Accessories of Epic Hotness


By: dharmamonkey & Lesera128
Rated: M
Disclaimer: Is anyone still reading these things? Of course, we include one with every story, more to amuse ourselves than anything. But, just in case anyone else gets a kick out of our pithy witticisms, here goes. Prepare for an excited utterance: WE OWN NOTHING. We still wish we did. We suspect many of our readers still wish we did, too. But, alas, we're just poor paupers who jacked you know who's Bones sandbox. Heh. So there.


Chapter 4 - Earrings

A/N: The first three "Accessories" pieces dealt with items Booth wears that sets Brennan off. It was time to turn the tables and hit on an accessory worn by Brennan that sends Booth into orbit. Lots of choices here, but we went with earrings because...well, you'll see...

Logistical Note: This story is set sometime in Season 8.

UNF Alert: You know what this is and why it's here. If you don't care to read about adults engaged in adult activities, or if your mom & dad would prefer you didn't, then it behooves you to find another story to read. This one will get a little toasty. For the rest of you, enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving!


Booth watched her all evening, just drinking in the sight of her as she moved around the hall, a glass of sweet Riesling in her hand as she smiled sweetly and chatted up various crispy-tuxedoed Jeffersonian donors that flocked to her. He kept a distance for most of the night, not because he felt out of place—even though he always did feel a touch off-kilter in these situations, surrounded by people he knew to be wealthier, more socially-connected, more prestigious, and who had more formal education than he did—but because he loved watching her hold court in the realm in which she alone reigned supreme. As the would-be donors listened to her regale them with stories of her fieldwork and teaching career, ostensibly hanging on to her every word while for professional curiosity, Booth could tell many of them were as awed by her stunning beauty as they were by her brilliance or her professional stature. He watched them as they watched her with wide eyes and insuppressible smiles hanging on their lips as she replied to each query in turn, her dark, finely-shaped eyebrow arched as she gestured with one hand and held her wine glass with the other.

Every so often, one of the would-be donors would ask what he assumed to be an especially well-informed or surprising question. Usually, when a reaction registered on Brennan's face for a beat before it was gone, the original querent would reach out, touching her arm as they spoke for some reason. Booth wasn't quite sure why they all seemed to do that. He wondered if maybe it was their way of making sure they held onto her attention. Another voice in his head gently reminded him that maybe not every person who asked her a question was touching her, and because he was sensitive about the whole thing, his mind was just exaggerating things. Still, whatever the reason, Booth couldn't help it as he felt a sharp flash of protectiveness. He wasn't sure how that emotion translated in his body language, but when he accidently caught Brennan's eyes, he could tell there must've been some type of significant change. She registered his displeasure even as he unintentionally silently shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stood back at the corner of the open bar, and held his glass of Loch Lomond eighteen-year single malt scotch in front of his lips. In response, she gave a minute nod to him and then in a subtle, but still dignified way, pushed the offending arm away. Once the arm was back where it belonged, and she had reasserted her control of her personal space, she continued speaking as if nothing had ever been amiss.

That's my girl, he thought with a smirk. You show 'em, Bones.

He noted with a smile how she would keep a space clear behind her, and he wondered if she was subconsciously protecting the space that he had long ago staked out as his territory alone: the small of her back. For years, he'd ushered her through doors, in and out of rooms, down hallways and gently, subtly pulled her closer by placing his hand there, barely touching her most times as his fingers ghosted just above the waistband of her slacks or skirt. He knew, even then, that she knew what he was doing—that there was too much anthropological symbolism, blah, blah, blah for it to be purely innocent—but she never stopped him from doing it. Looking back, he was sure that, somewhere deep down, she knew all along that, whatever they were, they were more than 'just partners.'

