Hello, hello. It's hiatus time, which can sometimes be a good time for fic! The fab Sleepless in Atlanta and I are going to try to make it seem shorter by posting as many one-shots as possible from now until January 14th. BUT be advised…that's a LONG TIME! I don't know if we'll post every single day, but…at least a few times a week, I hope. We've chosen a few songs as inspiration.

Anyhow, this first post isn't actually smutty, but…oh well! It's inspired by Ingrid Michaelson's "Keep Warm"


Brennan watched as Booth shrugged out of his jacket and tie, and she eyed him as he used one hand to unbutton his shirt. He always looked so good in his suit—the only thing that tempted her more is when he started to take it off.

He was late tonight, later than she'd been, which was rare. And she could see the strain in his shoulders as he peeled off the rest of his clothing on his way to their bathroom. The sound of the bath faucet was next, and Brennan smiled to herself. From her position on their bed, she couldn't see him, but she almost felt like she could hear his every move and breath. It wasn't logical. There was no way she could hear him breathing over the sound of the running water, but she just knew him so well. She imagined him testing the water's temperature with a couple of fingers, swirling them around before turning on the whirlpool jets. She imagined the whoosh of his towel as it slipped from his skin and the soft, hoarse groan he'd give as he finally sank into the hot bath.

Unable to resist, she moved from their bed and made her way to the bathroom, standing in the doorway for a second, admiring the way Booth's bare and tan, muscled arms draped over the sides of the tub. The water jets were vigorous enough to prevent her from seeing much of his body below his chest, but she was content with what she had.

"Hello, Booth," she murmured, gently slipping her fingers through his hair for a second before perching against the side of the tub. He groaned out a response and immediately, his neck fell back toward her touch. She obliged without words, quickly skimming her fingers over his neck and shoulders.

"Bones…that feels incredible," he moaned, his neck falling forward to give her better access. Brennan used both hands and began a massage of his neck and shoulders. Tenderly, she caressed him, forgetting technique and concentrating only on the warm feel of his skin and the way she felt about him. He was hers, and a fierce sense of responsibility coursed through her. He was hers to love and protect. He was hers to touch and heal. He was hers to hear and know. He was hers to keep warm.