Title: Grass Stains

Rating: M

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Nothing has changed since my last story.

Summary: Brennan and Booth's first year of marriage is celebrated in an alternative way.

Author's Note: I got inspiration for this story as I was lying in the park on Saturday afternoon. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Don't forget to review! Also don't forget to check out


"You look pretty today," Booth said as Brennan pulled her wavy hair into an antique silver clip in the shape of a butterfly – decorated intermittently along the wings with round cut cubic zirconium stones. She'd become increasingly interested in acquiring antique pieces and she'd been particularly excited about this one, he remembered fondly. When she turned, the stones sparkled in the late morning sunlight.

She wore a plain white sleeveless t-shirt and an aubergine coloured cotton skirt that dropped to her knee. On her feet, Brennan wore dark brown flat sandals that were chosen for their practical comfort and not because they looked especially stylish. But with her toes peeking out, naughtily enticing and painted the same shade of dark purple as her skirt, the sandals looked beautiful.

"Thank you," she replied, looking down at herself with a modest shrug. Aside from her decorative hair clip, she wore no other jewellery. "Are we ready?" she asked.

"Chicken salad, potato salad, pasta salad, baked potato, sandwiches, coleslaw plus other various and sundry, packed and ready to go," he told her, smiling broadly. "Your chariot awaits my lady." Brennan found herself almost at ease with his banter these days. A year of getting used to such characteristics in his personality, she supposed. They'd gotten married so fast that whirlwind didn't even begin to categorise it. Temperance followed him outside to his SUV that was parked against the curb, lifting her hand to examine her rings in the sunlight. She only wore the diamond at the weekend. Death, slime, mud would inevitably damage the flawless stone beyond repair. As the golden light caught the many facets and reflected every hue of the spectrum, Brennan knew they'd made the right decision. It was Booth's suggestion. He said if they prolonged their engagement they'd become one of those couples who got so comfortable being engaged that the very concept of 

marriage and a wedding would be deemed more of an inconvenience than a privilege. Angela's view was that he was afraid of being ditched again. Brennan, ever practical saw no reason to prolong their engagement – and they'd married in a quiet, very un-Montenegro and Hodgins ceremony.

Today was their first wedding anniversary and instead of having dinner in an expensive downtown DC restaurant, Booth had suggested an entire day, dedicated to the celebration.

'A picnic,' he'd told her on Wednesday evening as they'd lain in bed – she reading the newest crime novel and he a magazine on resorting vintage cars.

'I hate the parks in DC, Booth,' she replied in immediate dismissal. 'There's so many people... there won't be any privacy.' Upon which he threw her his best smile – a full row of pearly white, immaculately straight teeth. Her resolve melted and her body flooded with predictable warmth.

'I was thinking West Virginia,' he said. Her interest, among other things, was aroused. 'Last week, when I was down in Roane, I passed so many farms, Bones... picturesque like you can't imagine, y'know? Trees and grass and rivers, stone bridges – authentic kind, too, not the kind that those pretentious assholes build. Some farms are so big – hundreds of acres of land... we'd never get into trouble if we just squatted under a tree for the day.' Despite her mounting pleasure at his descriptive, Brennan kept her features expressionless – except for the very precise arching of her eyebrow.

'Are you suggesting that we trespass on agricultural land?' Despite her best efforts, at supposed disapproval in his proposal, she was immediately busted. He simply knew her too well and his response was another devastating grin.

'We'll behave ourselves,' he promised, his hand slipping under her t-shirt, over her stomach. 'We won't even litter.'

Sitting beside him now as he drove in silence, Brennan found that she was quite excited by the prospect of an afternoon spent in total solitude. The city was just too damn oppressive at times. It was easy to forget that nature, in her supreme glory, reigned on beyond the concrete jungles that they insisted on imprisoning themselves in. At times she missed the open spaces of South America; Chile and Peru.

"Hey," she said, angling her body towards him. Despite the dark lenses of his designer shades, she saw the lingering sweep of his gaze across her breasts. "Do you want to come to Peru with me this year? I was thinking of making my annual Christmas trip in November instead." Their first year as a 

married couple had not saw much of a change in their lifestyles. Booth spent Christmas with Parker and Brennan's inner war with her emotions raged on and as usual, they chased her right out of DC come Christmas.

"Where will you be in December, then?" Booth asked, filled with despair that she might take two trips instead of one. She tilted her head, peering at him with her 'are you an idiot?' squint expression. He adored it – when he wasn't genuinely confused.

