Chapter Text
Maura had just twenty seconds of Savasana remaining when the sound of knocking permeated her consciousness. She stood and pulled a silk robe over her lycra shorts and sport bra, and padded barefoot to the door.
She paused and looked through the spyhole, before pulling the door open.
“Jane,” she said quietly in greeting.
The detective had her back to the door, surveying the street from the stoop, but turned on hearing Maura’s voice, her own greeting curtailed when she caught sight of Maura’s attire.
“Hey Maur- oh. Damn, I’m sorry.” She glanced at her watch. “I didn’t realise the time. I’ll let you get back to bed.”
“Nonsense,” Maura replied, pulling the door open wider and taking a step to the side encouraging her friend to enter. “I wasn’t sleeping, I was just in Śavāsana.”
Jane took half a step forward, leaning in past the door frame and taking a quick look around. She lowered her voice. “Where is he? Is he decent?”
Maura blinked twice and shook her head in confusion. “Where is… who?”
“Shav-whatshisname,” Jane whispered, her eyes sweeping the downstairs of Maura’s house.
Maura slapped Jane’s upper arm playfully, rolled her eyes and pulled her into the house, closing the door behind her friend and locking it.
“For goodness sake. It isn’t a person, Jane. It’s yoga.”
She started to walk towards the kitchen as she continued “Śavāsana, from the Sanskrit. Śava means ‘corpse’ and Āsana, ‘posture’ or ‘seat’. The earliest mention of the pose is in the 15th century Hatha Yoga Pradipika, which states in the context of a mediaeval belief system that lying on the ground supine, like a corpse, is called Śavāsana. It eliminates tiredness and promotes calmness of the mind.”
“Corpse pose,” Jane replies, leaning against the wall for support as she removed her boots. “You don’t get enough of dealing with corpses at work, you have to pretend to be one at home too? Wow, you really do love your job.”
She followed her friend to the kitchen, and gratefully accepted the cold beer that was handed to her. She slid open a drawer and removed a bottle opener, flipped the lid off the beer, and then closed the drawer with her hip as she took a long pull from the bottle.
Releasing a contented sigh, she looked to her friend who was pouring herself a glass of red wine. “So why’re you wearing the sex robe, if all you’re doing is lying down pretending to be dead? And why,” she asked as she approached and pushed a few stray strands of hair back from Maura’s neck, “are you so sweaty?”
“Sex robe?!” Maura exclaimed, looking down at her handcrafted silk piece. “This is a Natori Saito pure silk robe, hand embroidered!”
“Well the only other time I’ve seen you wearing it is when I’ve called around early in the morning and you’ve had ‘a gentleman caller’, so it stands to reason that-”
“It was the closest thing to hand, Jane. As I said, I was in Śavāsana-”
“Who is not a far-eastern gentleman caller with a penchant for pegging.”
“Who is not a person at all,” Maura responded, continuing “when you knocked on my door and interrupted my practice. If I am perspiring, it is because of the yoga.”
As if to cement this point, Maura released the belt cinching the robe closed and allowed it to fall open, displaying her figure hugging yoga attire beneath. Jane’s eyes swept up Maura’s lithe and toned form, from her bare feet all the way up to her sweat-dampened neck and the wisps of hair still clinging there. She simultaneously choked on a mouthful of beer and turned away, swiping at her chin and muttering “Jesus Christ, Maura,” as she headed for what she hoped was the safety of the couch.
Maura joined her a few seconds later, robe mercifully closed again, and relaxed back into the cushions as she took a sip of wine.
“Pegging, though. That’s an interesting thought. I have encountered surprisingly few individuals who wish to open themselves up - as it were - to such a pursuit. I think they may fear a slight to their masculinity should they choose to readily engage, and yet, studies have shown-”
“Oh my God, Maura. Can you… can you just not?” Jane interrupted, not for the first time feeling more than a little uncomfortable with her friend’s willingness to discuss topics of a sexual nature quite so openly.
“But you’re the one who brought it up,” Maura protested.
“Honest to God, Maur, wishing I hadn’t.”
Maura suppressed a small smile hiding it behind another sip of wine, and the two sat in silence for half a minute, until Maura spoke again.
“So, I’m guessing that your presence here means that your date didn’t go quite as well as you’d hoped.”
Jane groaned and tilted her head onto the back of the couch, closing her eyes. Maura found herself holding the stem of her wineglass tighter, and she wet her lips with her tongue as she allowed herself to take in the expanse of Jane’s exposed neck and throat.
“He ate. With his mouth. Open.”
“Oh no.” Maura replied. “That’s just uncalled for.”
Jane tucked her legs under her as she straightened. “Elbows on the table, called the waitress ‘hon’ all night, called me ‘sugar’ constantly, and wanted to show me his ‘neat trick’ where he snorted two strands of spaghetti up each nostril at the same time and pulled it out through his mouth.”
Maura managed to tamp down her horror and simply replied "My, what kind of neanderthal are you choosing to date these days?”
