Summary: Fifty sentences about Booth and Brennan--together and as individuals.
Spoilers: Everything through The Santa in the Slush is fair game.
Word Count: 279
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.
Notes: So I can tell you right now that I'm finding writing these strangely addictive, and it's almost certain that I'll do more than fifty. (If that makes you want to stick a fork in your eye, please don't read these.) ;) In an effort to keep from burning out, I'll be doing five in a batch from here on out and giving my other stories some love.
My next update should be for Five Secrets That Brennan Will Never Tell Booth, though maybe I should just shut my mouth.
I owe a lot of people replies; I read everything, but I'm perpetually behind on responding. Just please don't take it personally, as I'm not intentionally ignoring anyone.
"If you call me baby, sweetheart, or any other infantilizing endearment, I promise I will break every bone in your body," she said, brows lowered dangerously; he wrapped a strand of her hair around his index finger and tugged gently before leaning in and whispering, "I don't need to call you any of those things--I already call you Bones."
"Mmm, this is so good," Booth mumbles around a mouthful of his burger, eyes alight, and despite knowing full well the environmental impact of meat production, Brennan can't repress a smile at his enthusiastic show of appreciation.
Sometimes when their apartment is quiet except for the creaks, murmurs, and sighs that buildings and bodies make, Booth lies awake and contemplates death; on one hand he wants to go first because he can no longer fathom a world without her in it, while on the other hand he worries about how she'll handle being left behind again--their years together have changed them both in ways they could never have predicted--and he fears she doesn't know how to be alone, really alone, anymore.
Sex is bodies, sweat, and desire, but as Booth sweeps Brennan's legs out from under her and pins her to the mat, panting, it isn't her body he craves: it's her soul.
He's walking home from the gym one Saturday afternoon when he sees the dress in a store window; the fabric slips through his fingers like a dream, the color shifting blue-green-gray like her eyes, and even though it's too expensive and he doesn't know if it'll ever be appropriate for him to give it to her, he buys it in her size.
To be continued...
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