Author's Note: So ... the music continues ... and we get another song. This one is in both Spanish and English. This song is what prompted me to buy my first Enrique Iglesias album. Oooh la la! Iglesias could make reading a cereal box erotic, I swear! (Fans herself). So ... have you heard it before? The full lyrics for the English version can be found elsewhere on the internet, as can the music videos. FOr reasons of copyright, I cannot provide all the lyrics for you ... but you can find them easily. After you read, please tell me what you thought! ~ Catherine
Chapter 138 Never Play Chicken With a Rooster
The DJ queues up Enrique Iglesias singing the Spanish version of "Hero."
"How appropriate," says Bones, smiling, closing her eyes and rolling her forehead back and forth against Booth's. How many times have they acted as ... heroes ... for each other? "Do you know this song?"
"No," he says, not caring, but glad to be here listening to it with is arms around Bones. "Is that English?"
"No," she says, smiling as she hums to the melody. "It's 'en Español.' The summer I spent in Barcelona and León, this was on every station ... and I mean all the time. It was the song of the summer," she says, remembering those hot days, muggy nights, on one of the most challenging conference circuits she'd ever attended. The topic was "El Sentido de la Antropología Hoy: Lugares, Tiempos, Memorias," or "The Meaning of Anthropology Today: Responsibilities, Dilemmas and Actions. It lasted from June through September, during the hottest part of the year.
"You speak Español, don't you?" he says, emphasizing the word Español, with a little sarcasm. "What is the song about?"
"It's called 'Héroe' which means Hero. When I learned the song it was the Spanish version. Strangely, the English version is not a literal translation ... but I enjoy them both."
"So, what's he saying now?"
"Hmm," she grunts, thinking, listening closely to the words. She leans away from him for a moment, and looks in his eyes, smiling. "Let's see …" she says, resting her chin on his shoulder for a moment. Switching her brain to translation mode, she repeats each line as it's sung, then translates it for him.
"Y si entonces temblaras por mi … And if then, you tremble for me.
Lloraras al verme sufrir … would you cry to see me suffer?
Y sin dudar tu vida entera dar Como yo la doy por ti …
and give your whole life for me as I would give it for you?"
"Wow," he says, chuckling. "No wonder those guys get all the women!"
"That and their beautiful skin, dark eyes, dark hair … " she says, raising one eyebrow, teasing him. "All strong indicators of good breeding material," she comments, winking at him.
He rolls his eyes, then laughs. "So … you and Enrique, what are the chances?"
"Iglesias or Larrinaga?" she asks, giggling.
"Does that count as a double entendre ... both guys just happening to have the same first name?" he wonders out loud, wrinkling his forehead.
Now Bones rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him, smiling up at him, then realizes he was joking.
"Larrinaga is happily married, or, at least so it seems. And Iglesias … " she says, pretending to seriously consider this option, "he's is way too short for me." She smiles. "I like a big man. Who has something to grab hold of, take a bite out of."
"Saved by the measuring tape." He chuckles, resting his forehead on hers again.
"I'll take the snarky, slightly Italian guy any day," she says sweetly, rubbing noses with him, then kissing him quickly on the lips.
"Say something Spanishy to me,"says Booth.
"Anything," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "Something just for me …"
"I can count up to one million … sing the alphabet song," she offers, grinning.
"No, no, no. Give me something good, something personal …" he says, "maybe something intimate?"
"But what good is it if you don't know what I'm saying? I could say, 'my dog has fleas,' and you'd never know …" she teases him.
"How do you say that in Sanish?"
"Mi pero tiene pulgos."
Booth nods, pursing his lips. "See, anything sounds sexy in Spanish.
"Hm," she pauses. "Let me think for a minute …."
"Take your time. I can hear the wheels turning. I think I even smell something burning …" he hums, swaying her back and forth, then resting his cheek against her ear.
"Okay," she says, leaning back to look at him. "I'll tell you this - but you're going to have to translate it yourself."
