So-- I wrote lots of dirty, hot n' heavy B & B lovin', the last two chapters, with many kind reviews and more than a few "When are they going to make love?"s. This one's for you—Booth and Brennan making love, and lots and lots of foreplay, first. Lots. There's a little bit of kink, but I think it's pretty mild. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.



It might not have happened if she wasn't so tired. They'd both been working nonstop trying to solve a case where one girl was found murdered, another still missing. They'd found the still-missing girl, arrested the subject, and even managed to get a confession.

Brennan had worked around the clock, literally—the only time she seemed to sleep was in Booth's truck, when they were headed back to the lab or the Hoover from somewhere. It had taken she and the team, particularly Hodgins, days in between her helping Booth question suspects before she could make the injury patterns and the particulates data turn into something she could use. Booth crashed on the couch in her office while she and Hodgins still worked, relentlessly questioning, re-examining the data, cross-examining each other until they found the breakthrough that led Brennan and Booth to find their still-alive victim and her kidnapper, were able to stop him from claiming a second victim.

Her whole body ached, and she was so tense and so tired from all of her efforts over the past three days that she was at her physical limit—even she was willing to admit it. It was just dawn when they finished, and the diner was opening as they left the Hoover together. He cajoled her into some breakfast—they'd both missed dinner the night before while they were raiding the home where the missing child was being kept. She declined her usual coffee, sticking with herbal tea as she told Booth, "I'm just so tired. I'm going to go home to sleep until I wake up again. And then, maybe some more."

Booth knew she must really be tired to admit it aloud, and there were lines of pain, not just worry, lining her forehead and mouth. Unthinking, he reached across and laid his hand on the arm she'd left resting on the table as she picked at her food with the other. "You did good work, Bones, you deserve it," he said. She smiled only slowly at him, to his eye completely exhausted and worn, and accepting his gesture without shying away, too tired to be wary of any personal advance, even as she still sometimes was even with him. He'd already finished his breakfast, and could see she was struggling with hers, so he put down some bills. His hand still on her arm, he closed his fingers around her wrist, tugging and saying, "Come on, Bones, I'll drive you home."

He was exhausted himself, but he hadn't gone completely without sleep, like she had—like she often did, when they were working these type of cases. Even the team managed to crash a few hours at a time while he and Bones were gone from the lab. But Booth wasn't of any use squinting at bones on a table or computer screens full of unintelligible data, so he grabbed what sleep he could while Bones was still working. The scent of her in the couch in her office lulled him to sleep for a few hours at a time before he'd wake again, check on how things were going, exchange hypotheses as much with them as he could, until it was a decent hour for them to hit the street again, questioning witnesses, checking facts, narrowing the field of suspects.

He drove her home and walked her up to her place, yawning hugely himself. He'd looped his arm over her shoulder in the elevator up, and she'd leaned in to him, almost sagging, she was so tired. He saw her in, and then yawned again, earning a dry chuckle from Bones. "You're likely to crash the truck if you drive home. Go ahead and take the couch if you want."

He didn't need another invitation, and he locked the door up behind them. She regarded him quietly, tiredly, then said, "Sleep well, Booth," before heading off toward her bedroom.

"You too, Bones," he called. He kicked off his shoes, dumped his things on the table, and shed his jacket and belt, slinging himself into the warm embrace of her sofa, and hauling the throw she kept on its back down over him. Seemed like he spent more time on her various couches than his own bed, which was fine with him. His sheets didn't smell like her. He drifted off to the sound of her shower starting, then woke later to the sound of her filling a glass in the sink. It had been only two hours since he'd sacked out on her couch.

"Thought you were going to sleep," he mumbled from the warm depths of her couch.

"I tried, but I'm too sore, too overtired," she said quietly. "I'm taking some aspirin."

He slung his arm over the back of the sofa and pulled himself up to look at her. She'd changed into close-fitting ticking striped boxer shorts and a plain white camisole, her gorgeous pale skin beckoning, her silky hair gathered back in the simplest of ponytails. Leave it to Bones to make something as simple as what she was wearing the sexiest thing ever. But she did look worn out, and he could see how bunched her neck and shoulders were, now that her skin was exposed. His poor Bones. She'd been hunched over that exam table or at Hodgins' station when they weren't out on the road.

Before he could register whether it was a good idea, Booth was already across the room and placing his hands on her shoulders. She was rock hard under his hands, her muscles knotted and bunched-- no wonder she couldn't sleep. "Poor Bones," he said, digging his thumbs lightly into the worst knots, right at the join of her shoulder and neck.

Brennan let out a surprised exhalation, first at his warm large hands on her bare skin, and then at how skillfully he was kneading the knots that hurt the most. It was more physical contact than he'd ever initiated, other than his now-routine hand on her back, over her jacket or coat, but she'd be damned if she was going to tell him to stop. It felt good, and she was no longer so stubborn that she couldn't admit that she liked when he touched her. She yawned so deeply it made her eyes water, and Booth chuckled behind her. "Come on, Bones. You go lie down and I'll finish your backrub, okay?"

She was so tired that she took him up on his offer, despite the fact that in other circumstances, she'd have found an excuse to say no. Not because she didn't want him touching her, but because she did. So much. Too much. She was his partner, and even since he'd been shot, he'd made no indication that he thought of her as anything than that, even as she realized while he was dead that she'd been a fool not to see she wanted more from him. So she'd kept quiet about how she felt. Lord knew, she'd had practice keeping her mouth shut and brain turned off about feelings.

"Okay," she said softly, then put her glass down and padded back to her bedroom. Booth, meanwhile, was a little surprised she'd given in so easily, but he wasn't going to give up a chance to touch Bones, and help her relax in the process. He managed not to gawk too curiously at her room—he'd caught glimpses plenty of times on his way to the john, but he'd never poked his head in and really looked around. It was sparer than he thought it might be. She had all those museum pieces up in her office and even some on walls in her hallways and living room, but there was none of that here.

Instead, it was a quiet blue-grey oasis-- like her eyes, he decided. Whites, light and navy blues, pewter greys and silver accents, wood and soft fabrics, no metal or other hard edges anywhere. No wall-full displays of those clunky necklaces of hers—the only sign of Bones, the world traveler, was an eclectic collection of little boxes on top of her bureau he supposed she kept her jewelry in, but it was just stacks of books on both sides of the bed, beside lamps on the side tables, and the charcoal grey plush pillows and covers on her bed, along with a small white and blue awning-striped armchair and hassock in the window. It wasn't girly, just quiet—kind of like Bones.

Brennan tiredly flopped back on her bed, not bothering to stifle a groan as the prone position reminded her of how sore her neck and lower back were. Booth chuckled sympathetically, then said, "Turn over, there, Bones. I can hardly give you a backrub if you're lying on it."

She grumbled and rolled over, pulling her pillow under her head. "Remind me to order stools for the platform, so I don't have to stand for days at a time."

"Poor Bones," Booth said again, sitting gingerly on the side of her bed, and contemplating where to begin. Well, those knots needed to be worked out—he could start there without needing to really shift from where he was sitting, much less straddle her hips while he worked on her lower back. Memories of high school when "giving a backrub" meant an excuse to cop a feel and make out rushed back, and he mentally kicked himself. No thinking like that about Bones—no matter how much he wanted to. And boy, did he want to.

