This is M. I realised that I hadn't written anything properly M (well, hadn't posted it anyway) and then I got bitten by the inspiration bug and wrote this. It's not a oneshot, in fact I have a whole story planned… and with the right leverage, I might just continue…

No! No, it's not blackmail! I'm just setting a few demands in exchange for… a… ransom. Hm.

Oh and, this isn't exactly hard core smut, but it IS M.

UNINTENDED – by GoldenNinde



The night was dark, and his eyes were too.

Today had been bad, one of those days when his answers came short and strained, his eyes were black like the sky outside and his thoughts were, more than ever, impossible for me to understand.


"Shh. We're not supposed to talk during a stakeout."

"What? But this is exactly the opposite of what you said to me the other time."

"Just… shut it, okay?"

I wondered what I'd done wrong now. He looked so angry, and I knew this even though the darkness prevented me from seeing more than the outlines of his face.

A part of me hurt, because he'd never spoken to me like that before, at least never when there was no danger or tension. Was there danger and tension now? We were only waiting for a suspect to show up.

Yet I couldn't get the two words out of my mind. They seemed oddly in place with our situation.

What situation? Stop it, Brennan.

I tried to pinpoint the moment when he'd begun acting like this. To my surprise and annoyance, I found I couldn't. It came in an intermittent way, although I'd detected that lately the frequency had increased.

This morning hadn't started out so bad, though. He'd walked in looking tired, but otherwise in a good mood. I missed the Booth who told silly jokes and pretended not to understand me all the time. I missed him.

I could say when his manner had changed today.

I was in my office, getting my things because we had to get to court, and I heard him come inside. So naturally I turned to greet him.

Just in time to see his eyes transform.

They went from brown and lively to furious in a second, but my sharp eyes detected it. I tried to imagine a possible trigger for such a change, and couldn't. So I stretched back up to reach my notes (piled on a high shelf) and turned again.

The expression only solidified.

I sighed and watched the glass of the car window fog up. I felt tired, tired of replaying his face in my mind. He didn't look away from the steering wheel, although his face twitched when I breathed out.

It happened too much, lately, my mind wandering to his. I had rationalised it, we were partners, we spent most of our time together…

Yet this wasn't work-related anymore. This frequency and it's intensity meant one thing and one thing only. Attraction. Strong, undeniable physical attraction. It wasn't a thing I wanted, and I was working to avoid it and the eventual feelings that would follow, no matter how inevitable and crushingly difficult that might seem.

I didn't know it then, but the feelings had followed the attraction quickly. Faster than I could react.

The word crushing was the wrong one to think in these circumstances, however. Crushing brought all kinds of images, fresh and clear in my mind, so real I almost wept.

His weight, those muscles, crushing my body as he moved to lie on top of me…

His lips, finally unleashed, crushing mine as we kissed like our lives would end…

His arms, crushing my waist as he pulled me closer, stronger, faster…

"Booth…" I whispered, desperate to get away from my own thoughts.

"Stop it."

"What?" I felt hurt, disoriented, still reeling in my own insane web of desire for him. When had this stakeout become my personal nightmare?

"I said, stop talking. Just… shut up."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my breathing and my heart rate, which was completely and unnecessarily frantic.

"Damn it, Bones, stop!"

I turned to look at him again, and saw he still stared murderously at the steering wheel. Stop what? I hadn't even said anything!

"Stop what, Booth?"

"Stop breathing, stop talking, just… fuck!" he punched the steering wheel and I jumped in my seat, not comprehending his logic. The alarm blared for a second.

"Shit." He said, quieter. "Now I've drawn attention to us."

I drew in another deep breath, hoping he wouldn't notice and maybe wouldn't destroy my insides anymore. His last words had already left them empty and ragged.

He noticed.

"I said stop breathing."

"It's irrational and ridiculous for you to ask me to stop breathing, Booth, unless you want me to die."

"I don't want you to die." He didn't sound like he meant it. "Let's just keep quiet and wait for our dear Mr B to come and visit Mrs Stoker."