Booth stood there for several long moments, just watching her, his eyes following the line of her slender arms up to her shoulders and along the arch of her cream-colored neck, and he remembered the night they had first gotten together, and how remarkable it had been. In so many ways, that one night in his bed had changed everything between them, but in another way, very little had changed. Making love to her was merely another incremental step in a long sequence steps they taken—sometimes together and sometimes individually. So it seemed that when they fell back onto his bed, his arms wrapped around her as she sobbed over the loss of her much loved intern—Vincent Nigel-Murray, murdered by a sniper's bullet that, but for the grace of God, had been meant for Booth—who had bled out on the floor of the lab, closing the last measure of distance between them was effortless. He remembered seeing her body for the first time when she'd let him peel off his old, stretched-out FBI sweatshirt and how the breath had caught in his throat at the sight of her porcelain skin, almost luminescent in the dim light of his bedroom as he reached for her, unable to resist the impulse to reach up and feel her taut rosy-hued nipples against the palms of his hands.

He blinked away the thought as her head slowly turned and her eyes once again swiveled to meet his. For a long moment—several seconds, at least—they looked at each other from across the room once again, and Booth felt a flutter in his belly when her serious expression brightened into a lovely smile that showed up on her beautiful face far too rarely as far as he was concerned.

It was only then that Booth realized that the after-dinner reception was finally winding down. He grinned broadly at the realization, and the grin widened on his face as he watched Brennan make her way across the room towards him. She wore her shiny auburn hair in a messy chignon, with a fringe of wispy curls around her face. She held her head high and smiled back at him sweetly as she resisted being pulled into another conversation as she snaked her way through the slowly-thinning crowd, shrugging as she said some sort of apology and indicated with a slight jerk of her chin towards where Booth was standing, waiting for her.

As she emerged from the simmering throng of people and approached him, Booth felt his senses fill with the awareness of her that was never completely gone from his heart or mind. For whatever reason, as she moved closer to him, it was the sound of her approach—the crisp, decisive click of her high heels on the wood floor of the reception hall—that struck him first. His eyes widened as he drank in the sight of her in her dark green dress with her delicate pale green amber wire necklace and matching earrings.

His gaze locked onto those earrings, entranced by the way their polished, marquise-cut sparkled under the room's chandeliered light as the tiny bubbles and imperfections in the citrine-hued resin caught the warm, angular glow from above, making her pale bluish-green eyes seem far greener than he'd ever seen them before, and by the way the green stones wobbled as she turned her head and the way the silver French loops hugged her earlobes so snugly. He felt his heart begin to race, pulsing in his throat as his breaths grew shallow, as he found himself unable to tear his eyes from her earlobes and the smooth crescent of soft, silky skin that surrounded them.

Booth licked his lips and felt a surge of heat crackle up his spine as Brennan's hand brushed across his cuff and palmed his hip. Her touch electrified him and made him shiver—just as it always had—but it was the sound of her voice, and the feel of her warm breath on his jaw, that took his own breath away.

"Hi, Booth," she said, her voice low but bright with the smile he knew she wore as it tugged gently at her bejeweled earlobes. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple dipping low in his throat as his brown eyes held hers. His mouth fell open but for several seconds, no words came out as his nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume and, beneath it, the undertone of her sweat, the scent of which had long since been burned into his sensory memory.

"Booth?" she inquired with a small tilt of her head.

"I'm ready to get out of here," he said to her, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he leaned in close to her, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as his ragged breath streamed from his nostrils and tickled the wisps of hair that framed her temple. "Let's go."

She considered his words, a small look of confusion causing her brow to furrow. She then pulled away from him slightly, but gently squeezed his hip with her hand. "Is everything alright?" she asked him. "I mean, I know how you hate these kinds of events, but you seemed to be doing so well thus far, and I—"

"I wanna go home," he grumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he grabbed her wrist roughly. "Now."

The crinkles in her brow furrowed into a deeper set of lines, seeing the way his heavy jaw had suddenly hardened, his forehead creasing as he looked up at her expectantly, his lips pouting as he silently begged her.

"Okay," she agreed, tucking her dyed-to-match leather pocketbook under one arm, hooking her other arm around his as they made their way out towards the lobby. "Let's go," she finished even as Booth promptly presented the claim ticket to the valet.