He shifted and reached again for her shoulders, smoothing his hands over her neck and shoulders to see where the rest of the knots were. She was basically one giant knot, though, and he winced all over again. Bones was a hell of a tough cookie, he thought. If he'd been this physically tense, he'd have long since started whining like a baby until someone offered to give him a neck rub. But not Bones—she just kept working, never asked for anything. He wished she would, sometimes—not that he was tired of nagging at her to take better care of herself, he just wished that she felt like she could ask. Knowing he'd find knots all the way up into her scalp, he pulled the rubber band on her ponytail off, unthinking, without asking permission. It would be in his way.

Booth started in again on the knots he'd found in her kitchen, pressing firmly with his thumbs into the knots, but not too firmly yet. It took several minutes, during which time he also worked at the tense, corded muscle running up the sides of her neck to her hairline, before returning to those knots again at the base. Bones was lying still, her head on her arms, and making small hisses every time he re-worked those knots, but she didn't tense up any more than she already had, so he figured he could keep going. Finally, the knots started to warm up and loosen, so he returned to work on her neck and the small knots at the base of her skull and up into her scalp. He was trying hard not to enjoy too much the sight of her soft hair spilling over his hands at he worked at the knots there.

"You're nuts, Bones," he said, half-joking, half-chiding. "I don't know how you worked like this."

"You do what you have to," she mumbled into the pillow, not bothering to turn her head. Booth really did have talented hands, his fingers strong, warm and exerting just the right amount of pressure. Her neck was finally starting to feel like a neck again, not one long knot of painful, tense muscle. He had slight callouses on both hands, at the base of his thumb and palm, the pads of his index and middle finger, the inside of the middle knuckle of his index fingers. She wondered, idly, how often he went to the range, that he would also have callouses on his non-dominant firing hand. He usually shot right handed when he had to. Poor Booth. As much as he joked about shooting people and things that annoyed him, he hated firing his gun.

"Still," Booth responded, finally feeling that last knot at the base of her skull dissolve. He pressed his thumbs again down the midline of her neck, letting his fingers knead the once-corded sides, until he returned, he hoped a last time, to work on those stubborn knots at the base. Now that the rest of her neck had softened, he could press a little harder on those without causing her too much discomfort. He let his fingers curl over her shoulders as he pushed his thumbs into the knots, feeling them still resisting, sliding out from under his fingers, shying away from dissolution. Seeley Booth was not a man to be defeated by some stubborn knots, though, especially ones that were hurting his Bones, so he dug in a little harder, surprising a small grunt out of his partner.

"Too hard?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"No—keep going," she said. It hurt, a little, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that meant something even more painful was on the verge of yielding to pressure, and would release her from its distracting hold over her. Booth continued his ministrations, and made his own grunt of satisfaction when the two knots finally popped under his thumbs. Brennan felt a groan escape her throat at the sudden stab of pain, followed by the blessed release of the more constant pain stabbing up to the base of her skull. His hands continued back up her neck and then down again, to rub one last time at the place where the knots were, dispersing the fatigue poisons that would have collected there. She would be a little tender, tomorrow, but it would be so much less than what she'd been putting up with the last day and a half that she could hardly mind.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Had to get those suckers out."

"S'alright," she mumbled again into her pillow, as she felt his hands move over her upper back, spreading his fingers and palms over her bare skin as he searched out new points of tension, new tightened muscles needing soothing release. She stifled a physical shiver at Booth's proximity, mentally slapping herself for unpartnerly thoughts about Booth. But his hands felt so nice… and a woman could dream, couldn't she?

Booth, meanwhile, was entertaining much the same thoughts. Even as he felt out the new points of bunched muscle, stored tension, painful knots, the sight of that white, gorgeous skin and the feel of it under his hands was oh so very tempting. The faint pink spots that would rise on her skin where he dug in with his knuckles and thumbs faded, and these spots of tension seemed to dissolve more readily than the ones in her neck. He finished her upper back, then, and hesitated. He'd have to slip his hands under her shirt to really do the rest of her back properly.

Brennan, lulled by the fact that Booth had managed to make her back start to feel like a part of her body again, rather than an instrument of more pain, vaguely noticed that Booth had paused as he reached the back of her camisole, his hands still resting over her shoulderblades where he'd just rubbed out the tension. She wasn't half asleep—she was still tired, but the warmth spreading through her had nothing to do with exhaustion. She mentally slapped herself again. She felt much better, really, and would definitely be able to sleep now, even though other parts of her still twinged with tension. The worst of it was the neck and upper back, and he'd gotten those. She could put up with the lower back until tomorrow. She couldn't blame her chivalrous best friend for hesitating, even as she wished he'd go on. She was tired enough, though, that she sighed, wishing he would.

Booth saw Bones sigh, the inhale and exhale of her lungs expanding her ribs and contracting her waist, right where it flared in, almost impossibly small against the rest of her curves. For someone so tough, she was almost impossibly feminine. If he hadn't been watching her intensely, feasting his eyes as he liked to do when she wasn't looking, he wouldn't have noticed the muscles spasming at the start of her lower back. Visible spasms were bad, they must be hurting her like hell, he thought.

Well, to hell with it. If she didn't like it, she'd say so, Bones never hesitated to swat him when he was really annoying her. He ran his hands over her shirt down to the muscles just at the base of her spine. He wasn't really kneading her gorgeous rear end, much as he'd like to—it was the tense muscles above it, spanning up and across her waist, that seemed almost as tense as the ones she'd borne in her upper back. He wouldn't have been able to put up with this—Bones was definitely tougher than him.

She grunted again when he started bearing into the sorest parts of her lower back with his knuckles, rotating against the tensed muscle first in one direction, then another. He paused, intermittently, to let his hands warm the muscles above those in her clenched lower back, before returning again to those painful, stubborn knots. Eventually, he became bold. He slipped his hands under the camisole, working at the muscles lining her spine with this thumbs, palms and fingers splaying and spanning her ribs as they narrowed into her waist. She was so tiny, more than she appeared, he reflected. The Bones the rest of the world saw was bigger than the one she let him see. He could almost span her waist in his hands. He slapped himself mentally again.

The knots just under her kidneys finally yielded again to Booth's well-timed, well-managed pressure, and she grunted again as the knots suddenly popped. Booth thought that her soft noise of release was about the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. He let his hands trail up both sides of her spine, under her shirt, before returning to re-test the muscles he'd worked so hard to relax, earlier. She hadn't tensed up again, too much, so he just let his hands rest, palms down, to warm the muscles there before ascending again to her scalp. This time, he fully indulged himself, pressing his thumbs and index fingers up and along the back of her head, fingers kneading the sides of her skull as he let the silky strands of her hair slide over and around his fingers and hands.

Brennan let out a near-unconscious groan. The things he could do with his hands—it just wasn't fair. He had no idea what he was doing to her. Heat was pooling in her core, despite her exhaustion, and as he'd massaged her scalp, she was ready to throw herself at him. Those talented hands—no doubt, this was the best backrub of her life. No surprise, in the end—in the things she'd observed him doing during their partnership, he almost always excelled.