"Woman of mystery … I can handle it."
"Here goes," she says, adopting the proper posture and tone for delivering a romantic message in a foreign language. The lips pouty, the eyes dreamy, her forearms laying along his shoulders, her fingers playing with the hairs in the back of his head. "Are you sure about this?"
"Sure, why not?" says Booth. Bones puts her lip to his right ear and delivers the following:
"Un día, nos vamos a duchar juntos. Y ese día, cuando nosotros
estemos por fin solos, voy a enseñarte cuanto te quiero."
"One day, we will shower together. And on that day,
when we are finally alone, I will show you how much I love you."
"That was so hot!" he says, nodding his head, impressed, having no idea how hot it actually is. He locks eyes with her. Wondering what it really means. Knowing her, it's something meaningful. Hopefully nothing about anthropology.
"So … what do you think it means?" she challenges him.
"Hmmmm. My cat has the mumps? The chicken pox?" he asks, trying to look serious.
"Not even close, Booth," she says, laughing at his feeble attempt.
"Don't tell me … okay, say it again," he asks. She nods, looking up into her memory to recall it word for word. This time she looks him in the eyes, and repeats the sentences again, but this time she wears a more serious, intense expression
"Un día, nos vamos a duchar juntos. Y ese día, cuando nosotros
estemos por fin solos, voy a enseñarte cuanto te quiero."
"That is sooo hot," he says, leaning down and biting her on the neck. "Okay. I have absolutely no idea what you just said."
"Let me know when you figure it out …" she says, a smile spreading all the way across her face.
"You really are going to make me translate it myself?"
"Of course, you need something to keep that frontal lobe engaged …" she laughs.
"You will write it down for me, though, right?"
"Sure. Oh, here's the best part of the song … " she says, listening once more to Enrique Iglesias singing to his lover. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she listens closely again, nodding as the words go in her ear, emerging translated into English. "This verse is pretty steamy," she warns. Once again she translates the words for Booth:
"Dejame tocarte … Let me touch you. Quiero acariciarte … I want to caress you."
"Man, they don't leave anything to the imagination, do they?" comments Booth.
"They are a pretty passionate bunch ..." she replies, nodding, smiling, then listening closely once more.
"Una vez mas, mira que al final … one more time, understand that in the end.
Lo que importa es qu te quiero … all that matters is that I love you."
"Hell, I'd go out with the guy if he said that to me ..."
"Booth, that's a very non-Alpha male thing to say. I'm proud of you."
He chuckles. "What you are hearing is the sound of my … what is it … frontal brain lobes … developing?"
"Oh," she says, "you're growing up. Right before my very eyes! What a pair we are."
"With all our brain activity combined, we could probably power an ocean liner," says Booth, smiling at her.
"I wouldn't need your help to power an ocean liner, Booth," she says, chuckling again. "But I appreciate the offer." She smiles at him.
"Whatever," he says, tightening his arms around her waist and dipping her to the right almost all the way to the floor, so her hair almost touches the ground behind her. She yelps, her eyes flying open to saucer size.
"A little warning would be nice next time!" she says, reaching down into the V of her neckline and tugging on the center of her bra, jiggling it a bit, attempting to return her body parts to their original, secured, location.
Booth laughs. "Ha! I've never actually seen anyone do that before!" he's amused. "I didn't know women had to adjust their clothing for comfort the way guys do ..."
"It's hardly the same," says Bones. "I was not responsible for the disturbed state of the body parts that resulted in the need to … readjust my undergarments."
"Neither are we men," he says, winking, then chuckling again. This is fun. It reminds him of something else that he needs to find out from her tonight … so he dips her again, this time to the left. Half way into the dip, he remembers she wanted to be warned the next time he did it. "And ... another dip," he says.
