A/N - I've been thinking about this one for a while now and thought it would be a perfect treat to give you for Halloween. With Bones on hiatus and no end in site to the Hannah situation, I think we can all use a distraction. This one's going to get hot and heavy, so run and hide if you're underage or don't like serious smut.
Tags for Season Three's The Mummy in the Maze (with tidbits of intel from Season Five's Night at the Bones Museum and The Parts in the Sum of the Whole). Oh, how differently things could have gone...
This one's for Gemlily5. It's probably not what she meant or was expecting when she asked for something really long, and it's not 5,000 words, but it is the biggest one I've written so far and I truly hope she - and anyone else who reads it - finds it enjoyable.
Anyone need a little something to "something to take the chill out" of the fall air? You're in the right place!
Disclaimer: The part you recognize belongs to Fox, but the sexy little plot bunny is all mine. No way anything like this would ever be seen on network television...
A Not-So-Bad Date
The Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian is empty when they finish wrapping up the case. The lights are turned down low, the cavernous space long since abandoned by it's employees.
"Where is everybody?" she asks him.
"Well, at the party I guess," he tells her, still clutching the lab coat of his squint costume.
"We could still go," she answers glancing at him.
"Eh, we look like hell," he responds.
"But it's a Halloween party. We could be Wonder Woman and um - what's Superman's secret identity?"
He takes his glasses out of the pocket of his shirt and slips them onto the bridge of his nose. "Clark Kent."
"Yes!" She continues over the platform. "We could be Wonder Woman and Clark Kent after a really, really bad date." She sits down on the steps.
"Yeah. Bad date," he says, tossing his lab coat onto the platform steps and pointing a finger at her, "because you shot me."
"It was only a flesh wound," she mocks. "And you dropped me on my head!"
"After you shot me," he says matter-of-factly. Removing the glasses, he sinks uneasily beside her. "I think I got you on this one. Okay, Wonder Woman?" He groans and casts a quick sideways glance in her direction, careful not to let his gaze linger too long.
"I'm sorry you had to kill someone tonight," she says quietly. Her eyes betray her concern. She knows how much it bothers him to take a life. "I know you hate that."
His jaw tightens the way it always does when he's upset. "Yeah, well, he had it commin'," he says trying to downplay the situation. He's a man. And as a man, it's his job to be strong. It's his job to protect her from more than just the bad guys. It's his job to shield her from the demons and hurt that haunt him.
In a rare moment of humanity, the normally rational scientist looks deeply into his eyes. "You hate it," she says sympathetically. "I'm sorry it happened to you."
For a moment, he just stares at her. She's a mess. Dirt smudges across her face and chest. Her tiara tilts at a jaunty angle over loose curls that have started to frizz. But it's the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes that captivate him. "We saved the girl," he says with a shrug. "That's a pretty good date."
"Only it wasn't really a date," she says rolling her eyes.
Is that a flicker of disappointment? He looks down at her fingers, alabaster against the stainless steel of the step. Tentatively, he reaches out and entwines his fingers with hers. There's been no tequila tonight. "But it could be..." he says, like someone dipping his toes into the early-fall water late testing if it's warm enough for a swim - apprehensive, yet hopeful of another go.
She focuses in on their fingers: the way the darker skin of his phalanges wraps around the paleness of her own. Blue-gray eyes meet his coffee-colored stare and her tongue sneaks out unbidden, sliding over her lower lip, as she considers what he's saying.
"You hungry?" she asks.
"I could eat," he replies with a cocky grin.
He shifts the take-out from one hand to the other as they continue down the hall to her door. "You've got to be kidding, Bones! You prefer Chaney's mummy over Karloff's?"
She grins at him as she slips her key into the lock. "It made me want to become an anthropologist."
"Have you seen the '99 version?" he asks.
"Of course not. Why would I want to do that?" They walk into her kitchen and she immediately starts reaching for plates.
"Gee, I don't know, Bones," he says in a teasing tone. "Amazing special effects, maybe?" Booth sets the food on the counter and picks up a dish towel before turning on the sink. Dampening the towel, he tests the temperature and squeezes it out.