"Like that, Bones?" he said, surprised at his own daring in asking something so clearly double-laden with meaning. He knew what he wanted it to mean, even if she didn't.

"Yes…" she groaned, unable to stop herself. "Don't stop," she said, the filter between her brain and her mouth obliterated, even as she was horrified to hear it escape from her mouth in response to a different question than the one he was asking her, her friend who was just giving her a backrub. Booth would think she was forward, get embarrassed, and leave. To her surprise, though, she felt his weight shift away from her on the bed as he promptly sat on top of her hips, facing away from her, the press of his knees on either side of her hips causing a hollow to form under her stomach and hips. She groaned at the new way her lower back hurt.

"Sorry," he said, shifting instantly to flip around and return his attentions there. He kneaded the muscles further, feeling that the muscle tension descended past the "safe" part of her lower back that wasn't her behind. Well, she'd kick him if she thought he was being too forward, he decided. What the hell, right? You only really died once—there were worse ways to go than finally getting to see what her gorgeous curves felt like under his hands.

From his vantage point straddling her mid thighs, he dug his thumbs back into the knots in her lower back, his hands eventually descending to the real home of the knots, the muscles below the waistline at the start of the curve of her incredible rear where all the tension from so much standing collected. She groaned again as he pressed on the knots with his thumbs, then stopped to make fists so he could bear down with his knuckles into the tension-filled muscles.

Brennan huffed a breath as he bore down, but he was really finding the sorest spots and making them all disappear. She wondered what it would be like if he slipped his hands under her boxers, cupped her curves like a lover. She kicked herself, mentally.

Bones' involuntary exhalations and noises were driving him mad. The sight of all that skin, the scent of her, was too much, even as he determined all over again to control himself. It was an everyday struggle, contolling himself, stopping himself from all the things he wanted to do—kiss her, hug her in a non guy hug way, throw her over the table and make her scream for him, get down on one knee and beg her to marry him. Right now, though, the temptation was that skin of hers.

"Want me to do your legs, too?" he asked, thinking to himself that it would both kill him and make him deliriously happy to run his hands over the skin of those mile-long white legs.

"Mmmm" was her only response. He'd take that as a yes. He turned around again, straddling her thighs as he contemplated her long, perfect legs. He leant forward, pulled an ankle up, until her shin was at a ninety degree angle to the bed, and started kneading the flesh, from ankle to knee, slowly. The white of her legs, the slender ankles, the dip and swell of her muscles and curves—she was killing him. Her feet were even incredible, not knobbly or otherwise painful-looking from all those high heels.

Brennan groaned again as his hands spanned her calves, kneading and warming the tension stored even there. He switched legs, and continued his motions all over again, until she let out another groan of satisfaction for the way her body now felt like flesh, not rock. He shifted his hands to her feet, then, and she steeled herself.

Brennan had never told anyone that her feet were an erogenous zone. A good foot massage, and she was putty. The heat already building in her started to burn hotter, as his warm dry palms rotated each foot at the ankle, before his fingers pressed lightly into the tops of her feet, while his thumbs kneaded and stroked her heels and arches.

"Oh, God, that feels good," she moaned, as his warm and talented fingers started manipulating her toes, stimulating a trickle of wetness between her legs. This was not good, she thought to herself. She could not let herself become outwardly aroused just because he was massaging her feet. He was her friend, she needed to stop thinking the way about him.

Booth was rock hard by this point, each hiss or moan of satisfaction causing his manhood to tighten, almost impossibly so. The fact that she'd clenched her behind as he straddled her, then clenched again when he started rubbing her feet hadn't escaped him. She liked it when someone rubbed her feet, judging by the way her hips pushed into the bed as he sat on top of her. He filed that one away as he admired again her shapely toned muscles and gorgeous curves, slapping himself mentally for ogling her—but he couldn't stop himself, now. He shifted off and to the side of her as he brushed his hands, lightly, up the back and inside of her thighs, searching out any more knots and bunched muscles, allowing his fingers to revel in the satin warmth of her skin.

Brennan twitched as his hands reached the join of her thighs and her rear over the fabric of her shorts and stifled a moan of a different sort. He was so close, and yet, so far away.

Booth wondered at the twitch. Was he getting to her? Was she getting turned on? He decided he'd better just finish the massage, and decide later. "Hey," he said, "let me finish your arms."

Brennan lifted her head from her arms, and turned and looked at Booth. "You don't need to," she said, though she really, really didn't want him to stop touching her.

He tried looking offended, but the corner of his mouth was twitching at the pitiful look of self-denial she wore on her face. She wanted him to stop about as much as he did, though he was sure her look was due simply to the fact that she was so incredibly tense. "Bones, I always finish what I start. Now come on, arms, roll over."

She rolled onto her side, eyes half-lidded in both tiredness and pleasure, trying to decide what he was going to do, and wondering how she was going to hide the fact that she was completely aroused. At least her nipples weren't hard, she thought to herself. Thank goodness for small favors. Well, she'd just have to try harder to control her facial expressions.

As soon as she rolled onto her back, he sat back against her headboard next to her, and pulled up her right arm, admiring the view. She had toned shoulders and upper arms, not too muscular but long and defined, tapering in to her elbow and her long, slender forearms. And those hands of hers—small, and dexterous, her long fingers and blunt, unpainted nails. She'd never bitten her fingernails, he could tell. The one time he'd seen her with long, painted nails, it just looked wrong, out of place. As hot as that Roxie persona was, and as much as those dresses she wore tempted him, those long, fake nails and that accent would have had to go before he'd have made love to Bones. He wanted all of her, and Bones was all real— no fake layers like other women, including Roxie, wore.

He started in at the shoulder, pulling her arm up against his chest as his hands circled her, his thumbs pressing into the upper side of her arm as his fingers skimmed and lightly kneaded the impossibly soft skin under her arms. He worked his way down to her elbow, then up again, taking his time. Once he finished this arm, he'd have to move on to the other, and then he'd have to stop touching her, stop feasting his eyes on her.

Her eyes were closed again, and he admired her long, dark lashes curling against her cheek, the ever-so-slight upturn of her nose. Makeup off, dark circles under her eyes, and no freckles or blemishes of any kind on the porcelain skin of her face, she was the most gorgeous woman, tired or not, he'd ever had the torture of being this close to. He worked his way down her forearm, and found that there was a knot in the muscles not far below her elbow, almost as hard as the ones in her neck and her lower back. Her forearms were so slender that he could span them with just one hand, so he let his other slide back up to her upper arm as he pulled her elbow up to rest on his thigh. He kneaded the knot, and she groaned again.

"I didn't even know that one was there," she said, her eyes still closed, her face betraying a wince as his thumb pressed into the knot.

"Well, sometimes the body hides reactions to things we don't even know are there," he said, kicking himself mentally as he again said something that could be taken as having a double meaning. Shut up, Seeley, he thought to himself, and returned to concentrating on that bunched stress point in her arm. He didn't wonder it was tense—her right hand and arm were what she wrote with, fired her gun with, the delicate hand that precisely placed bones on the table, moving them and holding them gently as she examined them and made them tell her their secrets. Her right index finger pointed out the anomalous data on xrays and computer screens, her arm pointed out the evidence they needed at the scene. Her right arm, in short, did the work only she could do so well. No wonder she had so much tension stored there.

