This is, in a fundamental way, very different from "Drip in the Closet", yet there are qualities that make them appropriately siblings. So, warning: This is very graphic. Also, if you don't like profanity, do not read this. It's an integral part of the story.

Hers

Damn it.

Brennan didn't usually curse, of course, but sometimes things were more frustrating or overwhelming than regular language could adequately express. For such moments, she saved cursing.

Damn it all to super-fucking-hell.

Her productivity that afternoon had been deplorable. She'd still made no realistic progress on the three chapters due on Tuesday (there had been typing, but it was all crap and she knew it). There was laundry to drop off and five unchecked messages from Angela on her phone, and an untold number of email waiting. She didn't even have the motivation to go to the lab and work in Limbo—usually quite soothing and meditative. But Brennan was not in the mood to be soothed today.

She tried shifting her hips, to put a slightly different pressure on her hand as her fingers continued to stroke firmly. It was there, she knew it, just beyond, just...

Fuck. Especially that damned aftershave and the stupid ties, and the triple-fucking-damned grin he gave her yesterday while he licked the last drip of cherry pie filling from his fork. Maybe there was a god, and she was punishing Brennan, mocking her. "You'll never get there, sister, no matter how close you are." Close, just as close as she could picture his lips when she imagined his hair, messed, her hand grabbing it in her fist, guiding him, his shoulders pressing her knees apart.

Fu-shi-god. EEERGH. She pulled her hand away, hot and wet and kind of pruny. Oh, god, she was pathetic. This was a fucking nightmare. Picking up her laptop and phone, she moved to her bedroom. Maybe she just wasn't getting the kind of leverage she needed on the couch. Maybe some internet images to stimulate her imagination.

She tossed the phone and laptop gently on the far side of the bed, then stripped off her yoga pants and panties. Maybe if she changed into some fuck-me panties, instead of her expensive perspiration-wicking athletic underwear, maybe then she'd feel hot enough get off. Her sigh was loud and exasperated, desperate, even. All she needed was an orgasm and a nap. Why was that so difficult? She selected a pair of ivory lace panties just a touch too tight in the right places, with a little bow on the top and not too much give—she wanted resistance in the fabric, not forgiveness. She pulled them up high, pulling the crotch tight against her. After a moment's thought, she unhooked her bra and donned the match to the panties—a demi-cup, also lace. She rarely wore it, as it wasn't normally comfortable; the lace, being a little stiff, created an embarrassing amount of friction against her nipples. She could feel herself getting wetter, imagining a certain pair of brown eyes watching her fasten the bra.

Oh, fuck, she needed to be pounded, just spread and fucked like the world was ending.

She returned to the bed, breathed in deeply to quiet herself a bit, then, stacking a couple pillows in the middle—just in case she needed them later—then she lay down and tried to start over. A little reading, perhaps. Her latest book was the favorite, with a particular scene in the conference room that always worked. It fell open easily to the page she had folded down, as though the book itself was doing its best to help. Brennan scanned the page to find certain words, to build the scene in her mind—his scent, rough hands, suit pants against her naked skin, his lips. She rocked her hips against the panties, the lace feeling tight and rough on her clit. Teeth nipping, pinching nipples, his cock dripping on her thigh, licking.. She avoided calling the man by the character's name, since he was not what she needed. She avoided a name all together, still hoping to forestall the day when this fantasy spilled into their everyday lives. If she were to accidentally say his name the way it sounded in her head-

She felt it begin. That was the key. What if she did say it the way it sounded in her head. Sitting in the SUV, a frustrating morning trying to get sense out of a suspect they'd driven hours to confront, some inconsistency he couldn't account for, the gravel road vibrating their vehicle. It was hot, so as soon as they were back in the car, his jacket had come off and he loosened his tie. He clenched the steering wheel and ranted about the slick-haired idiot they'd just encountered. His muscles were so tense, and to see those arms on either side of her torso...the idea was appealing. Brennan reached again to the nightstand and removed a small, smooth vibrator from the drawer, then shifted her hips on top of one of the pillows, still facing upward. She pulled her panties aside roughly and slid the vibrator between her lips, simultaneously scripting her reply. "Just because you don't approve of his deportment doesn't make it right to doubt his veracity. I thought his explanation was plausible. It's what I would have done, if faced with such a scenario."

