Chapter Title: Closer to You
Chapter: 6/? [WIP]
Characters: Brennan, Booth
Rating: NC-17 (Do not read if you are underage, or if frank language/sexuality offend you.)
Spoilers: Through 2x11 (season 2, episode 11)
Summary: Thoughts of Booth are keeping Brennan awake at night. Question is, what is she going to do about it? This story is set in Season 2, after Episode 11, though I may have changed the exact month.
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Prologue & Chapter 1
A huge thank you to geezbones , who gifted me with this lovely banner after reading previous chapters of this story. :)
Chapter 6: Closer to You
Brennan swiped her ID card and crept up the platform steps at the Jeffersonian. Zack stood off to the left, but fortunately, his back was turned to her. Angela was nowhere in sight. With a nearly inaudible sigh of relief, she congratulated herself on her stealth and slipped past Zack and into her office.
Unfortunately she had congratulated herself too soon, for she had just slid into her chair and switched on her computer when Angela appeared in the doorway, her brow creased with worry. “There you are,” she exclaimed. She glanced at her watch. “You’re late. You’re never late. It’s almost 10:30.”
“I was a bit overtired, Angela, so I overslept.”
“Sure, sweetie. And monkeys might fly out of my butt.”
Brennan frowned. “That’s a disturbing image.”
Angela walked into the office and leaned against Brennan’s desk. She peered at Brennan curiously. “Your hair’s still wet, and you're wearing a tank top. That’s pretty casual for you, Brennan.”
Brennan reached behind her for the lab coat slung over the back of her chair. She shrugged it on and buttoned it up before responding. “I have to do laundry.”
“You just did it again.”
“You lied to me.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“How can you tell?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Brennan’s shoulders sagged.
"I'll forgive you, just this once, if you tell me why you're really late."
Just then, Brennan's cell phone chimed. She grabbed it off her desk and flipped it open. There it was, a text message from Booth: See you tonight. She couldn't help it -- a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. Remembering Angela's presence, she schooled her features into a more neutral expression. But it was too late; the damage was already done.
"All right, Brennan. Give me the goods."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Angela."
"If you keep lying to me, eventually I'm going to be offended." Angela folded her arms across her chest and gave her a stern look. "You might as well just tell me. We both know I'll find out anyway."
"Honey, I've got interrogation methods even Booth doesn't know about."
At the mention of Booth's name, Brennan's eyes flashed to her phone. It was a move that would cost her.
In a flash, Angela snatched the phone out of her hand and stared at it with avid curiosity. A wide smile lit her face as she sashayed toward the door and pulled it shut. "See you tonight," she said in a singsong voice. Still smiling, she practically danced over to the couch, sitting down and crossing her legs with a gusty sigh. "The gig is up."
"Spill, sweetie." She patted a spot on the couch next to her. "Come sit."
"You're invading my privacy, Ange," she complained with a pointed glance at her phone.
"You bet I am."
"You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"Nope, not on your life. What kind of friend would I be if I did?"
"My best friend?" Brennan replied with a hopeful smile.
Realizing both the battle and the war were lost, Brennan rose and moved to sit on the couch next to Angela.
"So what's going on with you and Booth?"
"I've been having these thoughts...about him."
"Let me guess, the kind that involve whipped cream and handcuffs."
Brennan smiled and relaxed onto the couch, turning to face her friend. Discussing it with Angela might not be so bad. "Yeah, that kind."
"With a partner like Agent Hotty, I'd be worried if you weren't having those kinds of thoughts. So what happened?"
"I couldn't sleep last night. It's been like that for a while now, and I just thought that if we, well, had sex, that would take care of the problem."
Angela grabbed Brennan's hand. "Oh my god," she breathed. "What did you do?"
She shifted on the couch. "I went over to his apartment late last night and proposed a solution to our problem."
"What solution? I think I already know the answer, but tell me anyway."
"I told him we should have sex, just once. That way the mystery would be gone, and we could go back to the way things were before."
"You mean the two of you arguing all the time, thereby engaging in really hot, really extended foreplay. And picturing each other naked."
Brennan frowned. "It's not foreplay, Angela. Booth and I disagree. Often. So we discuss, share our different perspectives."
"Uh huh. Whatever you say," Angela replied with what Brennan suspected was an indulgent smile, and patted her hand.
"So how did he react?"
"Well, after some discussion, I was able to persuade him to see things my way."
"I'm sure he took a lot of persuading," Angela said with a wicked grin.
"I encountered some initial resistance, but when I dared him to kiss me, he complied. It didn't take much after that."
"Oh my god, this is even better than I thought." Angela threw her arms around Brennan and gave her a warm squeeze. "I am so proud of you, sweetie."
"Because you took a chance." She clapped her hands together. "You saw what you wanted, and you went for it. Go you. So, how was the sex?" she said with a frightening gleam in her eye.
"We didn't have sex."
"You didn't? But I thought..."
"Well," she amended, "we were intimate, but we didn't actually have intercourse." Brennan leaned closer to Angela, her voice a near whisper. "He performed oral sex on me."
