjusted himself, his chin resting on her shoulder. He drummed his fingers against her ribs, thumbs brushing the side of her breast. Jean sucked in a breath, head falling back against his shoulder.
“Look my hands are above the waist.” He trailed his hands over her stomach, feeling it flutter at his touch. “I’m not under your blouse, although,” he added in mock thought, his fingers playing with her buttons, “I certainly could breath that rule, if you’d like?” The tip of his finger slipped between the gap in the buttons and stroked briefly over her skin.
He paused, waiting to see if Jean would put a stop to this. Lucien, no matter how desperately he desired her, would go wherever Jean led them. “You tell me when to stop, love. Do you want me to stop?”
Dropping the dish towel onto the counter, she twisted to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He sighed happily. He had always hated his hair--always too unruly for him to manage. But this had been a favorite place for Jean to bury her hands and he would never complain about it again, especially if it brought her (and himself) pleasure.
Jean looked up at him, looking anguished. “Lucien, it’s not that I don’t want to. I do.” She tightened her hold on his hair and he closed his eyes, biting back a small moan. “I’m just scared.”
At her words, all playfulness fled his face and he moved his hands up to her face, cradling her in his hands. “Oh Jeannie,” he ducked to brush his lips over hers. “I’ve been thinking about touching you all day. We can go as slow or as fast as you want. But you should never, ever be scared.” Another brush of his lips against hers, soft and comforting. “Not with me, love.”
At his words, her face relaxed, a tentative smile spreading over her face. She reached up onto her tiptoes, pressing herself against him, and slanting her mouth over his. Breaking apart briefly, she muttered against his lips, “I’m safe with you.”
Something inside of him broke at her words. He had always thought himself dangerous, a liability, unstable and destructive. But Jean felt safe with him. Determined to make her feel cherished and loved, he took her hand in his, leading them back down the hallway and towards his bedroom.
He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand in reassurance, noting the wariness in her eyes. “Trust me.”
Leading them inside and shutting the door behind them, Lucien turned to face Jean, taking a deep breath. “You’re unsure. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what to expect? Maybe it’s because you’re scared of the,” he searched for the word. “Passion? Between us?”
She nodded, hands wringing in front of her. “It’s been a long time, Lucien.”
Stepping forward and brushing the hair from her face. “For me too, love.” He let his fingers trail over the curve of her cheek. “So how about this, we’ll go as slow as you want. The ball is in your court, as they say. It’s just you and me in this room.”
Guiding her hands to his shirt, nervous that he was pushing too much, he looked at her, waiting for Jean to slap him or kiss him. Fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, she licked her lips. “Can I just see you?”
He nodded, dropping his hands to his side. “All yours, love.”
Carefully, Jean started unfastening each button of his shirt, her eyes never straying from his chest and stomach. In a way, he was grateful she wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he looked into her eyes as she was stripping him down. Idly, he wondered if she could feel his rapidly beating heart.
As the last button slipped loose, Jean pushed the shirt from his shoulders and the fabric fell to the floor with a soft rustle. He stood before her, bare-chested, awaiting her next move.
Jean’s fingers ghosted over his chest and stomach, fluttering back and forth, as if overwhelmed by the sudden expanse of skin before her. Finally settling on his chest, she slid her hands through the sparse hair she found there, marveling at its coarse texture.
His skin was tan and smooth and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward and pressed an opened-mouth kiss to his sternum, feeling his heart pounding beneath the skin.
Her nails scraped over his skin and he hissed.
She jumped, withdrawing her hand. “I’m sorry!” But he was shaking his head, reaching for her hand and leading it back to his chest. “No, no. It’s fine, Jeannie. It felt good. You made me feel good.”
Tentatively, her hand settled back on his chest, tracing mindless patterns upon the skin. His nipples puckered in the cold air and she bit her lip, curious. She scraped her nail over the sensitive bud and Lucien jerked, his hands automatically going to her hips and his breathing harsh.
“Easy, love. I can only take so much before I want to touch, too.”
Jean could see the truth in his words, his face flushed and his normally bright blue eyes blown black. She slid her hands over his chest and shoulders, “We’re playing with fire, Lucien.”
He grinned, holding her close, "I don’t mind being burned by you.” Turning serious, he focused his attention on her, eyes flicking down to her lips. “Can I kiss you, Jean?”
Breathlessly, she nodded, lifting her head to him in offering. Needing no further encouragement, he ducked his head and captured her lips, groaning at the feel of her in his arms, her hands roaming the exposed skin of his shoulders and back. Jean sighed into his mouth, loving the way he cradled her in his arms.
Her hands danced over his back, feeling the skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Distantly, she felt the urge to break the kiss, to run her tongue over his back and shoulders and lick the salt from his skin.