She turns to say something to him and they come face to face. Suddenly she forgets what she was thinking. Breathe, Tempe. It's just Booth. Only Booth isn't just anything.
He takes the rag and wipes it in small, slow circles over her face beginning at her left temple. His free hand comes up and pulls the tiara free from her tangled hair. He tenderly kisses where he's cleaned her up.
Her hands fist in the front of his bloodied plaid shirt. "Booth?" she asks breathlessly as she tries to stay rational. But it's so hard to stay rational when he's caressing the tops of her breasts with the towel even as he lines kisses down her throat...
"Yeah, Bones?" he replies without stopping, now kissing across her jaw line toward her ears, each touch of her creamy skin intoxicating. He's afraid to make eye contact. Afraid this is another dream and that he'll awaken granite hard and in need of release.
She shivers at the little puff of his breath against her ear when he responds. "What are we doing?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
And he can't avoid it any longer... His eyes shoot up to hers and his hand nestles under the hair at the nape of her neck. But it's her lips he finds himself staring at when he poses his next question. "You want me to stop?"
It's been years since he kissed her. And she wants that feeling back. She craves it. Her palms open and press flat against his pectorals. She finds herself staring at his lips. The words he said to her that night in the rain come tumbling from her mouth tonight, "I think I'm going to kiss you."
And she does. She kisses the daylights out of him. He backs her against the refrigerator in effort to slow her down as she devours him. He smiles against her lips. He's almost 40 and she's making him feel like a teenager.
He traces the line of her jaw with the pads of his fingers in a light caress and leans into her. He nips at her bottom lip, his tongue snaking out to ease the sting. She whimpers and reaches for the buttons on his shirt. He uses his tongue to take advantage of the little gasp she makes when he pushes her hands away and rips the shirt open, sending buttons careening across the floor. Hell, it's already ruined.
He prides himself on being in control, on taking care of his partner. Only things are flying dangerously out of control with every kiss. With every swipe of their tongues. With every touch of her not so innocent fingers as they trail over the ridges of his abdominals and down to his...whoa. This was really happening. When had they left the kitchen?
Brennan smirks as Booth presses her back against the wall in the hallway. There is a hungry desperation in his kiss. In his every touch. His hand slips from the curve of her waist down to cup her firm bottom before slipping to the back of her thigh, silently encouraging her to wrap her legs around him.
There is a clatter as they knock something over in their progression down the hallway. It should matter, but it doesn't. Nothing matters now. Nothing but the feel of of his arousal pressing against her through the rapidly dampening fabric of her costume.
Something between a moan and a sigh escapes her parted lips as he pulls away from her tempting mouth long enough to flick on the bathroom light. He sets her on the edge of the vanity and removes her boots one at a time. He does so in a painstakingly slow fashion as he tries to regain his precious control.
It's short lived, however, when she reaches for his t-shirt and manages to remove it in one motion. Booth moans and removes her metal cuffs, tossing them over his shoulder and grinning when they crash to the floor.
He works with nimble fingers on the tiny hook and eye closures of her bodice. The costume is hot and in it she's a walking fantasy - don't destroy it, you're going to want to see it again. Once he has worked her free of the entrapment, his eyes caress her body in a manner that rises goose flesh and a flush of pale pink to her skin.
She supports herself on her hands when he moves to remove the last part of her costume and the tiny pair of satin panties beneath it. The cool marble of the countertop makes for a delicious contrast with her heated skin. She moans as his mouth comes back in contact with hers and his hands - those big, rough, perfect hands - explore all the skin he has just uncovered.
Their tongues engage in an intense yet intimate mating dance as his fingers massage over her silky skin. Reaching the juncture of her thighs, he finds her wet and ready for him. He's far from inexperienced, yet it never ceases to surprise him how she turns him on - how someone so brilliant and beautiful, and so far from his usual type, should have such a hold on him.
She slides off the vanity and stands in front of him. Her hands close over the plain belt buckle where the marker of his confidence usually rests. But not tonight, no, tonight they aren't Brennan and Booth, they're in costume. She grabs her lasso and tugs the satiny cording around his tapered waist.
