A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews, alerts, faves and PMs! There's so much epically wonderful post-finale fic out there, but I'm not going there just yet. This chapter stays in the 100th and that small incident of the face slap. Hope you enjoy. With thanks as always to cathmarchr for her uber amazing beta skills - *starts to sing off key* ... youuuu are the wiiiiind beneath my wiiiings. XD

Sorry, Hart, borrowed some dialogue again *shrugs apologetically*

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)

The Licentiousness in the Lift

Booth stood up, knocking his chair back from the table. It swung away in a slow motion arc. His fingers dug into Brennan's arm, lifting her out of her seat. She tried to pull out of his grasp, a protest on her lips, but he dragged her unceremoniously out of her chair and out of the conference room. Behind them, the older woman looked bewildered, her glance darting from one to the other, trying to work out what was going on. He pulled the door shut behind him with a controlled click, anger furrowing his brow. His chin dipped to his chest and he took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm down. Didn't the 'famous' Dr Brennan understand the first thing about dealing with people, a grieving mother no less? Casting doubt over the evidence at this stage in the game was tactless if not downright cruel.

He turned slowly to Brennan, his fingers still digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm. "This is definitely not the place to bring this up." He relaxed his grip slightly but didn't let go, pulling her further into the bullpen.

The door to the conference room opened tentatively; Cleo Eller's mother had her bag over her shoulder and was heading towards the lifts.

"I'm sorry Mrs Eller. Please, don't go -" Booth called after her, but she was already gone. He turned to Brennan, his temper flaring again and directed well and truly at this ball of fire in front of him. "See what you've done?" He hissed in accusation.

"Me?" Brennan struggled ineffectually against his grip; there'd be bruises there tomorrow. "Let go of me." Her outrage vibrated through his fingers and he guessed by the way her mouth was working furiously that she was struggling to find the best way to express it. He tried to diffuse the moment, even though he was still burning at the clumsy way she'd botched the interview.

"I will if you would just -"

He looked at his hand circling her arm. Unfocussed images of the last time he'd touched her caught him unawares. The contrast of his hands on the white of her hip, his forearm resting across her stomach as they both tried to come back to earth after the intensity of their lovemaking. She'd brought him alive that night. What had happened in the taxi had led to something … unbelievable. Unbelievably good.

He remembered the look in her eyes as she came. God, he'd do anything to see that look again. Suddenly he refocused and was shocked by what he saw there now. Rage seared behind her eyes and she lashed out at him instinctively.

He heard the slap before he really felt it, effectively shattering the images of their shared passion into tiny pieces. "Ow! What the hell?" He let go of her abruptly, his hand going to his face to touch the burning skin from her blow.

Brennan took a half step towards him and he found himself edging away from the intensity of her expression. "You are a bully. You - you grab my arm, just like the Judge. You use your gun and your badge to intimidate people."

The sting of her jibe hurt more than the slap. He wanted to hurt her right back and this time she backed away from the ferocious look that settled on his features. "Really?" he returned derisively. "You use your brain to make people around you feel stupid."

"Well, you are a stupid man. I hate you."

"Oh, you hate me? What are you, ten years old? I'm not your dad!" The words were out there, hanging between them. His heart sank at the crushed look on her face. Somehow he'd gone too far and he didn't know why, or how to make it better. Her chest was heaving with another surge of anger and his eyes were drawn inevitably to the softness outlined by her shirt. Hunger replaced anger, driven by the memory of her body sliding against his, slick with sweat from their frenetic lovemaking. One night, just one night, and he was lost. He felt the familiar tension in his groin start to build, despite himself.

She settled her bag more securely on her shoulder. "I will never work with you again."

Working wasn't what he wanted to do with her right now and they both realized it at the same moment, Brennan's eyes going wide with the knowledge. She grabbed her jacket and fled toward the elevator.

"Who asked you?" He taunted at her retreating back. She punched the down button, her actions frantic, and it took only a few seconds for the mechanism to respond.

The petulant child in him had sent her away but the man in him caught up with her in a few easy strides, jamming his palms against the lift doors before they closed completely. She rounded on him, eyes wide and fit to burst. The doors pinged a warning as they tried to close again but Booth didn't shift. If she wanted a fight, he was ready for it. Tingling for it. Somewhere along the way, his anger over her gaffe with Mrs Eller had melded with the sense of loss he'd felt when he'd woken and realized she'd left his apartment the other night without a word.