The knot finally yielded, again with a pop under his fingers, and she made that soft grunt of half-pain, half-release again, an expression of slight pain furrowing her forehead for a moment. He resisted the urge to smooth his thumb over the line that arose there in response to something he'd done. Instead, he returned to massaging the rest of her forearm with both hands, pressing and stroking his fingers over the muscles down to the wrist, then started in on her hand.

Brennan did not know, up to that point at least, that her hands were also an erogenous zone, but as Booth's large hands enfolded her own, rotating her hand at the wrist before beginning to press his fingers and thumbs along the lines of her palm, the thumbs stroking along the base of her thumb and up the outside of her hand, she discovered that she was almost as turned on by his hands on hers as she'd been with her feet. His hands were so warm, Brennan thought lazily, the heat that pooled between her legs warming further. She couldn't help it when she twitched again as he started massaging each finger, the pressure firm and yet gentle.

Booth didn't miss as Bones twitched again, and a small little smile bloomed on her face. He was getting to her—he was turning her on. Maybe. He hoped so. Oh, Lord, did he hope so. Which was good, because he was even stiffer than he'd been before, now that he had an unobstructed view of the rise and fall of her chest, the way her ribs tapered in at her waist, the flare of her hips and those long legs going on forever. Well, he'd just see what he could do to get one of those little groans out of her again, and see where it got him.

With that decision, he threw all pretense of the "just partners" thing outside the window. As if it wasn't obvious to everyone they worked with, as Angela liked to nag him whenever she got him alone. Hell, even today she'd cornered him after they came back to the lab, and said, "What the hell are you waiting for? Just kiss her again, already." He'd brushed her off, as usual, with a "we're just partners," like he always did, but he also hadn't planned on having Bones turn to jelly while he gave her what he'd really intended to be "just" a backrub. "Just partners," his ass.

He finished her fingers and thumb, then stroked his hands back up to her elbow, just because he felt like it, and not because he intended to see if that knot was still there. However, it had re-formed since he'd left it, so he had an excuse to push into it a little. She groaned again, this time more in pain than anything else, and he caught her pained grimace, again stifling the urge to smooth or kiss it away.

"Sorry. It's stubborn."

"Shocking," she said, cracking an eye as she turned her head to look up at him. "I'm simply not stubborn, I can't imagine why on earth I would have stubborn body parts." Her mouth quirked at the corner, and he chuckled. Bones didn't joke much, but she did around him, at least.

"Well," he said, pressing his thumbs into the knot again and noting the return of her grimace, "I'll come back to this one after I do your other arm." Before he could chicken out of this next part, he hitched one leg in, half Indian style, and hauled Bones half up against him, congratulating himself for placing his leg between her lower back and his raging erection. She huffed a little as her back flopped into his chest, her head resting just under his shoulder, but he quickly pulled her other arm up and started working on her upper arm before she could express her surprise.

Brennan's body was far more relaxed than she'd been all week, in fact, far further back than that. She always carried tension in her shoulders and back, but she'd learned to put up with it. It was only when she worked days straight without sleeping, that the tension became unbearable. Much like the tension between her legs was quickly becoming, she thought ruefully. Each press of his fingers along hers, the pressure he exerted at her fingertips elicited another wash of tension from between her legs. It took all of her willpower, before he'd just moved her, not to clench her thighs together, something that would clearly signal her inappropriate arousal. Now, it was even worse, feeling the firm muscles of his upper chest against her back, the warmth of him seeping into her as his talented hands finished her upper arms and again found a knot in her forearm mirroring the other. Yet despite the tension building in her, the warm spicy scent of him and his cologne was seeping around her, lulling her at the same time—as she closed her eyes, she had the sensation of floating in a warm, firm, Booth-scented cloud.

This time, he pressed more gently into the knot in her left forearm, taking his time. He'd have to go back to the other one, which was good, but then he'd be done, and he still hadn't figured out a way to decide if she was really aroused, or just languid because he gave a mean backrub. He let his thumb circle the knot, and it finally popped, making her huff a half-grunted breath in surprise. He worked his hands up and down the rest of her forearm, kneading her perfect white flesh until it was smooth and unknotted, then pulled her arm up to his chest so he could do her left hand.

Brennan restrained a groan, or a "take me now, please, for the love of your God" or anything else that would inappropriately signal to Booth that each stroke of his fingers and thumbs over her hand sent a jolt from her core through her body. He was almost done, and she was trying to think of a way to prolong it, and yet stifle the fact that she was more aroused from a simple massage than she'd been by any man, ever. It just wasn't fair. Why did she have to be cursed with a kind, strong, ruggedly handsome, perfect physical specimen of a partner?

Booth, meanwhile, was still concentrating on her hand, working at each fingertip. "Almost done," he said, his breath ghosting the side of her neck. She almost moaned at the feel of his warm, moist breath on her, the feel of it only increasing the tension between her legs. "Feel better?" he asked, and his breath warmed her neck again.

It was too much, and she couldn't control her body's involuntary response as his moist exhalation passed over her skin. Her nipples hardened, her breasts growing heavy with desire for him-- her partner, and friend. She was horrified that her body would so visibly display what his line made impossible. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe he'd think she was just cold. God, she hoped he hadn't noticed. Wait—he'd asked her something. "Yes, thank you," she ground out, by this point wishing he'd stop working on her hand, since it only made her nipples tauten further.

Booth hadn't missed her body's response as he breathed on her neck. He was getting to her, there it was, visible proof she was turned on, too. He strengthened his resolve, and took the next step.

Brennan felt his hands on hers still, and she smacked herself, mentally. He'd noticed, and now he'd be uncomfortable, and things would be awkward. She was still berating herself when he pulled up her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, then rotated it to lay a wet, open-mouthed kiss in her palm. His tongue darted out to tickle the middle of her hand as he sucked at her. He let go with a pop, then started in on her fingers.

Brennan gasped aloud when he slid her first finger into his mouth, sucking lightly as his tongue tickled her fingertip. "Booth," she groaned, disbelieving, a bolt of lightning shooting through her as his tongue caressed her. He continued to suck at her, before stopping long enough to take the middle digit into his mouth, repeating the sucking and teasing he'd done to the first one. Her breasts grew even heavier, and a new trickle of wetness escaped from her even as her empty walls clenched, wanting, needing, having to have him inside her. He did each finger, her thumb, and she was panting by the time he returned to the palm of her hand, repeating the first kiss he'd laid there. He took his time pulling her other arm up, paying attention to each finger of her dominant hand, then kissed and sucked at the silken inside of her forearm. He'd slipped one arm around her waist as he held her to his chest and continued to taste her skin, stopping to sip at the inside of her elbow. He turned her arm, nipping up the defined lines of her long muscles, licking with quick flicks of his tongue in between the small bites. She groaned again—she couldn't believe it, but she'd be damned if she was going to tell him to stop. She wanted him, and apparently he wanted her, too.

