Title: Sweet Anticipation
Disclaimer: Not mine. Blah.
Rating: All you need to know is that it's dirty.
Summary: In the CDC's communal decontamination showers, a situation of sexual arousal boils over.
Contains explicit sexual content
The Centre for Disease Control doctor passed her a disposable sponge – a little yellow pad made of hard, natural sponge and a oval tablet of disinfectant soap. It smelt like pine and antiseptic – a harsh, overly clean scent that tickled the inside of her nose when she inhaled it.
Dressed in grey cotton scrubs, she passed her clothes – a suede jacket that was the colour of sun darkened plums, a white shirt and jeans that hugged her thighs – to the doctor, whose clinical detachment rivalled her own. "When you shower," the woman said, "put the clothes you are wearing in the incinerator bin – there'll be a fresh pair here when you come out." Temperance Brennan held the sponge tight in her hand, a prickling of irritation sparking against her stomach at the injustice of the days events. She had very much wanted to stay in her nice clean laboratory today, far away from the toxins she and Booth had been exposed to.
In the featureless room, Booth sat on the steel bench, barefooted and grim, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. He looked weary, probably because he'd mentioned a bowling game earlier and now, at well after six, he was running late. She thought it was after six, at least, because when the CDC stormed the dilapidated mansion and taken them into their 'care' it had been four thirty. Since there was no clock on the stark white walls, there was no way to be certain.
"Is there a ladies shower?" Brennan asked, peering into the showers, cringing at the modest wall that separated the shower heads. The doctor lifted a golden eyebrow skyward, a small toying at her lips.
"When the facility was built, Dr Brennan, we weren't so concerned with human modesty as human welfare. We prefer to limit the spread of possible contagion to a single area." Turning, Brennan thought she heard a chuckle rise in the woman's throat as she tossed their clothes into a yellow hazardous bin. Goodbye to her favourite pair of jeans.
"Sorry Bones," Booth said, standing and beginning the process of removing his scrubs, until he wore only the light cotton boxer shorts that displayed with vivid clarity the outline of him, curiously large. She averted her eyes, folding her arms beneath her breasts, squeezing hard on the white soap and dry sponge.
"For ruining my afternoon or for undressing in front of me?" she asked, pulling open the glass partition that separated the changing room from the showers. The glass echoed the sound of her own voice, seemingly a pitch or two higher than usual – for the curious part of her nature was intrigued by the unclothed images of Booth. And the woman inside her found it difficult to ignore him. Especially considering the notable shift in their relationship lately. There had been a large amount of flirting, gentle touches and he was affording her less and less personal space these days, too.
"For ruining your afternoon, obviously," he said, smirking cheekily.
Brennan turned the knob, the pipes along the wall creaking to life, spurting a fine spray of lukewarm water through the air to the tiled floor beneath their feet. She stepped aside, seconds too late, and the small droplets fell upon her shoulder, soaking through the grey scrubs. "Damn," she hissed, dropping her sponge and soap, the tablet skittering across the tiles. "Could this day possibly get any worse?" she asked, wishing, not for the first time, that she were at her desk, engrossed in the dozen or so reports she needed to complete, as she had planned from the morning.
"Well, your blood tests could come back positive and instead of spending one night here, we'll be here for… a month?" Brennan shot him a glare, pulling off her shirt and tossing it towards the incineration bin as requested. She missed. "Nice shot, Bones. You know, by tomorrow, you'll be laughing." Hooking her fingers into the waistband of the light pants, and the cotton panties she wore, Brennan pushed the garments to her ankles. "You know," Booth said, sounding strangled, "you don't seem very shy about standing there naked."
Brennan, tilted the shower head, angling tepid water over her face, washing away the impurities she felt crawled over her skin, before thrusting her hand under the spray, soaking the sponge and making the rough texture soft as the water was absorbed. Crouching, she retrieved her soap.
"Humans were once naked. Contrary to what your Bible would have us believe, the first people, or 'Adam and Eve' didn't wear fig leaves to cover their modesty. There was no modesty. Like the doctor there said." Booth frowned.
"Then why did you want separate showers?" he asked, taking his own soap across the flat bronzed planes of his chest. The wall that partitioned them hid the majority of his body and she couldn't confirm the suspicions that his underwear had aroused.
"To prevent unnecessary embarrassment on your part," Brennan said. "I'm quite comfortable in my body. Well… aside from the occasional desire to lose a few pounds, like all women. But my muscles are firm and I'm healthy." He smiled at her, dropping his dark gaze to the rise of her breasts, tantalizingly covered by foaming bubbles of pine soap.
"You should be comfortable. Anthropologically speaking, of course, I'd say you're a fine specimen of feminine form." He winked, and her cheeks were dusted pink. "Does I detect a hint of shyness, Dr Brennan?" Booth asked, resting his elbows on the wall between them. His biceps, shimmering wet, rippled and the dark hairs of his forearms were somehow darker in contrast to the pungent soap. Brennan shrugged.
