Summary: Fifty sentences about Booth and Brennan--together and as individuals.
Spoilers: Everything through The Santa in the Slush is fair game.
Word Count: 489
Rating: PG-13 or T
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This piece of writing is purely mean to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
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"I'm sorry you had to kill someone; I know you hate that," she said, eyes soft, mouth turned down at the corners, and even though she'd shot him, Booth's hands flexed with the desire to pull her into one of those not-guy-hugs he hoped she'd never call him on; he settled for a smile and a murmured, "Yeah, he had it coming."
A kiss is just two mouths meeting, she tells herself--a social ritual engaged in even by bonobos--but as Brennan retreats, releasing Booth's lapels, something clicks into place inside her and she rushes to find the right words of denial.
Booth knows what her lips feel like now and that knowledge makes him want to learn the rest of her secrets with the tips of his fingers and the flat of his tongue, but he can't do that to her: he won't make her another place to fall.
As soon as he saw the charred skeleton leaning against Charlie Kent's headstone, his gut told him the case would be an avalanche, but as his cheek stung with the reminder of a grieving mother's torment, Booth silently accepted it as his due.
She never orders her own fries, but during lunch at their diner one sunny Friday she confirms with their waitress that they aren't fried in beef tallow; after that Booth always makes sure he leaves enough uneaten for her to swipe a few off his plate.
The ground is rain-slicked and steep, but she refused to take the hand he offered her; when she slips, falls, and ends up with mud caked all over her jumpsuit, he turns his face to the charcoal sky and laughs--until she yanks him down beside her, and smiling, shoves cold mud underneath his windbreaker and the collar of his shirt.
She licks a spot of chocolate frosting off her bottom lip, and he wants to spread her naked across the table and eat the rest of the cake off her body; she's turned him into a fucking cliché, but God help him, he doesn't care.
With her brother and father beside her, Brennan finally surrenders to the warmth blossoming in her chest and vows to avoid thoughts of tomorrow--for at least one full minute.
"What are you wearing?" he asks, and the words come out more raw than he intended; "Nothing," she replies, a smile in her voice, and Booth gasps, shifts the phone to his left hand, and sends up a mute prayer: Thank You for technology.
"Bones?" he says, and she holds herself still, willing her breath to remain steady as she feigns sleep for reasons she cannot articulate; "I love you, I need you, I won't leave you till the choice is out of my hands," he finally whispers into her hair, and she knows he thinks she's asleep because it's late and he's never uttered that word to her before.
To be continued...
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