He sucked softly at the top of her shoulder, and her chest heaved, the line of her camisole half across those gorgeous breasts of hers showing the contrast as she flushed a pale pink he wanted to see more of. He started to kiss his way up toward her neck. "Like that, Bones?" he couldn't help murmuring against the fragrant skin of her neck, smiling to himself as he saw her nipples tighten again as he repeated his question from earlier. She smelled like lemons, and honey, and Bones. Her exhaled "yes, don't stop," another echo from earlier, made his erection jump, hard, in response.

"Good," he replied, huskily, "because I've only done your back so far, and I was really going to regret not doing your front." The edge of her mouth quirked as she still reclined languidly against him, and she tipped her head to the side when he started nuzzling her neck, his warm hands finding their way under the hem of her camisole to brush her bare skin. While one hand splayed possessively against the flat of her stomach, his hand half under the waistband of her shorts as he held her, the other trailed its way, brushing and stroking, across each rib and up the line of her sternum, before branching out to tease its way over the warm silken globes of her breasts.

Brennan's own hands seemed to find purpose as she brought them to either side of her, bearing down with her palms onto the line of his thighs, feeling the solid heat of his musculature under her questing fingers, rubbing her way down and then back up again. He shifted behind her, sliding his leg out from behind her, until she was solidly nestled between his legs, and could feel his hard length pressing into her back. He'd also moved to nuzzle his way down the other side of her neck, his hands on her breasts kneading and cupping her gently but firmly, each stroke of his fingertips on her sending spikes of heated pleasure through her.

"Enjoying the view" would be an understatement for what Booth was feeling right now as he watched Bones smile like a cat and run her hands down his legs, all the while letting him run his hands and mouth over her perfect soft skin and inhale her incredible fragrance. Her silky hair slipped over his neck as he moved her from one side to the other so he could taste the other side of her neck, and he looked forward to feeling it through his fingers again, this time on purpose. Her breasts were weighty and perfect in his hands, her nipples hard under his thumbs, her breaths becoming more shallow and rapid as he took his time tasting and touching her. He'd fantasized so many times about finally having her, and he'd be damned if he ever thought that something as clichéd as giving his gorgeous partner a backrub would provide the entrée. But he wasn't going to complain—he was a man who seized opportunities.

Brennan found herself stretching and arching under Booth's hands, his slow nuzzling, fondling touches making her so aroused and yet loathe to move lest he stop his attentions that she wondered at herself. She was as often the initiator in her past experiences with men, but here she was, letting Booth have his way with her body. And oh, did she want to let him, if the earlier, more chaste backrub was any indication of what he might do.

Booth's hands on her breasts slid up and over her nipples, and he pulled lightly at the fabric now bunched under his palms until she raised her arms high enough to let him pull the top off. His own breath hitched at the sight of her beautiful top half laid bare before him, and his hands brushed over her again, almost reverently, as he traced each curve of each breast, top, sides and bottom, her roseate nipples hardening under his fingertips. Their swell and dip at her sternum, their sway over her toned stomach, gave way to the curves of her waist -- the thin cotton boxers were the only thing keeping him now from seeing her completely. She was already more beautiful than she'd imagined.

He brushed his hand teasingly under the waistband of the boxers, and she hummed a soft response at his flickering touch. "You're still wearing clothes," she said, her eyes still closed and a satisfied smile tipping the corners of her mouth. "You've at least got to take your shirt off," she said then, sitting forward and turning over her shoulder to shoot him a sexy soft smile, before turning further and tugging his own shirt up by the hem. He raised his arms, obliging, then smiled at her in return as she ran her own warm hands down his shoulders and chest, her eyes hungrily taking him in as she straddled his lap.

Her nimble strong fingers were tracing the line of each muscle of his chest and abdomen, and he'd never been so glad for every sit up, chin up, curl, bench press and push up he'd ever done if Bones looking at him and touching him like this was the reward he was going to get. Her fingertips were soft, her blunt nails not scratching as she touched him, exploring, each brush or press of her hands flooding him with warmth. His hands at her waist pulled her forward until their naked chests pressed together, and one hand came up to her neck to bring her in for a kiss. One of her hands made its way to his bicep, gripping him lightly as she threaded her other hand behind them, gripping the back of his neck, as her lips met his and each of them groaned at the contact.

He sipped at her mouth just as he'd savored those first tastes of her hands, taking his time as she sighed and responded, her own tongue stroking his cheeks as he sucked at her lips lightly, traced the line of her lips and her teeth with his tongue. Her mouth tasted like honey and brandy and something else, Bones, he wouldn't taste anywhere else, and his erection twitched strongly between them when she shifted, sighing, as his hand at her waist started trailing its way up her spine.

Brennan was practically melting at the way he was touching her so slowly—she was anything but tired, now, but he'd so relaxed her before this point that she was far less inclined to rush anything, content for once just to respond to him and see what happened next. She let her hand at his arm trail back to his sides, tracing each defined intercostal and abdominal muscle as he flexed and moved as he kept shifting to touch her. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down the line of her throat, pausing at the hollow of her neck to lick teasingly there. Her head fell back of its own accord, her hair sliding over his hand at the back of her neck, and he reveled in the sight of her eyes closing as he continued to suck and lick at her.

He'd waited years to taste her—he was going to take his time, now, and taste every inch of her if he had his way, he decided, and so far, it seemed like she was going to let him. He loved when Bones was feeling cooperative. He nuzzled her then, a slight chuckle rising from her as his stubble scratched the skin of her chest as his mouth traveled lower, his own hand at her neck sliding back to her shoulders as his mouth found purchase over one of her delectable breasts. She gasped, her hips grinding into his even as her chest arched away from him, her weight falling into the supporting hand at her shoulders. He lapped at the curves of her, tracing the outline of each breast as it dipped and curved away from her rib cage, her own hands splaying and grasping at his shoulder and bicep as he buried his head in her breasts, increasing the pressure and suction as he filled his mouth with her, first one, then the other.

She was whimpering soon, and if Booth thought that her soft grunts from earlier when he'd been massaging her were sexy, well, he was wrong. He paused as he laved her breasts with his tongue to look up at her as she arched away from him, bright spots of pink appearing on her cheeks as she started to pant, her chest heaving lightly the longer he touched her. A glow of purely alpha-male pride joined the burning ache in his groin and his chest, his need to protect and possess her and give himself to her all indistinguishable, all part of the same thought and feeling he'd had for a while now, a feeling that could only be summed up as "Mine."

Brennan was nearly beside herself at the sensations he was creating in her. The sharp rasp of his stubble over her sensitive skin—he hadn't had time in a day or so to shave or change, they'd been working nonstop, and the re-emerging whiskers prickled and stabbed at her pleasantly—coupled that with the hot feel of his firm velvet tongue flicking and sucking and teasing, his mouth sucking hard at her, and she could hardly tell where his mouth ended and she began. She held hard to him as he continued to suck at her, each new tug of his mouth bringing an echoing throb down below. She moaned at one particularly firm pass of his tongue over her nipple, her hands almost clawing at him in reflex. His hand at her shoulders held her firmly against him, even as her own hips ground into his, the hard twitching length of him under her telling her that as slowly as he was handling her, his own need echoed her own. With an effort, she managed to look at him, dazed, as he continued to nuzzle and kiss her with no seeming intent on hurrying things. She didn't know how long she could last with just his mouth and hands on her. She'd never felt this way before with anyone, a sensation she seemed to have regularly with Booth in her life.