"That was really stupid." He spat the words at her. She had riled him and he wasn't willing to let it go.

"Yes, you were." Brennan shot back, but Booth stepped fully into the elevator and leant in close to her face.

"I meant you," he snarled.

She made a noise somewhere between a strangled groan and a growl, reaching past him to press the button for the first floor. He batted her hand away from the console and took a step towards her. "That's right, run away. You scared off the victim's mother, so now you're going to run and hide?" He sneered. "Again?" She looked at him sharply; they both knew he was referring to her midnight flight. The doors closed behind him; the elevator must have been summoned on another floor. The sounds of the bullpen were replaced by the hum of the cables engaging.

Before she could reply, he reached over and jabbed at the emergency button. A bell jangled briefly and the lift juddered to an uneasy stop between floors. Silence settled over them, punctuated by the groans and creaks of the mechanics settling down. They stood nose to nose, panting, neither of them backing away from the other's challenge.

"I am so angry with you right now I could -" He was close enough to feel the heat coming off her in waves, and he slapped his hand flat against the wall next to her head. He let his wrist take his weight, in a move meant to unsettle her, ready to enjoy her discomfiture.

As usual, Brennan surprised him, letting her back relax against the hard coolness of the wall. She eyed the cords of tendons and ligaments flexing along the inside of his wrist, her eyes lingering on the dark ink of the tattoo there.

"Oxytocin is commonly produced when a woman observes alpha male behavior." The words were spoken tranquilly but when her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips he allowed a small smirk to crease his mouth. "It acts primarily as a neuromodulator in the brain."

"Could you try using words I understand for once?" Sarcasm deepened Booth's voice and he braced himself for the verbal slap he knew was coming. On some level, buried deep, he needed to shake her up; shake her up the way she'd shaken him to the core the other night. She'd given him something more than her body (hope?) then snatched it straight back.

Suddenly he stilled. Something shifted, right at that moment. If he'd been in the field he'd have said the wind had changed, the barometric pressure had dropped; something physical like that. He dipped his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. What the hell was her game?

Brennan arched towards him, her lips tracing the soft patch of skin just below his ear and a shudder pulsed through him. She observed the movement with a smile of satisfaction.

"Oxytocin has the distinction -" She paused, running both hands lightly down his chest. "- of being the very first polypeptide hormone to be ... mmm, ah …" her hands continued over his midsection, pausing to relish the outline of his muscles at his indrawn breath, "… sequenced and synthesized biochemically."

"That so?" He battled to stay calm, counting the dips and hollows of her collarbone with his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that he was already hard.

"By Vincent du Vigneaud." She bit her lip, her breath catching in her throat, unintentionally provocative. "In 1953." She slipped her arms around his hips and cupped his ass in her hands.

He stood stock still, unwilling to let go of his anger just yet but unable to resist the kneading of her fingers. But he felt his resentment start to lose momentum; he knew what those talented little hands were capable of and he didn't want her to stop. How was it she managed to turn his fury into lust so effortlessly?

"1953. Really?" His voice broke when she flicked the top button of her blouse undone, exposing the first gentle curves of her breasts. He was transfixed by the sight, feet rooted to the spot.

She broke contact abruptly and started scrabbling in her handbag.

A sudden thought struck him as he watched her search the cavernous black hole of her bag. "You don't have a gun in there, do you?"

She answered with a lopsided smile that lit her face and she held up a metal tube in triumph, uncapping it and twirling the color up and down as if that explained everything. She handed the lipstick to him peremptorily.

"It's not really my color." he said drily, his eyebrow cocked.

"Don't be absurd. Give me a foot up."

"You mean 'leg up' – wait, there're plenty of things I'm willing to try, but I'm really not into wearing makeup." he joked, still struggling to work out what she was up to.

She didn't attempt to explain herself, just raised her left foot and waggled it impatiently. "C'mon Booth!"

"Okay, okay. Don't go all postal on me." He found himself linking his hands together under the sneaker clad foot despite himself.