"Sweetie! Lucky you. That's hot." Angela fanned herself and then shook her finger at Brennan. "Naughty, naughty Brennan. I like it. I knew you had it in you. So how does that tie in with the text message?"
"It was after 3:00 when I went over there last night, so I wound up staying over. We didn't get up till 9:30."
"Let me guess -- breakfast in bed?" Angela asked with a wink.
"No, no time. But he did make me a bagel and coffee," she said with a shrug.
"So he went down on you last night and made you breakfast this morning. He's a keeper."
"Maybe so, but not for me."
"What do you mean?"
"I told you, I think we need to have sex once to fix things. I'm not looking to get involved with Booth. He's picking me up at 6:00. I expect we'll have sex tonight, and that will be it."
"That will be it? Are you insane? Have you looked at the man?"
"Of course. I'll admit he's very well-structured—"
"Well-structured? Massive understatement. Come on! He's built like a brick house. Those shoulders could fill a doorway," Angela said, holding her hands far apart, "and that butt, especially in jeans, is to die for."
"You've certainly given this a lot of thought, Angela."
"Can't blame a girl for looking. But don't worry, I know that one's all yours, Bren."
"He's not mine."
"Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that."
Brennan frowned and prepared to argue her point, but then Angela cut her off. "Did I mention his hands?"
She shivered, remembering those hands on her body a scant few hours ago. Unfortunately, her reaction didn't go unnoticed by Angela.
"That good, huh?"
"Yes," she replied simply.
"Good. Because some guys really don't know what they're doing down there. Now, if I were you, I would ride that train for all it's worth. Tie him to your bed and don't let him go. Have a little fun. There's no harm in that, and you both deserve it. Booth's a great guy, Brennan. And you care about each other; that's obvious. But what's he think of the fact that you only want to do this once?"
"He seemed skeptical at first, but I think we're in agreement now."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I think so."
"Hm," Angela said, biting her lip. "I don't know. I think—"
There was a knock, and then the door to her office swung open, effectively ending their conversation. Zack peered inside. "Dr. Brennan, I think there's something you should see. There's an anomaly in the Gabler bones."
"Thank you, Zack. I'll be right there."
Zack nodded and shuffled away. Once she was certain that Zack was totally out of earshot, Brennan turned back to Angela. "Thank you, Angela. I think this was helpful."
"Of course it was," she said with a smile. "And you're welcome. You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Brennan smiled and nodded, suddenly grateful, and not for the first time, for their friendship. "I do know that."
"Good. Now go on, you slacker. It'll be 6:00 before you know it." She gave Brennan back her phone and patted her knee before breezing out of her office.
The rest of the day flew by in such a flurry of activity that when Booth strode into her office, one hand in his pocket and the other tossing and catching a coin repeatedly, Brennan felt as if only an hour had passed since she'd made it into the lab. "Come on, Bones. Chop chop. Time to go."
"Booth, I have so much to do. I don't think I can leave now. You go ahead."
"But I'm your ride."
"I can always call a cab."
"No, you're coming with me. We had an agreement, Bones. 6:00," he said, tapping his watch.
Just then her stomach emitted a loud rumble. Oh, she'd forgotten to eat lunch.
"Wow. That was loud. Did you forget to eat lunch again?"
"I was merely immersed in my work."
"What did I tell you about that? You need to eat." He was across the room in seconds, unbuttoning her lab coat and pulling it off her shoulders.
The intimacy of the touch startled her. Booth had removed her coat dozens of times, but he'd never unbuttoned it before.
"You didn't change your shirt," Booth said, his eyes warm as they traveled over her.
"I didn't have time."
He grasped her arm above the elbow and tugged her toward the doorway, his hand warm against her skin. "Come on. We've gotta get you fed."
"Booth," she protested. "I need to grab my phone and my..." The words died on her lips when Booth's thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her antecubital area — the soft spot inside her elbow. Probably no one observing would have given the innocent touch a second thought, but Brennan did, feeling a wave of warmth wash over her.
"Grab your stuff, and let's go."
She complied, and Booth ushered her out, his hand pressed to the small of her back.
Once they were settled in his car, Booth turned to her. "How was your day?"
"Very productive, once I arrived."
"I'm glad one of us got some work done. For me, today was a total wash."
"The FBI isn't keeping you busy, Agent Booth?" she teased.
"Don't get me wrong, I have mountains of paperwork to do. Believe me, I'm going to pay for today. But I was just too distracted to get much done."
"Distracted? By what?"
"By you," he said with a smile and a sideways glance. "You're hell on my concentration, Dr. Brennan."
She smiled back at Booth before turning her head to look out the window at the passing cars and buildings and try to ignore the fact that she was inordinately pleased by his admission.
"So I thought I'd make us dinner," Booth continued. "We can stop in at Safeway, pick up some groceries, and then head back to my place."
"You can cook?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I've been on my own a long time. Just because I eat takeout sometimes doesn't mean I can't cook. But we'll keep it simple tonight. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup."
"Oh, come on, Bones. Don't be a food snob. I promise once you've had my grilled cheese, you'll want more."
"Hm. So you say," she replied noncommittally, unsure if they were still talking about food.
