Title:Reveries
Author: Lucy (spybarbie)
Pairing: Brennan?
Rating: NC-17 (femslash)
Spoiler: none specifically, but it's S2
Summary:One could never meet a woman as amazing as Brennan. And, although the images are only real in your reverie, they are very true to you
Feedback: spybarbie(at)gmail(dot)com
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to Fox and not to me.
On the outside, she is the perfect image of self-control. In fact, you could never tell she would swear under her breath, so low you could only see her lips moving, while she did so. You smiled at the knowledge that you were responsible for her swearing, lightly touching her between her legs and making her whole body quiver. The knowledge that your very own fingers were the reason she was losing it like she was right now; losing it, yet so self-controlled. One could never meet a woman as amazing as Brennan. And, although the images are only real in your reverie, they are very true to you.
It was all about being in control since day one. You had to keep your mind in control and focus on work every time you are near her, instead on concentrating on the beautiful shape of her lips and shiny eyes, that would get even shinier when she would come to an obvious conclusion that she hadn't seen. Or when she leant against the bones on the table, her low-cut blouse slightly moving to uncover a bigger part of her cleavage, allowing the viewer a generous sight of the curve of her breasts. You wouldn't believe someone else could be that clueless about anything if she wasn't Brennan.
So many hours per night now you've spent awake, wondering, thinking about her. Actually, you would lay on your bed and think about her while you touched yourself, lightly, teasingly, imagining it was her soft hands caressing your belly and the way down between your legs. Closing your eyes, you'd sigh deeply and lose yourself between different fantasies with Brennan and the things you could only imagine she would do to you in bed. Or, even better, in the Jeffersonian. Sometimes your mind would drift and you'd imagine you go down on her in her own office, while everyone else is working outside and have no idea of what's going, of her muffled moans of pleasure. Some other times you'd imagine what it would be like to fuck her with your tongue on one of those tables, having those countless bones as silent witnesses of your perverted behaviour.
You close your eyes and let the sensations spread over your body, while images in your head take place. Images of Brennan, half-naked, panting out while you kiss every part of her body, beams of sweat on her ivory skin. Her eyes half-closed, hair all messy and for some reason you find it completely erotic. Hell, you gotta be honest to yourself: everything from that woman lately seems erotic, from her anthropological babble to the manner she crosses her legs when she sits. And, sometimes, you even have to control youself so that no one notices how inclined you are into giving out your attraction to her.
She's allegedly not your type whatsoever, the kind of person no one could ever picture you with, specially considering you past record, but, still, you don't know what's drawn your attention to her, what makes her so fascinating to your eyes. And when, in your mind, she lets out a muffled scream of pleasure as she comes, you feel yourself coming as well.
And you feel ashamed. Some part of you knowing how unethical that would be, some part of you craving to feel her digging her fingernails into your back, to feel her grabbing your hair with her hands while she kisses you.
The next day, at work, you greet her with a smile as she passes you by.
"Good morning, dr Saroyan," she gives you a tiny smile as you stare at her.
And that's enough to trigger it all again.
THE END