Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or anything pertaining to it. That is all the property of FOX, producers, writers, and I'm sure a whole bunch of other people who, when it is all said done, are still not me. I like to pretend I own Dr. Lance Sweets in my mind, but that is only a work of my own delusions ;).
A/N: This is a OneShot currently based on the multi-chapter fic I am writing about Dr. Sweets (it's on here under The Big Fight if you feel so inclined to check it out…*wink*) Anyway, reviews and crap like that is always nice so if you like the story leave me one! Rated M, the sexual content is strong with this one…
but when you pout
the way you shout out loud
it makes me want to start
and when i see you happy as a girl
that swims in a world of magic show
it makes me bite my fingers through
to think i could've let you go
chapter one
She is all he knows of New York City and, really, she is all he needs to know. He thinks of her with her dark hair, the soft bangs falling into her eyes, her cinnamon skin and lightly freckled nose and cheeks. He thinks of the last time he saw her, and how they left things and he feels an overwhelming since of guilt and love, not knowing which he should be feeling. Is he wrong for not calling and checking up on her? Will she understand it is because he loved her, and wanted to wait until his thoughts were clear so he could do all of this in person? Or will she see him as a selfish coward who was only thinking of his own interests?
"Brighton" He said her name like the most melodic verse of a song, and also one that was the hardest to master despite its easy flow. She looks at him as they sit in the lobby at the FBI, her hand wrapped in his. He knows that Daisy might see them at any moment, but he doesn't care; it his duty as Brighton's friend to be here for her and comfort her in any way. After weeks she'd finally decided to tell Bones and Booth who killed her father, but only if Sweets was in the room with her. No one objected, as it was a simple request and making a traumatized witness comfortable was always first priority. Brighton worried her hands in one another and squeezed Sweets hand tight. He still didn't know what happened the day Brighton's father died, but he knew he'd help her through whatever it was. Bones and Booth called them in, and he held her close to himself as they entered the chilly interrogation room.
Booth was in "caring good cop who takes you home when you're lost mode" and Bones was…Bones. She was trying very hard to look open and concerned, which Sweets hoped she knew he appreciated and noted. Brighton sat in the chair next to him at the table, and Bones and Booth sat opposite. He held her clammy and shaky hand atop the table, and when she steadied her breath and said a little prayer, he reminded her he was there. He tried not to steal a glance and Bones and Booth, but he got the best of himself and saw them looking at him in careful awe, as if they were the psychologists and he the subject. Brighton spoke in a soft but strong voice, "everyone knew the man my father portrayed to the world. He was a good businessman, a perceived family man, and a philanthropist—what else could someone ask for? People saw my father as what people should strive to be, but I saw him as someone else.
"It started when I was twelve. That's when I hit puberty, and developed these nubs that sometimes pass for breasts and the curves I can't help. I could understand men on the street leering or making inappropriate comments, but I did not understand my father coming into the bathroom at night while I was soapy, or him telling me how sexy he found me, touching the warmness of my inner thighs at the dinner table! Giving me looks when my mother and siblings were in the room! I knew very well it was wrong, but not what to do about it.
So when I turned fourteen I begged my parents to send me to boarding school. My mother was shocked, my father had an angry gleam in his eye and protested profusely, but in the end—I won. I prayed to God that he never touched my younger sister, but I could no longer take it and I was afraid that soon it would not just be touching. Sometimes I really missed home—my friends, my brother and sister, my mother, the cooking, my extended family, but on those days I still knew I couldn't go home. I knew that boarding school was a godsend for me, and I held onto it for dear life. I dreaded that first summer home, but maybe my father was scared of me, had grown bored of me, or saw that I had changed—I don't know, I just know he didn't come near me.
I thought it was over. But when I went home to visit my parents and siblings for winter break doing college, he tried again. This time it was rage—he called me a little bitch for going off to boarding school, he told me he knew I was a little cunt and what my plan had been, and that he would ruin my life. He told me he would fuck me because I deserved it, and because he knew it was what I wanted least. I was screaming and yelling and crying and just as he was on top of me, breathing, about to commit the sin I feared most, I heard a loud crack and he looked startled. His eyes were wide open as he slumped on top of me, blood gushing from the back of his head. I'll never forget how red that blood was, a deep, dark red that looked nothing like it did in the movies because it was real. And I pushed him on the floor and looked up at my savior, my hero…my 14 year old brother, Jack." She goes silent and starts to sob, "please, please don't make him go to prison! He protected me, he saved me…" Her voice trails off and her eyes go hazy, unfocused.
Bones is silent and Booth looks at her, his eyes soft. "I will do everything we can to get him the lightest sentence possible, Brighton. I promise you."
She is sobbing uncontrollably and Sweets pulls her close, speechless. She digs her face into his white shirt and sobs and sobs and sobs, fresh tears coming faster than he can stroke her hair. And Booth and Bones get up to exit, with Bones eyes lingering on them for a moment in that way of hers.
Sweets holds Brighton as they take the elevator to his car, and he straps her into passenger seat where she is sitting tucked into herself. She looks like a tiny, broken child and he realizes that is just what she is. Her flight leaves the next morning and she'd been staying at a hotel. He asks her if she wants to go and she shakes her head but uses no words, and he understands. They drive to his apartment and he knows that she must be sleepy from all the crying and secrets revealed. He offers her his bed, and she crawls in without changing clothes and cries a little more before she is sleep within the half-hour. He watches some TV and catches up on some work, and by 10pm he is tired and ready to make a place for himself on the couch.