Thirty minutes later, Brennan watched as Booth pulled groceries from paper bags. He'd chosen plastic when the cashier had offered them a choice between paper or plastic, but Brennan had explained the environmental effects of plastic. Then Booth had rolled his eyes at her and requested paper instead.
After they'd returned from Safeway, Booth had gone into his room and traded his suit for a black t-shirt and faded jeans with rips at the knees. The denim looked soft, and her fingers itched to smooth over the worn fabric and glide across the plains and contours of the man it covered. But she restrained herself, choosing instead to sit on the counter and swing her legs lazily. Remembering Angela's comment about Booth's shoulders filling a doorway, she raked her eyes over him, admiring the way the t-shirt clung to shoulders that were, admittedly, astonishingly wide.
Having emptied the bags, Booth turned away to don a black apron. She chuckled at his attire, and he grinned at her over his shoulder, eliciting a curious flutter in her chest. When he left the kitchen for a minute, Brennan shook her head and marveled at the memory of how his eyes had crinkled at the corners when he grinned at her.
When Booth returned to the kitchen, Brennan heard music coming from the other room. From the guitar chords, she ascertained it was rock. The tune didn't seem familiar, though.
"Sweet child o' mine," Booth sang, moving his head and body in a curiously snakelike fashion. "Sing it with me, Bones," he said, holding an imaginary microphone up to her face.
"I don't know this song."
"You don't know?" he said, shooting her an incredulous look. "Guns N' Roses, Bones. Axl Rose. Sweet Child of Mine."
She shrugged her shoulders and made a face indicating she had no idea what he was talking about.
"Man, you are deprived. We'll have to fix that. She's got eyes of the bluest skies, and if they thought of rain, I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain."
His enthusiastic singing drew a smile from her. But she couldn't resist teasing him. "It's a good thing you already have full-time employment."
"Thanks, Bones. You really know how to boost a guy's ego."
"You're welcome," she replied sweetly.
The song continued, but Booth stopped singing and moved to stand directly in front of her. "Is that a hint?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and glancing down at his apron, where it said, "Kiss the cook" in bright red letters.
He grinned, and there it was again, that crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He winked and patted her leg. "Only if you want it to be."
"Perhaps I do." She caught his hand and pulled him closer. Because she was seated on the counter, she had to lean down to kiss him. His lips felt as soft and warm as she'd remembered. With a sigh, she deepened the kiss; he tasted like coffee and Booth. His arms wrapped around her and his hands slid up her back and into her hair. She pulled back, feeling dizzy, unsure whether it was from hunger or the kiss. "I think I'm hungry," she whispered.
"Me too." He pressed one last, lingering kiss against her mouth and then moved away.
"These are Booth family recipes, Bones," he intoned, "handed down from generation to generation." He laughed. "Actually they're just my mom's. When we were kids, this was our favorite winter lunch -- grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup." He reached for the can of Campbell's soup they'd bought at Safeway and twisted the can opener to open it. "Lots of weekends when it snowed, my brother and I would go out and sled and have snowball fights. We'd come in, wet and cold, and Mom would have this hot lunch ready for us. Those were good days." He smiled fondly.
Brennan smiled at the easy affection evident in Booth's voice and thought wistfully of her own mother. No, she wouldn't say anything now. Too many of their conversations about family centered around her own dysfunctional one. Now, she was content to listen to Booth's happier reflections.
"You know, she'd hide the cans from us. So for the longest time, we thought the soup was made from scratch. Not that we cared either way. But it wasn't till I was in high school that the truth came out."
He poured the condensed soup into a pot he'd set on a burner on the stove, tapping the can against the edge of the pot. He gave the soup a quick stir before turning the flame up a bit higher and securing the lid. Next he reached for the bread. "For the best grilled cheese, you've gotta have Wonder Bread. Just plain, white, Wonder Bread. None of that whole wheat, sourdough, or anything else."
"White bread is incredibly unhealthy, Booth. All the fiber has been removed. It's contributing to the diabetes epidemic in this country."
"I know, I know." He waved dismissively. "I'm not saying we should eat it every day. But people should enjoy their food. Food, like sex," he shot her a knowing look over his shoulder, "is one of the great pleasures of life. So my grilled cheese sandwiches are made with Wonder Bread and have real butter and real, full-fat cheese in them."
"And your tomato soup has heavy cream in it," she said with a sad shake of her head. She'd groaned aloud when he'd grabbed the small carton of cream from the dairy aisle at the grocery store.
"Relax, Bones. I'm sure we'll work it off."
She rolled her eyes and let the comment pass.
He opened the carton of heavy cream and poured some into the soup pot without measuring. Her eyes widened as she watched him spread a healthy pat of butter on one side of four slices of bread and then place one slice of cheddar cheese on each, as well. That done, he opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. Yuengling. "None of that nasty Moroccan crap you've got in your fridge, Bones."
He popped the caps off and passed her one bottle, clinking his against hers before giving her a quick kiss that left her wholly unsatisfied. "Drink up," he said before tipping the bottle to his mouth.
Brennan did the same and savored the coolness of the beer.
