So SSJL basically strongarmed me into writing this. Not that I'm complaining.

Thank you for the hand-holding- this one's for you, tkmoonnumbers, ezrocksangel, SSJL, elleCC and of course, my jandco.

Oh, and I listened to Zero 7 and Air on repeat for the last 5000 words or so. Lots of insistent pulsing in that there music, in case you were wondering.

The Nudge from the Actuary

She could feel it coming.

Dr. Temperance Brennan was sure of it. She had always had an excellent grasp of the various physiological shifts that occurred within her body. For the last few days, she had seen the unmistakable cues indicating the ovulation cycle was a day or two away, which generally only meant one thing.

She needed to release some sexual energy.

The usual outlets were out of town, and besides… she had found all of them to be lacking in the last few years. Dr. Brennan was not a selfish creature, but she found that with each successive round of sex, she was left wanting. Wanting more, wanting something different, wanting something to "change it up" as Angela might say. She wasn't exactly sure what it was that she was looking for, but she decided that it was definitely time to start identifying that elusive something, because she was horny.

"Hey, Bones. I'm out for the evening. We're just waiting on the word from the good doctor Hodgins, right?" Booth had walked into her office and stopped at the couch, propping one foot on the arm. She suppressed a grin at seeing him because he knew how much it irritated her when he put his shoes on her furniture, but she let it slide. He was always trying to goad her, and she wouldn't take the bait this time. Instead, she looked at him disapprovingly as she imagined a librarian would, her glasses tilting down her nose as she fixed him with as icy a stare as she could muster. He had unbuttoned his shirt at the collar and loosened his tie, and he looked so Booth that she finally had to smile at him. Men came and went in her life, but this particular male was the one constant she could count on.

He was also the one male she felt she could discuss theories with on why her sexual partners were no longer "doing it" for her. Hmm. Maybe Booth, with his own keen powers of observation, could explain to her this element of the human condition that she did not quite understand. Why was she no longer interested in the good old standbys she had come to rely on? Yes. Agent Booth would have an uncomfortably true answer for her.

Besides, she did so enjoy making him squirm whenever she brought up sex.

"Would you like to go to dinner?"

He started at the offer, giving her the same odd look she had observed him giving her from time to time, the look that had been escalating in incidence these last few months. Showing no sign that she had noticed, she fixed him with a different stare, the one of eager expectation, suddenly hoping that he wouldn't refuse her. If she couldn't have an evening of strenuous sexual exercise, she could at least enjoy an evening of stimulating and frustrating conversation with her partner.

"Yeah, come on. Let's get out of here." Whatever look he had been giving her was replaced by his easy smile. He took his foot off of the couch and straightened his tie. He didn't re-knot it, simply moved it around, a subconscious Booth gesture that she correctly read as slight discomfort at something she had said, although she wasn't sure why. Again, it something he did that she couldn't accurately identify, but she knew it to be uniquely Booth.

She took her glasses off and tossed them down, glad to have an excuse to leave the lab. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt- a loose, flowing thing that Ange had convinced her to buy because of the way it "kicked out all flirty-like."

"You pick the place. I'm starving."

He held his arm out, indicating that she should lead. She strolled past him, trying to decide how to broach the sex partner topic while maximizing Booth's discomfort. Dr. Brennan decided that being in need of a sexual outlet was making her more playful than usual.

He held the door to the overly large SUV open. She climbed in, settling down and feeling that gnawing, irritating biological urge as the smooth material of her underwear settled between her thighs. Brennan sighed and subtly tried to adjust herself, grimacing as the friction of the cotton created a pleasing, if insistent, pressure on her sensitive skin.

"So… what's new?" Booth sounded awkward and stilted, and Brennan laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. Why did he sound like a man on a first date?

"New? Nothing. Well, my agent wants to set me up with her cousin, but I'm not interested in seeing anyone right now." She was sure the cousin would be as unsatisfying as the others.

