I haven't written anything in quite a while, so forgive me if I'm a bit rusty. A note about the inspiration for this is at the bottom.
Thanks to FauxMaven for checking this over, and for not minding (at least, not too much) my long absence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or anything to do with it, I just like to play around with the characters.
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Booth eases himself onto the bed next to her. She's sound asleep, lying in the middle of their bed. He's had less room to stretch out since she started sleeping there, but he doesn't mind. Her chest rises and falls steadily as he watches her. Light from the hallway spills through the open door, glinting on the red highlights in her brown hair. He reaches out and touches her bare arm, her skin so soft and supple. He marvels at the smoothness, wondering how her skin can feel like an abstract concept: innocence, or maybe purity. He notices the thin hairs covering her arm, hair so fine he can barely feel it under his fingertips. Ever so gently, he moves his fingers down her arm, across the crook of her elbow, to her hand that is half-curled under her chin.
His gaze moves over her, from her thick lashes to her thin eyebrows, to her mouth that is parted just enough that he can see her tongue resting at the edge of her lips. He feels her breath on his arm, warm and sweet. He loves her; this is neither new nor surprising, but still, as he watches her, his chest feels tight with the weight of this heady feeling. He never had a chance, of course—there is no resisting love like this. She's beautiful and sweet and strong; she is everything that is right in this world.
She shifts in her sleep, a tiny movement, but he freezes nonetheless. He does not want to disturb her. She sighs, closes then opens her mouth, making little sleep noises that are so familiar to him.
From the doorway, Brennan speaks, her voice a whisper that barely carries across the room. "You'll wake her up if you keep staring."
Booth glances up, takes in the image of his wife leaning on the doorframe. She wears thin shorts that leave her long legs bare, and a tank top that barely contains her fuller-than-usual breasts. He loves the way she wears motherhood. Beckoning to her, he indicates the space on the other side of their daughter. Brennan crosses the room silently and slips into bed, frequently checking that her movements aren't waking the infant in between them. Her hand slides low across the bed, around the bottom of her daughter's feet, and finds her husband's hand.
Holding her hand firmly in his, he shifts his gaze between Brennan and the baby that is the image of her mother.
He never had a chance, of course.
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So, I generally don't write stuff like this – I'm more into the tension between Booth and Brennan before they get together. But I've got a little one month old baby girl who likes to sleep in the middle of my bed, and every time I watch my husband stare at her, I think that I should write something about it. So, naturally.. fanfic! :) This story is titled after my daughter, who was born gently at home (on purpose) in early June.