Title: One Night
Disclaimer: Yeah… they're not mine.
Summary: He said all they would need was one night. One night to get it all out of their system and then everything would be back to normal. B and B.
Rating: Oh this is SUCH an M rated story.
A/N: Real note at the end this time. Please review!
She felt like a sleuth, perched at the edge of the ornate arm chair, her head bent forward in case anyone recognised her; since her interview on television recently, her books had sky-rocketed and apparently, so had people's knowledge of who she was. She felt like a celebrity, however minor.
The foyer was a large airy circle filled with beautiful furniture and beautiful people. The polished surface of the tan marble floor resonated the sound of every stiletto heel and the fresh bouquets of lilies, standing straight and pristine in the crystal vases seemed only to be a testament to the prestige of the hotel.
Dressed in her work clothes, she wished they had opted for somewhere a little more low key; a place where she paid a clerk some money and got a room key. What she was doing was illicit anyway and at least a cheap hotel somewhere would have allowed a certain amount of privacy. A central hotel in Washington, D.C. was asking for trouble, really.
Turning her face towards the window, away from the bustle in the foyer, she held her bag to her stomach and thought about how she had ended up at the luxury hotel, at all. In her own mind it all seemed a little far-fetched. It was something that happened in erotic books, not in real life. Essentially, she didn't even have time for it; there were three reports on her desk waiting to be finished and a new specimen had been brought into the Jeffersonian that morning.
If only she could have concentrated on anything for more than five minutes.
It was his idea, really. When the palpable tension became too much to bear, he came to her with something of a proposition. He said it would preserve their working relationship if they got all 'the other stuff' out of the way. Clear the air, was how he had put it. He said all they would need was one night. One night to get it all out of their system and then everything would be back to normal.
It had seemed so logical and she was all about logic. Sex was just sex and they were, according to her, satisfying biological urges. She found it ironic that even that word had logical incorporated into it somewhere. But as she sat there, trying to shield her face, she felt like a fraud. Part of her didn't even believe her own excuses.
Things between her and Sully were cooling off now that he was working away. Before he left they had been very careful about not voicing where their relationship was. She had used the 'sex is just sex' line on him too and his face had fallen as though she had broken his heart, but Brennan couldn't help but feel as though the whole thing with Tim Sullivan was just a substitute until she got the sex she truly desired. As he left, they had never voiced that anything was exclusive between them so technically she shouldn't have felt any guilt about waiting on Seeley Booth.
The revolving doors spun and he stepped into the foyer, a charismatic air of authority and raw sexual appeal following him wherever he went. As his eyes scanned the sofas and chairs for her, she allowed herself the opportunity to drink him in; grey suit and dark red tie he was like something taken straight from the pages of GQ and she couldn't believe how much his presence affected her.
Their eyes met and together, as if by unspoken agreement, they lurched into business mode because, after all, this was nothing if it wasn't a business agreement; preserve their partnership above all else. He showed her the key to their suite and she was surprised that he had thought to check into the hotel before meeting with her. It made things a little less conspicuous. He strode across the foyer to the reception desk, murmured something to the receptionist who glanced over his shoulder at her and nodded sharply.
Brennan shifted, wondering if she had 'rampant hussy' written across her forehead.
"Let's go, Bones," Booth said, his voice a lowly growl as he directed her towards the elevators. His hand found her arm and she held her head high, hoping that, between the foyer and their room, no one recognised either of them. The last thing she needed was for her colleagues at the Jeffersonian getting wind of her afternoon meeting with their favourite FBI agent.
The journey in the elevator was awkward and Booth didn't even hum to the music. She watched the numbers above the panel, hoping that her tension wasn't too apparent. There was nothing wrong with the choice they had made. It was simple, no strings attached sex and by tomorrow, everything would be great.
Their suite was glorious – three of the walls were entirely made of glass, overlooking the tidal basin of the Potomac, the waters shimmered under the late afternoon sun and the cherry blossoms around the Jefferson memorial were a dusky pink in the fading light. Brennan admired the grandeur of it all, knowing that it was a waste of money, really. There were two sofas, two footstools in a beautiful antique French style, a mini bar and a patio that was made for romance, especially on such a lovely evening. And all they needed was a bed.