Booth finished assembling the sandwiches and set them both in a large pan, flattening them slightly with a spatula. He really did seem at ease in the kitchen. It occurred to her then that he handled the spatula with as much skill as he handled his gun. Special Agent Seeley Booth appeared to be a man of many talents. She took another sip of her beer, hiding her smile.
"Do you make this meal for Parker?"
"Yeah, sometimes I do," he replied, face illuminated by the same proud smile that always appeared when he discussed his son. "Although he likes to dip his grilled cheese in ketchup." Booth shuddered. "I know he didn't get that from me. Rebecca swears he didn't get it from her either."
The next few minutes floated by in companionable silence as Booth puttered around the kitchen, humming under his breath. The tangy aroma of tomato and the comforting smell of melting butter and cheese and crisping bread wafted over to her and she sighed, feeling a warm sense of contentment steal over her. She shouldn't allow herself to feel so relaxed. But the warning registered as if it came from a great distance, so she was able to shove it aside. The clink and clatter of plates and bowls filtered to her as Booth pulled them down from a cabinet shelf. She lifted her legs straight out in front of her to allow him to open a drawer and pull out silverware. He placed the spoons on the plates and then paused mid-step as the cd changed and the strains of something mid-tempo and jazzy drifted from the living room.
He moved toward her and grasped her hands. "Dance with me?"
"Shh. It's Sinatra — Ol' Blue Eyes. I've Got You Under My Skin. Just one dance. What could it hurt?"
If he had insisted, she could have argued with him. But he hadn't — he'd simply asked her, his expression serious. What could it hurt? She couldn't think of an answer right then, couldn't resist the pull of his dark eyes, so she surrendered and let him help her down from the counter. He freed her hands, but only for a moment, so he could remove his apron, flip the sandwiches, and turn off the stove. Then he tucked her hand into his again as he led her out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Brennan rested one hand on Booth's shoulder and let him clasp the other in his. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and danced her around the room. She attempted to listen to the lyrics at first. "I've got you under my skin. I've got you deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me. I've got you under my skin. I'd tried so not to give in. I said to myself: this affair never will go so well."
She really did try to listen, but then Booth tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. With a sigh, she gave in and closed her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder and letting him lead her wherever he wanted. His body was warm, his movements easy and graceful. The music and Booth's proximity lulled Brennan into a soporific state. It was a good thing he was leading because her limbs felt so heavy and warm that she barely felt that she was even moving.
Booth's cheek brushed hers, and she shivered in reaction. "Cold?" he murmured, his breath tickling her ear and eliciting another shiver.
Unable to speak, she shook her head. But he released her hand and wrapped both his arms around her snugly. No, definitely not cold. They were hardly moving now, just swaying to the music. "And I like you, under my skin," Booth whispered near her ear.
The song faded out, and during the silence between the end of that song and the beginning of the next, Booth leaned back and looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She held her breath, wondering, (hoping?), that he'd kiss her.
But he thwarted her expectations, as he so often did, by giving her a gentle smile instead. "I'm starving. Let's eat." With that, Booth released her and walked away, pausing to turn off the stereo.
Brennan stood for a moment, rooted to the spot, and stared after him. What was happening to her? She frowned and shook herself. Her blood sugar must really be low.
She felt strangely unsettled — off-balance, even. She found him in the kitchen, crumbling basil into the soup before spooning it into two bowls. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Pouring the soup."
"No, what are you doing, Booth? To me," she said, pointing at herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the floor, impatient to hear his answer.
"Huh? Nothing." His brows furrowed in puzzlement. "We've gotta eat. Would you rather I let you starve?"
"No, but..." She trailed off, unable to articulate her thoughts in a satisfactory manner.
"But nothing. Hunger is making you grouchy and even weirder than usual."
"I am not weird," she shot back, insulted.
"Trust me, you're weird." Booth grasped her by the shoulders and turned her in the direction of the kitchen table. "Go sit. I'll be out in a second."
By the time they finished eating, Brennan felt much better. When was the last time someone had cooked even a modest meal for her? With a pang, she realized she couldn't remember. It felt...good. Yes, surprisingly good. Was it possible to miss something without realizing you missed it? She set down her spoon and cleared her throat.
Booth looked up from the napkin he was busy folding into an origami swan. She waited till she had his eyes. "Thank you."
"For this," she said, gesturing at her empty bowl and plate.
"I hardly did anything. Just cracked open a can of soup and slapped some butter and cheese on some bread."
"Still, thank you."
"You're welcome, Bones. So, what did you think?"
"I'll admit I liked it. Very much. The sandwich was crispy and satisfying, and the soup was creamy and hearty."
"See, I told ya," he said with a self-satisfied grin.
Feeling uncharacteristically shy, she looked down at her hands and twisted them together in her lap. "I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me."
"Maybe you didn't let them."
Her gaze shot up to meet his, and she prepared to parry with an angry retort. But Booth's gaze was steady and calm, and she bit back the words. "Maybe I didn't." She inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"Maybe you should." He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Let people do things for you sometimes, I mean."
She nodded imperceptibly and looked away, fumbling for another topic. "Of course, if I keep eating like this—"
He cut her off with a sly wink and a blatant perusal of her chest. "A couple pounds wouldn't hurt you."
