The Dream

She was wearing her red Roxie dress. Her hair was down, softly wavy against her shoulders, her lips half smiling, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Booth pulled her up against him, sliding his hands around her waist to pull her close. Her arms slid up around his neck and she tilted her head to the side. Taking her silent invitation, he started kissing her neck, mouth open and hungry as he moved up to her ear. Her breath sucked in when his teeth gently nibbled on her earlobe. His heartbeat picked up as she groaned throatily, the sound husky with passion. Booth moaned, molding her body closer to his. He'd never wanted a woman more.

He slid her zipper down slowly, afraid if he moved as quickly as his hormones were demanding, she'd spook and bolt. But she was almost purring in his arms and he was encouraged to be bolder. Parting the back of the dress, he smoothed it down her arms until it finally fell in a pool at her feet. She pulled back a bit and smiled languidly up into his eyes and he took the opportunity to appreciate her amazing body. Then his gaze locked on her lips and he finally kissed her like he'd been aching to since she came in. She shuddered with desire and her lips parted, tongue slipping between his lips to meet his. Booth groaned and met her tongue thrust for thrust.

She had unbuttoned his shirt and now pushed it off his shoulders, hands moving feverishly over his chest. Suddenly they were on the bed together, skin to skin, all barriers a mere memory, moving together toward the climax that trembled just out of reach. Propping himself up on his elbows, moving his hips to the rhythm she had set, he kissed her again, deeply, over and over again. The most incredible sensation began at the crown of his head and spread like wildfire down, down, down, centering finally in the place they were joined. He shouted with ecstasy in the same instant that she clutched his shoulders and gave a loud, breathy groan, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Booth came awake in a rush and sat up, pulse pounding, sweat pouring off him. Wow, what a dream! It had seemed so real, disturbingly so. Booth went to the bathroom and gulped down a glass of water. He caught sight of his reflection and paused in shock. Had he really just had an erotic dream about his partner? Turning on the faucet, he bent over the sink and doused his face, trying to clear his mind. Shake it off, Booth, it was just a dream. A dream in which he had the most amazing, mind-blowing lovemaking he had ever had. Stop it, Booth! She's your partner, he scolded himself harshly. Bracing his hands on the sink, he dropped his head and took several deep breaths. It took fifteen minutes, but he was finally able to calm down enough to go back to bed. Sleep took a lot longer, but it overtook him at last.

Booth swiped his card and walked up onto the platform with far less enthusiasm than he usually exhibited. Hodgins and Angela were talking in low, intimate tones, oblivious to everyone else. Zack and Brennan were bent over a table, examining the remains that had come in that morning. Brennan looked up briefly, her gaze casual. Booth's gut tensed, as though he was afraid she might guess that he'd had that dream. Stupid, Booth, of course she can't. Nobody could.

"Hi, Booth. Before you ask, we haven't got anything for you yet," Brennan said, going back to the body.

Angela sensed Booth's tension. "What's up, Booth? You're wound pretty tight," she teased. Hodgins was looking at him, obviously trying to pick up the vibes that Angela was, but not quite getting it.

Booth shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "Nothing. I'm just...anxious to get going on the investigation." Putting his hands in his pockets, he jingled his change and rocked back on his heels, looking around with an innocent look. Angela was still watching him, not buying the act.

"So, Booth, who are you dating these days?" Angela asked slyly. Hodgins glanced at Angela, impressed with her powers of observation. How does she pick up on these things? he wondered.

Booth frowned and his whole body tensed. "Nobody, why?" His glance darted to Brennan, who was absorbed in the grisly remains. Relieved that she seemed oblivious, he looked back at Angela. His heart sank as he sensed she wasn't done with him.

"Really? 'Cuz I'm really picking up a sex vibe from you," she teased, smiling as a flush stole up his face. She knew she was right, she just didn't get why he wasn't fessing up. Who would he be dating that he couldn't tell them about? she wondered. She continued to examine him, instincts on high alert. To his credit, Booth had somehow managed to banish the blush.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he scoffed. He stepped over to the table next to Zack. "Got anything yet?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"The victim is a forty to fifty year old male, Caucasian…" Booth bent slightly, pretending to examine the wound Zack was pointing out. Zack's voice was droning on as Booth's eyes were drawn irresistibly to Brennan's impressive cleavage. Angela's voice snapped him out of it.

"Hey, Bren, how was your date with…was it Kevin? Or Kent?"

Brennan sighed. "Ken. It was okay. I asked him about his job like you suggested and he spent the evening going on about stocks and bonds. I was bored silly."

"Really? That's too bad. It's hard to find interesting men these days, outside the workplace, that is," Angela sympathized, smiling at Hodgins. He smiled back at her, dazzled by the wattage of her smile. He could tell she was zeroing in on Booth and felt sympathy for him. Poor dude didn't have a chance.

Angela stood up and went over to Booth. "Let's go get some coffee, Booth," she coaxed. "You can tell me all about your dreams."

Booth's head snapped up, his mouth dropped open and his heart skipped a beat. She really was scary. "Dreams? W-what do you mean?"

Angela linked her arm with his, a sly smile on her face. "Yeah, you know, goals, aspirations? C'mon," she urged, pulling him along. In stunned silence, Booth went along. They were halfway to the cafeteria before he was able to think coherently. Maybe coffee with Angela was just the thing. He'd talk to her about the dream, changing the names to protect the innocent, of course, and see what she thought it meant. Part of him was dreading it, while another part hoped to get some answers, or at least some sage advice.