Author's Note: I so rarely write for Bones anymore, but this prompt from Femslash_today's kink meme over on LJ caught my eye: Cam/Brennan, no
Also, I'm thinking this is my last update for the night, so those of you who have notifications should see an end to the emails...
She didn't try to stop me until it was almost too late. My hand is half-way up her thigh, her skirt is hiked up, and by anyone else's standards, it should have been obvious ten minutes ago that I was trying to take her to bed.
But whether it was the alcohol, getting caught up in the heat of the moment, or just her usual lack of social skills, it's taken until this moment for Temperance Brennan to realize that the only place this can go is sex. "I don't think this is appropriate considering your position as my superior at the Jeffersonian."
"Can't you just say no? Like a normal person?" She cocks her head to the side and leans against the bar, scrunching her nose up in that way she does when she's confused. It just makes me laugh and I slide my hand a little higher, feeling the warmth radiating from her inner thighs. Her body cants towards mine in response as I let my nails scrape along the skin, then explain myself when I realize she's still eyeing me strangely. "Relax, Dr. Brennan, I'm not in love with you. I was looking for something purely sexual, but if you're not interested… I understand."
"No! No - I mean yes, I am interested," she urges, her hand coming to rest on my wrist. "I just want to be certain that you understood that I'm not interested in pursuing an ongoing sexual relationship with you. Also, I wanted to be sure that you were aware of the ramifications and still felt that we could maintain a professional relationship afterwards."
I roll my eyes at her inability to use vernacular, even at this moment, glancing over at the bartender who is picking up our empty glasses with a knowing eye towards my hand in her lap.
"Oh, I get it." Warning off the bartender, I toss him a scowl when his glance becomes a bit of a leer. I'm warm and I've got this tight, tingling need building in my lower abdomen and it's hard enough to ignore the way she's talking like some sort of automaton - I certainly didn't need to add a pervy voyeur to the mix. Definitely not my thing.
Her hand on my wrist slides lower then covers my fingers, and I lean in closer at the invitation. If this weren't the same bar that most of our colleagues frequented, I probably would have arched a finger up to drag along the crotch of her underwear, but simply having my hand close enough to feel the damp warmth of her is far enough.
It feels like evidence. Evidence that she's just as turned on as I am and all we've been talking about is a case. But between the beers and sitting hip to hip, brushing hands and having to nearly press our lips to one another's ears in order to hear over the noisy bunch at the booth in the corner yelling about some sort of sporting event, we're both fidgety and aroused and apparently in serious need of getting laid.
When I'd finally let my hand come down to rest on her knee, she'd barely glanced my way, took a long swallow and kept explaining some interview she did with Booth. I wasn't really interested and not really paying attention because nearly all of my attention is on her fingers. I'd always found their agile and graceful ability to hold and manipulate and touch impressive, but fueled by liquor and a touch of exhaustion, pretty much all I can think about is how good they'd feel fucking me.
And that's where I'm at then as I watch her sipping the last of her drink from a glass tumbler. It leaves them slightly damp and it makes me think of sucking my own wetness from those fingers. The thought makes my digits tighten down on her thigh, squeezing and tugging her closer to me. Her mouth opens then closes before she turns her head sharply to just stare at me for a moment. Her inner thigh twitches sharply and this is just way too much fun.
We should probably get out of here but I can't seem to take my hand off her thigh and she doesn't seem in much of a hurry either.
Until she is.
Suddenly, she drags my hand out from under her skirt and declares, "Assuming you'd like to progress beyond this point, perhaps we should find somewhere with privacy? While I feel confident that you can maintain the proper level of discretion, I'm not entirely sure the same could be said about some of our co-workers," she explains, giving me only a moment to grab my purse from the back of my chair and rise to follow her before leading me towards the door.
She hails the cab with a little smile on her lips. Once we're inside, I can't help but notice that we both apparently smell like sex and beer because it fills the stuffy little back seat the moment the door closes. I direct the cab to my place and we zip up 7th St to Columbia Heights in what feels like no time because she's finally shut up. Her mouth is sloppy with excitement, kissing and sliding against mine in a way that's too hard and too much, but she entirely makes up for it with those fingers. One hand is just inside my collar carefully caressing my throat while her other hand figures out a way to steal the keys to my place from my inside blazer pocket.