"This is a little upmarket," she commented, trailing her fingers over the back of the sofa. "A view over the East Park?" craning her neck, she drank in the sight, resenting herself for enjoying it, even a little.
"I thought it was nice," Booth replied, tugging the knot of his tie. "Would you like a drink?" he asked. Brennan shook her head.
"I think we should just do what we came here to do," she responded, bending to unzip her boots. Booth sighed, dropping his head back.
"There's no romancing you, is there?" Brennan placed her boots at the side of the sofa, considerably smaller than him, now.
"This isn't about romance," she reminded him. "It's about-"
"Sex. Yes, I know." There was a softness to his voice, as though he had resigned himself to something. She folded her arms beneath her breasts.
"Are you having second thoughts?" she asked, surprised by how intensely she hoped he wasn't.
"No," he shook his head. "No. Absolutely not." He pulled his tie off now, draping the fine, quirky silk over the back of the sofa. Red tie, grey suit, definitely not government issue. She felt the corners of her lips rise in a semi-smile. There was a maze of truth inside his head and she felt certain his therapist was right when he said the ties and socks were just Booth's ways of rebelling. Before, it was gambling.
She ruffled her hair, passing her tongue over her teeth. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing," she admitted. "I've never met in a hotel for sex, before." Why hadn't they met at her apartment? Oh yes… Booth said it would be too personal. That, essentially, they should just be two people, having sex. "Should I get undressed?" she asked, gesturing to her shirt. Booth followed her hands and a moment of absurdity passed silently between them and they both smiled and one and other. "This is crazy," she voiced, dropping to the sofa. Her hands trembled when he took the space beside her, his eyes set dead-ahead.
"Crazy," he echoed with a sharp nod. "It doesn't stop me wanting you, though," Booth added, wringing his fingers together. "Which means this… situation… hasn't been resolved yet." Brennan dropped her chin to her chest, her pulse fluttering like the velvety wings of a butterfly.
A resolution. They were looking for a resolution.
She turned her head towards him, reaching out, she dropped her hand to his thigh, initially intending only to reassure him, his eyes flew to hers and she knew he had interpreted her touch as the first move. His muscles tightened beneath the expensive wool pants he wore and her gaze fluttered involuntarily to his crotch. She recognised the stirring of arousal, and her fingers shifted toward the impressive bulge.
Booth grabbed her wrist, a raging furnace burning in the depths of his eyes; a raw sexuality that took her breath away. "You do that, this will be over before we've started." She held his gaze, pushing the boundaries in ways she knew Booth would appreciate, what with his 'rebellions'. She stroked him quickly, allowing herself the pleasure of feeling how hard he was for her. She tilted her head, a curtain of russet hair falling across her cheeks. She momentarily felt wicked and the satisfaction was remarkable.
Sliding off the sofa, she turned to the window. The sky was a blaze of vibrant colours against the DC skyline. She paused to admire it. Knowing that too much delay would alert Booth to her true appreciation of it, she quickly turned back to him, flicking the buttons of her shirt. He leaned back against the plush cushions, his legs spread as he watched her.
"Are you in a hurry?" he asked slowly. Her fingers stilled on the last button. "We have the room until noon tomorrow." Brennan blushed at the thought of so many hours of nothing but sex.
"I have work at nine am." His eyes raked over her, so slow she almost shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.
"You might have work at nine am," he corrected eventually and her cheeks fired. Her hands fell by her side and she suddenly felt hot – too hot for spring. Her skin burned as though it were mid-July and she dwelled momentarily on how such a vague promise could arouse her so much. Did he really think they'd still be having sex at nine am the next morning? She hadn't expected their agreement to last beyond nine pm!
He shifted forward on the sofa, reaching out to grab her hips. She fell towards him, breathless with expectation. His thumbs traced her hipbones, a whispering touch that only hinted to his greater desire. She tilted her body towards him, popping the last button on her shirt. Her torso flexed in anticipation of his touch and he watched her muscles tremble, aroused by the fact that her body simply could not lie.
