Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No infringement intended.
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything is fair game.
A/N: I tried this chapter from a first person point of view. Good or bad idea?
Do you ever get the distinct feeling that the world around you isn't the one you're familiar with? Has it ever occurred to you that this world of reality that everyone seems to latch themselves onto isn't as ideal as most would strive to have you believe? Dreams are the only state of mind that allow complete and utter control—an infinite wisdom in this world that was moulded from your very imagination. If something occurs in this reality, it's because you want it to; because you've made it so…
The possible negative repercussions that would arise from my actions in any other circumstance elude my thoughts entirely as the palms of my hands greet soft, creamy flesh. An arousing feminine moan hums, and I can feel the vibration of her windpipe thrumming against the hand that I have curled around her throat. Imagination sends my thoughts flying high; this is the only place I can touch her and elicit a positive response.
A feeling of pathetic weakness settles itself in my stomach the moment my mind grasps the extent to which I desire to ravage the beautiful woman lying beneath my quivering figure. The only times I dare let my hands and thoughts wander is within the safe confines of my imagination, and it disgusts me.
The fingers on my free hand trail their way up her arm, and in perfect synchronization with the direction of my thoughts, her hand fists itself in the silky texture of my hair. My name tumbles from her lips, and I revel in the husky sound of her voice encompassing the single, three-syllabic word that I so desperately wanted to hear. My breath catches in my throat; thoughts momentarily paralyzed due to the eerie vividness of my surroundings. So real, my mind taunts me, and yet bound never to flourish.
"Don't stop," she whispers as I shy away from the comfort of her proximity. "Please."
My larynx constricts; I don't want to lose her, now. "I can't."
The hand that is fisted in my locks curls into a tighter ball, and I am forced to comply when she pulls my lips down to meet hers. My flushed skin heats up further as it grinds up against hers, the tips of hardened nipples rousing senses within me I had never thought to ignite again.
Rationality isn't important—neither of us wears the heavy burden of clothes in this twisted fantasy of mine, but the beginning of dreams are never clear. You're thrown into medias in res; ignorant of how things came to be, but expected to know what to make of the situation. She is in love with a man, makes her desires painfully obvious. Based upon this, how is it rational for me to be atop her in this instance; hands exploring unknown yet familiar territory as she mewls beneath me? It isn't.
But that isn't important, is it?
"Touch me." Her pleading whisper alone is enough to send me to the edges of this Earth and back, but I do not let it affect my resolve. What good is a few moments of sexual gratification if I'm already too familiar with the feeling of lucidity crashing down upon me? The higher I fly with her in this subconscious state, the harder and faster I will crash when I wake. It isn't fair, but it is so.
Though the flight—I think to myself, curling my hands into fists—is worth the crash…
My surroundings are a haze of lust and clouded vision as she pleads to me with her body that I take her to the ends of this imaginary world. I comply, not because she has directly asked me to, or because I feel that I am required to…but because a pent-up passion for her gnaws at my insides. I crave the sensation of her flesh, it is my only wish to bring her inhumane amounts of pleasure mingled in with emotion, but most of all do I yearn for her love and adoration, in exchange for every ounce of my own.
Her nails sink deep into the living, heated flesh of my back as my thigh comes up to push against her core, my incoherent thoughts needing to hear her respond to my actions. She delivers; visibly clenching her teeth together and crying that three-syllabic word once again to make me shudder—as if the melodious sound of her voice literally rose to encompass my naked body in the most delicious of ways.
My lower lip finds itself trapped between the maws of my teeth, muscles tighten as I feel my pulse rise to a near-inhuman level. Imagination alone has created this world of bliss and pure pleasure, and yet my mind runs full-throttle with her frail body beneath me. My hand slips lower—mind incapable of resisting the temptation to feel her flesh any longer—to graze her folds, and I cannot retain the gasp of excitement that escapes my parted lips as I come to terms with just how wet my best friend has become. She arches upwards into my hand, already craving what scarce touch I have given her; the simple realization that I can drive her to the brink of coherency with an action so simple makes me glad. Even if, technically, I am the one making her this way, the situation satisfies me.
She grasps my shoulders and pulls me downwards, shifting her head to the side in the process so that I have easy access to her slender neck. I want her so much that I don't stop to consider the fact that I hadn't even remotely been thinking about that action being done, even though it had occurred; my lips fasten themselves to the soft texture of her flesh, and I nip and suckle as she mewls encouraging pants and broken sentences. "Don't ever…stop the—Christ with your tongue and…mmm so good…"
"Good?" I pull away and ask the question innocently; teasing only because I have already sunk metaphorical fangs deep into my prey and am certain she cannot escape at this point. "Are you sure, babe?"
She murmurs an amusing profanity and squirms beneath me, searching for release.
I'm not one to taunt; I'm not one to take advantage of a position of dominance when reality swims in the air around me. Though with the soothing confines of my hazed imagination surrounding us, I'm free to step passed any boundaries I have intentionally placed upon myself. Consequences aren't important, here. All that matters right now is that I take in as much of the glorious woman writhing beneath me as I possibly can—the rest is irrelevant. With this in mind my hands begin once again to wander, and I find myself inebriated with the unbelievably sexy way my name tumbles from her red, swollen lips.