She wants the truth, does she? "I want you," he says as he kisses her again. "I have from the moment I met you." This is so far from how he had imagined it going if they ever got here, but he loves her complete and utter unpredictability. More kisses, because he can't keep his mouth off of her body now that she's exposed to him. "Even when you're pissing me off, I want you."
She's squinting at him the way she does when she's discovered something. She tries to digest his words. Her head is spinning with arousal. It's never been like this before - so consuming, her body a raging inferno under his touch. He captures her mouth one last searing time before spinning her around and guiding her hands to the counter. She gasps at the unexpected movement.
"You're incredible, so beautiful, now more than ever. Look," he breathes against her ear. Though her eyelids are heavy, she forces herself to look into the mirror. She watches her blue eyes go wide and his darken to a rich espresso as he slides into her.
It's carnal and very alpha-male. At once it's everything and nothing like what she's fantasized being with him would be like. It's what she hoped for, only better because she'd always imagined he'd be sexually repressed because of his Catholic up-bringing. Oh, yes! Right there! She flexes her inner muscles around him.
He grunts and nips at her shoulder. This is unexpected...and something he can honestly say he never thought about doing to - with - his lovely partner. Feeling her clench around him drives him on and causes him to pick up the pace. He didn't usually go for rough, but she made him crazy, drove him wild with desire, pushed him to the very brink of his control.
To the extent it was ever role play - something they were doing because of the costumes and the magic of Halloween - it ceased to be as she called out his name when she shattered around him. The sound of his name falling from her lips was maddening, arousing him even more. "Seeley..." And to think he's always hated that name.
He wraps a strong arm around her waist as he thrusts. He varies the depth and speed, making effort to elongate and draw more out of her. He's rewarded when she moans his name again and again. "Seeley, Seeley...oh, Booth!"
It's the Booth that breaks him. It somehow makes it more real. With a moan of his own, he collapses against her back. Once the fog of arousal and the power of his climax clear, he feels like a complete cad. Did he really just take Brennan, his Bones, for the first time from behind in front of her bathroom mirror? What the hell was he thinking?
But then her small hands light a new fire along his skin as she brushes her fingers along the outer lines of his thighs. She smiles wickedly and turns to face him. Bending, she kisses her way down his body to help him out of his shoes and pants. On the way back up, she notes with amusement that he is aroused again. "You know, Booth," she says huskily, "You have a remarkable recovery rate for a man of your age."
Rather than reply to her comment, he kisses her deeply as she turns on the overhead spray. Stepping over the edge of the tub, he presses her against the cool tile of the shower wall. The heat of the water slides over both of them and he gives her a quick kiss rather than the lengthy one he can tell she's expecting. She whimpers when he pulls away and reaches for the thick piece of natural sponge resting on the shower rack.
He squeezes an ample amount of the lavender mint body wash onto it and feels his knees go weak as he is reminded of her scent. He pumps the sponge with his hand to create a rich lather and begins to brush it over her skin in tantalizingly slow circles. His touch is gentle, careful, as he strips away what's left of Wonder Woman's dirt leaving only his Bones behind.
He helps her under the spray and runs his fingers through her hair as it gets wet. Taking the shampoo bottle, he smirks - organic, that figures - and dispenses a dime size amount in hand. He marvels at the little noise of contentment that escapes as he massages the liquid into her scalp. God help him, the woman made incredible noises...
She feels cherished. She's showered with lovers before, but never like this. It's never felt this intimate. She watches his face, studying his features with rapt fascination as he continues to care for her. It's stunning that this man can be a classic aggressive alpha and yet be so tender.
She takes the sponge into her own hands and reciprocates the treatment. Slow movements that wash the dirt and dried blood from his taut body. He winces as she brushes over the scraping trail left by the bullet, but she distracts him from the pain by peppering kisses over his chest.
He moans when her hand brushes against his swollen flesh. "Bones," the choked way her pet-name escapes him earns a gentle tug and has him pushing her against the wall to give her the deep, thorough kiss she was looking for when they entered the shower. There's no time for teasing or going slow lest the hot water run out.