"I'm going to spend it here. With you and Parker." For what appeared to be a long time of extended silence, Booth reflected upon her words, sincerely touched and elated at the possibility to having a Christmas a family – even though it was barely yet June.

"That would be wonderful," he said at last. "And yes, I'd love to visit Peru with you in November." Brennan smiled broadly, straightening in her seat again. "Hey Temperance?" It still didn't happen often that he used her given name and, when he did, she was immediately on alert. "Thanks..." he said softly, offering her a sheepish smile. Too much of a man to openly display emotion, she felt grateful for the infrequent moments in which he revealed himself to her.

"You're welcome."


Booth's late-night descriptions did not do the countryside justice, Brennan thought as Booth swung his legs over the fence and dropped into the lush, empty field. He took the picnic basket from her, as before swinging her legs over, she paused to admire the surrounding hillsides. Their field – if she had any right to call it that – was at the bottom of a rounded valley. To the east and west thickly forested hills rose, undulating towards the crisp, spring-blue sky. North and south, vast fields stretched every onward. With two feet on the fence, Brennan could barely see the neighbouring farms and suddenly she didn't feel as bad about trespassing.

A great oak tree dominated the northern corner of the field, its many branches stretching outward. At least half of the tree's limbs were big enough to support their combined weight. "If it were possible for a tree to look proud, this would be it," said Brennan as they strolled across the cool grass. Booth hummed his concurrence as he removed his shades, sweeping his eyes across the landscape in wonder.

Under the oak, they spread a navy blanket across the grass, sitting side-by-side with their backs against the impressive trunk. They ate mostly in silence, commenting occasionally on how the lack of noise was difficult to get accustomed to. Aside from a tractor trundling down the road where they had parked their vehicle, there was no traffic. Various birds flittered about the overhead branches, and their activities were the only source of raucous noise. Brennan chewed slowly, lifting her eyes to watch their effortless elegance as they hopped from branch to branch, calling to one and other, seemingly oblivious to their presence on the ground below.

"What's that smell?" she asked, her eyes falling closed as she inhaled the heavy, floral scent that travelled on the half-hearted breeze. Booth gestured across the divide in land to an enormous weeping cherry tree – the blossoms of which drooped and swayed lazily – like limbs that just couldn't summon the energy to rise. In some places, the dainty pink flowers almost brushed the ground beneath. Their heady scent was intoxicating.

"Isn't that something?" Booth said, his gaze levelled on her instead. "You can see the skeletal remains of children, bodies so decomposed as to be unrecognisable and remain unfazed. Yet you catch a glimpse of a pink tree and you're dumbfounded." Her laughter was easy, even though she regretted the mention of work when she was feeling so peacefully unaware of it.

"It's not a 'pink tree'," she scolded, wiggling her finger at him as though he were a naughty boy. "Admittedly I don't know exactly what it is called... I'd have to ask Hodgins..." He laughed at her. The kind of laughter that was his; Seeley, not Booth. These moments between them were unfortunately too infrequent. Their work and the burdens of it left such little space for light heartedness. Brennan grinned, setting a cartoon of pasta salad aside she lay back against the blanket. The sunlight blinked through the gaps in the leaves above, warmly caressing her bare skin.

"You should cover your food before the ants get it," Booth advised, watching how her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. She looked more relaxed than he could remember and he knew his choice to celebrate their anniversary away from the city had been a good one. She waved a dismissive hand towards the pasta, as loose limbed as the weeping cherry. "You look very beautiful when you've nothing on your mind," he remarked, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the glare of the sun. Temperance cocked an eyebrow, one eyelid opening to watch him.

"What makes you think I've nothing on my mind?" she asked, not totally able to hide her smile. "I was thinking, just now in fact, that I'd like to make love." His eyes widened now, his interest captured. "Right here, under this tree." Conscious of the fact that they were outdoors, on someone else's property, Booth swept his gaze – with sniper precision – across the fields, up the hillsides. "What do you think?" Brennan asked, wrapping her fingers around her skirt, gathering the cotton into tight fists. He looked at her rings, then at her. Difficult to believe sometimes that this wondrous creature was his wife.

He had no time to reflect upon it now. She rose the hem of her skirt, smooth creamy thighs displayed to him. Higher and higher as his penis hardened inside his pants. When he saw the neatly trimmed triangle of hair, he swallowed hard. No underwear, he thought, suddenly thirsty. Her inner thighs glistened, moist from the arousal caused by visions of her sexual scenario.