When they first met, she disliked him for how uncomfortable he made her feel about the way she dealt with things. She'd really disliked the way he understood things she never told him. But like the stones at the edge of the ocean, he'd worn her down, and as she'd gotten to know him better, she usually rolled with whatever her sent at her, rather than fighting against the force of him. When he'd died, she only then realized that it wasn't that she'd learned to put up with him—it was that she could no longer imagine doing without him. When precisely that changed no longer seemed relevant, just that it had.

Booth paused in his ministrations to meet her glazed eyes as she looked at him, her eyes almost azure with desire. "Mine," he thought again, placing one soft kiss on her sternum, then pushing her off his lap with one hand, even as his hand at her shoulders guided her down onto the bed. That accomplished, he pulled away long enough to stand by the side of the bed and rid himself of the rest of his clothing, even as Bones raised her hips off the bed and pushed that last fabric barrier down and away. He inhaled sharply as he looked at her, her dark hair spread out below her, the white expanse of her skin, head to toe, laid out before him, long and curved and toned in all the right places. She looked back, unabashedly admiring him as she rolled up onto her side while he settled himself on the bed back beside her.

"You are so beautiful," he said, lowering his head to taste the curve of her hip, as her own hands reached for him, tracing the line of his buttocks and legs, the firm long muscles twitching under the light warmth of her palms.

"I was going to say much the same thing," she said, her voice low and husky as she memorized the feel of his body beneath her questing fingertips, then smiled at the way his smooth darker skin contrasted with hers where his hands covered her skin—they were a study in contrasts, both of them, but complementary ones.

Kneeling up on all fours as he shifted from tasting her waist and her ribs, he let his tongue and lips explore the side facing up from where she'd rolled over to look at him, making his way down her leg, stopping to suck at her knee and surprising a slight twitch and a laugh from her at the unexpected ticklish spot. He'd filed away that she liked her feet being touched, even as he inhaled sharply as she curled her own body behind him to trail one hand along his back and down the back of his legs, each fingerbrush teasingly light as she unerringly traced each line of muscle and tendon, mapping his anatomy surely and slowly. He twitched under her hands, his skin shuddering at the lightness of her touch, his length twitching, balls tightening further as she continued to touch him. Her hands were making their way back up the inside of his legs, toward his erection, and he knew that if she touched him right now, he'd explode. He was determined to distract her from ending it too quickly.

He'd tasted his way by this time down the swell and dip of her calves to her ankle, tracing the fine bones there with his tongue as she shivered and hissed when his tongue first flickered over the skin there. He smiled to himself as he did it again and she twitched, her hands on him jerking in reflex. He shifted from where he was kneeling to lie down behind her, then promptly pulled her bottom leg out, trapping it all the way to her knee under his weight as he gripped the top ankle, firmly but gently, and held it in place while he nipped teasingly at the arch of her foot, then placed a sucking kiss there. She moaned loudly and jerked like he thought she might, and he smiled again as he put his new-found knowledge to work.

Brennan thought she might come right then and there when Booth started kneading her feet again with his hands, each firm stroke of his fingers on heel, arch or toe followed by a kiss, or a bite, or a suck, his warm fingers and tongue melting her utterly. She thrashed involuntarily, moaning and whimpering as he continued, reduced to panting moans when he started sucking her toes. She was so caught up in the sensation that she didn't immediately register when he let go of one foot and rolled her so he could give the same attention to the other, but the light press of his teeth, the teasing flick of his tongue into her other arch made her jerk and moan all over again. She panted, limbs weighted and numb, and not just by the way his weight pinned her so that he could keep going—she was unable to do anything but whimper as he lavished her other foot with the same kisses, strokes, and sucks as the first. He was still sucking her toes when he rolled her onto her back again, then started kissing and licking his way up the inside of her legs. She was panting, still limp under the sensations still lingering, as she came to sense the light nip of his teeth on the inside of her leg.

"Oh, God, Booth," she moaned, as he started licking the very top of her thigh, right at the inner join of her hip.

He had settled between her legs, pinning her thighs to the bed with his forearms as he looped her legs over his shoulders. His hot breath ghosted her folds as he said, huskily, the smell of her heavenly up this close, "Like I said earlier, Bones, I always finish what I start." He pressed one soft, sucking kiss at the very top of her thigh, then melted her all over again.

Booth loved it when women responded to him in bed, and it was a point of pride, not possession, when they enjoyed themselves—truth be told he enjoyed getting them off as much, maybe more, than himself. But Bones was a whole new ballgame, and as much as he wanted to be inside her, he could really content himself with just doing some variant on what he'd done to her so far as long as she kept gasping and moaning—she just tasted and looked and sounded so good. The core of her didn't disappoint, either, and he groaned at her flavor as he first tasted her, her answering mewl as she bucked away from his tongue egging him on. He tasted each part of her teasingly first, light flicks of his tongue over her entrance and along the line of her folds, circling her visibly throbbing clitoris. He teased her then, only gradually increasing the pressure and length of his flicks, and soon she was trembling and panting as he held himself back, wanting to prolong her pleasure as long as possible.

She was whining and calling his name, her legs quivering with the tension he was building in her. Slowly, he licked her more firmly, interspacing the strokes of his tongue with small nipping kisses when she started panting too strongly. He finally plunged his tongue into her and she screamed, arching away from him so strongly that he had to jerk her back down into the bed with his hands before he could taste her again. He bore down with all the weight in his arms as he did it again, and she bucked forward this time, his tongue delving more deeply into her. He curled and flicked his tongue in her depths, and she moaned, starting to beg, her breath sobbing. He sped up the pace, thrusting harder with his tongue so he could bring her to climax, and she moaned more loudly in response, her breath becoming even more ragged.

Brennan heard herself, at a remove, crying "Oh, Booth, please," and "too much," as he explored the last parts of her that she'd hidden from him, and made himself as at home there as he had with the rest of her body. She was almost drowning in his attentions, so overwhelmed by its happening at all, after she'd decided right after his "death" that he wasn't interested, and made up her mind to suppress how she felt-- the reality of it was too much for her. She never got what she wanted—that was just how her life was. She just hoped that if this was a dream, she wouldn't wake up.

One of the hands holding her down to the bed shifted, the broad splay of his palm still over her stomach and hip, but for his thumb and index finger, now teasingly circling the sensitive nub that started throbbing hours ago when he first put his hands on her. Her breath shuddered in her chest again as his mouth on her sped its suction and thrusting, while his fingers on her started slowly stroking and pulling.

Everything was numb. She didn't exist anymore, except at her center, where he was, the exquisite torture of him tasting and teasing her so painfully wonderful that she couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but him. When her release finally came, she screamed, seizing so strongly she arched off the bed almost completely, despite the weight of him holding her down. Tears streamed from her eyes as she sobbed and shook from the force of his loving attentions, too much to have experienced only now, for the first time.