She tossed her crumpled napkin at his head. He laughed and tossed his origami swan at her before rising and giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze. He gathered their dishes and moved toward the sink. "Why don't you go sit out front while I wash these?"
"No," she protested, tucking the swan into her pocket. "You drove me to work and back and made me breakfast and dinner. The least I can do is wash a few dishes."
"Well, if you insist."
"Ok. You wash, I'll dry."
"Agreed," she said, smiling at the sight of Booth with a cotton dish towel slung over his shoulder.
He was regaling her with a story about a rookie agent who had the misfortune of being left handcuffed to the steering wheel of his car by a suspect he was attempting to bring in for questioning, when Booth suddenly cupped his hand under the running faucet and splashed her in the face.
Not to be outdone, Brennan launched the soapy sponge at Booth, smirking in satisfaction when it him in the face with a wet smacking sound. However, she could only rest on her laurels for a moment. In a blink, Booth grasped the retractable spray nozzle from the faucet and turned it in her direction, drenching her face and torso. "Gotcha!" he crowed, putting the nozzle back in the sink and doing a ridiculous victory dance that made him look like a crazed chicken.
Dripping and incensed, Brennan grabbed for his arm and missed. She slipped on the wet floor and started to fall backward, arms flailing. Booth's eyes widened as he saw her go down. He tried to catch her, but with his bare feet, he was unable to get any traction. They went down hard, landing in a tangle of limbs.
Dazed, Brennan lay still for a full minute. When she was certain she hadn't broken anything, she levered herself up. She groaned and shoved her hair out of her face. Seeing Booth still splayed on his back, she reached for his hands and pulled him up into a sitting position.
"Very nice, Bones," he said, his eyes cast decidedly south of her face.
"What?" A quick glance downward revealed that her white top was soaked, leaving little to the imagination. She gasped and folded her arms over her chest.
"What? It's nothing I haven't already seen."
Brennan shot Booth what she hoped was a disgusted look and saw the memory of last night crystallize in his eyes. True enough — it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen. Holding his gaze, she dropped her arms.
His eyes went dark, and his smile vanished. She felt her cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his stare. He crooked a finger, beckoning her toward him.
It occurred to her to resist, to refuse his silent request. No, not request — demand. But that would be irrational, given that in that moment, she craved nothing more than to feel the heat, sinew, and bone of him under her fingers. Desire surged, heating her blood. She crawled forward, stopping when she was a few inches away. She rose to her feet and angled her head toward his bedroom.
“I'll race you,” he said, surprising her with the challenge.
Confident that she'd win because she was already standing, Brennan nodded and then sprinted out of the kitchen. Impossibly, Booth gained on her, his footsteps pounding behind her...and then past her. “Loser!” he called over his shoulder.
When she cleared the doorway to his bedroom, Brennan found Booth sprawled on his back on the bed. “I won,” he taunted, folding his hands under his head.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you do that?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Former Army Ranger, current FBI agent. All part of the job,” he said, eyes bright with mischief.
“You did win, Booth,” Brennan said with a decisive nod. “I think,” she said, taking a few steps forward, “that you deserve a prize.”
“I do, don't I?”
“Absolutely,” she purred. Wait, what? Bones purred? Oh yeah, she definitely had a throaty thing going on. Booth swallowed and watched her grasp the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head and toss it on the floor.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his throat suddenly parched.
“Removing my clothing. I'm all wet. Courtesy of you.” The double meaning combined with the knowing smile she flashed him made his jeans feel two sizes too small.
“This has been the longest day ever,” he said, trying for a little humor even as his eyes locked onto the curves of her breasts and the peaks of her nipples poking through the silky fabric of her bra. He sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that He, in his infinite wisdom, had created women.
“I know. And you've been very patient.” She reached behind her back and undid her bra, letting it slip from her hands.
He reached up and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. Damn, it felt tight.
She sauntered forward until she stood a foot from the bed, breasts swaying gently, and he felt every last bit of air leave his lungs.
When she undid her jeans and slid them down her legs with a sexy shimmy of her hips and a quick glance in his direction, his pulse kicked into overdrive. No doubt about it, the woman knew exactly what effect her little show was having on him. Well, if one, technically two, nights were all he was going to get, he might as well enjoy them.
His eyes traced the cinnamon tumble of her hair, the delicate curve of her shoulder, the soft rise of her breasts, the rosy crests of her nipples, the milky plain of her stomach...and stopped at the edge of the red, flannel boxers she still wore. His boxers, he thought, remembering that morning's fantasy of seeing her naked except for his boxers.
She'd been wearing them all day; they probably smelled like her now. It was a short distance from that thought to the memory of how she'd tasted the night before. That memory was what finally forced him into motion. With a growl, he sat up and reached for her, sliding his hands under the waistband of his boxers to cup and knead the plush roundness of her ass. "Off," he commanded, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the smooth skin of her stomach before sliding the boxers down her legs.
Leaving her naked. This was what he'd been fantasizing about all day while he'd been stuck in his office with an erection that just would not go away. He'd lost count of the number times he'd had to adjust himself. It was like he'd been back in seventh grade, standing in front of the chalkboard, reading from his English paper while the rest of the class snickered at the boner that his sweatpants made blatantly obvious.