So once we get there, I let her lead, a bit amused that she seems to know which apartment is mine. She uses the key and opens the door for us, then helps me with my coat, hanging it on the hook, followed by her own.
When she turns back to kiss me, she pauses with her hands both wrapped into the fabric on the front of my blouse. "Just to be sure, you know that we most certainly cannot allow Booth to find out about this. He tends to get quite upset when I engage in purely sexual encounters, which I find rather hypocritical considering that he most certainly has engaged in pre-marital sex on numerous occasions, but I think it wise to avoid informing him regardless."
I laugh but quickly try to bite it back and she just looks confused. For a brief moment, I consider explaining exactly what Seeley's issue with her activities is, but then realize that will only encourage her to talk more, so I just nod my agreement and reply with a brief, "Oh yeah. I know Seeley."
I lean in quick and kiss her, happily cutting off whatever additional comment she is about to make when her lips part. It's much better like this because her lips are slick and soft and move slowly, almost drunkenly over mine, while her fingers are quick and agile, unpopping buttons and dragging down my zipper as if she did this every day.
My own hands didn't need to bother with fasteners - I shoved her t-shirt up and over her head easily, then found her skirt was easily pushed down past her waist where it feel around her ankles a moment later.
We part long enough to toss away our now loosened clothing, and then come back together, clad in bras and underwear, and with her hand behind my neck and mine hooked behind her thigh. I let my lips find hers; inviting back those open mouthed kisses that made her jaw bump against mine in her eagerness. How it is that she can form all those long-winded thoughts when she is clearly just as caught up and unfocused as I am mystifies me as she nearly sends me toppling as she tips up on her toes to deepen the kiss and ends up too close, take a step back before giving in to the press of her tongue at my lips.
Her other hand is still not heading where I need it - instead it's still teasing - sliding along my back, cupping my breast, pulling me closer and all I really want is to be fucked. Rather than risk letting her talk, I force the kiss harder, biting down on her lower lip as I push her back against my door. Then I grab her hand to guide it purposefully to my stomach then hitch one of my legs up until it's hooked around hers.
She seems surprised when adjust my hand to mold to the back of hers and bring her fingers to the wet, heated crotch of my panties. The jolt of awareness that hits her radiates along her body quickly - jutting her hips forward, her jaw lifting, a little whimper passing between our lips.
It takes a moment of guiding those long fingers before they begin to move of their own accord. But when they do, they find their target quickly, dragging short quick strokes against my clit through the fabric. Her concentration on my mouth is beginning to slip turning clumsy kisses into grinding kisses, so I let her back off and guide her mouth downward.
She moves fast, nipping along my jaw line making puckering sounds the whole way and has me shaking as she just so easily slips her fingers under the fabric of my panties. Those fingers are surprisingly smooth, almost too slick for friction against my wet center, but she makes up for it with accuracy. Even as she's dragging the tip of her tongue against my pulse, she somehow manages to alternate between little strumming motions and slow grinding circles against my clit without missing a beat.
I'm pretty much near done and she still isn't inside of me – and that was the whole point of getting her back here, so I risk it and say out loud, "Please, fuck me," at which point I realize that I'm so out of breath that I practically sound hoarse and I'm surprised that she understands well enough that it only takes her a moment of spreading the wetness along her fingers to push inside of me.
The first few strokes are slow and deliberate - two fingers pressed together then gradually spread inside of me, the heel of her hand arched so as to create a kind of friction against my clit. But then she's really fucking me.
It takes frighteningly little time for her to get me off. She tips me from almost to "oh fuck" when she lifts her thigh between mine, letting the weight of it ride upwards to push her fingers in deeper and I think in my haze, I feel her still moving her hand in me and against me as I tighten and burn and moan incoherently.
As I feel the intensity begin to wane, I feel her fingers pulling out and I'm quick to grab at her wrist because there's no way I'm going to pass up the chance to do this. She's obviously confused and her lips part, preparing to ask me something, even though it's obvious from the way her chest is rising and falling that she needs some release.