He would have openly scoffed her. "Bones, are you insane? First of all, you're a super genius, which he is not, and second, you probably would have attempted to placate the victim in your incredibly awkward way, but it would have worked, because you'd be logical and all hot and snuggly looking, and he would have melted. This creep, are you kidding? His mother probably even hates hearing from him on Mother's Day, he's such a scumbag. No way he tried to make nice with our victim and then had to defend himself. There's something missing, something we need to get him, and it's pissing me off that I can't see it." His jaw would tighten and his lips curl slightly.

"Hot and snuggly?" She'd look at him, just to see the blush creep up his neck a little. "Really? You think he'd melt?" The vibrations of the road would heighten the tickling between her thighs as she'd shift in the seat, facing him, her legs coming apart. "Why do you say that? Booth?" And with those words, her tone, his name, he'd know. He'd hear the need and hot curiosity with his Ranger-trained ears, and he'd look at her like that.

She shouldn't go further with that scene, because it would only lead to imagining his embarrassment and hedging, but the phantom vibrations of the road were being adequately mimicked by her own device. Oh, fuck. Would he be embarrassed? What if he wasn't? What if this once, when she pushed, he gave. "Hot, like this?" And she'd lick her lips just a little, and stroke between her legs with one wandering finger. What if, just like the book, his rough hands reached across the console separating the seats and gripped her thigh, pulling it more toward him. His thumb would find the seam right over her slit and he'd push, rub...Dammit, she was so wet. She began pumping the vibrator into herself, using the fingers of her other hand as though it were his tongue stroking her clit. God, she needed this. With her hips elevated, she could watch the vibrator disappear inside her. Arching back, the lace of her bra pulled tight across her nipples. Oh, mother-fucking-damn—

The cell phone rang. Oh fuck you!, she thought, but reflexively she turned her head to look at the caller ID. Booth. She was so wet, her brain so fogged, her cunt so desperate, she clenched her thighs around the vibrator and answered the phone. "Yes, Booth?" Her voice was husky and her breathing ragged. "What do you want?"

There was a long pause.

"Uh, hey, Bones." He cleared his throat. "I was, uh, calling to see if you'd like me to bring a pizza over so we can finish organizing our reports for Caroline." He drew a shallow breath. "You sound busy, though, so, uh..." he stumbled, paused, "we can do this tomorrow."

"No. I want you to come over now." Keep him talking, god, that voice. She pushed. "What facts do you think we should lead with?" She propped the phone on her shoulder and began stroking again, pumping the vibrator in and out. "What does she need?"

He didn't speak for another couple moment, and Brennan more than half hoped his Ranger ears were really listening, overriding his Catholic brain so that he acknowledged exactly what she was doing. "If we just start at the beginning," he paused, "and spread the facts out..." She could imagine the panic in his eyes and the way he licked his lips. His lips. Fuck. His voice continued uncertainly, quietly, "I think if we just build it slowly..." He stopped. Shit, god damn it. "Then hit the main points really hard...there's no way we can't bring it home." Another pause, then he cleared his throat again. "What do you think, Bones?"

"I think you're right." Oh, fuck, here it comes, here it comes. His eyes, that mouth—she gasped. "I just want to make sure she gets everything she needs. I don't want her frustrated."

His breath quavered. "I'll make sure it's all good, Bones." Oh, jesus-fucking-hell. "I promise."

"How soon will you come?"

"I'm halfway there now."

"Fine." She closed the phone and a moan ripped from her throat. Rocking up and down, she clenched her hand and shook.

Fuck.