"No?" Booth's voice dropped a pitch for a second, and Brennan figured it was because he could sense the sex topic coming up. She licked her teeth, preparing for the verbal sparring that was sure to follow. She could practically taste it, and was looking forward to it.

"No. He's an actuary. I've found that people who spend their time trying to avoid the future do not enjoy the present. The sex would be boring." Booth choked on nothing and Brennan noted with satisfaction that the tips of his ears were turning red. She wasn't entirely sure why she enjoyed goading him so much and decided that it might be related to her current sexual frustration.

"Bones, not everything has to be about sex." His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he wasn't facing her. She smiled before continuing. Why she should enjoy his discomfort with discussing sexual intercourse, she could not say.

"No, but the reason for dating is to find a potential mate. You can't ignore the biological imperative, Booth."

"Biological what?"

"Imperative. Procreation."

"Bones, I'm pretty sure Actuary Man doesn't want to make babies with you."

"You don't know that. I would make a suitable choice as a mother. The genetic heritage I would pass on to my offspring is considerable, not to mention my status as a best-selling author. I am a very desirable candidate for the mother of one's children."

He shook his head and she watched as several emotions flitted over his face. Temperance Brennan had never been one to analyze affect, but since partnering with Booth over the years, she found that studying human facial expressions could be quite fascinating. She was learning to discern and appreciate the subtle differences in the curve of a mouth, the furrow of a brow- and sometimes she could even accurately interpret those differences, and even act accordingly. Like now. The corner of Booth's mouth was turned up, and she could say with reasonable certainty that he was thinking something he would never share with her. She wondered what it could be and after pausing to go over the conversation, she decided she knew the answer.

"You don't think I'd make a good mother."

"I didn't say that!" His defensive tone was genuine, and she breathed out a silent sigh of relief, glad that his high opinion of her was still intact. Brennan knew that Booth thought the world of her, and somehow, the past five years had made his opinion the only one that really mattered.

"Then what?" She wanted to add to her store of knowledge on the human condition, and she let herself admit that she wanted to be able to read Booth better. What did the half-smile mean?

He didn't answer for approximately sixty seconds, the silence filling the dark interior of the car and expanding into the nebulous dark space of the cold Washington night. The soft swish of passing vehicles was soothing, but Brennan became agitated as she waited. When had the conversation become so important to her?

"Bones," he finally said, putting his warm and large hand on hers, "I can't think of anyone who would make a better mother than you."

Her thoracic cavity expanding with a pleasing warmth, Dr. Brennan grinned. "Thank you, Booth. And I'm sure I've never met a better father than you are to Parker."

He looked over at her, their eyes meeting for more than a brief glance, and she noticed his hand was still covering hers. He drew it away and she thought she detected a moment of regret, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was his or hers. Her hand felt cold and oddly empty, so she slipped it under her leg to warm it up.

The silence that passed for the next few minutes was different from a few moments ago: warmer, friendlier. They drove to the restaurant, the amicable quiet of two people who didn't always need to bicker or converse.

But all of that came to an end the second Booth neatly pulled into a parking spot a few blocks from the restaurant. Brennan hopped out and as she smoothed out her skirt, she observed Booth coming around the side- and he was scowling.

"What?" There were several times in their past when Brennan knew she had done something- crossed some invisible line that delineated the cultural norms and mores of traditional Western Civilization- and this was one of those times. She could not recall a specific thing she had said in the past few minutes to have made him give her the "Bones, you can't say shit like that" expression that he often gave her.

"I wish, just once, that you'd let me open the door for you," he grumbled, clicking the lock and walking off in a huff. The man was more sensitive than most women she knew.

"Booth," she half-whined, rushing to walk alongside him, "I am perfectly capable of opening my own door."

"I know that, Bones. Do you think I don't know that you're the most capable woman in these United States? I just… shit, Bones. Would it kill you to let me be a gentleman from time to time?"

"I- no. You're right. It would not kill me." This was the aspect of Booth that mystified her the most- he was so attuned to social niceties and was just- a good man. She was not like that, and probably never would be. It was never something she had interpreted to be necessary until she met him.