"No, not a word. I can't do this if you talk... like you do," I warn and see her mouth clamp shut quickly. Feeling oddly smug, I smile and then pull her fingers to my lips and watch her lips tighten in concern as I suck her digits slowly into my mouth, letting my tongue linger along her skin until that look is a bit more like annoyance than fascination at holding in her curiosity.
The moment I release her wrist, the question that she'd been holding in came bursting out her and it's all I can do not to shove something into that mouth to make her stop. "Do you have the same fetish for male ejaculate?"
"No," I tell her not as an answer, but meaning instead "we are not having this conversation". I push back from her, crossing my arms over my chest. She's amazingly flushed and my withdrawal sends her body swaying away from the door after me. At some point, her hair got matted and there's this little sheen of sweat on her face and a swollen look to her lips that all just glows of sex.
Her eyes are roving along my skin and I can practically feel how much she's craving touch and yet, she starts up again, sputtering, "No? Is there a particular reason that you have an interest in tasting your own vaginal-"
"No. 'No' as in stop talking, Dr. Brennan," I remark, shaking my head and turning away from her. As I walk towards my bedroom, I soon here her push off the door then pad along behind me.
At the bedroom door, I pause and turn back to face her. "Assuming you'd like to progress beyond this point," I say, mocking her earlier words intentionally. "Perhaps we should find something to gag you with... While I feel confident that I can avoid using overly complex sentence structure, I'm not entirely sure the same could be said for you... and I really just prefer a lot less talk. And a lot more doing..."
She licks her lips and I can practically feel the wave of arousal that hits her, but whether it's my phrasing or the prospect of being gagged or just her excitement reaching some sort of precipice I'm not sure. Her eyes have softened and she's reaching for me, dragging her shaking fingers from my shoulder down to my hand, but I step back, denying her. Groaning her disappointment, she sags against the doorframe, her hand drifting almost unconsciously down to press against the front of her sex.
For a moment, I watch her, fascinated because the arousal and the alcohol have hit now and she's caught up in it – eyelids lowered, skin flushed pink, her head lolled against the wall as she watches me, waiting for an invitation to finish this.
I end up letting her in and because I've never imagined that I'd need one, I own nothing to gag her with. As a result, once we've peeled off the rest of our undergarments, I end up using her panties and get a strange thrill of delight that she seems to suck at the fabric and taste herself on them. Only a slight squirm gives away her reaction to her own taste, but I catch it and tap a finger of acknowledgement against her filled lips before stepping back.
It works well and keeps her quiet as I lay her back across my bed and spread her legs. I'm slightly disappointed that I won't be able to kiss her, but then it really wouldn't be necessary from this position. The minute I'm on my knees between her thighs, those fingers are behind my neck, drawing me in.
Oh yes, now I can see how eager she is. She can only whimper and drag me closer as I suck and kiss her thighs, tracing the path that my fingers had found at the bar. When she starts digging those clipped short nails into my neck, I give in to her urging and let my mouth press against her clit lightly, open my mouth to let my tongue drag along it.
That makes her grunt and squirm her hips against the mattress, so I end up with my hands on her thighs, pinning her against the sheets so I taste her - creating suction with my lips and dragging my tongue over clit until I can feel her wetness melting in my mouth.
When she stutters something that comes out sounding like "fuck" from behind her panties, I bring one finger to her slit, dragging it through her wetness, teasing it along her folds before driving it inside. Inside, she's wet and soft, tightening as I curl my finger against her. Once I add another finger and begin to drive a rhythm with my mouth and my hand, she starts lifting her hips up off the mattress, grabbing at me and the sheets and whatever she can reach.
Her orgasm is jerky, a series of twitches paired with an odd tension that ripples along her thighs as she tries to make sound through the cotton. She's got two fingers encircling my wrist so hard and she holds my fingers inside of her until she's coherent enough to pull her underwear out of her own mouth.
Then she pulls my fingers back as she sits up. "Can I suck them?" she asks, mouth parted already with a pink tongue flicking against her lips.
I stifle a laugh at her hesitance, but nod my permission and she draws my fingers up to her lips, kissing then sucking them with her eyes closed. As she pulls back, a new wave of arousal is already starting to rise in my chest and I wonder if I should replace her makeshift gag before she ruins it.
But before I can, she runs her tongue along her lips with a curious look in her eye, and says in perfect colloquial English, "I want another taste…"