This is a companion piece to my story "Red or purple?" - you don't have to read that one, of course, but this one will make more sense if you do! It seemed to want to be written, somehow...
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Clearly I can't control them.
Did you get it?
He slips his phone into his pocket and tries to forget about it.
Beep-beep.
I still don't see why you can't just adapt something.
He sighs, typing his response as he navigates the building.
She'll know. And I need the shape.
He can visualise her composing a response on the other end.
Beep-beep.
It's February, you can't escape the damn things! What colour?
He frowns. She should know.
Purple, of course!
Honestly, what is the point of any other colour?
Beep-beep
Red is more traditional – and what if they don't have purple? How about orange?
Orange?! Is she serious?
You really going to tell me orange looks good on me?
This time, the response is unnaturally quick.
Beep-beep
What is it with you two? You take me so seriously! Orange looks silly on everyone.
"Where've you been?"
He looks up as he walks into her office, hurriedly closing his phone. "Um..."
She raises her eyebrows. "That's all? Where's your elaborate excuse involving an urgent phone call and a dog running in front of the car?" Her carefully maintained blank expression lapses into a grin.
"Well, I'm here now," he counters cheerfully, flopping down on her couch. "And you're not even ready."
She stares at him. "You rang me half an hour ago and told me to be ready in fifteen minutes. Then you weren't here, so I found something to do. I'm on a schedule here, Booth."
He wonders if flirting will get him out of this.
Beep-beep.
You won't believe this – no purple. Not even red. How is green?!
He glares at the screen. Oh well. At least green isn't orange…
Green is fine.
"Green?" Temperance looks at him questioningly.
He realises she was reading over his arm as he replied. "Er… yes. Green. For, um, Parker's carpet."
"You're doing his room up?"
"Well... Yes. I must be. Shall we go?" He starts for the door, only to be yanked back by her hand grabbing his belt.
"Want to christen the new carpet?" she murmurs in his ear, giggling as she watches his face redden.
"Bones! You promised!" he protests, backing away from her slightly.
"Oh, yes, I did, didn't I?" She winks at him and briefly presses her lips to his.
Then, before he has a chance to respond, she saunters through the door, still laughing to herself.
He's lost count of the number of times in the last two months she has left him fighting desire with annoyance. He knows now that desire wins every time.
"Hey hey."
He looks up. "How did you get in? Never mind... Did you get it?!" He really shouldn't be so into this...
Angela throws a bag at him. "Oh yes... And you are turning into one freaky boyfriend. Even more so than before, I mean."
He peeks in the bag. "Still not sure I'm a boyfriend. She's... She calls me her something." He doesn't care that the descriptor is feeble; he knows what she means.
"Oh, I know you're something, sweetie." Angela laughs, and he's amazed how dirty a wink can be. "And I don't have to see you naked to know that – I've got sources."
"Angela!" It's not shock in his voice – but this is the fourth time this week that Angela has made him blush and he really has to make Temperance keep her mouth shut. Although when she opens it she deepens the kiss, soft and tender, growing impassioned as she loses herself in him, then her open mouth sliding …
"Earth to Booth," Angela whispers in his ear, chuckling softly. "Now's not the time for daydreaming. Well, it's always the time, but you have to walk through these hallowed halls and you know…"
He bites his lip. It's only been two months, but already he can sense her walls crumbling. Not just with him. She's gained a new desire to share, one that leads to uncomfortable conversations for him when she doesn't hesitate to tell his colleagues why he wears that belt – and why she takes it off him.
"Well, she says these things aren't an unreasonable manifestation of sexual desire," he starts, before Angela clamps a hand over his mouth.
"Oh no. You've started internalising her. Don't do that. Just ignore everything she says and stare at her, she's hot."
"I'm not internalising her. And she's not just hot, she's other stuff. She's funny when she doesn't mean to be and her instincts are better than she thinks. Although she is hot too, so don't you go telling her I just think she's smart, she'll…"
Angela's hand halts his lips once more. "Babbling. You may be hunky and she may want to lock you in the bedroom, but you have got to learn to stop babbling. Especially when you're digging yourself a hole. Got it?"
Booth prises his ally's fingers away. "Got it," he allows, wondering how often he can get locked in the bedroom.
Beep-beep.
Use your key, I'm cooking.
She's fleetingly startled – cooking? He was in her office half an hour ago, muttering about pizza.
I'll be 10 minutes. Should I pick up anything?
She turns the key in the ignition, unable to thwart the slow smile spreading over her face. It's the smile she knows she's worn more often over the past two months. This is them now, shared keys and assumptions of company. She realises now that she will never find a perfect label for what they have. Today she described him as her boyfriend for the first time, and it felt natural enough to induce that smile. He doesn't care what she calls him – but she does.
Beep-beep.
She waits until the traffic lights to check her phone. Last week, he sent a message that made her face flush, her chest tighten, her thighs clench and the car stall. Dangerous driving in 160 characters.
You're always enough for me.
She can't help feeling tingly at his effortless sweetness.
Strange how you wanted me to play librarian then...
She sniggers, knowing it will provoke him. It has been worth the waiting. She no longer wonders why he didn't push it earlier. She feels like she's living all the experiences she missed out on – and now she can appreciate them. Now she only wants to experience them with him.
Beep-beep.
You weren't exactly holding back… You were practically tearing my clothes off ;-)
She stares at the phone, sitting outside his apartment. He promised not to remind her of her over-zealous enthusiasm.
It was YOUR fault! You sent me twenty texts telling me what you were going to do to me! I got... warmed up.
She can visual his self-satisfied grin and knows he will be preening his metaphorical feathers.
Beep-beep.
I must be good – and at least you didn't fall asleep on me like last night.
Bastard.
I was tired! And you could have woken me up!
Beep-beep.
I wore you out! I'm goooood! So get yourself in here and I'll prove how good...
She groans. Oh hell.
Her key turns easily in the lock. She's been using it more recently – he really does see it as her second home. He has been steady enough for both of them through this. She has laid her foundations now, but they have been shored up by his.
"Booth!" she calls, hanging her coat behind the door and slipping her shoes off.
"In the kitchen!" comes the answering shout. He is singing along wordlessly to something, the occasional flat note reaching her ear.
Is he playing opera? She won't admit it to him, but she isn't sure if she likes opera.
"Opera? Do you really-" She stops. And although she knows that a curtailed squeal is what escapes her lips, she's pretty sure she doesn't have urge to contain her exhilaration right now.
He's facing her, wearing only that impish grin she still can't resist.
And an apron in the shape of a green heart.
"I wanted purple," he admits with a smirk, as her eyes scan him approvingly.
She forces her eyes back up to his face. "At least it's not orange."
As usual, reviews make me all gooey and I try to respond to most of them. Oh, and I've started writing reviews myself - so it's just a matter of time before I beg...