But that was not what the answer he was looking for, apparently, as he stopped and abruptly swiveled around to face her.

"You are infuriating, do you know that?" She was wearing heeled boots making him approximately eight centimeters taller than she was, but there was something in his dark, brooding expression that made it seem more like twenty or even thirty centimeters. There was a street lamp directly behind him, and all she could make out from his face was that his eyes were blazing. This was an odd discrepancy considering that the light source could not possibly reflect in his eyes, yet still true. His eyes were shining and furious. What did she say now?

"What did I say?" she whispered, She instinctively took a step back; not because she feared Booth- she always knew that he would never hurt her- but because she was uncertain. She could feel the synaptic pathway from her stomach and down to her pelvis light on fire as vagal stimulation left the oddly pleasing sensation that she was either going to vomit or cry out. Whether it was from pleasure or pain, she could not say with certainty. But the odd tickle left a wake of tingling waves in its path, and she felt anticipation- of what, she didn't know. Booth's arm was slowly rising, and it rested not on her shoulder, but slightly above it. She had backed into the wall of a nearby building and hadn't realized it.

"It's really more about what you didn't say," he whispered, his face suddenly coming into a patch of light from a distant and indiscernible source. Her breathing rate increased slightly as she noted the look there- she knew it to be the face he had whenever he was dead serious about something, and it was usually about something he really believed in, like his son or his faith or occasionally her.

Then everything took a turn for the more confusing because instead of backing off like he typically would whenever he got too physically close for his own prudish liking… he stepped closer. She could actually feel his breath on the tip of her nose, could smell the clean Booth smell that she had grown accustomed to and felt comfort from since they had become partners. She found herself focusing on minor details that she kept locked in her knowledge of the bank of Booth. Like how he had missed a small, approximately one by one centimeter patch when shaving on his throat. Or that it was time for a haircut. Or that when he wasn't carrying his gun, his swagger was more pronounced, even when taking one small step in her direction.

He leaned in until they were at eye level, and she felt the brush of his olecranon on her breast as his arm bent, supporting his weight. She held her breath, although she wasn't sure why. Sometimes Dr. Brennan did things without thinking.

"I don't know what that means."

At her words, he looked down, focusing on her mouth before responding.

"You probably don't." The words sounded more like a sigh. Before she could analyze the bizarre incident that definitely stepped out of the boundaries of their usual interactions, he was standing up and holding out his crooked arm. His fake, friendly smile was plastered on as he waggled his bicep at her. "Come on, take my arm. Let me be a gentleman, remember?" She smiled in relief, the confusing incident perhaps getting left behind as she gave Booth the concession and placed her palm gently on his forearm. She beamed a smile at him, her way of acknowledging her own awkward, and he looked at her fondly before leading her down the half-block to the restaurant.

They were immediately seated; it was a small eatery, cozy and intimate with few patrons. They ordered dinner- he a steak, she soup and a nice salad- and little was said as they enjoyed their dishes. Small talk, mainly, comfortable but with undertones she was sure were from the odd incident outside. Brennan was multi-tasking, responding to his unimportant inquiries about her novel and their current case while trying to logically puzzle out what exactly had happened out there. She had been doing that quite a bit lately; trying to figure out what exactly it was that Booth was thinking. While she knew him very well, there were parts of him that perplexed her, and the not knowing vexed her greatly.

The ring of her cell phone interrupted her train of thought, and she was irritated enough to not check who was calling. Whoever it was, it could wait.

"Not gonna get that?" he asked, spearing a piece of meat and putting it in his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds and swallowed heavily before grinning and pointing his fork at her. "Could be your actuary, scheduling when he wants to make baby geeks with you."

"Booth," she said, her aggravation clear. "I am not going to be making baby geeks with anyone, much less the actuary cousin."

"Aw, come on, Bones. Give the guy a chance. He could be The One, you don't know." His grin made her grin in response; sometimes it was hard to remain irritated at the man.