A minute or two after they pulled away from the Arlington, Virginia hotel where the Jeffersonian foundation hosted its fundraiser, Booth turned to her and, making a scarcely-audible growling sound in his throat as his eyes scanned her face, pausing for a moment as the passing street lights sparkled against the tiny bubbles in her green amber earrings. He blinked, then brought his eyes back to the damp, glistening pavement in front of him.

"Are you cold?" he asked her, his voice a bit gruff as he focused on the road in front of them. "I can turn the heat on if you want."

"No, I'm fine," Brennan said, shaking her head and quietly waving off the question, puzzled by her normally loquacious partner's sudden descent into silence. She then paused and then added, "I mean, unless you want to...then you can. But, you don't need to do it for me."

Booth never took his eyes from the road, but grunted back, "No, I'm good."

After his single sentence, the pair lapsed into another bout of awkward silence. Trying to figure out what had caused the obvious shift in Booth's mood, and confused when an answer wasn't immediately obvious, Brennan fell back on her scientific skills of observation. For a couple of minutes, she simply watched him. His fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel, but would tighten, then loosen again before tightly curling around the wheel again. She watched his lips purse, rolling between his teeth as he sighed though flaring nostrils, then pout before he opened his mouth and took a slow breath, glancing quickly at her out of the corner of his eye before once more returning his gaze to the road.

After a few more moments, feeling her gaze weigh heavy on him, he swallowed, cleared his throat and asked quietly, his voice tight and choked, "Wanna turn on the radio?"

Somewhat startled by his abrupt question amid the near-silence that had blanketed them since they left the event, Brennan shook her head and turned once more to stare out the window. "No," she said, a vaguely plaintive tone in her voice. "That's fine." Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest, unable to shake the feeling that he was angry with her. She opened her mouth to speak and considered apologizing for leaving him languishing at the bar during the last hour of the reception, but as she tried to form her statement into words, something about the way he looked, and the dangerous tension that radiated from him in waves, made her hold back. She closed her mouth and silently shrugged.

Booth made another low noise, something between a grunt and a growl, then narrowed his eyes as he focused on the roadway, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly she could see his knuckles whitening. Several more minutes went by and he scarcely looked at her.

They'd just crossed the Frances Scott Key Bridge when she finally decided she couldn't take any more of the tension and silence.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, her eyebrows arched in uncertainty. She saw his masseter muscle clench, then loosen again in a cycle so quick it made his mandible appear to pulse beneath the pebbled, uneven skin of his jaw. "Did I do something wrong, Booth?" she said. "Offend you somehow, perhaps? Because if I did so, you have to know there was no intent on my part. It was purely accidental."

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, then opened his eyes again. "No," he said. "You didn't offend me, Bones." Then he went quiet again.

The silence continued for another twenty minutes until they pulled into the driveway of their house. Even as they stepped out of the Sequoia and walked towards the door, Booth's communications were little more than mumbled groups of syllables and grunts as he reached into the pocket of his tuxedo to fish out his keys. Holding the keys in his hand, he turned and looked at her, the telltale tic in his jaw and a slight tremble in his hand signaling that the tension that had been roiling inside of him on the drive from Arlington had not abated. After a moment, a slow sigh rattled in his throat as he jerked the key into the lock and fumbled it open. His hand migrated to the small of her back—the first sustained physical contact between them since they'd walked out of the reception hall—as he pushed her through the door and closed it behind him with a sharp jab of his foot.

Frustrated by his behavior—and even more annoyed by her lack of ability to discern a reason for his change in mood—Brennan whirled around and tilted her head to the side. "You haven't said more than a couple dozen words to me since we left the fundraiser," she said. "And since we agreed we weren't going to be polite anymore, I want to know what's wrong."

