"Ladies, it's been a blast, but I'm out of here." Angela gave Booth a hug goodbye and let Brennan walk him out of the house. She leaned back in her plushy, comfortable char and sighed contentedly. It had been a good party. Good wine, good people from the institute, a little music and great food.
The only thing that was missing was a good after-party toke.
She pulled her stash out of the coffee table and inhaled the potent scent of high-grade Chronic.
"What is that?" Angela pulled out a pre-rolled joint, fat and guaranteed to get them both stoned out of their minds.
"Haven't you ever seen pot before?" she asked rhetorically, searching around for her lighter.
"No." Angela froze and looked at Brennan in disbelief. While she's willing to concede growing up on ZZ Top tours might have skewed her drug normalcy meter, she'd never actually met anyone who hadn't come across weed once in their life.
"Seriously?" Brennan shrugged.
"It's not something that ever held any interest in me. It decreases logical reasoning skills and—"
"Honey, shut up. You're making me pity you. Did you misspend ANY of your youth?" While Brennan was seriously considering the question, Angela lit up and inhaled deeply. The smoke burned in her lungs and made her choke, but she fought to keep her breath as long as possible.
"Russ once convinced me to"--Angela let out the smoke in a long stream, ending with a cough--"steal a package of gum when I was eight."
"Sometimes you make me sad," Angela said, passing over the doobie. Brennan took it with a faint look of distaste, holding it away from her as if it was an unexcarnated bone. She sniffed the lit end experimentally.
"What do I do?" Angela laughed, feeling the effects of the pot start creeping through her veins.
"Inhale as much smoke as you can handle—not too much, especially your first time, or you'll end up coughing it up and ripping up your throat. Slow and easy. Good." Brennan frowned at the unusual taste of the smoke, aware how her lungs expand in a way normal breathing didn't show; there was an uncomfortable tickle at the back of her throat. "That's probably enough. Now hold your breath for as long as possible and then let it out slowly."
Angela took another hit while Brennan coughed out a lung, her eyes watering.
"I do NOT understand the appeal."
"Give it five minutes," Angela said blissfully, already feeling the effects. Brennan managed a couple more hits without choking to death, and the rest of the cannabis hit Angela all at once. She was floating along, feeling mellow and utterly pleased with the world at large when Brennan igiggled./i Angela looked over with amused incredulity. Brennan giggling; no one would ever believe her. But there she was, slouched on the couch and grinning like a loon over nothing. She was loose and relaxed in a way Angela had never seen before.
"This is GREAT!" stoned!Brennan mumbled, her eyes glassy and lips stretched wide.
"Yeah? Told you." Angela was too high to even bother attempting smug. She hummed happily, letting the world wash around her. Her body was buzzing with her high, blood singing along in her veins. The light tough on her leg was enough to send the buzz spinning into arousal.
"Can we have more?" Angela pried her eyes open. Brennan's face was so close to hers, she could smell the other woman's skin.
"No, don't wanna overindulge on your first time, but...we can make it better."
"Better's good. Better sounds great." Slowly, Angela cupped Brenna's face, drawing her thumb along Brennan's cheek bones, mapping them with her touch. Brennan's eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into the caress. Angela pressed a closed-lip kiss to dry lips.
"Angela..." She laughed and kissed Brennan with the sloppy enthusiasm of good Chronic.
"Stoned sex is awesome. You should really try it."
"The parameters of my experiment require as much data as possible in order to--" Angels silenced her with another kiss, angling her body so they pressed Brennan into the cushions.
Hands slipped underneath her shirt, nails scraped along heated skin, mouths danced along nerve endings. They tumbled to the floor, lost in their haze of feelgoodvibrationsyeah. Anglea dragged the soft material of Brennan's sweater over their bodies, each of the women developing a new appreciation for the downy material. Angela ran her tongue over the silk of Brennan's bra, leaving dark patches of wet over tight areolae.
They made out like high schoolers, the pot making everything more potent and less pressing all at once.
Angela unhooked Brennan's bra with practiced ease, as used to it from this side as any other. She'd known Temperance Brennan was beautiful from an aesthetic, artistic perspective, but the reality of her was almost too much. She was pale and beautiful and far too smart for mere flesh. Angela wished for a brush so she could ink the inner wonders of her closest friend over the dips and valleys of her body, for the world to see.
Impatient hands shucked off her pants, and Angela had to laugh; Brennan was efficient and demanding even smoked out on high-grade pot and generous amounts of alcohol.
"I'm told it's acceptable to call people by their first names during intimate moments," Brennan observed. Angela laughed again and kissed her refusal down Brennan's stomach.
"Tempie makes me feel like I'm 14 again, and while I look oh so fondly back at that time, I don't want to be 14 again." She shudders delicately, remembering some of the things she'd done in the name of teenage rebellion. Of course, he father was a member of ZZ Top, so that had consisted of a straight-and-narrow phase that made her miserable. "And Temperance...well. That just seems the wrong message to evoke under the circumstances."
Brennan giggled, the sound shaking her body and making her breasts move enticingly. One hand threaded through Angela's hair. Angela glanced up from where she was perched, where pale flesh gave way to dark, wiry hair.
"You're right. No temperance allowed."