"I very much doubt that," she said. "I told you- the sex would be boring." And there it was- his automatic response to the word "sex." He frowned and stared down at his plate. "Booth, I just don't see why talking about sex always makes you so uncomfortable."

He didn't immediately respond. He seemed to be fighting internally, taking a big gulp of his red wine before opening his mouth to speak.

"Do you really want to know why?" He seemed serious, so she removed the pleased grin from her face before he looked up and saw it. Maybe she'd unlock one of the mysteries of Booth tonight- why he was so hesitant to discuss a perfectly natural biological function like sexual intercourse.

"Yes. Please, tell me. I've always been curious why this particular topic should make you squeamish when you solve murders for a living."

He sighed and put his fork down. "Bones," he began, seeming to search for the right words- maybe so he wouldn't upset what he thought was her fragile constitution when it came to things like this. "That's exactly it. You see sex as this normal, natural thing, when it really isn't."

"But it is! I told you, Booth. The biological imperative. We have to have sex in order for the species to proliferate."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not a total buffoon, okay? I just… sex is special. It's not just this thing we do because we get a funny feeling 'down there,' alright? We're an evolved species, right?" She nodded, glad every time he could speak in terms she knew to be true. "Well, I believe one of the reasons we're so evolved is because we can appreciate the difference between fucking to 'proliferate' and fucking for a higher purpose."

"A higher purpose?" She secretly thrilled when he used vulgarities, even if she frowned upon it outwardly. Booth was a gentleman, like he was so fond of pointing out, but he occasionally did things that were decidedly un-gentlemanlike. It was one of the small character quirks about him that she liked best. His ability to let his guard down around her. She knew he respected her, but he also respected that she wouldn't judge him for occasionally stepping outside of the rigid constraints he had set for himself.

"Yeah, you know. Making with the love." He waggled his eyebrows for effect and she laughed at his attempt at levity. It was obvious to her that this topic was important to him, and she wanted to give it her full and undivided attention. But his carefree smile made her lose her concentration, and she laughed when she would normally be a little irritated.

As she considered his statement about making love, she was struck with the thought that she had never actually been "in love," and it was nothing that she was able to quantify. This thought made her a little sad, and it must've shown on her face because he leaned in, placing his palm on the tabletop and looking at her with concern.

"Hey, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. I just… I guess I don't know what that's like, so I just judge sex the only way I know how." Her voice had become softer, a little vulnerable, and if it were anyone but him, she would've hated it. She did not enjoy showing any perceived weaknesses in her character to anyone, but if there was one thing she knew to be true, it was that Booth would understand her better than anyone out there, Angela included.

"Hey. One day, Bones. One day you'll find a guy who will knock you flat on your ass, and then we'll talk." His tone indicated his faith that this would happen, but his face fell slightly as he said it. She decided that he wasn't entirely sincere in his hope, and she wanted to know why.

"You don't seem very certain. Am I really that unlovable?" Her voice cracked slightly; it was a question she asked herself whenever she was very tired and feeling especially lonesome. It had been a while since she had felt that way, however, and the ensuing emptiness that followed her inquiry was terrible. She looked up into his dark eyes, seeking the truth to her own question.

"Gees, Bones. Of course not. I don't even know why you think that." He actually sounded angry, and relief filled her trachea and bronchioles along with oxygen as she took a deep breath. If he said it, she believed it.

"I just… I hate being alone sometimes." She hadn't wanted to admit that, but as she often did, Brennan blurted it out to Booth. She knew he could be trusted with that seemingly small detail.

"Hey, you're not alone. You've got me." His smile lit his face again, uninterrupted by the waitress slipping the check on the table. Brennan grabbed the black folder and pressed some cash into it, delighted that Booth tried to grab it from her. She handed the bill to the retreating waitress and gave him a triumphant smile.

"Ha! I win."

"It's not a contest," he grumbled, but she caught his smile as he stood up, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. She rose and walked toward the doors, feeling his hand hover at the small of her back. She was comforted by it, even if it was an archaic form of ownership that males often resorted to in order to show other males that they had staked a claim on the female.

