|Scenes From a Hat: The First Time
Author: SSJL PM
Thirty takes on B&B's first time, each with a randomly selected POV, genre, and scenario or locale. Things are about to get a little crazy in here...Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - T. Brennan & S. Booth - Chapters: 29 - Words: 76,720 - Reviews: 1,075 - Favs: 254 - Follows: 234 - Updated: 04-23-10 - Published: 08-16-07 - id: 3727747
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Alright…I am a crazy person, so if you are thinking about telling me that after you read this, then rest assured I already know. This all requires some explanation. Try not to laugh too hard at me.
I'll intend on writing, at a fairly leisurely pace, 30 little oneshots about B&B's first time. The catch…for each one, I have to randomly choose a POV, genre, and scenario/locale out of three 'hats.' (a la 'Whose Line is it Anyway...which I of course do not own). The story I write must be a combination of the three that I have picked from the hats…no matter how impossible or improbable it seems, I will do my best to make it work.
Here is a preview of items in the categories:
POV: 1st person—Booth or Brennan; 2nd person—Booth or Brennan; 3rd person omniscient
Genres: poetry, friendship, fantasy, supernatural, hurt/comfort, humor, romance, adventure, angst, and drama (notice no tragedy—I would be a mess for a week if I even tried to write character death)
Scenarios/Locales: barn, elevator, couch, floor, hotel, wall, graveyard, pool table, tent, stairs, waterbed, rain, playground, roof, cave, fireplace, beach, hot tub, bed, public restroom, snow, shower, kitchen, gym, balcony, car, nature, pool, office, & boat.
All 30 scenarios will be used once. For POV and genre, each must be chosen once before it makes its way back into the pile. To make sure that I don't get out of anything just b/c it's hard;-)
This should be very interesting. Here goes—these are the first three I pulled. Wish me luck.
Drama on the Roof: 2nd person Booth
You always look when you pass her apartment building, and you notice everything…whether the light is on or off, whether the shade is drawn, if the window is closed or open. Sometimes, when the light is on, you take it as an invitation for you to come and visit, no matter the time of night. It's hard not to wonder if she doesn't turn on the light when she wants you to come—her own version of Gotham's bat-signal--but you would never be so presumptuous as to assume this is true. Today as you drove past, her shade was drawn, and you felt slightly disappointed. Then, something else caught your eye—a small figure on the roof of the building. It's too high up to make out any details, but you knew immediately it was her. Your car made a screaming U-turn and flew into her parking lot.
You had never run so fast as you did up the stairs, not trusting the elevator to come quickly enough. By the time you made it to the top floor, you were panting, your heart feeling as if it would burst, but it didn't matter. You found the door that led to the roof unlocked, and you took the stairs three by three, bursting out that last door and looking around wildly.
It would have been easy to miss her because she was so still, sitting hugging her knees by the roof's edge. You fly over to her and should have been glad that you didn't skid straight off the roof and onto the pavement below.
"Bones. What are you doing? What's wrong? Why are you here? What's wrong? Why…" Your words are cut off when she looks up at you, her eyes luminescent in the starlight. She doesn't seem surprised to see you there, but seems vaguely confused by your histrionics.
"I come up here to sit sometimes. It's quiet…it helps me think." She tilted her head curiously. "What did you think I was doing?"
You don't say it out loud. You should have known better—she never gave up, not once in her life. But somehow, when you saw that tiny, fragile-looking figure on the roof, all you could think was that it must have become too much, and now she was lost. And now you would lose her, because you didn't reach out to her soon enough, or try hard enough. The rushing breath that comes from your throat is one of both relief and sadness, as you thought of all the things you could be doing for her…all the things that you could be for her, but you've been too damn scared.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay." You barely recognized your voice, and suddenly your legs felt incapable of supporting you any longer. You sit beside her.
If she noticed the panic you were still recovering from, she didn't acknowledge it. She looked back at the sky. "The moon looks so close from up here, doesn't it?"
You look up, and it does. It is full and swollen, though not so much as your heart right now.
She's looking back at you now. "You don't have to worry about me so much, you know." Others may have found her eyes unreadable, but you see the remains of a thousand different disappointments there. Somehow, despite this, she shines—she dazzles you. You will not add to those disappointments.
"What if I want to worry about you? What if I need to?" You couldn't believe you were saying these things, giving her an open invitation to reject you, or shut down on you. But she needed to know. You had hidden it for too long, and it'd become a heavy burden that you couldn't shoulder anymore. If it meant being thrown off this roof, you still had to let her know what she is, and what she means to you.
Perhaps she felt the same. Or, perhaps she knew what you were going to say and wanted to prevent it from happening. Intent aside, one moment she was looking at you intensely, and the next moment her lips were on yours; for the second time that night you weren't sure you could breathe. You said her name—her given name—against her lips, and this seemed to ignite something in her. Her honeyed tongue was tasting yours and you probably couldn't have gotten out another word if you wanted to.
You slid back away from the edge of the roof, pulling her with you, away from any prying eyes. Your fingers were trembling as they worked at the buttons on her shirt, but she was urging you on with her lips and her eyes. When you slid it off, you were momentarily stunned; the moonlight reflected off of her skin with an almost supernatural glow, and although you don't believe in such things you wondered briefly if she wasn't some type of ancient moon goddess, sent here to tempt you with otherworldly pleasures.
But this is ridiculous…she is just a woman, and there is no doubt that when you touched her, and when she touched you, that she was a mortal, flesh and bone. You were both human, you both made mistakes, both were vulnerable to the pain and joy of the world. That might have been what you were trying to do: take joy from her, and give her some in return, so that she could see just how beautiful life could be, with its moon and stars and endless sky. It might have been asking too much for her to see that. Right then, you couldn't even see it; all you could see was her.
You're not even sure how you both became fully undressed, but it was suddenly so. You lifted her on top of you so that the rough rooftop would not be uncomfortable on her perfect skin…she came into your arms and onto your lap easily. Any discomfort that you yourself were feeling was cancelled out as you were sheathed in a silky wetness, the likes of which you had never known. She pushed you down onto your back, and stayed sitting herself; backlit by the reflecting city lights and the night sky, all you could think of was how beautiful she is. Behind that thought was the question of what she was thinking of you.
She rode you hard, and her cries echoed out. You reached up to touch her breasts, and instead of allowing this she clasped your hands and held them to her heart. Hopefully she knew that any chance she had of convincing you not to worry about her was torn to pieces; from this moment on, she was going to be in you, as much as you were in her right now. When she arched backwards, the moon glistening on her skin like dewdrops, you were lost. You both screamed, and you filled her, wishing that you could fill her as much with hope as you could with your essence. But this was all you had right now.
You weren't entirely sure how you would continue to convince her of what she meant to you, and what she meant to the world. Later, as you look backwards in the mirror at the marks where the rooftop scraped your back and your ass, you'll think that this is the bare minimum of suffering you will go through to make her understand how important she is. However inadequate it may have seemed, your night on the rooftop was a moment of birth, of creation. And you will never again look at the night sky without equating it with the majesty that was giving yourself to the woman you loved.
A/N: Oh the drama. This was actually a good place to start, since it's not too far off from my comfort zone. What will be next? Comfort in the kitchen? Fantasy in the barn? Poetry on a pool table? We will find out together!