I nodded, sensing he'd see even though he hadn't looked at me yet. My heartbeat still maintained it's violent rhythm. My brain tried breaking the last minute down into sequences, to understand his fury and the reason he'd thrown that punch. Because the reason couldn't be me.
Perhaps there was another problem. With Parker, or Rebecca? Well, what was that to me? I adored the little boy, but his mother knew Booth in a way I never could.

This was also the wrong sentence to think right now. Cursed as I was with perfect memory, and the ability to clearly picture any scenario I wanted (or didn't want) to, my mind seemed to delight in killing me today, as slowly as possible. To know Booth in certain ways kept appearing in my dreams lately…

Killing me as painfully as possible was also part of my subconscious' plan, no doubt.


He acted fast. I often forgot how perfect his reflexes were.

His hand shot out to clamp over my mouth in a millisecond. I didn't even have time to blink.

"I said, stop talking, didn't I? I need to concentrate and to work. This guy could well have killed three people, four if it's him having changed his MO for that latest victim. We need to stop him and put him in prison. Now let me do my job, dammit, and shut up."

Was there a reason for me to start crying? Perhaps. But I should have known better. I should have quenched the pain and kept it in, not let my emotions get the better of me. I should have known that.

All it took was a single tear to roll down my cheek and gently drip into his finger.

He wrenched his hand away, like my tears were acid poison. It felt that way to me, anyway.

I couldn't believe what had just happened, or the reaction my body had generated. It was excessive and disproportionate to his touch. It was ridiculous.

A part of my brain noted how his eyes shone, which was odd, seeing as there were no light sources and no reflective surfaces. The rest of me was trying to concentrate on processing thoughts, like words and colours and smells.

"Bones, I'm sorry." He seemed to crumple in on himself. Fury evaporated, at least for a few moments, to be replaced by a kind of empty despair. "Please don't cry, Bones. I'm sorry."

He leaned forward, brushing the tears from my cheeks, unaware what he was doing to me now, no doubt. "I'm so sorry, please, forgive me okay? Please, Bones, please… I'm sorry, please…" He whispered, getting closer and closer, touching, caressing my face, even though there were no more tears, how could there be when he said things like that?

Even though he was quiet, his voice was all I could hear, as if other sounds (traffic, people walking by, my own heartbeat) simply muted if he spoke.

"Please, Bones… please…"

My senses alert, I managed to register something other than his touch.

He wasn't apologising anymore. He was begging, his face a mask of pain, but he was asking me for something… what?

He kept softly tracing the outlines of my face; eyebrows, nose, cheeks, jaw… never lips, though.

"Please, Temperance…"

And for once, without anyone having to explain it to me, I knew. His face was inches from mine, it would be so easy to simply erase that space separating us. He was asking me to.

I knew this without a doubt. For once I was sure.

The emotion which exploded inside of me was indescribable. I felt like I stood on a wave, the moment before it crashed down, and at the very tip, my lips parted.

First, lightning.

The contact was like lightning. A flash of pleasure and desire sharp and almost painfully spiked.

And then came the thunder.

I wasn't ready for his response. His hands, already on either side of my face, pulled me closer, and he tilted his face sideways for more contact, more pressure, tongue sliding inside and tasting. One hand went to surround my waist and pull me on top of him. I gasped at his strength, as he easily lifted me sideways. The other hand slid into my hair, once again pulling me closer.

But I wanted more. And less.

More contact, more strength, more of him, of Booth. More of this exquisite longing, more of his lips, more of the pressure against my thighs, the sign that he also wanted more… much more.

Less clothes.


The hand in my hair now slid lower, to my neck and then lower, slowly, tantalising. I moaned against his mouth, never lifting my lips from his. Faster! Not slow!

He understood, and slid his hand to cup my left breast, making me tremble. Yes! This was better. But I still needed to take off my shirt. His fingers through the fabric weren't enough, I wanted skin.

We never stopped kissing, never because when we did, something terrible was going to happen. My lungs ached for air, but I didn't care, because the moment I looked into his eyes all of this would end.

And this couldn't end. I'd never felt like this before, never ached and burned for something so badly. Of course I'd been with men, probably a few more than monogamous women, but it had been very long, now. And it had never been Booth, Booth who I thought about night and day.