"Thanks for dinner, Bones," he said as he held the door open for her. They stepped into the brisk night, a slight breeze making her skirt sway around her thighs. The throbbing returned just then, and she grimaced at it. Maybe Booth was right; maybe she should allow the actuary to attempt to make boring babies with her.

"You're welcome. Come on, let's get going. I may just call the actuary cousin after all." She was being flippant, merely stating what was on her mind. But for whatever reason, her words angered Booth. He looked down at her, his lips pressed together in a straight line, his mandibular ramus set at an angry angle.

"What?" What now? What had she said? She thought he liked it when she joked around.

"It's like you don't listen to me sometimes," he said between clenched teeth. She stopped in her tracks and he kept walking, turning abruptly when he realized she was no longer next to him. "Come on, you'll be late for your actuarial consult."

"Booth, it was a joke." It really was. She couldn't identify the reason for his sudden anger.

"It wasn't funny."

"Well, I apologize for that. You know that taking the banal and turning it into a mirthful association is new to me. I thought it was funny," she finished quietly, and his expression softened. He walked over to her and took her chin in his hand.

"Okay, Bones. I'm sorry. It's just…" He sighed. "Don't make fun of sex. It's bad karma." He grinned before letting her go, but he didn't step away. She stared up at him, wishing for perhaps the hundredth time that she could see the world in grays like he did, as opposed to her black-and-white.

"On the contrary, Booth," she somewhat-whispered, conscious of his proximity and the wind whipping her skirt around her legs. "I take sex very seriously. I wish I didn't. It would make things so much easier if I could stop being so serious about it."

"Well, it wouldn't be worth it if it were easy, would it?" His voice had dropped in pitch, and she found herself watching the rise and fall and pulsing of his laryngeal prominence- one of his best features, really. Even though it wasn't necessarily scientifically accurate, Brennan always appreciated men with large laryngeal prominences because she had a tendency to equate larger ones with masculinity.

"I don't suppose it would," she admitted, her voice low and husky, probably from the dry, windy air. She swallowed several times and could not make the desiccated, itchy feeling leave. When coupled with her skirt whipping around and the odd sensation that Booth was leaning toward her, Brennan was starting to feel like she was going to jump out of her skin or maybe just her clothing. She could not explain the odd feeling, and as she often did, she began to overanalyze what was happening.

"You know what you need?" he asked, taking another step closer. As she had an hour or so earlier, Brennan took a step back and felt the brick wall behind her, cold and comforting and supporting.

"What's that?" She licked her lips in an attempt to staunch the sudden thirst she felt.

"You need to find a guy who will make you weak in the knees." He was practically whispering, and not even looking at her face. His focus was somewhere to the left, a distant look in his eyes.

"I suppose I do." She was whispering, and she hated how unsteady her voice was. Booth had never been this intense in this fashion before, and it made her nervous. It also made her buzz, a pleasant sort of warmth trickling down through her like a mug of hot cocoa.

"You need to find a guy who you call when you have a bad day and need more than one outlet for your frustration." He took another step until their chests were centimeters away from touching.

"That would be nice."

"You need a guy who knows the exact words to say to make you feel better," he said in that soothing, low voice, putting one palm on the wall next to her right ear, "and the exact way to touch you so that you forget the shit that made you feel bad in the first place." His other palm went up to the left. Their chests were definitely touching now, and she couldn't say it was unpleasant. In fact… it felt damned good.

"Mm." She had no idea what the correct response was, but he seemed to respond to her noncommittal sort of purr. He leaned in, and for one heart-stopping second, Brennan knew he was going to kiss her.

Only he didn't. She could smell wine and the baked potato he had eaten with dinner, could feel the light brush of the tip of his nose against hers; his lips seemed to trace the line of her zygomatic arch and stopped just at the lobule of her ear.