She didn't bother trying to decode his words, sparing him only a faint scowl before she launched herself upwards via his hands. With a fast break LeBron James would have been proud of, Brennan smeared the waxy red contents over the fisheye lens of the lift's security camera. Her task done, her body wobbled, overbalancing, and she would have fallen, but he slipped his arms up around her ass and let her body slide slowly down his, halting the slide when friction of her thighs rubbed over his crotch, and she wound her legs around his hips. They stared at each other for a long second, before their mouths crashed together. She wriggled in his arms, the movement sending him wild, and he relaxed his grip, just for a second. Brennan took advantage of his lapse in concentration and her feet slid the rest of the way to the floor. With a mischievous look, she let her nails scrape roughly against his stomach, and smiled when he flinched in response. Before he knew what she was doing, her hands were at his waist, his belt was undone and the soft onomatopoeic buzz of his zipper being lowered brought him around.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, his shock complete.

"Exactly what you think I'm doing."

The echo of the words he'd used in the taxi only a few days ago ricocheted around his skull. He looked left and right, completely panicked, "Here?" The word was little more than a broken squeak.

She answered him by reaching forward and lightly caressing the head of his cock as it strained against the soft cotton of his shorts. His body was hard and ready for whatever she wanted, even if his mind was having trouble keeping up. He backed away until the cold metal lining of the elevator wall stopped his retreat, but Brennan kept up with him easily, refusing to break contact. At what moment had she turned the tables and taken charge? And, why? Her thumb continued its gentle massage, simultaneously filling his body with craving and robbing his brain of cogent thought.

"This is J Edgar Hoover Building Security. Do you need assistance?" A disembodied female voice crackled through the lift's intercom, the guard's faintly bored tone audible through the static.

"No!" Booth almost shouted, shaken at the unexpected interruption. Brennan started to chortle and Booth tried to suppress the sound, placing his hand lightly over her mouth. He scrunched his eyes closed and tried to calm down when she licked his palm, but his heartbeat was already thundering in his head. He took a deep breath and tried to sound normal. He didn't quite pull it off. "No. Um. What I mean - ah, I mean everything is under control." The sound of Brennan's deep throaty chuckle penetrated through the flesh of his hand.

There was a pregnant pause as the guard attempted to analyze the situation. "The camera appears to be malfunctioning, sir. Please identify yourself and any other occupants." Suspicion tinged her tone.

"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth and Dr Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian Insti – aahhh." Cool air hit his cock as Brennan brushed the constraining cotton out of the way, the air sucked from his lungs in a long whoosh.

"Special Agent Booth? Are you alright?" Alright? He would never be alright again. Another gasp as Brennan slipped one hand inside his shorts and cupped his balls with gentle pressure, the other sliding under his suit jacket to find his nipple. She flicked a nail across that tender spot through the material of his shirt. She jutted her chin up at him, her smile a challenge.

Booth could barely grind out 'yep' through lips drawn back in a grimace somewhere between pleasure and pain. He grunted, softly, when she dropped to her knees and ran the tip of her tongue along the length of his exposed cock.

He couldn't suppress a groan, long and loud when she took him into her mouth. Fuck, that felt so good. He was overwhelmed by sensations; the moist warmth of her mouth, her face nuzzling him; the little sounds she was making … he lost himself in sensation … until he realized where he was and shut his mouth with an audible snap. He grabbed her wrists, deluding himself into thinking it was to stop her. Brennan just smiled and ignored him, loosening his grip easily and sliding her hands down his trousered thighs as she knelt before him.

"Agent Booth? Do you need assistance?" There was an edge of concern in the woman's voice now.

Brennan eased back on her heels, grinning saucily up at him while addressing the control panel. "Agent Booth and I are perfectly fine," she said in a calm, even voice. "There is no danger. I'm sure we can keep ourselves occupied until the elevator is functional again." The soft puffs of her breath were an assault on his hypersensitive exposed flesh, and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and tried to stay silent.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure you can." In a far off darkened room two now highly amused security officers exchanged cynical glances. "Technicians will attend to the problem shortly. Have a nice day." The staticky voice was silenced and Brennan and Booth were alone again.

"You are evil." He accompanied the statement with a cockeyed grin, expelling the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. His day had taken on a bit of a dreamlike quality and the next few moments didn't help to dispel that feeling. He almost laughed out loud when Brennan appeared to give his words serious consideration.

"I don't believe in the concept of pure evil. Or pure good, for that matter," she said. A little frown formed between her brows as she went on, "People respond to external influences in a wide spectrum of ways in direct correlation to the relevant circumstances." She dragged her eyes away from his groin and flicked a smile upwards. "Speaking of responses … you appear to be responding to these circumstances quite well." Smug satisfaction colored her tone. She snuggled into him, warming to her task.