Bracing himself, he lifts her. He smiles and buries his face against her neck when she wraps her lithe legs around him. He enters her on a deep thrust that steals her breath and elicits a throaty moan. Her heat scorches him and he knows he'll never be able to get enough of her - of this.
It's wild and wet and over too quickly. He eases her to the floor and yelps as he uses his body to protect her from the tiny pin pricks of cold water. Never enough, he grins to himself as he realizes that the water hadn't only just now turned cold.
She tosses him a towel and pads back to the kitchen. He experiences a brief moment of panic, unsure what to say or how to react to what's happened. He stands completely still in her bedroom, senses on full alert.
She returns and presents him his take-out container with a smile. Her eyes are clear and bright. "I decided not to bother with plates tonight," she says as she trails a packet of chopsticks up the centerline of his abs before handing it to him.
If asked, he couldn't have said what was more appealing at that moment - naked Bones or the Thai in the folded carton in his hand. What he could say, however, was that he loved how she lounged in bed unclothed and uncovered eating from her box. Most women would have hidden, but not Brennan - she was completely confident in her body and her sexuality.
They eat in a comfortable silence. Booth finishes his meal first and sets the box aside. He notices a tiny trail of sauce from where a noodle had hit before being slurped between her lips. He can't resist it any longer. Taking her box from her, he chucks it over his shoulder and laps the stickiness away.
Uncharacteristically, Brennan giggles and allows him to hover over her, pushing her back into the plush pillows resting against the headboard. He kisses her, lightly and teasingly, barely plucking her lips with his own before pulling away. He watches her eyes grow stormy and smirks knowing that she doesn't like to be trifled with.
He's been touching her for hours, but this time it's feather-light. Instead of another hot-hard-now coupling, this time he sets about tenderly making love to her. The way he wanted to in the kitchen before he got carried away by arousal and mutual need. This time, he's going to show her what she's been missing. He's going to make sure that he's the one she remembers - whether they last weeks, months or decades.
Though his movements are slow and measured, she begins to pant. Every now and then he surprises her with a quick, hard thrust that makes her gasp. He builds a deep and slow burn that warms and consumes them. Each thrust stokes the flame, every moan adding fuel to the fire burning between them.
Finally, Brennan has had enough. She forces Booth to the bed beneath her without allowing him to withdraw from her body. He raises an eyebrow and gives her a devilish look. It had been part of his plan. How far could she be pushed before demanding control of the situation. He feels the laugh that erupts from her where they are joined as it ripples through her petite frame.
She moves against him, her pale skin glowing in the lamp light. Riding him. Taking him the way he's taken her. Every climax she experiences has her climbing higher. She pushes her body to it's limit, taking every pleasure she can from him. Being with him is making her greedy. More. More. More.
It's as if he hears her body crying out to him, knows she's yearning - stretching - for that big wave, that ultimate high. And that's when he gives it to her. Hard. Fast. Now.
"Boo...Boo...Booth!" she cries as her body spasms around his and rips his orgasm from him.
He rolls off of her and notices for the first time that she's not the only one struggling to breathe. He's in awe when she curls into him, her right leg resting over his own in a possessive tangle. Who'd have pegged Temperance Brennan for a post-sex cuddler?
He wraps his arms around her and holds her close. He'd confessed his gambling addiction years ago because he thought this was going somewhere. And now? Now he's sure it is. And because of that he'll be damned if she's waking up anywhere other than in his arms - tonight or any other night for as long as he can help it.
A/N - *Fans self.* So, a couple little side notes -
First, I think I'm totally channeling early Season Five Angela and looking for a "vicarious thrill" from Brennan. I don't know where this came from...but it was hot, wasn't it?
Secondly, my Wheaten, Buddy, says to tell everyone "hello". At least I think that's what he was trying to tell me when he got in between me and my MacBook last night. Anybody speak terrier? Maybe he was telling me he enjoyed my little writing hiatus and wants my attention back.
Finally, this, at least in my opinion, was different from my previous love scenes so I'm curious to hear your thoughts. Give me a Halloween treat and drop me a review?