"You're gonna kill me someday," he moaned, sinking to the blanket beside her. She'd proven to be adventurous in comparison to his traditional but he was a keen student and her wily ways were having an effect on him. These days he was always on the look out for new, exciting places to make love to her or, when the notion struck, fuck her. Today was far too languid an afternoon to fuck, he decided, placing his hand on her thigh, caressing her skin as he shifted his fingertips upward. A murmur of anticipation and pleasure escaped her barely parted lips.

Mixed now with the scent of blossoms was her arousal – far more sensual any day.

His fingertips stroked her soft folds, touching the slick nectar of her arousal. Her thighs parted, her exposed flesh kissed by the warm breeze. Almost at once, Booth ached to be inside her. The tip of his finger gently circled her clitoris, already a tight bundle of nerves. She sighed, the sound barely audible against the rustling leaves and bird tweeting overhead. Her fingers dug into the fibres of the blanket, her spine arching.

Her nipples were tight against the shirt she wore – straining against the cotton material. Booth trailed his eyes over her – delighting in the way pink spots rose on her cheeks. Leaning over her, he stroked his fingertips over her face and she was forced to look at him.

"You're not going to torture me again, are you?" she asked, a small smile toying at her lips. He grinned back.

"I'm not sure I can wait long enough to torture you," he admitted, gesturing to his arousal, straining against his khaki coloured pants. Brennan's fingers weaved into his hair, drawing his mouth down to hers. Their kiss was languid – the kind that always stirred her desire. Fierce kisses were reserved for wild, quick sex. But the slow caressing of their tongues were her favourite.

His hands explored her body as they had done a thousand times before – and yet he always looked as though he'd found something new and exquisite. His groans were deep, filled with longing and lust. Her flesh was malleable, moulding to the shape of his palms as he held her breasts, dropping his face to touch his lips to satiny skin. She reached between them, unzipping his pants. Her fingers found 

him with expert ease, wrapping around his hard length. He thrust forward, her touch sending an electrical-like jolt through his entire body.

God, he thought, was there anyone in this world who could turn him on as easily as she?

Booth eased himself inside of her, the warm, sleek wetness of her arousal surrounding him. He kept his eyes closed – savouring that first moment of pure bliss as he always did. Holding her hips, he thrust deeply inside of her. Brennan purred, her nails digging into his back as her body went rigid. "Faster," she commanded in a lowly tone. His eyes snapped open as she peered into hers; raw umber coloured eyes staring into smoky blue. She couldn't hide her arousal from him anymore – now that he knew her so well. She wrapped her legs around him, securing him deeply inside her body.

With each thrust, their moans heightened and Temperance's liquid walls tightened around him. The breeze brought the perfumed scent of the weeping cherry their way and each breath filled their lungs with its pungent loveliness. "I'm close..." she sighed. Booth thrust deeper, harder as her body succumbed to her orgasm and she trembled. Around his penis, she squeezed him, the sensation drawing him, too, over the edge.

He groaned her name, coming inside her in long, intense bursts.

Booth collapsed atop her, sighing deeply. They lay in each others arms for an eternity, their limbs as loose as the vines on the cherry tree. He kissed the top of her forehead and she murmured in approval, stroking his hair. She opened her mouth to thank him for a lovely afternoon, but a persistent rumble distracted her.

"What is that?" she asked, slipping from underneath him and peering into the next field. Trundling along the grass, a huge tractor came over the hill. "Oh, my God. Booth, zip up your pants, we need to get out of here."


Samuel Corbett paused by the huge oak tree, taking off his weathered old cap and fanning his reddened cheeks. By the fence, the mighty engine of his John Deere 8110 tractor rumbled nosily. He always found the noises of his farm a comfort, especially on lonely summer days like this.

Resting against the trunk, Sam lit a cigarette and lifted his grey eyes to the hillside. The country never let him down, he thought. He could roam his land day after day and always find solace in its seemingly unchanging features. He toed the thick dark grass with the tip of his boot, thinking that he'd love a glass of whisky when he glimpsed a half empty carton of pasta salad.

Damn trespassers, he thought. Always setting up picnics in his fields with no respect for the 'No Trespassing' signs he had hammered into every fence. And littering too. As if it wasn't bad enough that they trundled over his grass, but running off with their leftovers scattered all over the place, drove him mad.

Starting the car, Booth took a deep breath. In the field, he saw the farmer's eyes searching the landscape, as if he might find his trespassers. Brennan giggled against her palm.

"That was a close one," she sniggered.

"Too close," Booth replied, running his fingers over her thighs. "Do you mind if we keep sex to the bedroom for a couple of weeks...?" His wife grinned.

"I can't keep any promises," she replied as they drove away.

-End-