Like I said, I finally did rename this story. I just love "The Past in the Present" so much and I thought it was fitting. Alright, here comes some smut :-)
X. The Gun She Got
The elevator doors opened with a ping, revealing a slender woman on high heels. She strode the hall with confident steps, the clatter of her shoes matching the rhythm of her swaying hips, and her skirt was a wavy as her hair. More than one agent interrupted his task to watch her.
"The famous Dr. Brennan."
Silent whistles could be heard.
"The one and only. Plus, they have a kid."
"Whoa! A kid?"
"A girl. Sweet little thing."
"I had no idea."
"Man, where have you been the past two years?"
"She's for sure a sight for sore eyes."
Sneaking looks followed Brennan as she entered her partner's office, sneaking looks registered her puzzlement upon finding it empty.
"Yeah, but she's got all the answers, you know what I mean?"
"No, no, for some reason they have this strange symbiotic thingy going on. Highest solve rate in history of the department."
"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind partnering with her..."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but you don't have the balls."
Brennan approached the two whispering agents, and the younger one's face turned to crimson. His coworker managed to look staid enough.
"Taking a break. You might wanna check the gun range."
Turning around without a word of goodbye, she headed towards the exit, leaving behind nothing but a whiff of her expensive scent and two dazzled agents.
The gun range. How convenient...
The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, and a strange kind of excitement whispered down her spine, as Brennan entered the firing range. For some reasons, guns had always fascinated her, even though, as a forensic anthropologist, she had seen the damage they could inflict firsthand.
Maybe it was because she had been so defenseless as a child, maybe there were anthropological reasons, maybe she just liked the simple logic of their construction... Once Booth had told her that he was her gun, and even though Brennan had never let it show, his statement had touched her deeply.
He had been so much more than just her gun; he had been the first one to protect her.
And, besides, she wasn't ashamed to admit that there were few things hotter than Booth with his gun. Muscles tensed, jaw set, his whole body as cocked as the weapon itself. Iron and steel... FBI, freeze!
Pleasant tingles coiled in her belly, as she recalled the vivid image of her partner in action, but then Brennan squared her shoulders, feeling slightly guilty for her fantasies. After all, sometimes, pulling the trigger meant ending a life... And she didn't want that for him.
Booth had worked so hard to righten his cosmic balance sheet, and his nightmares had only gotten better after he had started sleeping beside her on a daily basis. Now they were rare visitors, and, afterwards, they didn't haunt him anymore like they used to. Brennan had never been a spiritual person, but it seemed as if he had finally found some kind of peace, and she was truly grateful for that.
No, she didn't want him to pull the trigger. But, still, seeing him with his gun...
He was in the shooting stall right at the end, and Brennan granted herself one moment to appreciate the view. His broad back to her, she could admire his perfect structure, could envision the play of muscles underneath his suit.
Taking a deep breath and one more step, she alerted him to her presence.
He turned around, surprise written all over his face, but, soon, joy upon seeing her took over.
"Bones! What are you doing here?"
"Saying hi. I wanted to pick you up for lunch, but this is even better..."
Eyebrows arched up.
Walking around him, she inspected his weapon.
"Sure, be my guest."
Squinting at the target at the far end, she emptied the ammo clip, and he whistled.
"I'm an excellent shot."
"I know. Still, no guns for squints."
Closing the distance to her, he placed his hands on her hips from behind, as she reloaded the gun. Her skirt felt flimsy under his touch, and he rubbed the material between his rough fingertips; the ones that smelled like gunpowder. Leaning backwards, she fell into his solid frame, absorbing his warmth, his strength.
"Remember the first time we met in a gun range?" she suddenly asked.
A soft groan was her answer, and the grip on her hips tightened.
"Be a cop?"
"So you remember."
"The man who can forget that has yet to be born. You were so..."
His voice trailed off, and she wiggled her hips, pressing herself closer into his touch.
"I was so wet..."
He choked on his breath.
"That day... I was so wet," she repeated calmly, and, somewhere against her lower back, she could feel something hardening.
"Bones! You cannot say things like that in the middle of the day. In public."
"You're on lunch break, I'm on lunch break. Technically, we're not working."
He sucked in a breath. And another one.
The hands on her hips started to roam, kneading the flesh underneath her clothes, and her head fell backwards, hitting his shoulder.
"I'm not wearing any underwear," she suddenly whispered, and the rest of his blood rushed southwards.
Her husky voice covered his skin with goosebumps, and he took the forgotten gun out of her hands, securing it.
"Where are we going?"
Turning around, she watched him with flushed cheeks and parted lips, and, acting on impulse, he caught her between the wall and his body. Instead of backing away, she leaned into his space, moving closer until her breath was tickling his face, like it had back then.
And, just like back then, he couldn't stop his gaze from flickering to her lips.
"You challenged me," he finally murmured, "like nobody else had ever challenged me. You told me how to do my job. As if I was some kind of greenhorn. Maddening woman..."
"Murders are not solved by scientists... That's what you said."
"I was wrong," he admitted honestly.
"Yes, but I was wrong as well. Murders are solved by us. The way we are, Booth. Together."
"Still... I kinda wanted to strangle you."
His dark voice hit her hard, and sudden wetness rushed between her legs.
"Yeah. That and... kiss you."
Tilting her head, she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
Licking his lips, he zoomed in on her mouth, seeing nothing but pink softness. Perfect curves, perfectly applied lipstick waiting for him to smudge it. Blinking once, twice, he finally took her hand.