"A little," she admitted. When his eyes lowered, her nipples hardened and she blushed deeper. "It's a natural physiological response to stimuli," she insisted hurriedly. Booth smirked, running his tongue across his lips.
"And how," he asked, "would I be stimulating you when I'm not touching you, Bones?" She lathered the soap until the suds were thick and covered her hands. Her hair, saturated and darker than when dry, clung to her neck and curled at the ends, reaching her clavicle. She looked wild, naked the way she said humans were supposed to be.
"The intent is there, Booth," she said, rubbing circles across her flat torso. Her nipples were dark, pebbled and tempting, even through the bubbles that she washed across her breasts. "Stop looking," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her protests were futile, perhaps because she didn't really want him to. Perhaps she knew their flirting would eventually arrive at the place they were. Albeit, not in the CDC's decontamination shower.
"Stop touching yourself then," Booth replied, his fingers digging into the soft soap as he swallowed hard. For a moment, the only sound between them was the consistent patter of the water on the tiles, and their breathing, rapid and heavy. Brennan dropped her arms by her side, the entirety of her body revealed to him, and he supposed she wasn't lying when she said she was comfortable in her body – even if his persistent stare unnerved her a little. He watched the soapy water trail over her breasts, heavy and full, perfectly formed, along her sternum and over her toned belly to the patch of trimmed, dark hair at the apex of her thighs. She was extraordinary, and better than his crazed fantasies had imagined. "Brennan," he said, clearing his throat, and she lifted her eyes to his. "This is insane, right…?" She nodded.
"It's certainly illogical. Especially here. I'm sure if anyone came in here, they'd guess in a moment what was going on between us." Booth frowned, still resting his weight on the wall that separated their bodies. She saw only his arms, the broad sweep of his shoulders and his head. The delights that lay beyond were teasingly veiled by the white tiles.
"What is going on between us, Bones? Are we playing a game?" She almost forgot she was naked in light of his question, for the words struck a chord inside her. What were they doing, indeed? There had been sexual tension between them almost since they met, but now, after battling that tension for over a year, she wondered if it had come to a head. Her body certainly wanted to experience just what the energy between them could do. Booth crackled with a kind of sexual power she'd never known before. He radiated sensuality through his pores, and her tiniest hairs stood on end.
"A game?" she repeated, sounding choked. Her nipples had hardened again, as she turned towards him, the little yellow sponge held in her tight fist. "I'm not sure I understand…" Booth began to soap his arms again, the simple movements filling the air with renewed pine scent. She didn't like the smell, finding it too clinical and impersonal. She longed for the familiar jasmine and orchid soap she had at home.
"Are we prolonging the tension until we have explosive, life changing sex…?" he asked, passing the bar across his shoulders, a creamy film making his skin shimmer. She watched his muscles twitch, and longed to run the tip of her tongue across the tendons of flesh. Only the tip – for a brief flavour. If she could, she'd taste him better later, running the flat of her tongue across his nipples, the sculpted hills and valleys of his muscular structure.
"Life changing?" she choked, her chest tightening as she spoke. "Isn't that perhaps a little melodramatic?" Booth smiled, sending a cascade of tepid water in her direction when he shook his head.
"I'm wound up tighter than a spring, Bones, and I don't remember a woman ever having this effect on me. If you lean over the wall… you'll see…" A crimson flush spread along her chest, over her neck, settling atop her cheek bones. Did she want to lean over the wall? Did she want to realise the images in her mind? She didn't believe she'd be disappointed.
"How long then," she asked, "should we wait before we have this life changing sex, then?" It seemed as though they were discussing global warming or where they planned to spend the Easter vacation. If it weren't for the increasing pulsating between her thighs, she could have believed their conversation were completely normal.
"As long as we can. Prolong the agony…" Booth supposed, stepping back to run the surface of his sponge across his torso. She allowed her eyes to rake over this newly exposed patch of shimmering bronze flesh. When she stepped forward, the saw the rounded tip of his penis, hard against his stomach. Her mouth went dry and the pulse between her legs intensified a little, for hard, Booth was deliciously large and she wondered how long, now the option had been presented to her, she could prolong this agony as he proposed.
"Booth?" she said, and he lifted his eyes, dark and veiled, heavy and layered with his want. "Can we touch?" she asked and his hand stilled over his pectorals. He looked as though her words had literally seized his body.
"Each other or ourselves?" he queried and the possibilities lingered between them, more pungent than the soap and so temptingly naughty that her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly she didn't mind the invasion of the CDC or how much of an inconvenience their quarantine was. She thought only of how and where she could touch him. Of where he could touch her.