“Well it isn’t like I’ve had any better offers recently, is it. And my feet are killing me,” she grumbled, taking one of her feet in both hands and rubbing the sole. “Those new boots might look the part, but damn they need breaking in.”
Maura leaned forward and placed her glass on the coffee table, then half turned in her seat at the other end of the couch. “Here,” she said, reaching for Jane’s foot, “let me.”
“Maura, noooo,” Jane protested. “I’m not gonna make you rub my feet just because I’m feeling sorry for myself, and worse, because you’re feeling sorry for me.”
Maura tutted as she took hold of Jane’s left ankle and pulled her leg straight. “You’re not making me do anything, I’m offering.”
“But still, Maur, it’s not ri-iii-ight there. Right there. Ohmygod that feels so good.” Jane’s protest turned into a murmur of relief as Maura pressed both thumbs hard into the sole of her foot, fingers wrapping around the top, and pressed harder as she moved her thumbs up toward Jane’s toes.
Repeating the motion brought another small groan of pleasure from Jane, who shifted down the couch a little and lowered her almost empty beer bottle to the floor. She let her head rest back against the arm of the couch and closed her eyes, folding her hands against her abdomen as Maura peeled off her sock and let it fall to the floor.
“I don’t let anybody touch my feet. Ever.” Jane murmured softly.
“My dear, I beg to differ,” Maura responded with equal softness and a smile in her voice, massaging her thumbs into the ball of her friend’s foot, focusing at the base of each toe.
“You’re often the exception to most of my rules,” Jane breathed, almost - but not quite - too quiet for Maura to hear.
Maura continued massaging Jane’s foot, slowly looking up her reclined form as she did so. One long leg straightened and foot in Maura’s lap, the other bent at the knee and resting against the back of the couch. Jane looked comfortable, relaxed even, and although her eyes were closed her lips were parted slightly, and Maura allowed herself a small smile when she realised that Jane was breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, just as she had encouraged her to do in order to fully relax. Whilst entering a meditative state was still a distant goal, this was progress and Maura was happy to witness it.
“Do you know, cats often don’t like having their paws touched. Cats are generally primed to react at a moment’s notice to any threat, and they need their feet ready for any eventuality: to fight, to hunt, to flee. Having their paw held onto makes cats feel vulnerable. They might allow some brief touching, but many cats are innately protective of these particular body parts.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Somewhat like you, I think. Primed to react at a moment’s notice, ready to fight, or hunt, or flee.”
“Believe me, Maur,” Jane murmured, “I have no plans to flee anywhere right now.”
Maura smiled and relaxed her fingers around the top of Jane’s foot, stroking softly as she pressed her thumbs one after the other into Jane’s foot and ran them in a firm line up the sole.
Jane exhaled long and slow, and moved her left arm so her forearm lay across her eyes. As she did so, her shirt pulled up slightly, revealing a sliver of olive skin at her hip that Maura found she couldn’t tear her eyes from.
“This shouldn’t feel so good,” Jane whispered.
“Stop thinking, and just feel it,” Maura replied, still massaging the foot that rested in her lap. “When was the last time you allowed yourself to be taken care of? Stop trying to fight it, and just feel what you feel.”
She felt the foot weigh a little heavier in her lap, and realised Jane was releasing the last of the tension that was holding her back from fully relaxing. She smiled again, and continued moving her thumbs over Jane’s sole, moving her fingertips to apply gentle pressure to the top of the foot at the same time.
They continued in this vein for another couple of minutes, Maura relishing the opportunity to witness Jane in such an unguarded moment. She just caught herself in time as she bent to place a gentle kiss to Jane’s big toe, and instead cleared her throat quietly and tapped the top of her foot.
“Next,” she said, pushing Jane’s foot away gently and reaching for her right foot instead.
“Oh no, Maur,” Jane protested, removing her arm from her head and lifting slightly.
“Jane Rizzoli, if you attempt to sit up or otherwise move from this position before I give you permission to do so, you will live to regret that action.”
The tone Maura adopted was enough to make Jane pause. She propped herself up on an elbow and arched one eyebrow as she looked down the couch at her friend. “Wow, dominant when you want to be, aren’t you.”
There was humour in her voice, and a small smirk on her lips as she said this, but both dissipated immediately with Maura’s calm and serious reply.
“You have absolutely no idea, Jane. Now lie back, and place your right foot in my lap.”
Jane held Maura’s eye for two long seconds, trying to discern exactly what she was seeing there, whilst simultaneously trying to ignore the flush of heat that had rushed to pool somewhere she really didn’t expect at the emergence of this side of Maura that was entirely new to her.
“Now, Jane.” Maura did not break eye contact with Jane, who found the commanding tone of voice at once unexpected and, surprisingly, thrilling.
“Yes ma’am,” she murmured, as she slowly lowered herself back down.
She felt a tug on the hem of the right leg of her jeans, and dutifully moved her foot into Maura’s lap. For exactly ten seconds, Maura did nothing at all. She didn’t move, she didn’t touch Jane, she didn’t speak.