"Bones – stop – we can't – not here …" He put his hands on her upper arms to halt her actions, but she was a determined woman. She shrugged his hold away impatiently, her hands settling on his hips while she examined what he had on offer, leaning in to take possession again. Her soft warm breath made him tingle and when her lips touched his flesh a current of energy zapped up his spine and exploded into his brain. He watched the top of her head dip and bob, the movement almost surreal. Guilt washed over him; he wanted so much more with this amazing woman but more than anything, right now, he wanted this.

"Don't." First a delicate lick. "Call." Bolder, she sucked the very tip of him, almost sending him over the edge then and there. "Me." Her teeth scraped bluntly along his shaft. "Bones."

Booth was beyond the point of no return at that moment; he didn't care if an entire company of the 75th Rangers were about to come bounding through the lift doors to rescue him. He gave himself up to the sensation of her mouth taking in the whole of his length, her thumb and forefinger working in tandem around the base. His groped blindly for contact with her, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. His hands slid against the silkiness of her hair, fingers tangling on the band that held her ponytail in place at the back of her head. With a quick flick of his wrist, the band was gone and he grabbed fistfuls of her hair, letting the strands slip over his fingers.

His heart was racing wildly; with excitement, with guilty pleasure, with astonishment and wonder at what this woman was giving him. He let reality fall away from him as the tension built, higher and hotter, his hips thrusting upwards in sync with her movements.

When he thought nothing had ever … could ever feel as good as this, the tip of his penis nudged the back of her throat and she shifted slightly to help him out. She worked the muscles of her throat, massaging his tip, and he was lost. He came apart in a storm of sensation, his pleasure consuming him while she continued to suck and pump him, gradually slowing and easing him back down to earth.

She unselfconsciously wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, somehow managing to make the action dignified. He scrabbled to put his clothes back to rights, conscious of her eyes following his movements as he tried to get his jagged breathing under control. Awareness of his surroundings suddenly crowded in on him and the full realization of what had just happened belted him in the head. His erstwhile partner had just blown him in the elevator of the Hoover Building. His place of work. The person he worked with. Mortification stained his face red and his glance slid away from her steady regard.

He caught his blurry reflection in the polished steel of the doors, his tie askew and his belt still unbuckled. He made himself meet her eyes, and proceeded to fill the silence between them with the first thing that came into his head. "Sweet Jesus – where did you learn to do that thing with your throat?" Fuck, Seeley, smooth as silk, as always! Before he could summon something a little more tactful, Brennan launched into speech.

"In Baruya culture, as well as among the Sambia people of Papua New Guinea, fellatio is the basis of the warrior ritual for young males. They exchange seminal fluid in the belief that -"

Hearing the clinical explanation start to unfold, he rubbed his hand across his eyes, instantly regretting his question. "Ah, jeez, Bones, not now, please. It was rhetorical."

She clamped her mouth shut, confusion flitting across her face. Booth watched her expressions change, and felt immediately contrite.

Suddenly shy, he tried to make things better. "That was incredible. I don't know what to say … thank you."

"You feel under an obligation to me?" She looked like she was about to argue with him, not comprehending his behavior. She pulled away and lowered her eyes so that her expression was shielded from him. It was obvious she had more on her mind.

Before she could speak, the elevator started to vibrate and the unmistakable hum of the mechanics grinding into operation became a whine. The car started to descend, carrying them inexorably back to the real world. A world where, regardless of how much he wanted her, he was determined to remember how goddamn dangerous she was – to his career, to his life, to his sanity.

They took their places, regulation three feet apart, facing the doors, expressions composed and cool. No one who saw them could ever have guessed what had just passed between them. The elevator slowed and stopped; they'd arrived at their destination.

She spoke without looking at him. "Next time, I'll choose when, where and how."

The doors opened to the sounds of business as usual, and several people waited politely for them to vacate the car. Brennan walked briskly towards the exit, Booth in step beside her.

"Next time?" There was disbelief - and anticipation - in his voice.

"Uh-huh. If I understand it correctly, in the current parlance, I believe you owe me."

He shot her a sideways glance. "I'll be there."

He watched her go, her hips swaying in that guileless way she had, until the crowd obscured his view. He laughed out loud. Man, what a woman.


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