"A … warning … is supposed to come … before … the acrobatic dance move, genius," she says, noting the devilish grin on his face. Whoops. Devilish grin. She's missed something, but isn't sure what. She looks at him suspiciously, saying nothing. He continues swaying to the music, also saying nothing. The devilish grin persists, and gets bigger. She imagines him whistling the "I'm not up to anything" tune.
"What?" she says, reaching up to grab his chin, turning his face toward her. "What … is going on?" she asks suspiciously. "What have you done? OH!" she says, sensing warmth emanating from somewhere behind her. Has he backed me up against a heating source of some kind? she wonders. She twists her head around to see if anything's back there. Nothing. They are in the middle of the floor. The next couple is swaying to the music, three feet away, behind her.
Looking back at Booth, her eyes narrowed, she stares at him, turing her head to the left a couple of inches, she gives him the evil eye. "What the …?"
She becomes aware that the warmth is increasing in temperature. And a moment ago it was only near her waist band in the back, above her right back pocket. Now it seems to be creeping another half inch further toward the small of her back, inch by slow inch ... But the heat is a direct heat, too intense to have traveled through denim.
"Oh," she says, surprised, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. This is another panty check! A shot of adrenaline shoots through her chest like a sharp knife. Her hands slide from his neck, across his shoulders, and down his biceps, where she hangs on for dear life. It feels good to have something firm and solid to hold onto so she doesn't buckle at the knees.
Am I okay with this? she wonders. If things are going to go slow … where's the line we're not going to cross? This needs clarification. It's just that … well, he's creating a heat wave … throughout her body. Especially in the region below where his hand is now. This is not fair, she decides, shaking her head.
"What?" he says, trying to look innocent, but knowing he's far from it.
All of a sudden, everything else in the room goes black, except that hot sensation very slowly, and very deliberately inching its way toward the rise of her gluteus maximus. She can't exactly breathe. And she wishes they weren't it public because she's feeling an overwhelming need for privacy.
"Booth," she says, closing her eyes, furrowing her brow. "Either you aren't serious about your intentions for our relationship … going slowly, I mean … or, you seriously underestimated the affect that your exploratory touch would have on me … because …"
"Just checking on my property …" he says, watching her face the whole time.
"Wha - " she says, about to get righteous on him.
"Are these my panties?" he breathes, warmly, into her ear, cutting her off before she even gets starts her tirade about women not being chattel.
"No. Those are not your panties," she whispers back, "and neither will the other pair be, if you don't stop teasing me like this. As you know, in dire circumstances, I am not above blackmail." The warm breath in her ear and the hand on her bare skin are enough to just about do her in. Thank God it's dark in here, she thinks. "You are killing me," she whispers into his hear, "You've gotta stop ..."
"You've said that a couple of times, now, Bones. What exactly do you mean?"
"Oh …" she starts, her eyes still closed, "that I cannot be held responsible for my … actions if I've been tempted beyond my ability to maintain control. And what is your obsession with my panties, anyway?"
"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's," he replies, quoting the book of Matthew.
"Whatever happened to "Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's goods?" quoting the book of Exodus.
"Ah, but I'm not coveting my neighbors goods …"
"Oh … I beg to differ," she says. Talking delays the downward migration of his phalanges toward her sacrum, she notices. "And what about an eye for an eye? You'll get what is yours in good time, but I will expect to get what has been promised to me as well …" She is, of course, referring to the tee shirt she was promised in return for surrendering her panties back to him.
"You want me to take it off right now?" he says, challenging her.
"You are bluffing …" she says, leaning back to look at him. He lets go of her and reaches for the hem of his tee shirt, and starts to pull it above his belt buckle.
"NO! Okay - YOU WIN! Keep your clothes on!" she says, covering her mouth and laughing. At least she got him to stop messing with her circulation, for the moment.
"I should know better than to play chicken with you," she says, laughing. "I think it's time we sit down again ... and you need some cold water!" I need some too, she thinks, fanning herself.
I think I could go for a little cold water too ... how about you?