Booth's rigid jaw opened and shifted from one side to the other as he took a step towards her, reaching out and grabbing her arms. He closed his hands around the smooth skin of her bare upper arms and twirled her around, pushing her into the back of the door. A deep, feral growl sounded low in his throat as he pressed his hips into hers. He opened his mouth to say something, his jaw opening and closing slightly as if he were trying to form words, but as his heart pounded in his chest and his blood roared in his ears, he couldn't formulate a coherent thought. With a grunt, he jerked his hip against her again and leaned in close, angling his head as he pressed his lips to hers.

"Booth," she breathed against his lips. "I..."

He pulled away slightly, rolling his jaw from side to side as his eyes—which had darkened from a warm chocolate to the color of molten pitch—stared into her pale, glittering greenish-blue ones. Again his mouth moved as if he were going to say something, but no words came out, and with another guttural growl, he mashed his mouth against hers again, sliding his tongue along the cleft between her lips to encourage her to accept his kiss. After a moment of hesitation and another thrust of his hip, which left no doubt in her mind as to how deeply aroused he was, Brennan opened her mouth to his eager tongue.

Booth's hands gripped her arms hard as he kissed her, his tongue surging into her sweet mouth as his lips grasped at hers. His chest filled at once with an aching warmth born of insatiable hunger and endless wonder at how this woman, this singular woman, could unwind him with just a single, simple gesture. Swiping his tongue across her teeth and lips as he pulled away from their kiss, he loosened his grip on her arms as he gasped for breath.

"Those earrings," he growled, licking his lips as his head bobbed slightly, leaning in again so that his lips came within fractions of an inch of touching hers again before he backed away again, his eyes darting between meeting hers with a dark, hungry stare and fixating again on the glittering green, marquise-cut earrings that dangled from her lobes.

He was about to lean in again and attack the tender spot just below her ear when he felt her hands slip under his tuxedo coat and slide it off his shoulders. Wriggling out of the rented coat and letting it fall to the floor, he swallowed as her fingers skimmed over his belly and down to the button-closure at the front of his trousers.

"Bones..." She nimbly thumbed open his trousers and was about to pull down his zipper when he batted her hands away. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?" he told her. "It's been everything I could do not to limp around all fucking night with a raging goddamn hard-on looking at you—" He reached for her hip and turned her around, pushing her gently into the door again. "I knew..." His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he felt his lips tingle at the sight of the back of her slender neck, so soft and delicate and kissable. "I knew if I so much as looked at you on the drive home, I'd have pulled that fucking car over and taken you right there in the backseat in some empty parking lot or alley somewhere."

Pressing a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, he let his hot breath tickle her skin as he reached for the zipper on the back of her forest green evening gown. He began to unzip her slowly, very slowly, as he leaned in, dragging his lower lip along the shell of her ear.

"The way you looked tonight..." He kissed the back of her ear softly, letting his tongue dart out and wet the delicate curve of cartilage. "Like one of those sexy-as-all-fuck Greek goddesses that you are always dragging me to see in the galleries that seem to be at every museum we ever go to—Jesus Christ, Bones. You are just so fucking hot...and more importantly, every man there tonight looked at you and wondered what it would be like to be with you. Seeing you with them, and them touching you..."

His lips migrated lower, brushing against the place where the flesh of her earlobe emerged from the base of her ear's long curve. He swallowed, a sharp tingle at the base of his spine making him shudder as his nose filled with the smell of her perfume and the unique scent that was hers alone.

"But I knew..." He opened his mouth and closed his lips around her earlobe, tasting the metallic flavor of her earwire faintly on his tongue.

"God, Boooooothhhh," she sighed as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to his mouth. He sucked on her earringed earlobe, murmuring with pleasure as his hands slipped the spaghetti-straps of her dress off her shapely shoulders and tugged the dress down her hips. Brennan sighed again, pressing her ass against his hardened groin, her own impatience growing with each pull he gave her earlobe. She felt herself drowning in his touch and didn't realize how quick he'd managed to undress her until she heard the faint riiiip of his own zipper.

