I nod. "Yes. Please." And slip off his lap and walk through to my bedroom. I feel slightly awkward as he follows me and this is another alien feeling to me. With other men I have always felt confident and taken control to initiate the process but Booth has me all flustered. I close the curtains and turn on the lamp and the room blooms with a peach glow, that reflects of the surface of my gold satin duvet.


Is this really happening? Something I have wanted for so long? I stand in the doorway of her bedroom watching her switch on the lamp. I can't believe I am standing in her bedroom. I look around. Cream walls. Peach carpet. Long muslin curtains that are billowing in the night air. There is a chaise longue in the corner with fluffy pillows and I am surprised at how feminine everything is. Although I think that she is tremendously feminine, she often has a clinical detatchment to everything. My eye wanders to her book shelves that are crammed with books and light glinting off a heavy silver frame catches my eye. It is a photo of me and her taken at last year's Jeffersonian ball. She looked beautiful that night in a long black dress, and I was the envy of my colleagues that evening as her date.

I am happy that she has that picture, yet also inexplicably sad.


I turn around, unsure what to do with myself. He is standing in the doorway and I feel a surge of emotion. Booth is such an honourable man. He is too good for me. He deserves the whole wife and white picket fence package and I'm not sure I can give it to him. But as I stand and watch him wait for permission to enter, there is a part of me that wants him to feel at home here. The part of me that has been buried for so long and but is now starting to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.

I want him to belong here. To me.

Even though its increasingly obvious. He actually does.


I am so in love with her.

Why can't she see it?


I walk across the room and take him by the hand. I have never been someone who holds hands with her dates but this feels so good. His hand is warm and big in mine and I have that infallible sense of protection from him, that although I don't need, makes me feel so feminine. Maybe he would appreciate me telling him that? I realize that I want to tell him how he makes me feel, but don't want to get the words wrong.

I sit on the edge of the bed and he sits down next to me.


She pulls me in. Her hands are soft and smooth and small in mine. She has long fingers, elegant hands and I like to watch her work. She sits on the edge of the bed and I sit down next to her, letting her take everything at her pace.

As frightened as I am about getting hurt out of this, I know I mean more to her than any other guy she has had in this room. I know I am more to her.

That is obvious in the way she is so unsure of herself right now.

But I can help her past that. She is Aphrodite to me.

And I will love her like she should be loved.


My heart is beating furiously in my chest. He must be able to hear it. And see the tremble in my fingers as I fiddle with a piece of non-existent cotton on my blouse. I look at him, unable to take this slow torture anymore.

And I know that I need to let him take charge.

But I also need to let him know that I want this.

And I do want this. So. So. Desperately.

I entwine my hand with his and lean forward and our lips meet softly. And this is bliss.


I had thought if we ever got together that after five years of sexual tension it would be a frenzy of ripping clothes and popping buttons.

But the intensity of the passion that is Temperance Brennan is so incredible, I want to prolong it. She is kissing my neck and her hands are under my t-shirt, exploring, commiting my anatomy to memory.

And it is heavenly.


I can't think. Nothing coherent here. Except the way he is making me feel is amazing.

And oh…


I have discovered that her skin is as soft as it looks. And as I open the last button of her blouse her skin is luminous in the lamplight.

And that bra is a thousand times better than anything I ever fantasized. And so is her body.

I lift up her hair and kiss the nape of her neck and I whisper to her.

"I would never hurt you. You mean so much to me. I l – "


I cut him off with my lips on his. I want to say it.


And I can't think of anything as her hand is now…Oh.

Some time later…..


Yes. I have never experienced anything like that before. I think he could redefine the term ecstasy in the dictionary.

Ecstacy is Seeley Booth doing things to you….

I think I should become ecstatic again.

Some time later…..


I think I proved my point about crappy sex and making love.

No I know I proved my point. But maybe she just needs reminding….



I am lying in my bed. Entwined around Booth. His heart is thumping hypnotically as I lie my head on his chest, and I trace tiny circles over his skin.

Sunlight is flooding into my bedroom, and my alarm will go off in approximately eight minutes. But I may hit the snooze this morning. Getting up early is over-rated anyway.

I smile as I think of this as the first day of the rest of my life. And I finally pluck up the courage to do it.

I lean over and I whisper in his ear.

I love you.


All my dreams came true.

In a spectacular fashion.

And I am waking up next to my beautiful partner who is so. Much. More.

In fact I think she could handle the words.

But she beats me to it.

And the soft whisper and feel of her lips against my ear makes me the happiest man in the world.

I love you too.