Spoilers/Timeline: Set after season 4, no specific spoilers
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: M (Nothing explicit but some pretty blatant sexual references)
A/N: Okay, so my very first Bones fic and this is what I came up with. Yeah, sometimes I wonder about myself too. LOL This will probably be the first part in a short series.
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"I'm just saying it's been my experience that they pretty much all need to be talked into it. Bribed even. Because you know, if there's nothing in it for them then what's the point? It's like they're five years old and the only reason they'll eat their broccoli is because they're getting ice cream afterward."
Angela is at home in Brennan's office, at home with frank conversations and unflinching observations, at home with her closest friend considering everything she says with an intense, analytical eye and a skeptical, unimpressed expression. She leans back against the sofa, watching as Brennan does just that, turns over her words with deliberation and doubt.
"You're speaking in absolutes, Angela, and this is subject that clearly depends on the male in question," Brennan says. "It's irrational to assume that all men are the same based on the sampling, whatever the size, that you're familiar with."
"It's not like I'm pulling this out of thin air, sweetie," Angela laughs. "I've talked to other women. It's pretty much a consensus. I mean, is what I'm saying so out there? You've never slept with a guy who had a problem with it?"
"I'm not saying that. I'm only suggesting that-"
"Bones! Come and get it! I've got a live one for ya…"
Booth breezes into the room, chomping on a toothpick. He stops short suddenly, head cocked as he puzzles over something.
"Well, not a *live* one, obviously," he corrects. "A juicy… well, not juicy either, actually, but you know what I mean. I've got a skeleton you're just going to love getting your hands on."
He pauses again, looking between the two women. Angela figures his sixth sense must be kicking in, that innately male trait that always seems to pick up lingering talk of sex or something equally titillating.
"I'm sorry," he says then, sounding anything but. His eyes are bright and his grin is sly and Angela wonders, not for the first time, what he'd look like stripped naked and slathered in hot fudge. "Am I interrupting something?"
Angela waves a hand dismissively.
"Nothing earth shattering," she sighs. "We were having a slight disagreement actually, so it's probably just as well that-"
"Yes," Brennan interrupts. "Angela contends that *all* men are less than enthusiastic when it comes to cunnilingus and will only perform the act if a reciprocal orgasm is promised in exchange."
Booth's cheeks darken and he swallows almost audibly. He's always so uncomfortable when Brennan speaks freely and frankly about sexual matters, and it's no secret to Angela why.
It hits a little too close to home with his fantasies, she's willing to bet.
But he bobs his head after a moment, like he's considering the argument himself, and looks Brennan's way.
"And you disagree?" he asks.
She nods, her expression utterly blank. It seems so unlike her, to not immediately state her case and push Booth to see her point of view, and Angela, who was just thinking about heading back to her office and leaving them to their work, decides to pick up her friend's slack. Because toying with Booth is way too much fun to pass up and he's always so cute when he squirms.
"You know, now that you're here, Booth, maybe you can shed some light on the matter," Angela says with a grin. "You are a guy after all. What's your take on the subject?"
He frowns, his brow furrowed as he squints at her, utterly unamused. He cuts his eyes to Brennan for a moment, who's tilted her head and is watching him with a ghost of a smile curving her lips. Angela suspects that her friend is enjoying this just as much as she is and wonders again why Brennan isn't the one putting him on the spot, isn't the one turning the screws.
Booth clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"We've got a case," he insists. "So we really should-"
"It's just a simple question," Angela says. "It'll take a second to answer and then you and Bren can go and play superheroes, okay?"
She glances over at Brennan, figuring that now's the moment she'll jump in, now's the moment she'll push him for his opinion, citing anthropological curiosity and study. Instead, though, she just leans back against the sofa, arms crossed against her chest, watching her partner with a strange, unidentifiable expression. She isn't smiling exactly and she's not really smirking either, but she's giving off an almost smug vibe all the same and Angela can't figure out what she's thinking.
Booth throws his hands up in frustration, looking almost helpless.
"Okay. Fine. I think like with most things, it depends on the guy. All right?"
Angela grins, eyeing him from head to toe.
"Fair enough," she purrs. "But I'm wondering about *this* guy in particular…"
His face falls, his features slack with panic, and he glances Brennan's way, shooting her an almost pleading look. She lets out a quiet laugh, nodding her head absently, and stands.
"We actually should really get going, Angela. We've got a case
Booth bobs his head emphatically, bolting for the door.
"Yes. Exactly. We've got a case. Later, Angela."
He's halfway down the hall by the time that she catches up to Brennan at the door, grabbing her elbow.
"Bren, honey. Why would you go and ruin all my fun? Booth all flustered and squirmy? That's way too delicious to pass up and you know it."
Brennan smiles, slow and feline, shades of the Cheshire Cat, and Angela blinks in confusion.
"He's my partner, Ange. We look out for one another."
She shrugs, unapologetic, and heads for the hallway. Angela pouts petulantly because she's Brennan's friend and that should trump partner or, at the very least, cancel it out and here she is, left high and dry.
It doesn't seem fair.
But then Brennan stops on a dime, like she's just remembered something, and turns back to her friend with an almost secretive smile. She leans in, looking now like the cat that ate the canary.
"But just for the record," she whispers confidentially. "Booth is not the kind of man who needs to be talked into eating his broccoli. He's pretty voracious about it, actually." She straightens, looking so ridiculously pleased with herself that Angela can only gape back in wonder. "See you later."
It's nearly an hour later before Angela remembers how to say anything other than 'Oh my God.'