by ALC Punk!
"I don't think this was such a good idea."
Brennan, who was sweaty and filled with post-orgasm languor glared at Booth, her eyes still dark, "Oh, it wasn't?" A part of her thought it was unfair that he could say that while still looking so damned hot.
"Well, no, I mean. We've got a professional relationship to maintain."
"Right. And that's why, ten seconds ago, you were calling my name." She snapped.
Booth half-grinned, "Maybe that was just for effect."
"Are you always like this?" Brennan pulled herself from the bed on unsteady legs. "Just for future reference. So I can let the women you date know." Her underwear had disappeared somewhere between the door and the bed. With a kick for Booth's innocent (sort of) leather pants, she grabbed her pants and yanked them on.
"Whoa, whoa, future girlfriends?"
Bra, bra, ah--she reached under the bedside table for it, trying not to wonder just how it had gotten there. "You are planning to still date women, I assume. Unless I scared you off of them for life." Finding her blouse over the back of a chair, she pulled it on and buttoned it crooked. She glared at it, but didn't bother fixing it.
"You couldn't have decided this twenty minutes ago?" she interrupted him, voice thick with irritation. She picked up a boot and pulled the laces loose.
"It's been more than that," he pointed out. Possibly defensively.
"Right. Twenty-five minutes ago, then. When you were unbuttoning my blouse and making little kissy noises." The unvarnished facts seemed tawdry, and not a little childish.
"Well, I was... going with the moment. And you weren't objecting! I expected you to object!"
"Maybe I needed to get laid." Okay. So the bald truth made her sound pathetic.
She still wasn't the one demanding that they go back and not do this.
"Well, this could affect our working relationship."
"No, really? I thought I was the one who said the blatantly obvious and you were Mr. Touchy-feelie." The other boot's laces were already loose and she stepped into them, wriggling her toes.
She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, "I'm looking. And I'm fast over being impressed."
A sigh escaped him and he stood, "We can't do this, Brennan. I shouldn't--"
"Have kissed me? No. But it was a nice kiss." She met his eyes, "And I thought my line was 'this was a mistake'."
He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable.
Retreating firmly into her intellect, Brennan bent over and tied her boots, "I understand it, of course, we were responding to external stimuli which required diluting the natural adrenaline rush with something else. In some cases, we might have had a cup of tea, or a hot shower. But we turned to sexual intercourse."
"External stimuli?" He sounded like he didn't want to know.
"Getting shot at. Wanting sex, reaffirming life, is a natural desire after a brush with death. I should have remembered that," she murmured.
There was a fluffy thumping sound. "God."
She looked up to find Booth flopped backwards on the bed with his hand over his face.
"Are you like this with every man you have sex with?"
"No. The rest of them don't tell me it was a mistake immediately afterwards." They usually waited several days then conveniently forgot her phone number. But Booth didn't need to know that.
"I'm sorry I said anything." He mumbled.
Remorseless, Brennan pointed out, "You are now."
"Fine. I am now."
"And you really are regretting it. Next time, I vote you take a cold shower and I drink some tea."
"Fine." At a loss, Brennan shrugged again and headed for the door. Her boots were tied. And, after all, it wasn't like there was anything else to do. And there were bones calling from her lab. And maybe a report to right. She could do that. She could detail the number of times someone had fired at them. And make a list of possible reasons someone could have for wanting them killed.
She was halfway down the hall when Booth called her back, "Bones!"
Great. She hated that nickname. And Booth had only gotten away with calling her by it because he was, well, Booth. She turned and glared, "Stop calling me that."
He was standing in just his leather pants. That was kind of unfair. "There could still be a gunman out there. Until we've heard from the Bureau, we need to stay put."
Perfectly logical. But he was still standing there, shirtless. "Fine. Put a shirt on and I'll come back in."
"Put a shirt on?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Yes." Brennan crossed her arms, "Put a shirt on."
Something very male crossed Booth's face. But he didn't smirk, and he stepped back, "Fine. I'll put a shirt on."
"Good." Waiting in the hall was boring, but she was going to stay there.
He reappeared, white t-shirt pulled on over his naked chest. "Better?"
"Yes." Without another word, she walked back into the hotel room and headed for the desk and chair. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't bad.
"Good." Booth moved to the phone and started making calls.
Brennan tried to ignore him. She also tried to ignore the sudden need to tap her fingernails on the table. It was a nervous tic she did not have, and certainly shouldn't pick up.
Booth's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She blinked. "Hey."
"Look, this doesn't have to--"
"No, it's ok. It didn't happen."
"It was just a release of hormones and tension."
She smiled, knowing it didn't reach her eyes, "So, we're ok."
"They've finished clearing the building--no sign of the gunman."
"You can have the bed."
"I--no, that's ok," It would be far too awkward. And it probably smelled like them, and, really, she was being stupid.
"If it's about..."
She looked up and met his gaze, "It..."
"You can have the right side."
"Yes." He moved and began making a bolster to put in the middle of the bed. "We're adults, Bones, we can sleep like adults, in a bed. Without sex."
"Even though we just had... sex."
Fine. She went and checked the right side of the bed. "As long as I'm not sleeping in the wet spot."
She closed her mouth and dropped onto her side of the bed. "Good night, Booth."
"You're going to sleep in your clothes?"
"Including my boots." She flopped sideways, back to Booth. If nothing else, she might actually sleep.