Author's Note: Hi. This is my first Bones story (but there will be more on the way sometime in the future). I got this idea from the scene in The Beaver in the Otter where Brennan is staring at the bones until, as Angela says, they "speak to her." I decided to put Booth in there because I thought it would be a nice scene. Enjoy!
He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a small smile tugging at his lips. It's 1:20 in the morning; most of the building is quiet, lights turned off, no mechanic whir of machines. He should be feeling the strain of a long day's work, but he isn't. Why? Because he's absorbed in her.
The bones are laid out in front of her, each in their rightful place. She picks one up gently, lets her eyes wander over it, checking for even the smallest detail. She rotates it in her hands, letting the light catch it at every angle. It's as if each bone is the most important thing in the world in her hands. This is where she is at her best.
They've both been at this for hours: he quietly studying her from the doorway, she engrossed in her work and completely oblivious to the man gazing at her. It seems comfortable, like they've slipped into some routine that's been theirs forever. Time doesn't seem to have meaning here; life could go on above and below and this room with its inhabitants would never change. And they wouldn't be bothered.
It's the low-battery beep of his cell phone that breaks them both out of their respective trances. He doesn't move from his casual stance in the doorway, but she looks up at him. He smiles wider. She grins back and sets down the rib that she had been scrutinizing, resting her hands on the table's edge.
"What are you doing?" she asks, almost as if she doesn't care.
"Watching you," he responds.
She raises her eyebrows slightly, but she's pleased, and he knows it. She doesn't mind that he's examining her like she examines the bones. She's aware that it's the same thing: observing something you love. He also recognizes that he's the only one she'd ever let do this.
Slowly he pushes himself off the door frame and saunters over to her. "It's really early," he says. The heels of his shoes tap lightly against the floor.
"Yes, it is." Her eyes drift from him to the bones and back to him again. She doesn't know which to look at. The way he gazes at her with his gentle eyes makes her almost shy, but they keep dragging her back like a magnet. Not that she minds.
He takes the long way around the table, sweeping his eyes over the bones, purposefully not looking at her. Her hands grip the edge, body anticipating when he'll get to where she is. Pretending every part of her isn't screaming for him, she turns and goes back to studying the bones. The air between them crackles, as it has always done, getting sharper and sharper with the reduction of space. He wants to cover that seemingly endless distance in one single bound and hold onto her, but there's something about that slow expectation of touch that keeps him in check. Even though she seems wrapped up in her work, he can hear her calling out to him. He knows this call intimately.
Finally his arms snake around her from behind and she can relax into him. They let out a breath at the same time. She can smell peppermint in his exhalation, and her brain immediately links the scent with the sweet feel of him. She'll never be able to smell it again without it making her body tingle.
"You should go home," he suggests. "Or at least take a break."
"No, I really need to finish this," she sighs, trying not to give in to him.
"Oh, come on," he murmurs in her ear. Her skin feels like silk on his face and he can't let her go, ever. He get it that she needs to do this, but he needs her. That's the way it is.
She wants to drop the bones and let him win, God, how she wants to. Almost since day one it seems he's pulled her to him. She feels it all the time. But this is one of the little games she likes playing: making him beg for it. It's not an evil game, though; it's only in fun. But she needs him. And that's the way it will always be.
"Just one," he breathes, kissing a path from her ear to her collarbone. "Just one…(kiss)…little…(kiss)…break…(kiss)." He can hear her heartbeat quicken, and he smirks. His arms pull her even closer to him.
He tries to touch her lips with his own, but she turns her head away slightly. She knows if she lets him do that, she'll never leave. He makes a small noise of disappointment and she entwines her fingers in his.
"You can't leave Dead Boy for a little bit?" he asks, making plain the desire in his voice. He knows how to wheedle; he does it for his job all the time. It's the only thing she'll let him bring home from work. Besides her.
She turns to face him and places her nose where his shoulder meets his neck. It's where his essence gathers, and letting it fill her nose always calms her. Reaching up, she lightly drags her fingernail from behind his ear, across his jaw, and down to his chin in the way that creates a deep rumble in his chest, a kind of purr. It fascinates her so she does it again. He becomes a big cat, lissome and tranquil. He's under her spell.
And that's what breaks her. Grabbing the collar of his shirt with both hands, she pulls his mouth down to hers. The moment his lips touch hers, every nerve in her body fires with almost excruciating pleasure. He has his way with her mouth; tasting her, feeling her. His desire for her is building up in the pit of his stomach and he's losing control. One of her fingers has found its way between the buttons of his shirt to his bare skin and it causes him to shudder. He's about to retaliate when…
"Hey, are you guys–oh."
They break apart and turn towards the door. It's a security guard coming to see if they were finished in the room. Apparently not.
She blushes faintly and turns back to the bones. "I'll be done in here in about half and hour," she tells the guard, who nods and leaves.
Her lover kisses her again, lazily this time, then rests his forehead against hers. "See you at home?" he whispers. "I'll wait for you." He'll always wait for her.
She nods, and he gathers himself and walks to the door. Once he reaches it, he turns and gives her a look that tells her she's in for a long night, and then departs. Her body fizzes with anticipation.
Good thing we have a late start tomorrow, she thinks, and smiles to herself.
AN: I found the word "lissome" in my dictionary and I thought it was an awesome word, so I had to use it. It means limber, supple, or lithe.
I don't mind constructive criticism. It helps me not make stupid mistakes. So let me know what you think!