"Those earrings..." He shoved his trousers and his boxer briefs off his hips in single movement, drawing a circle around the side of her earlobe with the point of his tongue. "The way...the light..." His fingers curled around the waistband of her black tanga panties, hesitating for a brief second before sliding them over the soft, warm round of her hips and down towards her knees. "Made your eyes so..." Booth pressed his knee between her thighs and parted them. "I've always loved your eyes..." His hand reached between her legs, his fingertips skimming along the damp curls that covered her cleft to confirm what he already knew. "Always loved those eyes..." His long, thick forefingers parted her folds as she groaned at the contact. "Always loved you—"

Brennan's head arched back as he slid into her, filling her with a sharp roll of his hips as he pulled his lips from her ear.

"Oh God, Booth," she gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as he began to move, his fingertips pressing hard into the flesh of her hips as he drove into her from behind, the rhythmic aggression with which he stroked into her below tempered by the gentle kisses his lips placed along the curve of her bare shoulder. "Fuck."

"All night," he murmured into her shoulder, grunting as he bottomed out inside of her, holding himself there for a long moment, savoring the feeling of filling her up, of possessing her, before he withdrew briefly and plunged back into her again. "All...all goddamn night..." A quiet growl sounded from him as his heavy balls smacked against the tender, white skin of her ass. "All goddamn night...watching you talk to all those hoity-toity losers...I kept reminding myself that I'd be the one taking you home...taking you like this..."

"Yes," she cried as he jerked into her, his fingers squeezing her hips hard enough that, somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind where rational thought still prevailed, she wondered if he'd leave bruises.

"The way you touched those earrings of yours," he sighed as he felt his balls tighten. "The ones I bought you."

"Yours," she whispered. She felt a wobble in her knees and let the door in front of her support her as the room around her began to spin with each of his driving strokes. "I'm yours," she said again, her voice firm even as she felt her limbs begin to shake, her body tensing, clenching hard around him as he acknowledged her words with a hard, possessive upward thrust that sent him as deeply inside of her as he could go. "Just harder, please. Fuck...I need...harder. Please."

"Mmmmm," he grunted, stroking his thumbs over the small of her back as he rocked into her, throwing his head back and moaning as he felt her shatter, every muscle in her body tensing before relaxing again as her silky folds quivered around him, seemingly begging to milk him as he, too, broke. "Mine...ohhh...unnnnngggffffthhh," he groaned as he stroked into her one last time, holding himself there with a long sigh as he emptied himself into her, his head dropping forward, his sweat-dotted forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder.

"Oh, fuck, Booth," Brennan mumbled after a minute as she struggled to catch her breath, opening her eyes and smirking at the realization that the sexual tension that had built up over the course of the evening had meant that they hadn't made it so much as five feet into their house before losing all control.

"But it was so worth it," Booth said with a snicker, as if he'd read her very mind. "Mmmm?" He pressed a soft kiss against the damp skin of her shoulder and smiled as he waited for her response.

"Definitely," she agreed, turning her head to the side with a wicked grin. "Although I will apparently have to think twice before wearing those earrings to work, won't I?"

He nipped at her earlobe with his teeth as the earring wobbled against his lower lip. "Mmmm," he murmured as he took her tender flesh between his lips and gave it one last, languid suck. "Definitely."


A/N: Mmmmm. Definitely. So, how was that? Did you folks enjoy that? We sure did. (And so did our heroes, apparently.)

So, for our next trick...well, we aren't sure, actually. We have a big, long list of "Accessories" and we'll have to decide which one to do next. In the meantime, we're working on getting "A Would-Be Reunion" (the 8th story in Dharmasera's epic Angel/Bones crossover series) ready for prime-time. We also have a few more of those Angel/Bones crossover oneshots that will go up as part of our "Compendium" series. So there's more Dharmasera goodness on tap.

In the meantime, let us know how we did with this one. Please take a moment to leave us a review in that very conveniently-located little review box below. If you're not logged into FFnet and want us to know who you are when you review, sign your name to it. Otherwise, we may be left wondering where to send flowers... ;-)

As always, thanks for reading. You guys really are great.