Rating: 18+ Porn.
Set: Anytime, no spoilers.
For the porn battle, Prompt: Bones, Brennan/Booth, dirt
Imprinted by ALC Punk!
There's a smudge on her cheek, but she doesn't seem to care. That's fine, for Booth. He thinks it makes her a little more human--less of a machine, and more of a woman who has needs, emotions; feelings. Like right now, with her head dropped back, so he can kiss her throat. He's not stupid. He doesn't equate sex with feelings, and he knows that she certainly doesn't.
Brennan has talked, at length, about sexual intercourse being a simple anatomical relief of tension.
So, something like this--Booth, with his lips on her throat and his hands tugging her shirt out of her pants--is perfectly natural. They've been shot at, and she's been agitated for hours (she did this the last time she was shot at, but he wasn't thinking about the best way to tire her out. He is, now).
"Not so hard," she murmurs, fingers on his cheek pushing him away slightly.
Booth obeys, gentling his lips and tongue, tasting her pulse and skin.
Moving, he finds a spot further back that makes her gasp, fingers twitching and blunt nails digging a little into the skin of his cheek. His own hand comes up and tugs her fingers away from his sensitive skin.
"Sorry," she exhales, then gives a little wriggle, "A little more, now."
But Booth is enjoying her neck too much, and ignores her for the moment. There's a hitch in her breath that he wants to hear again.
A cranky sound escapes her, wordless and irritated. "Booth." she says, "You're not listening."
"Oh, I'm listening," he mumbles against her skin.
"No, you're not, you're--"
Booth pulls his mouth from her neck and stops her complaints effectively. Lips to lips, his tongue slipping just along her lower lip. She thinks too much, he decides. But she's always thinking. Never stops, if she can help it. He figures she's afraid of the silence in her head.
With care, he brushes his hands up under her shirt. A pleased sound escapes her when he stops below her breasts, stroking his fingers along her ribs.
She could tell him the disposition and composition of every bone he's touching. She could articulate and explain how the muscles interact (hers are twitching, her breath catching again) to keep the body moving.
Booth is far more interested in making her muscles spasm uncontrollably. He uses special skills to undo her bra with one hand while the other cups her breast through the material. He's pretty sure if he looked, it would be white cotton, or something equally practical. Which is kind of hot, in its own way.
"Yes," Brennan says, voice eager as she arches up into his touch. "I like--"
His thumb against her nipple breaks her train of thought, and he files that away for the future: when Brennan won't stop talking, make her horny. He quickly figures out that she prefers quick strokes from side to side to the more conventional nipple-pinching.
"Take your clothes off," she says suddenly, voice breathless.
But that would mean taking his hands off of her. Booth is kind of reluctant to do so. "Unzip me."
"What? That is so unsanitary--and isn't this one of your thousand-dollar suits?"
"Fine. Fine." He pulls away from her reluctantly, and stands long enough to shed his pants and boxers while Brennan puls her stockings and underwear off. Her shirt and bra come off with his help, and he was right: white cotton. Before she can say anything else, he moves back onto the bed and drops his mouth to her breasts.
"Not like--there." Her breath catches in that way that makes his groin tighten, and he licks the hardened nipple again.
And then he pulls back and looks at her. "You know, Brennan, I do have some experience with sex."
"Yes, I know, but every woman is different. Every woman is aroused and stimulated by a variety of sensations. None are the same, and--"
He stops her mouth again. This kiss is more heated. Less exploration and more want, more need that dances along his nerves and makes him ache to spread her legs and slide into her without waiting for her to be ready. When her hand grabs his and drags it between her legs, he revises his assessment. She's ready, wet and arching into his fingers with a soft little moan.
Condom, he suddenly thinks. He should have grabbed one from his pocket when he was stripping. "Hang on."
"Huh?" She's dazed as she watches him stretch for his discarded pants, then seems to realize why. "Oh, I've got that--" she almost knocks him off the bed when she leans over and opens a drawer in the night stand.
Grabbing onto the sheet and pulling himself back, Booth growls, "If you wanted me on the floor, I'd appreciate not getting my head bashed in."
"What?" Foil packet in her hand, she moves back to her previous position, then blinks at him and her lips quirk into something like a smile. "Balance issues? You know, that could be a problem with your inner ear. The way the membrane stretches--have you had any hearing problems?"