Oh yeah. Miles and miles of creamy skin and mouthwatering curves, and he was going to touch and taste it all. "Gimme."
"I don't think so," she replied coolly. She shoved him back onto the bed, looking for all the world like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. Hell. He was in trouble.
He let his gaze wander from her breasts to her eyes. They sparkled with mischief and Booth grinned in response, knowing he was putty in her capable hands.
Brennan climbed onto the bed after him and made quick work of his clothes, her scientist's hands removing his t-shirt, jeans, and boxers as efficiently as she handled her anthropologist's tools in the lab. He looked down at himself and realized he was completely naked. The woman could move fast. She sat back on her heels and watched him with an unreadable expression on her face. The weight of her gaze was a nearly physical thing, and he shifted, unnerved by her silent examination. "So?"
She shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. Her gaze moved to his face, starting at his forehead and traveling over his eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth, chin, and jaw.
He wondered if she was admiring him or just silently naming all the bones in his face. With her, it could be either.
His eyes drifted to her right hand; it rested on the bed, her slender fingers methodically twisting and untwisting the blanket.
No, not clinical detachment.
Booth relaxed and watched Brennan watch him, feeling a slow heat slide up his body. Brennan's gaze lingered on his chest, and she blinked slowly. By the time she moved on to his stomach, he was on fire — aching and hard — and she hadn't even touched him yet.
"You exhibit excellent abdominal development," she said, her husky voice making his cock twitch.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Bones."
She stretched out her hand and traced her fingers over his stomach; he inhaled sharply, the muscles in question jumping at her touch. Ok. Enough was enough. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, ready to halt her slow exploration.
But she snatched her hand back and flashed him the kind of smile she always wore in his dreams. "Patience, Booth," she said, wagging her finger at him. "Good things come to those who wait," she quipped, throwing his own words back at him.
He snagged her hand again and gave her fingers a quick nip before releasing her and settling back down on the bed. "Fine, fine. Take your time," he said. "Don't mind me — I'll just be over here, dying," he complained, heaving an exaggerated sigh.
She laughed and smoothed a hand over his hip. Finally, he thought. But then he sighed with disappointment when she skipped that section of his body entirely and crawled down by his feet. She was turned away from him, her perfect ass taunting him and looking way too biteable.
"Tease," he muttered under his breath, his eyes glued to Brennan's ass as images of her on her hands and knees as he pounded into her from behind flooded his brain.
She turned to face him again and lifted his left foot into her lap. She'd surprised him again — by going for his foot instead of kissing him. He could always count on her to surprise him, just when he thought he'd figured her out. It occurred to him then that even if he devoted his entire life to solving the puzzle that was Temperance Brennan, he'd probably still never figure her out.
She cradled his foot between her hands for a moment before running a finger up the arch, making him flinch. "Hm. You're ticklish," she said with a gentle smile. The smile vanished and her eyes turned serious. "There are thousands of nerve endings in the feet. That and the large number of bones in the human foot — 26, not counting the sesamoid bones — are the reasons why beating the soles of the feet with pipes or hoses is such an effective method of torture."
It was something he never talked about. This was only their second time being physically intimate, and already Brennan knew something he'd never shared with any other woman. To be fair, he hadn't told her. She'd looked at his x-rays and known, her cool, intelligent eyes uncovering things he'd rather keep buried.
He hadn't told her, but he hadn't denied it either.
"Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice subdued.
"Yeah." He couldn't look at her.
"I...I don't like the thought of you hurting."
Her confession jarred him. He looked up at her then, and a sudden wave of tenderness washed over him as he noted her slight frown and the naked vulnerability in her eyes. She didn't know what she was letting him see, or she wouldn't have met his eyes.
"It...disturbs me," she continued, her fingers kneading his foot.
He let out a startled gasp as she worked her thumb into the ball of his foot. "Don't think about it." All that stuff about nerve endings must be true because she seemed to find every last one of them with her deft fingers.
She pressed a soft kiss on the sole of his foot and then proceeded to nibble her way over his heel, stopping only to give a slow, wet lick here and there. Booth groaned and closed his eyes, all thoughts of torture and broken bones disappearing. Then she sucked one of his toes into her mouth, and damn if all thought didn't disappear, period, until all that was left was pure sensation.
She was sucking on his toes, but it might as well have been his cock in her mouth. That was where all the blood in his body rushed. She nibbled and sucked and kissed, occasionally giving him a light scrape with her teeth, until he was practically writhing on the bed and almost certain he was about to embarrass himself before he'd even had a chance to be inside her. "Bones," he rasped. "Stop, stop. I can't take anymore."
Brennan chuckled delightedly. "Seems like you liked that, Booth," she said, her mouth taking on an arrogant twist.
"It was ok," he said with a shrug, trying for nonchalance.
"Just ok, hmm? I'll have to do better."
