There was no way. No way in hell, he thought. For one thing, he was a red-blooded American alpha male. Second, well, there wasn't a second. The first point was good enough. There was no way he would ever admit to being turned on by a dominant female. The thing with the glasses and the librarian come-on was just a joke, he thought to himself. The ravishing Dr. Temperance Brennan with the coke-bottle glasses and the serious demeanor as a strict authoritarian bent on humiliating a cowering male patron was a hilarious bit of banter, but not his cup of tea, sexually speaking. But the more he thought of it, his casual comment had turned into something of a full-blown fantasy.

He hardly thought about the comment for the remainder of the flight back to DC from China. They had a blast having the airplane to themselves. The flight attendant was a bit miffed at being made to cater to only 3 passengers, but as soon she realized it would be easier for her too, she relaxed. Booth and Brennan talked for a long time, eventually putting the handcuffed boy behind them to sleep. They talked about their childhoods, their hopes and dreams, their shared work. They had a full-on dance party about eight hours in, their underage charge rolling his eyes at their choice of music and their dance-moves. Then they slept for a long time, side by side in first class, Seeley finally getting to stretch out his full frame in comfort. He liked settling in with her that way, saying good night and joking about stealing blankets from each other. They shared two tiny bottles of scotch before sacking out, mixing them with ice in clear plastic cups, joking about how long it might take to get drunk if you had to open multiple tiny bottles. It had become a ritual for them, this final drink, a way to clean out their heads of all the horror they had seen that day. And he liked to see her a little tipsy. She always had such amusing malapropisms. That's what she called them, anyway. He just thought she got funnier and less awkward.

When they woke, they were close to landing. She sat up, putting her seat back into its full and upright position, stretching her arms over her head, trying to pry loose the stiffness that had settled between her shoulder blades. He lay there looking at her, thinking, how can she still look so beautiful after about 36 hours in a plane, one gruesome murder, and one captured 16 year old killer later? As she took a rubber band to tie up her hair in a bun an image rushed into his head of Brennan straddling him, librarian glasses poised on the tip of her nose, clad only in a red lace bra and panties, grinding into him, repeating the words back to him he so casually tossed off to her…"Do you know the penalty for an overdue book, Mr. Booth?" His cock sprang to life at the image and he quickly shifted in his seat to avoided tenting the blanket in front of her.

"Oh, good, you're up," she said groggily, without looking at him. "I think we're landing soon. I'm going to the bathroom, if you could just move a bit to let me through." Booth froze, closing his eyes, pretending to be asleep. If he sat up now, she would see his morning buddy in all his glory. She turned to him. "Booth…" She sighed when she noticed he was still asleep. She stood, crouching under the overhead compartments and swung a leg over him. For just a split second he could feel her hover over him as she reached for the arm rest to haul herself into the aisle. His cock twitched again as if it was a hound dog that had just picked up a scent. He cracked an eye and looked at her as she walked towards the front of the plane. He always did that. Checked out her ass when he was sure she didn't know. Maybe it was a guy thing, but sneaking peeks at Temperance Brennan's ass without her realizing it had become something of a ritual. He closed his eyes again and willed his cock to behave. He tried to bring the image of the red bra and panties to his mind again. What was that dream, he thought? The images were fuzzy and undefined, but he knew one thing. It was hot. And Temperance Brennan was in charge.

In the following weeks, he had quite a few other dreams with the same theme. He could never remember the specifics, only vignettes, glimpses of what seemed to be mind-blowing sex with Bones where he was always the meek one, the submissive one, the one being done to. Like this morning, he woke with an image of himself tied to a wall, Brennan kneeling before him, teasing his cock with her mouth, licking him and driving him almost mad with wanting. He awoke before the dream could conclude satisfactorily, and he quickly stroked himself to orgasm, his mind full of Brennan riding him, owning him, making him hers.

After he finished, he sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed. What is happening to me? he thought. Am I turning into some kind of submissive? The thought distressed him as he had a hard time thinking of himself as anything less than 100% cowboy. Think of the opposite situation, he thought. Think of dominating Bones, he thought, imagining her the one trussed to the wall as he issued the orders and gave and withheld pleasure from her. His cock, undeterred by its recent use grew hard again. He stood up, ignoring it, pleased the opposite scenario made him just as turned on.

Wait a minute, he thought. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with being dominant or submissive or any of that crap.

Maybe it's just her.