A/N: This fiction is kinda based on the song 'She's My Kind of Rain' by Tim McGraw. However, this is not a songfic. This fiction has not been beta'ed. There's some communication problems between my computer and Goldy's computer. I'm aware that's there are some mistakes, but you'll just have to look/read over them. This fiction is different from my other fictions, so I hope you like it. It's done in First Person and it's in Booth's POV.

Title: My Kind of Rain

Summary: Booth's thoughts as he's having dinner with someone.

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own 'BONES' or the song 'She's My Kind of Rain'. I do own the plotline so that's (C) WolfMyjic 2007


I can hear the rain falling from the sky, tapping out a rhythm on the roof, the balcony, and the glass doors. The wind pushing the large, round droplets around until everything outside is saturated. Thunder clashed, and I could see the lighting flash through the thin curtains of the apartment. Turning my attention back to my dinner companion, I once again wonder how she can just sit there--so calm, peaceful--so tranquil. "Why are you trembling so?" I hear her ask, her voice soft and sweet, washing over me like honey. I pick up my glass of wine, and bring it to my lips as I search for the right words. Finally, I confess.

"I've just waited," I begin. "So long for this moment." She watches me with those deep cerulean eyes, and then reaches for my hand, a gentle smile on her lips. The wind picks up, pushing the rain harder onto the windows, and as my mind turns to the rain outside, I can't help but think also of the woman across from me. She is truly my kind of rain. Everything about her is perfect, at least to me. I let my eyes drift to the glass doors and then beyond, to the world outside, and I can just make out the rain in the darkness. Confetti, I think. With the lights of the city reflecting off the drops, it looks like confetti falling down from the night and the thought makes me smile.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks as she stands and tugs me to my feet. I drop my napkin to the table, and let her pull me into her embrace. The radio plays a slow song, and as my arms slid around her waist, we begin to sway. Our bodies mold together and I can feel her heart beating as fast as mine, betraying her cool exterior. I rest my head against her hair, and smile as my eyes begin to slide shut. As we dance the song ends, and I move us to the radio, shutting it off, sending us into semi-silence, the sound of the rain our orchestra. We move from side to side and I hear her start to hum, and it extracts a wider smile on my face.

"Dinner was wonderful," I say softly, spinning us around in a circle.

"Thank you," she answers. "A new recipe."

"Delicious," I say and can almost feel her smile as she leans further into me. I'm not sure how long we stay like this, clinging to each other, dancing to our own music. All I know is that when she finally pulls away from me, I feel the lost of her warmth, of her body.

"I almost forgot," she says. "I have dessert." She goes to side step me, but I reach out and grab her arm.

"I have a better idea," I tell her, pulling her once more to my body. I place one arm around her waist, holding her tight, and my other hand goes to her face, where I lightly caress her cheek with the back of my fingers.

"Oh yeah," I hear her say. "And what would that be?" Still looking into her eyes, I lower my head, stopping when my lips are hovering less than an inch above hers. I wait a moment, searching her eyes, and when I see no worry or fear, I gently touch her mouth. It's a feather light touch, and it lingers for a spilt second, before I press slightly harder, and I feel her mouth open, inviting me in. I'm still determined to take this kiss slow, making it last. I run my tongue over her lips, tasting her, sending my senses into overdrive. I feel her lean into me, and I answer her unspoken question. I slid my tongue into her mouth, and I feel her sharp intake. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I know that she feels what I feel. I know that tonight I could make love to her and we would never look back. As the thought crosses my mind, I feel her end the kiss, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she stands there, staring up into my eyes, with the corners of her mouth tugged up into a smile. "You're right," she says, tilting her head to one side.

"About what?" I ask.

"That was better than dessert." I return her smile and then welcome her lips as she begins the next round of kisses. I'm not sure how long this goes on, but I am sure that she is truly my kind of rain.


And yes, I'm aware that I never say who Booth is having dinner with. I thought that would take away from the story.