Booth opened his eyes to find her crawling up the bed. He didn't trust that wicked glint in her eyes. She stopped and pushed his legs apart, smoothing her hand over his thigh before settling between his legs. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and his mouth curved in a smug smile. "Very impressive, Booth," she murmured, her voice sliding over him like velvet. She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth. Her mouth stretched in a slow, predatory smile, making him shiver.
The woman was going to kill him, he just knew it.
But what a way to go, he thought, his eyes drifting shut as she reached out and stroked his balls, her fingers soft and warm. Her warm breath misted over the crease of his thighs, making him groan in anticipation. He opened his eyes to see her stretching her hand out to graze the tip of his cock with one finger. He was wet, slippery with precum. She raised her finger and sucked it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing out, her eyes never leaving his. Her low moan of appreciation raised goosebumps on his already hypersensitive skin.
When she finally, finally slid him into her mouth, he was more than ready for it. Her lips felt unbearably soft, and the inside of her mouth was all moist, silky heat against his swollen cock. He fought to hold back the moan building in his throat, but he couldn't, any more than he could hold back the pressure that was slowly and inevitably building in his balls.
His fingers clenched reflexively in the softness of her hair as her tongue swirled around and around the head of his cock before pausing to tickle the slit. For several minutes the room was silent, punctuated only by the sound of the breath he found increasingly hard to pull into his lungs and the wet, greedy sucking sounds that came from Brennan's enthusiastic treatment. Booth was dizzy and lightheaded and the room seemed to be spinning out of control.
He never wanted it to end.
Then she moved up so that he was no longer buried so deep in her mouth and used her hand to stroke up and down the bottom part of his shaft. The twin sensations hit him with the intensity of a punch, and Booth gasped. "Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones," he chanted, the endearment, (when had it become an endearment?), spilling from his lips over and over again.
Then he heard it — Brennan moaning low in her throat as she worked him with her hand and mouth.
It was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.
She was moaning as if she couldn't get enough of him. Him.
The same mouth that could cut grown men (and women) off at the knees, that spouted scientific jargon at every turn, that could argue any miniscule point like nobody's business — was fastened to his cock. It was almost too much.
The same woman who fought him, challenged him, forced him to think, even when it was the last thing he wanted to do — was in his bed. Brennan, his sexy, weird, infuriating partner was in his bed, naked, sucking his cock.
And he was going to fuck her — before he woke up and realized it had all been a dream, or she woke up to the utter insanity of what they were doing and broke all 206 bones in his body.
With one last groan, he tried to clear the fog from his head and pulled himself away from her before reaching down and tugging her up on the bed. "Booth, I wasn't finished," she said breathlessly, blue eyes sparking with anger. No surprise there; she was always ready to go a couple rounds with him.
"Just shut up and let me kiss you," he replied, already pushing her down on her back. He peppered her face with kisses, kissing whatever he could reach — her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. Finally, he reached her mouth. He held back, trying to slow down, and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Gentle, yes, he wanted to be gentle.
As usual, his partner had other ideas.
He felt her arms come around his back and soon her hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him into her. Their mouths fused, breath mingling as lips, teeth, and tongues clashed.
Booth pulled back, panting, and stared down at Brennan, annoyed at having what was one heck of a kiss interrupted. "What?"
"I think you bit me, Booth," she replied, gingerly rubbing her bottom lip.
"Oops, sorry," he said, sounding anything but. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"
She responded by tugging him back down for another breath-stealing kiss. "Can't get enough of me, can you, Bones?" he muttered against her mouth before letting his tongue slip into her mouth again.
"Ha. Look who's talking," she shot back, snaking a hand between their bodies to touch his cock.
He groaned and yanked her hand back up. "Don't do that."
"Why not?" she asked, her breath hot and moist against his skin as she nibbled on his earlobe.
"Because this will be over before it even begins." He palmed one of her breasts and lowered his head to take one taut, rosy nipple into his mouth.
"So? I'm ready." She squirmed underneath him, reaching for his hand and tugging it down between her legs.
He dipped a finger into her and moaned at the slickness he found there. "God, are you ready," he said, lifting his finger and sucking it clean.
Brennan grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up so they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "Booth, if you aren't inside me in two seconds, I swear I will break every last bone in your body." She was breathing heavily, her eyes dark and her cheeks as flushed as his own must be.
He chuckled. "I like it when you talk dirty."
"Fuck me, Booth."
He moaned, pleased for once by her knack for taking everything so literally.
Brennan parted her legs and reached for his cock, rubbing the head of it against her clit. She shuddered beneath him, arching her back, pushing her breasts against his chest. "Now, Booth, now," she whispered, releasing him.
"Hang on," he said, pulling away just long enough to reach into his night-stand, pull out a condom, rip it open, and slide it over himself. The he grasped his cock and let just the tip of it slide into her. Intent on being gentle, he froze and lowered his head to brush his mouth against hers. Sweat broke out on his forehead. It was torture, feeling the hot wetness of her on him, around him, knowing that he was just that close to being sheathed all the way inside her. Gentle, yes, he wanted to be gentle.
But then she grasped his ass in both hands and pulled, while simultaneously wrapping a leg around his waist, and the choice was taken from him. Suddenly he was in her to the hilt, surrounded by her heat. He pulled back so he could watch her and catch the emotions that moved over her face like fast-moving clouds.