Booth was shocked by the force of her reaction, and seeing that she was trembling, tears streaming from her eyes, he stopped and gathered her into his arms, lying beside her and trying to warm her against the length of her body.

"Oh, shh, Bones, hey, it's alright," he soothed, as her breath shuddered in her chest, her eyes streaming still. His heart clenched for her even as a wash of pride warmed him—she was reacting too strongly for this to be her usual orgasm, and he now recalled that slightly stunned look on her face when he gave her that teasing speech about making love a long time ago. What the hell was wrong with other guys who'd been with her before him, hell, even Sully, if she'd never had someone make love to her before? She continued to cry, little whimpers and shivers still shaking her as tears kept leaking from her eyes.

"Oh, my sweetheart," he said, shifting so he could curl around her from behind, and pulling her in to the crook of his shoulder, "shh, baby, don't cry," he said, his voice catching and his own throat thickening as he saw how shaken she was. He pulled her closer to him, the arm under her circling her waist as he smoothed the hair back from her face, then tried to brush off the tears that continued to fall.

"Bones, lover, it's okay, really, just don't cry, please," he asked, as she continued to shiver, small gasps still the only intelligible thing to escape from her throat. He lay down fully behind her, pulling her flush against him as he murmured endearments into her ear, rubbing her sides and her front with his free hand as he still held her to him and tried to envelop her within the curve of his body. Her trembling reaction finally ceased, her gasps and sobs yielding to sniffles, then mere uneven breathing. He propped himself up again, taking in her tear-streaked face as she lay, eyes closed, huddling into him.

"My poor Bones," he said, bending forward to kiss her temple and forehead, the shell of her ear, the soft sheltered spot right behind her earlobe, which he paused to suck gently. "My sweet Temperance," he continued, pressing another soft kiss at the end of her jaw, then pressed himself up further, still holding her to him, so he could lean over to kiss more of her face. He kissed the eyebrow and the closed eyelid of the eye facing him, then did the same for the side of her nose and her mouth.

She turned her face up toward him then, her eyes still cloudy with tears and deep with emotion. He leant in, pressed a kiss on her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, as she gazed quietly at him, then kissed him back when he pressed his lips to hers. "I'm sorry, Bones," he murmured, when they parted for air again, not sure if he was apologizing for every lousy guy who failed to give her what she deserved, or for failing to realize he was overwhelming her. Either way, he was sorry, and hated to see her cry, so he supposed it didn't really matter. He was just glad she'd calmed down.

"It's alright," Brennan said softly, understanding even through the slight daze she was in that he meant something more than just being sorry that he'd made her cry because he was too skillful a lover. She craned her head up then to kiss him, wanting his warm reassuring lips on hers again.

As he obliged, his heart unclenched a little, his erection took the opportunity to twinge firmly along the curve of her bottom. He flushed, embarrassed at his body's insistence on impolitely reminding him about what they'd been doing before her unexpected reaction. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, but she just chuckled, then let go of the hand circling her waist to pull him down for another, deeper kiss.

"Far be it from me to keep you from finishing something you started," she smiled, her low voice murmuring against his lips after they parted for breath. He looked at her, assessing, but she was serious, affection, desire, and something deeper and more open than he'd ever seen in her eyes looking back at him.

Brennan saw her partner's hesitation, realizing then how she'd shocked him, but it wasn't his fault that she'd never allowed another man so close that real loving intimacy would affect her so. Now that she knew, she wouldn't be so overwhelmed, and his own hard length behind her called to her attention the fact that despite the storm squall in her orgasm's aftermath, her body still yearned for the rest of the dance, the prelude now having been well and truly observed. She was having a hard time finding words for what she was feeling, though, so she chose action instead, turning in his arms to face him and trail her hand up the long muscular line from his knee to his hip, all the while watching his prominent manhood jump in response. A small smile bloomed on her face as he watched her watch him respond to her. Her hand traced its way across his stomach, and she snorted lightly when his length twitched as she circled his navel with one teasing fingertip.

"Don't laugh," he chided, then rolled her onto her back, drinking in the sight of her under him. "It's not polite to laugh when someone's just having a natural biological response to the sexiest, most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life, Temperance."

"Sorry," Brennan replied, nonetheless flushing at the compliment. "I wouldn't want to interfere with a natural biological response," she said, her voice soft as she looked up at him, a smile curving both of their mouths as his use of her oft-repeated denial of anything approaching sexual intimacy, much less love, transformed his joke into something close to the opposite. A flash of memory struck her as she watched him—he was looking at her the way her parents used to look at each other. How long had she failed to notice, because he wasn't overt about any interest he might have, unlike most men? Booth wasn't most men. She'd just been wrong to think he wasn't interested, simply because he wasn't obvious.

Booth was feeling a little tongue-tied, now that Bones had literally come apart in his arms. It was too soon to tell her he loved her, but by the way she'd reacted, and then let him calm her, Booth figured he might actually be able to tell her sometime soon—certainly he wouldn't have to wait another year or more, or however long it was since before Sully asked her to leave with him when he realized that he'd kill anyone who tried to hurt her, but couldn't kill anyone who made her happy, even if she ended up going away.

His heart practically exploded right out of his chest, therefore, when she reached up with one hand to pull his head down to kiss her, then whispered "I love you, Booth" against his lips before giving him the softest, best kiss of his life. It was like she'd set him on fire, and her lips meeting his, the soft heat of her mouth, did nothing to quench it. He slid one arm under her back, pressing her to him even as he let his weight settle around and onto her, the other hand at her nape pressing his mouth to hers. Her own arms came around his back as he gathered her to him, their bodies flush against one another as he drank from her mouth like he was dying of thirst.

Booth kissed her until he ran out of air, breaking it off only to pant "Bones, I love you so much" before pulling her in for another kiss. Her hands on his back splayed and dug into his skin lightly as she shifted under him, pulling him closer, her hot perfect breasts pressed to his chest. This time, it was Bones who broke the kiss off, gasping for air, and he took the opportunity provided as her head, lolled to the side as she wheezed, to resume tasting her.

He bent his head to her neck, flicking his tongue lightly down its front and then into the hollow made by her collarbone. Her hands flexed on him as he sucked at the skin there, her hips beginning to squirm under him. As he continued to kiss and lick his way across the top of her chest, her own hands stroked their way down his back, trailing their way across his sides and between them, over his stomach. He was so caught up in watching her flush again under his tongue as he recaptured one of her breasts in his mouth that her hands on his length came as a surprise, and he gasped against the skin of her breasts.

Brennan cupped him firmly in one hand as she took a grip on his solid erection in the other, then started to stroke him with one hand as she kneaded his scrotum while pressing her thumb on his perineum with the other. His hips jerked as she first took hold of him, and she stifled her own gasp at how solid and hot he was in her hands, even as she determined to do something to start to return all the pleasure he'd brought her. She set a slow rhythm, enjoying the look of ecstatic, closed-eyed concentration on his face as she continued to manipulate him, her hands sure and firm. She was intent on her task, though, and was looking between them, rather than at his facial expression, when she felt his mouth return to her breast, sucking and swirling his tongue over her in the same rhythm she was setting, his other hand coming up to palm her other breast, before his own fingers started stroking her with the same pressure she was using on him.