After a full ten seconds had passed, she let out a long slow breath and moved back up the couch very slightly. Barely any distance at all, yet just enough distance to move Jane’s foot away from where it had unwittingly fallen, pressed against a heat between her legs that had been building since that small sliver of skin covering Jane’s iliac crest had revealed itself.
Closing her eyes briefly and taking two steadying breaths, Maura took Jane’s right foot into both her hands and pressed her thumbs deeply into the sole of the foot. She opened her eyes just in time to see Jane’s head fall back again, and a shaky breath escape her lips.
“Good girl,” Maura murmured, removing and discarding her sock, and Jane moved her forearm to cover her eyes once more, her right hand curling into a tight fist beside her.
Maura again took her time massaging Jane’s foot, fingers and thumbs working in unison to provide Jane some relief. She did so in silence for almost five minutes, before speaking quietly.
“As a fully qualified professional in medicine, I don’t hold much truck with so-called alternative therapies, particularly those without a sound evidence base to support them. A recent Cochrane Collaboration review defined reflexology as gentle manipulation of certain parts of the foot to produce an effect elsewhere in the body. It is of course pure bunkum, but I don’t think I would be able to refute the relaxation a simple massage can bring.”
Jane remained silent for a few seconds, before clearing her throat quietly and softly responding “What kind of effects elsewhere in the body?”
“The general consensus is that areas on the foot correspond to areas of the body and that by manipulating these one can improve health through one's qi. As I said, bunkum. More pseudoscience. There has never been any scientific evidence to support the existence of qi, or any other ‘life force’. One claimed explanation of reflexology is that the pressure received in the feet may send signals that 'balance' the nervous system or release chemicals such as endorphins that reduce stress and pain.”
“Endorphins. Right.”
“They are hormones that your body releases during-”
“Yes, thank you Dr Google, I know what endorphins are.”
Maura fell silent again, and looked down at Jane’s foot in her hands. She allowed her fingertips to stroke the top of Jane’s foot, drifting up to her ankle briefly, before taking a firmer hold again and pushing her thumbs into the ball of her foot.
She heard Jane’s quiet exhalation, and looked up at her. Jane’s right hand had unfurled and was now resting on her abdomen. As Maura watched, Jane’s fingers pushed her shirt up a little, and her fingertips began to slowly stroke the skin below her navel.
Maura wet her lips, and continued massaging the foot in her lap, once more allowing her fingers to glide up to and - this time - around Jane’s ankle. Her eyes remained transfixed on Jane’s hand, now drawing leisurely figure eights on her own skin, fingertips dipping to the waistband of her jeans. She watched as Jane’s hips shifted slightly. Maura swallowed, her throat making a quiet click.
“How are those endorphins, Jane?” Maura whispered.
“Working,” came the rasped reply.
Maura’s fingers pushed higher beneath the hem of Jane’s jeans, and she dragged her fingernails lightly over her skin, from the base of her calf, down over her achilles, and then rested them on the top of her foot once more. Jane’s toes curled at the feeling of Maura’s nails on her skin, and she let another shaky breath escape her mouth.
Maura continued to massage Jane’s foot, still watching her friend’s fingers moving lazily over her own skin. After another few minutes, she stilled her hands and simply cradled the foot in her lap. Jane’s fingers slowed before eventually stopping, but she made no effort to move from her position on the couch.
Maura leaned toward the table and retrieved her glass of wine. She swirled the dark liquid around the glass, watching it move, before taking a sip and relaxing back into the couch. Jane watched her from beneath the arm still resting on her forehead, studying the unreadable expression on her friend’s face.
“Thank you,” Jane ventured, her voice low.
Maura took a couple of seconds before turning her gaze from her wine glass to her friend, and forcing a soft smile.
“You’re welcome.”
Jane slowly withdrew her foot and pulled herself to a seated position, her knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them as she continued to watch the doctor.
“Are… are you okay?”
“It’s been a long day,” Maura replied. “The yoga was to unwind before bed.”
Jane checked her watch and swung her legs to the floor, reaching for her socks. Maura’s fingers curled around her wrist and Jane paused, looking up at her friend.
“You could stay,” Maura said, her voice quiet.
Jane looked at her, then slowly at the fingers encircling her wrist. She took in a breath, but before she could speak Maura released her hold and sat back again. A strained brightness laced her voice as she continued, “The guest room is made up, as ever, you’re welcome to use it of course.”
Jane looked at her friend, then nodded slowly as she pulled on her socks. “Yeah, no. I’ll head home, I… work, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” Maura replied, getting to her feet and taking her wine into the kitchen. She stood at the sink and drained her glass, aware of Jane moving around behind her. When she heard only silence, she turned, a polite smile on her face as she moved toward her friend and the door.
Jane waited, pulling her car keys from her jacket pocket.
Maura pulled open the door and bade her friend goodnight. Jane stepped across the threshold and paused, turning back and speaking Maura’s name.
Their eyes met, and Jane leaned in close. She dropped a gentle kiss on her friend’s cheek and squeezed her hand before murmuring “Goodnight, Maur,” then turned and walked away.