"Lance" she says his name in the small raspy voice of someone who has not uttered a word for hours, and he goes into the room. She is tangled in the sheets, eyes red. "I really don't want to sleep alone, I'm afraid of what I will dream."
He doesn't ask her to explain further, and goes into the other room to change.
"Lance!" she calls again, louder, "I'd like it if you changed in here. In the dark and with me."
He tenses up. Despite being a child prodigy, a member of MENSA, and having a degree in psychology, he is confused. Despite being somewhat awkward and a little bit dorky until you actually spoke to him, Lance Sweets did not have trouble when it came to women. It was just trying to figure out what Brighton—and enigma who was hard to read—wanted from him. He began to unbutton the white t-shirt, salty from her dried tears. Brighton sat up and pulled back the curtains a bit, allowing for the room to become awash in moonlight.
"I want to see all of you," she said in low but steady voice, and she rose from the bed and came over to him. Her eyes were still red, and the lids swollen but the look in her eyes was one of determination and lust. She covers his hands with her small, soft ones and begins to rapidly undo the buttons of his shirt. When it is open she runs her cold fingers over his skin, smiling. She pulls the shirt off his shoulders and it falls to the floor, as if her past will fall with it.
She runs her fingers over the button of his jeans and unfastens it, unzipping them slowly. He is speechless, understanding what is happening but not believing it at the same time. There are tears brimming in her eyes as she watches him peel his jeans to his feet, and step out of them. He pulls off his socks and she kisses the side of his mouth tenderly, mouthing that she adores him.
She begins to lift the sleeveless cotton blouse over her head but he stops her. He grabs her—cold and sad and lovely, and kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, each side of her mouth, and finally her lips. He'd kissed her before in New York—on one of the many nights they'd spent in her dorm room watching movies and eating junk food they knew was bad for them and contained too much high fructose corn syrup. But it was different tonight, it was urgent, it was bittersweet, and neither of them pulled away and looked at the other wide-eyed silently agreeing it must end there.
No, tonight he kissed her while he lifted that thin blouse over her head and she laughed as he swung it on the floor. He looked in her eyes as she laid back and allowed him to unbutton her jeans and pull them off of her. She looked vulnerable and beautiful awash in the moon's light in only her bra and underwear—a white bra with a button in the middle and plain, purple polka dotted underwear. She was not dressed like a girl planning to have sex, and it made him want her even more.
They made love in what could technically be called the dark, but really wasn't. There was the moon, and the sounds of the city streets below to serve as their soundtrack. Their bodies seemed to be more in sync than he'd ever been with anyone before, and probably never would be after—if there would be an after. She made the softest, throatiest noses when he did certain things and sometimes he had to stop for a moment to marvel at that sound she made. It was a testament to how perfect they were for one another that she didn't even notice this change of pace.
She froze on top of him, eyes wide and looking directly into his when she came. A single tear shed and she shook, collapsing onto of him and burying her head in his skinny shoulder. She is breathing hard and almost sobbing now, and he puts his hand on the back of her sweaty head and kisses her cheek. He is still hard, and he doesn't know if he should just finish the job himself and let her sleep or—
But then she is kissing him, and grinding against him and although she is exhausted she is mumbling something about, "finishing this for you…" she bounces up and down on top of him, and he yelps as he comes and his eyes roll into the back of his head, blissfully blissed out.
~*~
They lay wrapped in his sheet and staring up at the ceiling. He'd asked her if she wanted to cuddle, and she'd told him if he had to ask he probably didn't really want to in the first place. They'd laughed and then were silent, and he was afraid she'd fallen asleep when he really wanted to talk to her about everything, anything.
"You are the first person I have ever had sex with, Dr. Lance Sweets." He looks at her, and she is looking at him, a sly smile on her face but her eyes and voice are completely serious.
He feels himself grow red, "Oh wow. If I'd known I would've—"
"Changed nothing" she whispered, looking out into the night before turning back to him. "Tonight was the best first time I ever could've imagined. And anyway, I don't believe in planning something for months because—where's the spontaneity in that? I also didn't want you to be worried about delicate, un-penetrated me until the whole experience was spent with you stopping, not moving, or constantly asking if I was ok. I wanted my first time to be with someone I…someone I truly adore, and it was. It didn't matter if it was wildly passionate, terribly short, or in a box as long as it was with someone I cared about, and I got that. I wasn't saving myself like my virginity was some prize, or because I am the definition of "daddy issues", but just waiting for…someone like you. And by the way, it wasn't terribly short."
He thought about all the ways he could've hurt her, how he could've gone slower, but she kissed him and silenced all his thoughts. He closes his eyes, her cuddled close to him when they shoot open. "Brighton?" he asks in a sleepy voice.
"Mhm, Dr. Sweets. I like calling you that, makes me feel terribly naughty." She winks and he laughs, almost forgetting his question.
"You keep saying that you adore me but…"
"But what?" she asks, her voice a little on edge.
"But I love you." He doesn't say anything else and doesn't expect her to, but he is holding his breath all the same.
She leans on her elbows and kisses his cheek, "I love you too, Lance Sweets. Now get some sleep so you can drive me to the airport and kiss me goodbye in a few hours."