He stroked her navel, his tongue stirring with the urge to taste her. This moment was a long time coming. Sexual tension had been rampant between them almost since the moment they had met, and finally he was getting to touch her. She was sexually liberated and she would be in his arms tonight. Not David from the Internet and not Sully. He nuzzled the space between her breasts, touching his tongue to her breast bone. Her fingers sank into his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. He quite enjoyed the twinge of pain.
Her nipples pressed against the satin and lace mesh of her bra, dark pink against the pristine ivory. His tongue passed over the material and he felt the hard nubs against the tip of his tongue. He pressed his lips together, capturing the puckered areola, tugging hard enough to draw a startled gasp from her lips. Her hips thrust forward and his hands stilled her, her buttocks tight against his fingertips. Suckling on her, he listened to the murmurs of encouragement, tasting the flavour of her skin, even through the wispy bra she wore. Her fingers tugged his hair, and his lips momentarily left her breast as his head bent backward. Her eyes burned into his; a mixture of green and blue, he saw something in her that he never imagined he would get to and now he had, he had no way of even cataloguing what it was.
He unbuttoned her pants, easing them over her thighs. When she stepped out of her clothes, dressed only in her underwear, his breath was sucked from his lungs; she looked better than even his wildest fantasies had conjured and there had been many of those, lately.
Her fingers left his hair, fumbling with the tiny buttons of his dress shirt. His hands covered hers and together they slipped each button through the holes, pulling the tails from inside his pants. In the next instant, her fingers were roving his body, insistent and urgent, her thumbs moved over his flat, dark nipples, drawing them to small points beneath her touch. He smelt dark and mysterious. Dangerous and wild and something else. Something him.
Unzipping his pants, her fingers slid inside, finding him easily. She was overcome with need, shocked at how her desire had possessed her so completely. His penis was harder than steel as she circled him, stroking him from root to tip. Her thumb circled the tip as she ground her body into his. Between them, the smell of arousal was pungent and she breathed in the scent of pheromones, intoxicated by them.
Her cheeks were flushed and her legs unsteady as he undressed completely, his penis springing against his stomach, harder than he could ever remember it being. He stepped towards her, unclipping her bra and easing the straps over her shoulders.
He sat on the edge of the bed and Temperance parted her thighs, lowing herself to his legs. He took her breasts in his hands, his thumbs stroking her nipples as they tightened further. He felt her wetness against his skin and shifted, the tip of him pressed against her opening. As he had imagined, she was ready for him and he sighed, sheathed in her warmth.
Brennan arched her spine, drawing him as far into her body as she could. He filled her, stretched her in ways that only he could. She tensed her muscles, revelling in the sensation of every ridge, meshed with her own flesh. Brennan took his hands, drawing his fingers to her breasts. Slipping her fingers between their bodies, she stroked herself, rolling her hips. He thrust sharply, moaning each time her body tightened around him.
Brennan replayed his hypothesis in her mind and suspected that one night was not going to satisfy her urges whenever it felt so good now. She might be addicted to him, unable to focus without daily doses of him. She rocked against his penis, feeling his balls tighten beneath her.
"Come," he commanded and she flicked her clitoris twice more, shuddering in his arms as he came inside her with shot, intense bursts. She sagged against him, her heart thudding against her chest. She shifted and his fingers tightened around her arm. His hand slid between their bodies, touching her clitoris and she cried out, the over-sensitive bundle of nerves unable to take more than he'd already given. "Okay," he conceded softly. "But we're not finished." His eyes met hers. "Not by a long shot."
This story came to me when I woke up this morning and I have spent all morning writing it. In the UK it's now 12.20pm and I have been typing since just after 8am. Give me a cookie god-dammit!
Well, the MA version of this story has a little juicy bit extra added in. Click on my profile and on 'homepage' you will be redirected to my little Tripod website. From there, click on MA chapters and you'll find this extended chapter. There is a comment button and the bottom of it so don't forget to use it. And people, use the one beneath this page, too.
Also, you can either imagine what happens next or beg me (via reviews) to continue. Is this manipulation? I think so!