A/N: This chapter is for Jamie, who's psychic. Thank you. I don't know how you knew I wanted to write this, but you did. *smooch* Your review arrived at so the right time that I laughed. I'll see what else I can do...
To everyone else, if you read this, thanks. If you comment, thank you for that, too. I know leaving feedback takes time out of your busy days, and I appreciate it very much.
Why this additional chapter? Because sharing is caring. ;) (And I need the practice; muscles atrophy from lack of use.)
There was a gradual lightening along the edges of Booth's closed eyelids, signaling morning's arrival. Holding back a contented yawn so he wouldn't wake the woman who lay next to him in his bed, her face sleep-smooth and her body relaxed, he settled for a grin that could only be described as cocky, and arched his back in a little stretching motion.
She'd caught a standby flight and returned from San Francisco early -- and walked in on him jerking off in the shower. There were a lot of ways that could have gone; to say that he was thrilled with how it had turned out would be the understatement of the century.
"I...thought about you while I was gone, and I would like to watch you jerk off..."
He was already sporting morning wood; the memory of her words from the night before did nothing to help the situation. They'd only been lovers for a few weeks, and sex, everything about it, still felt pretty new. In a good way.
The transition from friendship to more had been surprisingly natural, though not always smooth, and he often regretted that it had taken them so many pointless years -- of denial, tortured indecision, and boundaries they'd crossed with their souls long before they dared to cross them with their bodies. Trying not to reach this destination had been an exercise in futility, and it had pushed them to the brink countless times. But the now, their now, made it all seem worth it.
Booth shifted closer to Brennan, slipping a hand under the blanket and pulling up the t-shirt she wore -- his shirt -- until she was naked from the waist down. His hand moved further north, until it brushed the heavy softness of the underside of her breasts. Then, just because he could, because he wanted to and there were so many times in the past when he couldn't, even though he'd wanted to, (God, how he'd wanted to), he used his other hand to cup her bare hip possessively. Mine. Her skin felt soft and warm; heaven on earth and every other goddamned cliche in the book written by fools in love. Fools like him. His fingers tightened a fraction, and he rocked his hips slowly, pressing his erection against her ass.
Gently, he pushed her hair aside and nuzzled her neck, tasting her familiar, clean scent, before turning his attention back to her tits. He'd gotten so unbelievably lucky with this gorgeous woman. Tits or breasts, she didn't care what he called them, apparently. Pussy didn't offend her, either. Sure, she insisted that vagina was the proper, scientific term for that part of her anatomy, and he couldn't argue with her there. But she understood that tits, ass, and pussy were just words, words he found sexy even if he didn't use them all the time, and not weapons of degradation or dominance. The woman was a constant surprise. Hell, she'd even let him come on her tits last night, and though he'd done it, happily, that had definitely not been his suggestion. The visual had blown his mind, among other things.
She'd let him come on her tits.
No, she'd asked him to come on her tits.
And he loved her for it.
For her honesty; for her unapologetic enjoyment of sex; for her acceptance of him and all the things she was just beginning to learn about him; for all that...and a thousand other reasons. If he had a lifetime to tell her exactly what she meant to him, it still wouldn't be enough. But he intended to show her as best as he could...and hope that it was enough.
Brennan was a fantasy made flesh. Pale, silky, warm flesh. Scratch that: she was so much better than any fantasy his horny mind had ever created. Because she was more than just beautiful and hot and so open and giving in bed he almost had to pinch himself sometimes to convince himself their time together wasn't just some crazy, fucked-up dream.
She was too smart for him. Too good for him. When she looked at him, he got the feeling she actually saw him, a man who'd trained to be invisible. When she touched his hand, he swore she saw this: everything he'd spent years hiding behind his suits, smiles, and swagger. Maybe, with her, the jagged, ugly pieces of himself he'd been hauling around were starting to knit themselves back together.
More than he deserved; more than he'd dreamed; just...more.
Feeling so grateful he wanted to shout, Booth pulled back from his thoughts and let himself be a man. Just a man with a woman: his woman. He gently nibbled on Brennan's earlobe, allowing his hand to travel down from her breasts to her stomach to her warm curls.
"Mmph," she finally said, beginning to awaken. The way she arched back against him made his lips turn up at the corners.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he murmured into her hair, letting it tickle his nose. He traced a lazy zigzag path back up to her stomach.
"Good morning, indeed," Brennan answered in a voice still thick with sleep. Covering his hand with her own, she dragged it back down between her legs.
Booth's smile widened, but despite his cock's silent protests, he quickly moved to scratch her back.
"Booooth," she said, and he grinned at the discovery that his forensic anthropologist could do a certified, honest-to-goodness whine.
"You want some cheese with that whine?" he said, trying not to laugh. She ground back against him, and the sensation of his hardness nestled against her ass made him groan.
"I don't know what that means."
"It means that I have a better idea."
"What could be better than this?" She rolled to face him, shoving the messy tangle of her hair out of her face.
"Well, you know, the way I see it, I did you a favor yesterday."
One slender eyebrow arched. "How so?"
"I, uh, let you watch me jerk off, Bones." He rubbed the back of his neck, watching a slow smile flicker over her face.
She blinked. "As if you didn't enjoy that." Her self-assured smile warmed him from the inside out, like his first cup of coffee on a frosty February morning.
"Oh I did." He grinned. "But the finish was purely for your benefit."
"Hm." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she slid closer to him, dragging her leg up over his hip. "I see. So what is it you would like in return, Agent Booth?"
Smoothing his hand down the leg she'd draped over him, he almost smiled when she shivered. "I, uh, think I should get to watch you..."
"Watch me what?" she asked, her expression serious even as her eyes danced.
"You know," he said, bending to growl against her ear.
"I don't think I do." When Brennan retreated, her face was all smiles.
"I want to watch you...you know..."
Thankfully, she took mercy on him. "You want to watch me masturbate?"
He shook his head. "Wrong, Bones" -- he squeezed her ass -- "What'd I tell you about that not being a sexy word?" He frowned in mock seriousness. "No." Their gazes met. "I want to watch you touch yourself." At her sharp inhale, his last bit of hesitation melted away. "Will you show me?"
Brennan wrapped her arms around him in an easy hug, her answer muffled against his shoulder. "I'm still on Pacific time--"
He cut her off, immediately contrite over his selfishness. Geez, he was a tool. "Sorry, Bones, you must be exhausted. Go back to sleep," he said, giving her a tender squeeze.
"Let me finish," she said, the sweet kiss she swept across his cheek taking the bite out of her admonishment. "If you bring me coffee and breakfast in bed, we have a deal, Agent Booth."
Yes. Booth threaded his fingers through Brennan's long hair and tilted her head back until their foreheads rested against one another. How'd a guy like him ever get so ridiculously lucky? He didn't know, and he didn't care; he'd hold on tight to this woman. "You drive a hard bargain" -- he gave a single playful thrust that drew forth what sounded suspiciously like a giggle, before solemnly shaking his partner's hand -- "but I think you've got yourself a deal, Dr. Brennan."
God, he loved lazy Saturday mornings.