I'd never needed something with this kind of pathetic desperation. If he'd stopped, I would have cried. Cried a thousand tears until his hand went to my cheek again and all of this happened. Again.

But now his other hand was on my side, moving up and down: hip to right under my breast, gently touching it until it went back down, almost brushing my thigh and then back up.

The right hand began to (slowly, again) edge toward the collar of my shirt. And then tug it down, his nails digging into my skin as he did so. The edge of my bra began to surface.

Both hands held me so tight I was sure there'd be a bruise tomorrow… but tomorrow wasn't a concept that existed here.

I ached, I hurt from wanting him!

He was killing me. He had decided to kill me.

So I decided I would end him first. I would survive by killing him more.

My hands, until now simply holding onto his shoulders, explored.

One went to his neck, and the other to his chest, although the space between us was small to say the least. The car seat was cramped, but I wanted to be close to him, so I didn't need any more. At least not now. Now, this was perfect. God, he was perfect, beautiful, delicious, good. He felt so perfectly large against me.

My hand went down his chest, frantic, exploring more, wanting to touch everything, everywhere. The moment I brushed the hard tent in his pants I felt it respond.

He growled, the sound like rolling thunder, and I almost came right then and there because the vibration he sent through my spine was electrifying. My body arched involuntarily and I pressed up against him, fighting it in order to keep our mouths together. Still our lips hadn't separated and I ignored the sharp pain from my now burning lungs.

His moan as my hand danced around, tugging and stroking his erection would have made my knees buckle if I'd been standing.

And then something happened. As I thought I was going to orgasm just with this, this friction and his hands and his lips and us, he pushed me away.

"What are you doing?" I moaned.

He couldn't do this. Not now. Please not now, I was going to start crying again in frustration and fury if he stopped now.

"Well I thought you'd like to breathe, Bones."

"Breathe? I don't need to breathe!"

But breathe we did. And with every breath, more cool air that didn't taste of Booth poisoned my thoughts. The suspect. We couldn't even see outside, because every window was fogged up.

We needed to catch him. We needed to stop this before it was too late.


Such a horrible word.

Too late? It was already too late.

I was standing on top of him, straddling him, gasping for air and feeling so strained from the effort of not kissing him that it hurt. My body felt wired, and every inch of him I touched was precious. My head was buzzing, dizzy with the desire. How could he have stopped?

Well, obviously he didn't want this as much as I did. I looked down and opened my mouth, prepared to shout, cry, I don't know what… and then…

His eyes had a look I'd never forget as long as I lived. It was… it took me by such surprise I actually gasped, and felt a tear escape my eyelashes. Pathetic, but his face…

He was looking at me with reverence. His eyes took it all in, took me all in, his mouth slightly open in a kind of surprised wonder, like I was beautiful, like my messed up hair and gasping breaths were beautiful, like my aching body, aching for him, like that was beautiful.

I felt cherished and wanted. I felt… worshipped.

And then it all disappeared. His eyes became black once again, dark with desire and anger and a shaking sadness so deep I felt afraid… and the delicate, wonderful moment shattered into a million pieces.

"Bones, if you don't sit back down in your seat within five seconds, I won't be able to stop."

He said it with disgust, almost. At himself, hating himself, angry with himself, sad with himself.

He wasn't asking me to leave. He was simply telling me a fact. He was making this my choice.

How could I do it? How could I muster the strength? Where to take it from?

I searched for it inside of me, but only found myself missing his touch, his hands and his lips, desperate to explore more and be explored. His lips had never left mine, I wanted them everywhere, I could see he did too…

But of course, I would have to do it. I would have to be strong and do it.

I never knew how I did it, but I opened the driver door and got out. Stumbled out, really, my legs still weak from wanting him.

The cold, chill air seemed to freeze my clothes and my hair, finding ways to quickly erase the warmth he'd left there, cooling every mark he'd made. My thoughts spun, making me almost blind. What had we done?

I was myself once more, and the cold air froze time, space, my heart, my lungs, my mind. Everything but a single thought.

What had we done?







So, you know what to do, just press that beautiful little green button there and be on your way to… the other things you want to do today. But don't forget… review!

The speed with which the second chap will be updated is directly proportional to the number or reviews I get…


Do the math. ;)