This time, she did not protest, and he led her to an empty storage room down the hallway. The door closed behind them, leaving them alone in darkness that smelled like dust, that smelled faintly like gunpowder as well. Or, maybe, that was just him.
In the darkness, she could feel his breath on her face once more, hot and challenging, and he was so close, but he didn't lean in to kiss her, to finally kiss her, kiss her like he had already wanted to kiss her that very first time; no, he was just hovering there, taking in her proximity.
"Booth," she whispered, and then she could feel the pad of his thumb running across her lower lip.
"Why do you pick me up for lunch without wearing underwear?" he finally asked, and she swallowed a moan.
"The Diner," she uttered. "So many fantasies."
"The Diner, huh?"
"Yes. But when I heard that you were here... I adapted."
"Even more fantasies..."
One hand slid down her side, rumpling the fabric of her skirt until he met the skin of her thigh. Soft, so soft...
"That first time here... you didn't back away from me."
"Why should I?"
There was honest wonder in her voice, and a smile that none of them could see curved up his lips. Of course, why should she? Back away from a guy that was both stronger and taller than she was. A guy who had a gun. Temperance Brennan had always stood her ground, and how could he possibly explain to her how extraordinary that was, how extraordinary she was?
"Yeah, why should you..."
Expecting him to kiss her, she closed her eyes on reflex, but, suddenly, he was gone, and a few unexpected seconds later, his face was buried in the vee of her thighs, nothing but the thin fabric of her skirt separating them.
A sharp gasp left her lips.
Shifting her weight, she tried to give him better access, but one hand was already palming the back of her thigh, hooking her leg over his shoulder. Cool air was tickling her most sensitive spots, but then she could feel the warmth of his breath again, and, this time, it was an entirely different sensation.
She inhaled a shuddered breath, but before her lungs were full of air, she could feel the heat of his tongue between her legs. And again. Her head hit the wall. Oh God...
Wet, she was so wet. Aroused, ready, hot – whatever word there was to describe it, she was it, and the very own taste of her clouded his mind with all-consuming longing. Nudging her legs further apart, he buried his face deeper between her thighs; using his lips to suck her into his mouth, using the raspy length of his tongue to rub her.
He could smell her, a heady scent he knew so intimately, but, never before had he smelled the combination of her desire and gunpowder, and, through time and space, some words flew back to him...
When it comes to a man and his gun, a woman is the natural cure. Take Dr. Brennan to this shooting event of yours. You won't fail in front of her.
For a brief moment, it overwhelmed him somehow; the things they had been, the things they'd become, but the moment vanished and he was back with her in an abandoned storage room, his lips between her legs.
A groan left his chest, vibrating against her flesh, hitting her core, and Brennan was suddenly scared that she might fall. Sensing it, knowing her, he shoved his hands under her skirt, using his palms to cup her buttocks, to support her weight, pressing her even deeper into his intimate kiss.
Her words were burning, and the tip of his tongue dipped into her molten heat.
"You're my gun," she whispered breathlessly, and he grunted, releasing her just long enough to speak.
"You can bet on it, Baby. I'd kill for you."
I already have...
"And so would I, so would I..."
Then his mouth was back, lips and tongue and friction and pressure, licking, sucking and caressing, and, after a while, it all mingled in one sensation, a sensation that was devouring her; or maybe that was just him.
She was panting somewhere above him, and the sound urged him on, drove him even deeper into her, even faster, even harder. It was too much, almost painful, and he hadn't even touched her breasts, hadn't even kissed her lips, hadn't taken her into his arms... had just taken her, was taking her, was licking her and – oh my God – was pushing into her and pushing her; pushing her over the edge of something until she was crying out, quivering around him, contracting with ancient force.
Like a gun that had been fired...
One breath later, she was on two legs again, and he was standing, holding her safely in the circle of his arms, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Fingers tapped her chin, tilting her head, and then, finally, she felt the pressure of his lips so gentle against hers, found her very own taste in his kiss.
Hasty fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, with his zipper, and even though the strained muscles and tendons in her leg cried out in protest, she lifted it again, hooking it around his hip.
With his lips on hers, he found her entrance, pulsating hardness meeting pliant flesh, and he joined them in one long stroke full of slow tenderness, stretching her oh so wonderfully. Her head fell onto his shoulder on a moan, and he held her tight to his body.
"I love you like this," he murmured, and she chuckled.
"No... just all soft and cuddly, you know?"
Her laugh turned into a gasp, as he hit just the right spot, tiny aftershocks still coursing through her body; and he could feel it as well, groaning in response. His rhythm lost its sweet finesse for just one moment, and she did it again, squeezing her inner muscles, deliberately this time.
Turning her head, she sucked the sensitive skin of his neck between her lips, biting softly, the scent of after-shave and him invading her senses.
"Stop being gentle."
With a groan, he raised her leg even higher, slamming into her without restraint. Once. And twice. She tightened around him, pulling him further into her perfect, her freaking perfect heat, and he crushed her against his body, thrusting harder and deeper and even deeper.
Moving her lips just a few inches, she caught his earlobe between her teeth.
"You're my gun," she repeated once more, and it was everything and too much all at once, and, with one last powerful stroke that left her breathless, he came inside of her; came with a soft curse, the warmth of his seed rushing into her.
Then there was darkness...
Lips met as he lowered her leg. Tissues came in handy. Clothes were rearranged. Fresh panties found in her purse. When they left the storage room ten minutes later, the knees of his pants were suspiciously dusty, her skirt slightly wrinkled, but, other than that, nothing betrayed their steamy encounter.
His hand found her smaller one on their way out, clasping it.
One dazzling smile for him.
"Best lunch break ever."
To be continued...