It was sweet torture for both of them. Brennan controlled how fast and how hard he suckled and stroked at her by how quickly and firmly she sped her palms and fingertips over him. She was finding it harder and harder to concentrate, and his own hips were jerking away from her touch in unconscious reaction, but she managed to maintain something approaching an increasing pace, before he groaned against the skin of her breast as she stopped the rhythm she'd set to run her thumb firmly over the head of his penis.

Though she hadn't intended for him to reciprocate, only intended to heighten his pleasure, he shifted immediately so that the hand manipulating the breast he hadn't already claimed with his mouth now started stroking her clitoris in time with the pass of her thumb over his glans. Brennan moaned aloud at the new pressure, then again as he set a new rhythm between them, one building her back up again toward a new climax. The tension that rebuilt in her as they began kissing and caressing each other again became almost painful, and her own hands on him lost their grip as he renewed his dual assault on the nipple under his tongue and her clitoris under his talented fingers.

She was writhing under him now, and her wordless moans and whimpers as he sped and slowed his ministrations, interspersed with gasped "Booths" were as gratifying and pleasurable to him as what she'd been doing with those fabulous hands of hers before he distracted her. Her slickening folds gave him all that he needed to keep stroking her sensitive nub with increasing pressure and speed, and the way she bucked against his hand told him she was close.

"Oh god, Booth, please," Brennan managed to say before moaning "inside," then whimpering at a particularly deft pass of his tongue and his thumb across those two epicenters of pleasure. He let go of her breast with his mouth, his fingers on her never stopping as he shifted, half-lying across her to fish for his pants on the floor next to the bed. She was only dimly aware of his actions but was glad he was prepared, because "right bedside table" was too many words. "Booth," and "now" were about all she could manage, and not even that as he slipped a finger inside her empty, aching walls while his thumb kept up its circling torture over her clitoris.

His weight shifted up and away from her as a second finger joined the first one inside her, her hips bucking against his hand, seeking more, needing more. She moaned again, her demand of "more" unintended, but he heard it, curling his fingers inside her in time with his thumb rubbing her harder outside. Her breaths became shorter, more shallow, as her self-consciousness left her again, all sense of herself reduced to what he was doing to her. She heard herself making noises she'd never known she could make before, but was too lost to sensation to wonder at.

Bones' tight walls were clenching around his fingers as Booth worked to roll on the condom, and the sight of her thrashing with utter abandon beneath him, wanting him, wanting more, was almost enough to make him explode right then and there. He shifted to kneel over her then, his hand in her and on her working her into a frenzy until she suddenly stiffened, her walls clenching around him with such flooding, rippling force as she screamed from her climax that he groaned in response. He moved his hand quickly, tilting her hips up to receive him as he slid himself inside her slowly, then groaned again as the aftershocks still rippling through her seized and caressed him.

A moaned, relieved, aroused "aaaahhhhh" was the only thing she could muster as he came to a stop at the end of her walls, his own answering groan his masculine echo. "Oh God, Bones" he gasped, as one last aftershock massaged his length as her walls stretched then retightened around him, taking him completely into herself. He shifted again to brace himself on his forearms and look down at her, the look on her face one of bliss and completion. He withdrew slowly, hating to leave her encompassing warmth, but knowing the return would be all the sweeter. Her own hips followed him, her whimper as he first left her nearly doing him in. His return was not as slow and controlled as he wanted it to be, but the sight of her below him as her forehead furrowed at his leaving her made his own body's reflexes begin to take hold of him.

As he filled her again, this time more firmly, Brennan moaned "Booth" as her eyes fluttered open at the feel of him stretching her. His look of lustful shock as she shifted to pull him in further, her legs circling and hooking behind him only made her moan again. She writhed, grinding and rotating her hips against him as he filled her, needing more. Her hands found their way around his upper arms, grasping and tugging at him as she ground her hips into him again.

"Jesus, Bones," he gasped, as she then squeezed him from within. He pushed himself away, only to fall into her again, her legs around him strongly pulling him back, her head falling back and her back arching away from the bed as the head of his length snugged hard at the end of her walls. She whimpered at the pleasurable shock, and he determined to get her to do it again. He withdrew and returned, then found a rhythm that soon had them both groaning and gasping for air. Their hips met again as she shifted her arms to clasp his neck, and she held on for dear life. They moved as one, almost occupying the same space as their chests pressed together, their mouths sealed together, their hips drew apart only to find each other again. Their kisses only stopped long enough so they could breathe or cry out at a particularly pleasurable rejoining, and tears again started streaming from her eyes, this time not from startled surprise, but from joy. His own eyes overflowed at her response, his own reflexes taking over as his strokes became more erratic and her wordless cries became louder.

Booth felt himself gathering, and with the last of his voluntary control, moved one hand between them to bring her over the edge. He lightly stroked her with his thumb, the wetness escaping her as they joined over and over again coating her and easing his way. She arched away from him, her breasts crowning, her wordless cry rising a register as he groaned out "Bones, I love you so much" while he stroked her again with his hand. With the fifth pass of his thumb, she let out a long wordless scream, her walls clenching around him so tightly as her orgasm tore her in two, her limbs clasping him to her falling utterly limp to the bed, that he lost the last bit of his control. He bucked out and slammed into her again, his hips taking over as she flooded and rippled around him, the sight of her utterly lost to sensation pulling his own release from him in a blinding, pulsing explosion as his hips pulled out, then returned with all the weight in his body one last time. His collapse onto her was met with a prolonged whimpered "Booth," as his weight forced him deeper inside, prompting one last aftershock from her.

He panted into the space between her shoulder and neck as her own chest rose and fell in gasping wheezes beneath him. "Oh my God, Bones," he finally managed, his voice rasping in her ear. "That was…"

"Incredible," she near-whispered, her usually melodious voice strained from the force of her screams of enjoyment.

"Yeah, that," he gasped out. She chuckled, her breasts pressing against his as the laughs caused her to move, and he pushed himself up far enough to take her in as she laughed. She was stunningly beautiful—hair sweaty, lips bright pink and swollen, her expression completely, wide open. And she was smiling at him. His heart clenched again as he thought, disbelievingly, "Mine."

She saw a look of disbelieving relief pass over his face, and in the wake of their loving, had some inkling, though she usually had a hard time doing so, of what he was thinking. "I love you, Booth," she said again, craning her head up to kiss him. His sweet, lingering kiss in response reassured her that with him, at least, she had said the right thing.

Groaning, he broke his lips from hers, again panting for air. He pushed himself up and away, then flopped to the side of her as she gasped when he left her. "Oh," she whimpered, still too limp to move to embrace him. She felt him shifting beside her, then found herself hitched into the curve of his body, an echo of when he held her as she shattered from the first orgasm he brought her.

"I love you too, Bones," came his gravelly voice in her ear. "Let's get some sleep for a bit, hunh? I'll even let you give me backrub, later, okay?"

Her laugh as he held her and she snuggled closer to him was the only answer he needed.