"No." Moving with deliberation, Booth casually pushes her legs open, hand pressing against her. "I think my hearing's just fine."
Brennan rips open the packet and shrugs, "Well, you could get it checked out."
"Nope." He grabs the condom from her and applies it, watching her watch him. Her eyes are dark, and there's a sense of fascination in them. Like he's a science experiment that she hasn't quite gotten right. "Now," he settles between her legs, bending to kiss her throat, "you need to stop thinking."
"What, no more foreplay?" She asks, tone amused.
"Do you need more?" The question is rhetorical. Mostly.
One leg comes up and hooks around his waist and she arches, rubbing against him. "Nah. I think I'm good. Unless you need more foreplay? I know that men have different rates of arousal. Are you not hard enough?"
She has got to be teasing the fuck out of him. "Brennan," he says, tone dangerous, "stop thinking."
"If I stop thinking then I'll stop reacting, and only my autonomic functions will--"
He kisses her again. It's becoming a habit. Even if she's kind of hot while babbling about things that he doesn't really give a crap about. She makes a little sound and moves against him again. Her hand is suddenly between them, touching him and it's his turn to gasp.
"Stop--" she breaks off as he presses forward, her hand guiding him. She takes a deep breath, chest rising and pressing up against him, then lets all out on a low man as he slides all of the way inside of her. "Take it slow." The whisper is said against his mouth as she rocks her hips up, the movement sending his brain reeling, "You have good hips for taking it slow." Her hands move around to his ass, stroking the curves, "Nice musculature."
Taking that as a compliment, he begins moving. Slowly, as requested. She clenches around him, her breath quickening. The way she arches makes him smug and his hands come up to her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hard nipples.
A noise escapes her, and Booth realizes that her brain has finally stopped processing anything but the sensations he's producing in her body. Which sounds clinical, and he'll bitch later about how she's corrupted his thought processes. He's smug, as he moves, listening to her whimpers and moans.
Her hands moves again, between them, and he'd feel inadequate as her fingers brush against him while she brushes her own clit. Except there's something incredibly hot about her getting herself off with his cock moving in and out of her. Her legs tighten around him and he moves to prop himself up slightly, changing the angle and thrusting in deeper.
"Yes. Like that," she says suddenly.
Then she's coming, spasming around him and pushing down against him while he holds perfectly still.
He wants to bury his face in the side of her neck and thrust hard until he's spent, but there's still a part of him that wants to make her do that again. Because there was something intensely, brokenly, human about her when she was falling apart and crying out.
"Booth? You didn't--" she breaks off in a soft little gasp when he moves again, pulling slowly out of her, then thrusting back in. "Oh."
"You talk to much," says Booth.
Her legs unwind from his waist and she plants her feet on the bed, using the extra leverage to push up against him, hard. "Then make me stop."
The challenge is an easy one to take. This time, it's faster, harder, and she's making little gasping noises with every thrust until her fingers are back, pressing against him and her and she's breaking. This time, he doesn't try to stop and follows her after a few short thrusts.
Head on her shoulder, he seriously considers not moving.
"Hey." Her finger and thumb circle him and she shifts, awkwardly. "Not to be rude, but--"
"Oh. Right." Pushing up and reached his hand down, he keeps the condom from slipping off as he pulls free of her. Stopping, hovering over her, he can't help but lean down and kiss her lips gently.
Her hand brushes his cheek.
With one last kiss, he reluctantly pulls himself from the bed and heads to the bathroom to deal with the condom. When he returns, she's on her side, head propped on her fist.
"I should, ah, go," he says, gesturing over his shoulder vaguely.
"Don't." Her free hand comes up and she holds it out. "I mean, it's late, the traffic's probably not that great. And, I... I really don't want to be alone." The last said in a rush.
"So do I."
Booth moves back to the bed and crawls in, ending up behind her. She wriggles back until she's nestled against his chest.
"This is nice."
His arm hooks over her waist and he buries his head in her hair. He can still smell the dirt, from earlier. And hair product of some sort. She's still alive, and so is he. "Yeah. Nice."
It takes them both a long time to fall asleep, but they don't talk.