"You need a guy who can make you blush with one look." His breath was searing her ear and flowing into her brain, tracing finger-like tendrils into her cerebrum, connecting with the cerebellum and making shivering tracts of synaptic electricity shoot down her spine. In that moment, Temperance Brennan was pretty sure that Booth could be rather adept at making a woman blush with a mere look, and she hated whoever that woman was.

He started to draw away from her and her hand resisted, darting out and grabbing at his forearm, keeping his hand in place beside her. He looked down, studying her hand for what seemed like an infinitesimal amount of time before he moved again. Leaning on that arm for support, she could feel his other hand drop from the wall next to her head and lightly trace down her shoulder, across her bicep, and down to her fingertips. His touch was light, feathery; she wasn't sure if she wanted him to stop or to press his fingers into her more firmly.

She could tell, could see that he was going to let go and stop touching her. She didn't want it to stop. Reaching out blindly, she grasped his warm fingers with her cold ones, drawing them to her, trying to absorb whatever warmth and strength from him that she could. Feeling vulnerable was not her favorite thing, and the dichotomy she often felt around Booth presented itself again- he was making her feel vulnerable, which she hated, but she wanted him closer, wanted him to keep her safe from whatever it was that was making her feel this way. She knew it was him but was unable to truly articulate it.

Brennan sighed, feeling relief at finding his hand and automatically drawing it to her. Without realizing it, she had brought his hand to her hip, and something primal inside her roared when he grasped her there, the thin fabric of Angela's flirty skirt a godsend. The warmth of his palm flowed into her, tracing new paths of hot chocolate into lower parts of her anatomy.

She felt rather than heard his sudden intake of breath, and the clarity that came with it startled her out of the sexy haze she had wandered into. What were they doing?

Don't stop.

She stretched up, balancing on the tips of her metatarsals until her face was level with his ear lobe.

"You make me feel better, you know." Her voice was barely a whisper, but she knew he heard it. The fingers at her waist curled, bunching the fabric of her skirt into his hand. She felt the tickle of his touch through the material, felt his breath at her throat.

"Yeah?" His voice was much lower, much huskier, grittier. Her hand on his arm moved distally until her fingers circled his wrist; she held tighter and moved her other hand to absently brush at the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

"Yeah." She liked how soft his hair was. It wasn't something she had ever noticed, probably because she tried to avoid such overtly intimate gestures with her partner. Her fingers played with his hair and he responded by curling his fingers more tightly into her skirt, the fabric gathering higher and higher until the flesh of her thigh was exposed. She held her breath, waiting for him to touch her skin, waiting for him to feel the goose bumps forming there. She moved her leg into his touch and she couldn't hold her breath any longer when he ran his thumb along her thigh. She was facing the side of his neck, the air expelling from her lungs hitting his skin. He looked down, turning his head so that he was facing her, though they didn't look into each other's eyes. Perhaps he knew as she did that if they made that intimate contact- the spell might be broken.

His grasp on her skirt loosened as he put his hand on her skin and she gasped, oh-so silently, but their proximity meant that he heard it, that he felt it. His hold on her leg tightened, his fingers curving into her flesh. She reacted instinctively, the synapses burning a path from his touch to her vastus medialis, her leg lifting up and out, effectively spreading her legs where she stood. She vaguely discerned her own tendril of thought, thanking whoever needed to be thanked that she had the bricks behind her for support because she was fairly certain that her knees were becoming weakened.

"I could make you feel even better," he whispered just above her, still looking down but not at her. She nodded, incapable of articulating what she was feeling because she herself was unsure. Her hand swept from his neck to the collar of his shirt, holding on so that she would not fall. She knew he wouldn't let her fall.

The hand by her head was wrapping behind her neck, the other hand moving and tracing and rubbing medially, going exactly where she wanted. A ridiculous thought entered her head, a non-sequitur reminder to thank Angela for insisting on impeccable grooming. She shoved all thoughts of others away and focused on the matter at hand, or rather- in his hand.