"Either or both," she replied, wondering where he new found courage and come from. While she'd never been self conscious about her own body, she wasn't a sexual predator and she rarely took the initiative. Booth dropped his hand.
"Okay," he agreed, dipping his head. "If you're sure you want to take that step, now." Did she? Was she really for such a change in their working relationship? She had an abundance of respect for Seeley Booth. She had an enormous amount of sexual energy sizzling inside every crevice and cavity in her body. Sometimes, however, she didn't like Booth. They had hardly anything in common, and it was their sexual attraction and working relationship that kept any kind of connection between them.
"Yeah," she nodded, edging towards the wall, her hip brushing the cool tile, hardening her nipples to aching, turgid points. Booth, his eyes magnetically drawn, glanced down, and she saw him swallow. "Well?" she asked, reaching behind to turn off the shower. The pipes creaked again, protesting, accumulated rust scratching. She barely heard it.
"Well what, Bones?" Booth asked, forcing himself to remain as impassive as he could, however difficult a task it proved to be.
"Each other or ourselves?" Her palm passed close to her breast, inches from her nipples that begged for attention.
"Are you suggesting... masturbation, Bones?" Booth asked, sounding as though someone were putting an enormous amount of weight on his chest. He sounded breathless, intrigued, sexually aware.
"Well, you do masturbate, don't you? It's been done since the dawn of man..." she shrugged. "It's natural, and..." He shook his head.
"Of course I do. I just didn't imagine you would." She frowned, her slender brows drawing together, her fingers curling around her breast now. He growled. "Don't... I want to... I want..." She smiled a little, showing no emotion as she rounded the wall, standing before him, entirely nude, shimmering wet.
He reached out, running his fingertips along her side, touching the side of her breast, fascinated with her malleable flesh, touching his thumb to the hard, nipple. The areole was puckered and tight, protruding like a tasty morsel, begging for his tongue, for the warmth of his mouth. He wanted so desperately to yield and manipulate her flesh to the tune composed by his flickering tongue. He wanted to feel her hard, silken nipple – draw his teeth across it, just to see how she would react.
Her fingers danced across his thighs, cupping him, as a doctor might during an examination. But her eyes, with her pupils dilated, did not speak of a clinical detachment. Her lips parted in wonder as she examined his body, curling her fingers around his shaft, stroking as his flesh followed her. He was harder than he could ever remember being, his penis swollen, desperately needing release. With each passing stroke, he felt his balls tighten and his spine arch towards her.
Dropping his hand, he parted her thighs, stroking her, slipping his fingers into her slick, nectar, the scent of her arousal filling the gap between their hot bodies. His thumb sought out the hard bud of her desire, and he pressed. Brennan tossed her head back, her hair cascading down her back, over her spine, as she breathed out his name. Rubbing languid circles in time to her strokes, he slipped his finger inside her, stretching her muscles that tightened around him. She circled her hips, welcoming the searing heat that blooded her uterus.
Her thumb circled the tip of him, spreading pearly ejaculation, lubricating him with his own arousal. "Is this... prolonging thing... such a good idea?" she breathed, tightening her fingers until his penis seems to pulsate inside her grip.
"I think it will be, yeah..." he replied, his voice raspy and honeyed with urgency. "When I'm inside you, Bones..." he continued, "I'm going to make you forget everything in life. You'll be aware only of my thrusts," he moved his hips as if to accentuate this. "And you'll come, Temperance, you'll come so hard. I swear." He dropped his head, running the tip of his tongue along the puckered flesh of her nipple, flicking the nubbin, then closing his teeth around it until she winced, unsure of whether she felt pain or the highest pleasure imaginable. Her breathing hitched, and she bucked her body against his thrusting finger, rolling into the grind of his thumb against her clitoris.
Her fingers tightened around him again, and he stiffened, his mouth opening, emitting a guttural moan. She watched the opaque semen, hot and white, explode from within him and his finger curled within her body. Brennan stumbled against him, convulsing around him, a shudder running along her spine like an electric jolt.
Their bodies, instead of being clean, smelt of heady, spicy sex. Brennan sighed against his chest as he pulled his finger from within her. "Christ, Bones... I don't think we were supposed to..." she nodded, and shrugged.
"Lets get dried, Booth, and get out of his place."
Three floors above their heads, Gene Florence elbowed his colleague, who woke from a fitful sleep. "Bob, check this out."
In the black and white security monitors, two naked figures dressed in grey scrubs, catching each other's bashful gaze every few seconds. "Is there no end to the extra curricular activities of these government employees?" Robert Wilson asked, shaking his head. "Another fuck?" he asked, and Gene smirked.
"Not yet... but I'd love to be a fly on the wall when they do..." he said, stirring another sugar into his coffee. "Because that's gonna be one to remember."