"I want you," he said, beginning to move.
"Do you?" she asked, eyes dark and clouded with need.
She flexed her inner muscles, drawing a moan from him. He set an easy rhythm, sliding out of her and then back in again as if they had a lifetime together, not a single night. But this thing between them, whatever it was, had been building for a long time — more than a year, if he was honest with himself.
And she was impatient, her hands on his ass and the look in her eyes urging him to move faster.
He didn't want it to be over, because then they'd go back to who and what they were before, and right now he couldn't even say exactly what that was.
She rocked her body against his, and the sweet friction of it made him grit his teeth. "Bones, if you do that..."
"What, Booth? You'll lose control?"
"Something like that," he replied, moaning as she pinched his nipple.
"Don't need," she gasped out, "to be in control..." She raked her fingers up his back. "...All the time."
In spite of the tension coiling inside him, Booth laughed and reached for her chin with one hand. "Look who's talking, Bones."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh huh," he said and kissed her, letting his lips rub against hers until she sighed, and he felt her wrap her other leg around him. "In that case..."
He began to thrust faster, capturing her mouth with his own and drinking in her sweet moan.
"I know," he said. "I know." He reached his hand down to rub her clit, but she batted his hand away.
"I'm among the 25 percent."
"What?" What the hell was she talking about?
"The 25 percent of women who can orgasm without clitoral stimulation."
"Just don't stop."
He brushed her hair out of her face, feeling the faint moisture on her skin, and kissed her again, groaning when she nipped at his bottom lip.
"Harder, Booth. Harder and faster."
"I aim to please," he replied with a grin as he rose up on his elbows, pistoning his hips, driving into her again and again. He looked down at her, seeing her lips part and hearing the pitch and volume and urgency of her moans increase. Not much longer now. Good. Because he didn't know how much more he could take either.
"Look at me," he said. Her eyes started to close and he reached out, cupping her jaw. "No, look at me when you come." He could tell how hard she was fighting to keep her eyes open. Her face contorted with pleasure and she arched against him with a keening cry, her muscles clenching and releasing around his cock.
The sight and sound and feel of her coming apart in his arms had him feeling like he was ready to explode. The tiny tremors wracking her body finally subsided, and she was still and quiet beneath him. Her mouth curled in a lazy, satisfied smile that made him want to pound her into the mattress.
She pushed at his chest. "Roll over. Please."
The last word made him grin. "You sure? You're ok?"
"Yes," she said, tightening her muscles around him.
He groaned and started to turn over, pulling her along with him.
"You still haven't gotten your prize," she said with a sly smile. She sat up and cupped her breasts in her hands, squeezing them together. He exhaled with a whoosh and grasped her hips, rocking her against him.
"Let me," she said, taking his hands in hers and pulling them from her hips. She held them out in front of him, using the leverage to roll her hips in tight circles. As if the circle thing wasn't enough, suddenly she was riding him, sliding up and down on his cock in a fast rhythm that had his eyes rolling back and the tension in his balls spiraling higher and higher. She released one of his hands and leaned forward a bit. He used his free hand to caress her breast, the weight of it making his breath hitch. Her eyes closed and she bit her bottom lip, squeezing his hand. Bones. Yes. That was what finally did it, what made his hips jerk as he convulsed inside her again and again and again.
Her fingers were still entwined with his. When it seemed like he might be able to control his body again, he pulled her forward and kissed her hand. "That was..." He waved his free hand vaguely.
She nodded and smiled, her cheeks still pink. She looked like she'd been well and thoroughly fucked, he thought with a smile of his own. "Yes. It was."
Booth patted the bed, and she released his hand and laid down beside him. He curved his arm around her and pulled her closer, giving her a quick kiss. "Why don't you go grab a couple spoons and the tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream from the fridge while I go get cleaned up?"
"Booth, is food the only thing you think about?"
"Not the only thing, Bones," he replied with a wink that had her rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
To be continued...
Author's Note: I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. I intended to have it up on Tuesday night, but it took on a life of its own. It's long, at least for me, but I felt strongly about keeping it cohesive and posting it as one chapter, not multiple chapters. I enjoyed writing it, but it took a lot out of me. I think I need a cigarette, and I don't even smoke. ;) I haven't even watched this week's Bones epi yet because I wrote straight through it. Thankfully, I have it recorded.
As always, I would absolutely love to hear what you think. I'm easy; I'll take a smiley, a frown, a sentence, or more than that. On that note, THANK YOU for reading, and in some cases reviewing, previous chapters or other stories. I'm thrilled several of you finally delurked; it was good to hear from you. In addition to signed reviews, most of which I have responded to at this point, I also received some wonderful anonymous reviews, but I have no way of responding to those without an email address. So to those anonymous reviewers, thank you, too. You know who you are.
Thank you, also, to anyone who weighed on the single vs. multiple fics question. I appreciated hearing your perspectives.One last thing: If you want to listen I've Got You Under my Skin or Sweet Child o' Mine or read the lyrics for them, please see below for Youtube and lyric links. Both are gorgeous songs, though they're not at all similar.