"You see, Bones," he murmured, his breath hot on her cheek, "you may think this is about me making you feel better about being lonely." Another gasp from her as his fingertips brushed along the edge of her sensible cotton Hanes- "But that's not what this is about."

"What, then-" she began, but then the elastic edge was lifted and she struggled to find words because the temperature in his fingers seemed to have increased, his hot flesh making her slightly less hot skin burn with near-unbelievable intensity. "-is this- are you-"

"I'm showing you," he continued to murmur, "what happens when you can stop," another gasp, a feather-light brush of his finger, "taking things so seriously." And with that, Temperance Brennan temporarily lost the ability to analyze anything he said because he was touching her, really touching her. Her body was ready for it, too; she heard him gasp, a probably reaction to discovering through his own tactile stimulation that she was wet, was really quite wet. Despite his previous actions proving he was the one in control of the situation, he seemed to temporarily lose it as he increased pressure, touching and caressing with an insistent sort of movement, his fingers exploring and rubbing and dammit, not in, not going in. She had honestly never had the patience to let a man simply feel, yet here she was, pressed against a wall and wanting it to never stop. Desperately wanting it to stop so she could increase the pressure, feel his fingers sliding over and in and around and around, just please increase the fucking pressure.

"Don't stop," she whispered, her voice sounding desperate and panicky. His breath was at her neck, his mouth wet and heavy at her ear, his fingers rubbing and touching, touching and so very insistent. She heard and felt his breath catch and she held her breath, too- he had stopped the repeated movement and was near-hovering, and with a quietly exhaled moan, she felt his light touch finally entering, pressing in and feeling welcome, warm and wet. She was falling, metaphorically, her eyes shut, her mouth open and breathing him in, the sweat and probable pheromones clouding her vision, her voice, her very breath. She gasped and raised her leg, feeling his strong thigh and attempting to wrap her own leg around his for support. To allow him easier access so he would not stop what he was doing.

The pressure was pleasant and warm and don't stop, and he suddenly altered his speed, drawing himself closer, propping himself against her body and propping her with his strength, his agile fingers keeping her grounded and making her fly. The pressure, the building pressure, sliding and oh, right there. Yes.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, yes." She found she was rocking to the rhythm he set, her pelvis dancing to the rhythm set by his fingers, like some sort of organic musical instrument. She found herself pressing her mouth to the flesh of his neck, burying her face into his smell, balancing against him and with him.

And then she was there, she was with him, rocking and whimpering, please don't stop.

The orgasm wasn't earth-shattering, but it was the most beautiful she'd had. Perfect, really. She tried to slow her breathing and realized that she was clutching at his coat, her face still pressed into his flesh, her leg still hooked around his. Outside. Very much outside in public. With her partner.

He withdrew his fingers from her, taking one last opportunity to run his thumb down the length of her still-slick, still-swollen labia before gently moving the band of her underwear back in place. He still hadn't looked at her face, hadn't made eye-contact. Brennan was mildly shocked to discover that he didn't look sheepish or even a little bit apologetic.

She was even more shocked that she didn't have any words. She could not come up with the proper response to what had just happened. She leaned back against the wall and opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out.

He took one half-step back and finally looked into her eyes.

"Still feeling lonely?" he asked in the same low, gritty voice. She couldn't respond and simply shook her head, her mouth slightly open. The half-smile that conveyed no mirth crept up his face, but there was an intensity in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"Good. And Bones?" He held his hand out to her, the non-soiled hand, and she grasped it for lack of anything better to do.

"Yes?" Her faculties were returning, but before she could produce a response for this new development in their partnership, he interrupted her train of thought and she lost what she was going to say.

"When you're really, truly ready to know why I don't like to discuss sex with you… you just let me know." She cocked her head to the side and simply walked next to him as he guided her back to the car.

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NEGL, I've enjoyed returning to my OG style of writing dirty one-shots.

For you Twilight People, come play over at A Different Forest. Bones people, too; I make quite a lot of posts about the Bones and the DB. Spreadin' the love, man. Spreadin'.