Meanwhile, Lucien clutched at Jean, sipping at her lips with desperation. She would put a stop to this any time soon, would pull away and slap him, tell him no more, but until then he would taste her for as long as she permitted him. Jean was better than any whiskey he had ever tasted; mint and tea and honey and Jean.
The kiss--however passionate--was slow and languid. His head tilted this way and that, capturing her lips again and again. Her lips were swollen red with his attention and an animalistic pride filled him at the sight.
Slow, slow, slow, he chanted to himself, forcing himself to keep himself in check. No matter how desperately he wanted to pick Jean up and wrap her legs around his waist and press her down into the mattress and show her just how good he could be for her, he couldn’t do that. Jean wanted slow. Jean wanted safety. He would give it to her.
Jean felt the heat curdle low in her belly, the telltale signs of growing desire, and knew she would need to put a stop to this before they couldn’t stop themselves. But she just needed one more touch to get her through.
Her nails scraped over his shoulders and down the front of his chest and, feeling brave, traced the skin above his waistband, the tips of her fingers dipping beneath the fabric just briefly to feel even coarser hair awaiting her.
She shivered at the implications and then suddenly, Lucien was breaking away from her, putting an arm’s distance between them and breathing heavily. “Enough, love, enough. I can’t---Jean, please.”
He was babbling and desperate and Jean did that. She felt pride well up inside of her and she forced herself to meet his eyes, to not drop down to the obvious tenting in his trousers.
She bent low and scooped up his shirt and handed it to him. “I’ll just let you get dressed. I need to, um, freshen up.” Her mind drifted up to a long bath where she could stoke the fire of desire curling low in her belly using her fingers to explore her own sex under the cover of hot, steaming water.
“Yes, yes. Me, as well.” Lucien’s cheeks were flushed bright red and his eyes darted to his own bathroom. The thought of Lucien touching himself to completion to thoughts of her sparked something within her and she wanted to stay, to ask to see, to watch him stroke himself and--
No, that wasn’t putting a stop to anything.
Brushing past him, she leaned up to press a kiss to his flushed cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
As she reached for the doorknob, she turned to face him, face thoughtful. “Lucien? Maybe we can revisit those rules between us tonight? I think there’s room for improvement.”
Lucien smiled at her, face softened with love and desire. “Anything you want, love.”
Afahdkdldjsb Miss Fisher'a Murder Mysteries. I'll sell you on this. Take all that sexual tension and lack of personal space from TXF and ramp it up AND THATS WHAT YOU GET IN THE FIRST EP!
Say what now? More sexual tension and lack of personal space than X-Files?! *runs to watch*
First off LOVE, love, LOVE how perfectly detailed and true to character all our your theories/answers are. Truly.
But I just wanted to pick your brain and I don’t know if you’ve answered this previously (just started following a few weeks ago so I’m working my way through your responses).
But what are your thoughts post Immortality re: where they ended up post sailing into the sunset.
While I do love the idea that they just had their happy ending and both went off and traveled the world working on various expeditions and whatnot I also can’t help but also hope that Sara also went back to Vegas to run the lab. She really had come into her own those last few years and was shaping up to be a great leader.
But would love your thoughts ☺️
hi, @lemmonlyman!
thank you for your incredibly kind words. i’m so glad you enjoy my stuff! ❤
i actually do have a couple of old posts about my headcanons here and here, if you’re interested.
the tl;dr version is that, like yours, my headcanon for post-“immortality” involves grissom and sara eventually returning to vegas.
i see sara resuming work at the lab while grissom takes a teaching job at wlvu or unlv. as per a wonderful idea once floated by @butterflied4life, i envision them living together on a horse ranch outside of the city limits (so that grissom can be a part-time cowboy and sara can undergo equine therapy).
however, while i definitely agree with you that sara is fully deserving of a leadership position, i actually don’t picture her returning to the lab in the capacity of director.
rather, i see her coming back as either just a csi level iii or (at most) a shift supervisor, a la early seasons grissom, as i think that her heart is more in fieldwork than administration overall.
while the later seasons of csi pretended like russell could be the lab director AND the shift supervisor AND a field csi all at once, that’s not how things work in real life (or how they were depicted in the earlier, more realistic seasons of the show). if sara were the lab director, she would have to solely be an administrator, and i just genuinely can’t see her happy that way; i think she loves solving crimes too much to give up doing so for a desk job, even if said desk job is really prestigious.
that’s just my take, though—and i’m sure that when the csi: vegas reboot starts, they’ll have a completely different approach than i have to what grissom and sara have been up to these last few years (and what brings them back to the lab for the events of the new series).
it’ll be interesting to see how they fill in the blanks.
thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.