I press my body into hers, drunk with desire and incapable of holding back the urges that scream at me from within the confines of my mind. We kiss, then; my tongue entering her mouth and claiming the territory as my own. The beauty beneath me moans and squirms for dominance beneath the crushing weight of my body, but I do not allow her the slightest opportunity to take this away from me.
For but a moment, I allow this intoxicated haze to consume me.
For but a moment, my mind ceases to function and I forget everything but her.
For but a moment…I am free.
"Angela!" Temperance screams my name as I bury two dextrous digits deep within her feminine sheath. She grabs the dark hair situated at the nape of my neck and thrusts my head back; the feeling of her velvet interior pulsing around my fingers enough to make me gasp. "Oh my God, Ange…pl-please don't stop. Never stop."
The hand fisted in my hair thrusts my head down, our lips crashing together in another searing kiss. My head swims, my body aches for her touch, and yet my digits do not cease their ravaging of her glorious sex. I am amazed by the texture of her sheath—she is like none other I have ever entered. I would trade her for nothing in the world.
"You taste like champagne," the anthropologist giggles against my lips, and is effectively shushed when I slip an additional finger inside of her. She can only gasp the barely audible word: "Delicious."
Her skin feels alive against mine, heat radiating from her every pore to seep into my own flesh—entering my body and wrapping sensuously around each of my internal organs. Her hands are everywhere. She takes possession of my entire body without even uttering a word; I can tell with the way her nails dig painfully into the heated tissue of my back that she has claimed me as her own. And I willingly give myself to her, as long as she gives me the key to her heart in return. I have never been so alive; my heart slams upon my sternum and I smile against her open lips. I have never felt so real…
"Come for me, Bren." A grin finds its way upon my features when I lean back to scrutinize her visage. Her eyes are closed, squeezing shut at irregular intervals when I curl my fingers upwards into her walls. Lips parted and swollen red, Temperance Brennan is the most beautiful woman I have ever been with. I have played this scenario through my mind an innumerable amount of times; why does the idealism seem so different, now? Why is my heart pumping faster than it ever has?
I feel tight velvet walls clench together against my fingers, and I realize that Temperance has reached orgasm before I have even had time to tease her into submission. I cease the movements of my fingers; I hold them inside of her for a few moments longer—desperate to prolong this climax, surmounted so rapidly that I had not the time to rearrange my thoughts appropriately. She moans beneath me, lip curling upwards in the most delicious of manners to portray the pinnacle of her climax.
My free hand finds its way upon her breast, fingers circling the nipple to further rouse her feminine instincts. She bites her lip in attempt to calm herself down; to diminish these delicious sensations I intentionally wreak upon her. My movements diminish in raging fervour, my fingers calm their aggressive roaming, and my lips once again meet the soft flesh of her own. The palms of my hands lightly explore the creamy texture of her naked skin, heart still pulsing with excited purpose within the cage of my ribs. The glory that is Temperance Brennan now belongs to me, I think to myself, kissing lower to symbolically soothe the angry purple marks left by the trail of my fingernails in the valley between her breasts. I have claimed her, and she is mine forever.
I feel her chest rise and descend in the most irregular of manners against the passion of my lips, breathing rapid and inconsistent. My eyes rise to meet her own, and I am shocked to find glistening water streaming down the perfect skin that covers her cheeks.
"Baby…" my voice rises in sympathetic worry. "Temperance…what's wrong?"
She presses a hand to my chest, pushing me away. I do not fight her strength—even though I am well aware of the fact that the anthropologist could easily be overpowered. As soon as I am sufficiently distanced from her, Temperance removes her hand. The metaphorical magnet that is my heart is savagely ripped from my chest cavity the moment her flesh leaves mine; with the still-beating organ in her hand, my best friend turns over to face the opposite direction, racking sobs tearing their way through her throat.
"Temp…urance I…"
My words begin to slur; my thoughts begin to mesh together to create swirls of incoherency. Her shoulders rise and fall proportionally to the saddening cries of distress that emerge from her lips, and I so desperately wish that there was something I can do to help. The perfect curve of her naked back is all I am permitted to ogle as the anthropologist—and smartest living woman I know on this entire Earth—curls her figure into a foetal position, hiding her nudity at the exception of her bottom. I press my open hand to her ribs, allowing my fingers to delve down and lightly brush the underside of her breast, but she cringes away from me.
"You're not real…" She had spoken the words, I was certain of it. I had seen the fleshy tissue of her warm lips move in perfect synchronization with the utterances escaping. And yet, the echo of her words resonated within the confines of my mind—as if no one else present in the room could hear them except for me; as if Temperance had planted the eerie phrase directly into my thoughts so that it resounded as a notion of my own: I am not real…
She is still crying profusely as I pulled my hand back away from her, only then catching a glimpse of swirling confusion. My head begins to swim, my thoughts begin to churn, and my mind rids itself of purpose. The room surrounding us is at an angle, now, the walls suddenly not vertical anymore. A taste of ash plagues the insides of my mouth, and before I get the chance to turn to Temperance, asking her for help, the contents of my stomach are violently spewed in the opposite direction; bile and remnants of diner mingling together to create a disgusting mixture of illness.
And in my haze of disoriented, sick feeling, I can still hear the sobs that tear their way from Temperance's lips: the background resonance to my twisted feeling of loneliness as my mind drifts off into a black abyss.
TBC.
A/N: So I'm actually in class right now, finishing up my lesbian-pornographic narration and posting it to the internet. Ahh the glory of teachers who just don't give a shit.
