A/N: A very Happy Birthday to ceeray3! Hope it's a good one.
For the record, this is only the second time I have written a one-shot that I have even remotely considered extending into a story or series. With that said, I've been looking for something to replace Little Moments since I ended it in December and I think I've decided this one is it...
Each of these will be stand alone one-shots. I can't say whether there will be 5 or 45 or how often I'll be updating them...but I think I can promise that we'll have fun while it lasts.
Finally, I welcome ideas from anyone who can come up with an excuse for me to put Booth in a tux. The more we can come up with, the longer this one will last. Something you'd like to see? Drop me a line or find me on Twitter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.
The Tuxedo in the Dream
Special Agent Seeley Booth was dressed to the nines. In a well tailored Armani tuxedo, he looked and felt like James Bond. His body tingled as he remembered the feel of his partner's hands as they fondled and straightened his tie. Remembered the way he had pulled her into his arms and threatened to make them late for the damned museum fundraiser if she didn't stop tempting him with her delicate fingers.
He approaches her now. Sees her smiling at him in her purple off the shoulder gown. "Come on, Bones," he says to her, his lips turning up in a smile. "You owe me a dance." Taking her hand, he guides her to the floor.
She steps into the warmth of his embrace. Her eyes shining with love as they begin to sway. Her soft laughter is all it takes for him to lean down, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that's perfectly appropriate for public, but leaves them both longing for private. He dips her in dramatic fashion and he feels a slight blush stain his cheeks when the squints cheer loudly from the sidelines.
The earth moves beneath them. At first, he's sure it's the thundering of his heart. That he's moved by his feelings. By how they are together, how they always have been. But then it happens. The shift that sends people running. He holds her close. Breathes in the scent of her hair. Cradles her longing to protect her from the chaos that goes on around them. He hears an explosion. A scream. Survival instincts and training kick in.
He walks her over to Hodgins and Angela. "Get her out of her," he tells their friends.
"No, Booth," she frowns in confusion. Her eyes search his and she refuses to let go of him. "I won't leave you."
He holds both of her hands in his. "I need to know that you're safe. Please, Bones?" he begs, imploring with his eyes that she do what he asks. "Get out of here."
"Not without you," she stiffens as Angela attempts to make her leave.
"Baby, I love you," he says to her. He gives her a fierce kiss and clings to her, briefly unable to release her. Pulling away from her their eyes meet and he tells her, "Go to my place. I'll be there soon."
She paces the floor, her heels threatening to wear through the carpet at her incessant shuffling. She wrings her hands. It's been two and a half hours.
She checks her phone again for the third time in as many minutes. Nothing. No word. She dials his number. Voicemail. Again.
She hears the key turning in the lock and rushes toward the door. He looks haggard. His soulful eyes lack their usual warmth. She kisses his face. Her hands mould to his body, tracing over the starched lines of the suit. They feel...sticky.
Looking down, she realizes that her hands are covered in blood. That Booth is covered in blood. Her heart begins thundering. "Are you all right? Booth?"
He says nothing. He doesn't move or make eye contact. He appears to be in a state of shock.
She pulls him to the bathroom and begins running hot water into the tub. She holds in the panicked tears that threaten to spill from beneath her lids as she goes to work.
None too gently, she tugs at his tie. Removing it, she casts it away. She doesn't stop to watch as it flutters like ribbon to down to the tile.
The jacket is next. The heavy weight of it pools on the bath mat in a discarded heap.
His shirt is soaked with blood. Her eyes and fingers rove over him, seeking entry and exit wounds. Quick fingers tug the shirt free and release the buttons from their confines. She pulls the cufflinks loose with precious little regard for the set, as she rids him of the garment.
Dropping to her knees, she removes his shoes, carefully tugging the laces free of the high-end Italian leather. The garish striped socks he insisted upon wearing with his tux are next. She drags them from his feet and puts them aside.
Removing his pants and boxers, she looks up at him. Normally, taking in his naked body - the perfect structure of bone covered in taut muscle - would send a shock of warmth straight to her core. But this isn't arousing. She can't determine where the blood has come from. Some of it is dry. Some of it appears fresh.
She isn't a scientist. She isn't a world renowned forensic anthropologist or best selling author. At this moment - right here, right now - she is a woman in love. She's a woman struggling to take care of the man that she loves.
"Booth," she says, looking into his eyes. "Booth, I need for you to get into the tub. Can you do that for me?"
The FBI agent moves as though on auto-pilot and slides against the back of the clawfoot tub. The water turns pink as the blood begins to wash away. Booth still says nothing.
She kicks out of her heels and sits on the edge of the tub. With a washrag, she smoothes down his firm abdominal muscles and over his arms. The color of the water only seems to become more red.
She sucks in air. It feels as though she is making very little progress. She moves the rug upwards in gentle circles over his pectorals. Her heart begins to pound. There is more blood now than there was when she undressed him. "Booth," she panics as her heart pounds against her ribcage.
It seeps through her fingers like it did at the Checker Box. It oozes thickly from that spot. His eyes are hollow. He appears to be going into shock. "Booth! Hang on Booth!"
"Bones," he croaks.
Will this be the last time she hears her name from his lips? "Don't leave me. Please, Don't..."
"Bones?" she feels the gentle pressure of his hand on her cheek. Feels him brushing away the hot tears that have consumed her. His voice is deep and husky with sleep. It calls her back to reality. "Baby, you're having a nightmare."
She turns in his embrace. She feels his heart beating strongly in his bare chest beneath her hand. Her fingers slip upward over the puckered skin of the scar, as she takes his mouth. It's hungry and tinged with fear of loss.
"Hey," he says, his hand cupping her cheek. He kisses her temple. "It's okay."
She nuzzles the stubble on his cheek. The scratching makes her feel alive. It matches her primal need to be with him. To show him her feelings. "I love you," she murmurs.
She doesn't say the words often, but when she does he knows they're real. She nips at his lips and he senses her needs. He wants to fulfill them, to make her whole. He knows he'd give her everything - including his last breath. "Show me..." he answers as his hands stroke up the soft skin of her back bared by the spaghetti straps of her nightgown.
She presses her lips over the scar on his chest. The place where he took a bullet to save her life. The place that almost stole him from her before she had a chance to recognize her feelings. "If you're not too sleepy..." she whispers as her fingers ghost over his heated skin.
He strokes down her thighs to the hemline of her satin sheath and tugs it up. Their bodies pressed naked flesh to naked flesh, he kisses her shoulder. His body twitches beneath hers and he smirks. "Even if I was, you'd have no trouble waking me up..."
He follows her lead. Allows her to take him on a journey of gentle exploration. There's a tenderness in her tonight. It's new and he revels in it. He enjoys the way she makes him feel. The way he feels every time he's with her. The way he knows he'll always feel.
She traces all the little scars that mar him. Her lips and fingers brushing over the ones that ares there because of her. That she spends extra time on all the marks he received protecting her isn't lost on him. Instead, it serves as a sweet reminder of how they almost didn't get here. Of how sacred here is quickly becoming.
They lay together, spent and slick with sweat, in the afterglow. Her head rests over his heart and his fingers entwine with hers as he brings her hand to his lips. He hates when she has nightmares, but he loves that he's finally able to comfort her the way he's always wanted to. More than that, he loves the fact that she no longer loves him only in his dreams.