Okay, this chapter is rated M for a reason...if spicy fics bother you, then you might not want to read it. But, if they're right down your alley, then enjoy! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I'm sure this storyline has been done before; this is just my take on it. Romance, smut, slight angst, BB. Rated M for language/smut.

WONDERING...AND KNOWING

"Bones, just leave it; it doesn't matter." Wrestling with his front door, a steady scowl on his face, Booth finally got the temperamental deadbolt to give way, testily motioning his partner inside. "Biscotte's in custody and we have him dead to rights on the evidence. So, can we just stop arguing about this?"

"No, Booth, we can't. I don't know why you wouldn't let me help you take down the perp – I'm perfectly capable of performing as your partner." Heels clicking impatiently, Brennan crossed the room, draping her wool coat over the couch. "I don't know why you refused to allow me to assist you. There is no logical reason for this to have happened."

"You know, Bones, I've changed my mind. No more cop slang for you. Don't say 'perp' anymore – it just doesn't sound right when you say it." Disgusted, he struggled out of his jacket and tossed it down the hall, where it landed with a wet splop.

"You're trying to change the subject, Booth. You completely ruined your suit – look at you!" Indeed, he was covered in mud and soaking wet, as evidenced by the dark patches all over the material. There were several tears in the jacket he'd just discarded, and more buttons were off than on. "This wouldn't have happened if I'd stepped in."

"What, Bones, if you'd stepped in what? All the mud by the car? Or the briar bushes right next to the mud? Look at you!" His scratched, muddy hand swung toward her, drawing attention to her delicate bronzed-toned sheath, and the higher-than-usual heels she was wearing that day. "You couldn't help me – not in that excuse for a dress! What were you gonna do, fashion him into submission?"

"I had a meeting today! Besides, you told me that we were going to speak to the victim! Why would I think that I would have to change into appropriate clothes for a physical altercation? You could've gotten seriously hurt today, all because of your outdated sense of chivalry!"

"Who says I wasn't hurt? Jesus…" He kicked off his grimy shoes with more force than needed, causing them to land drunkenly in a heap. "Everything freakin' hurts, damnit."

Her eyes widened, and her frown instantly disappeared. "Are you seriously injured? I can take you to the hospital, or to a doctor, I know you hate the hospital –"

"It's okay, Bones, really, I'm fine. Don't worry." He hadn't meant to make her worry, and his tone said as much. "I'm just a little banged-up; no worse than I've gotten during a pickup game."

"I don't know what that is." She watched him carefully, still undecided as to whether or not he should be seen by a doctor.

"It's a basketball thing. Really, I'll be alright, I just need a shower and a new set of clothes, and we can go question the victim." His snort of derision wasn't lost on her, and, having been reassured of his health, she was quick to notice and respond.

"Doesn't the FBI check victim's stories as a matter of course? Perhaps if that had been done, we would have known that his report of being assaulted was false, and you wouldn't be standing there in pants that are torn up the middle of the –"

"Enough, Bones, okay? Just – enough. Christ." Waves of irritation crashing off of him, he glared at her, daring her to continue. "I'm gonna hit the shower. You…there's some leftover barbecue in the fridge from when Parker was here the other day, have some if you want, and there's some of that bottled water that you like. I'll be out as soon as possible." Without waiting for a reply, or, as was usual in her case, an argument, he turned and stalked away, muttering dyspeptically.

Surprised by his grumpiness, she stood immobilized until she heard the en suite bathroom door slam shut. Why was he so out-of-sorts? She'd explained why she'd been wearing this outfit, and it was a perfectly acceptable reason. Yet he'd still snapped and snarled, as if she'd done it on purpose. She'd been perfectly willing to jump in and help, but his terse, barked order, warning her away, had been easily understood and impossible to disobey. Although they were partners, she still deferred to his superior experience in the field, and trusted his judgment. I don't care; I still think he was wrong about this. Perhaps he was embarrassed. Men could be so silly, sometimes, when their masculinity was challenged. He'd had trouble with this arrest, the suspect proving to be quite strong and resourceful. Perhaps he was concerned that she thought less of him now. She huffed, an irritated look on her face. Psychology – what a waste of time.

Not hungry, and unable to settle, she meandered through the apartment, the distant sound of the shower a nondescript backdrop for her wanderings. Eventually, her gaze dropped to the shoes he'd left so abruptly in the middle of the room. Her eyes carefully catalogued the careless disorder before her. As he'd been rushing when he picked her up, apparently he hadn't had a chance to straighten before leaving for work today. Her sense of neatness demanded assuaging, and she gingerly grasped the dress shoes by the heel, heading for the bedroom.

Once in the doorway, she scanned the living area, finally deciding that the armoire was most likely where he kept his shoes. Stopping in front of the wooden panels, she quietly opened the doors, still aware that Booth was only a door away. She'd been right – all his shoes were there, lined up with military preciseness. She recognized several pairs, having seen them on her partner. She was observant; there wasn't much she didn't notice when looking at him. But seeing things from afar was quite different from seeing them up close. She shouldn't be in here, shouldn't be invading his living area this way. She told herself to step away, and was doing so when her attention was caught by a flash of blue in the black shoes just slightly to the left of center.

Even as she told herself that what she was doing was an egregious violation of his privacy, she found herself dropping to her knees and drawing one of the pristine shoes out, studying it. Then she realized what the hint of color represented, and with an ache so severe it bordered on the physical, she clutched the shoe to her, rocking slightly. His feet. The orthopedic supports were top-of-the-line, and were present in several pairs of his work shoes. Only the shoes of superior construction were without the custom supports.

Carefully, she replaced the shoes, her hands trembling with a mixture of hatred and sorrow. Sorrow for him, that he should be bound every day, physically reminded of what had happened to him, that he would face physical limitations of any kind. Hatred for the scum, the fucking bastards that had done this to him. The desire for violence flared up in her, stunning her with its ripe potency. She knew it would only take an appearance by any one of his captors from that time to prove how quickly she would desert her scientific impartiality. Fisting her hands, biting her lip, she arduously fought off her rage, telling herself it was a useless emotion at this point. She began to rise, to cease her distasteful invasion into his private space, when another flash of color caught her eye, in a pair of shoes she'd never seen him wear. This was different. It was a photograph.

Ignoring the scientist in her that was insisting she leave the room, she kneeled again and reached for the picture. And looked at a centerfold. Blonde, slim, with gorgeous brown eyes, and boyish hips, she was reclining carelessly, slender fingers stroking herself. Her breath clogged in her throat; anthropologically, she understood the motivation behind the acquisition of such a trophy. But subjectively, that part of her that was female, was…pissed. And, suddenly, jealous. Her breath hissed out sharply, and she studied the photo critically, her feminine eye locating and detailing every last flaw, every imperfection.

"I don't use that one anymore."

She froze, then made herself relax. Cursing wouldn't ease her embarrassment, nor would blushing. So, she refused to do either. Rising slowly to her feet, she turned to face him. "Why not?"

"I find that it doesn't…fulfill my needs. It seems that blondes don't do it for me anymore." Fresh out of the shower, clad only in a damp, clingy towel and rivulets of water from his shower, he stood aggressively behind her, as confident as if he'd been wearing full body armor. The tight terrycloth knot at his waist only accentuated the broadness of his shoulders. He looked somehow younger than normal…but infinitely more dangerous. New bruises and scrapes attested to the violence of his earlier struggle, and only added to his primeval appeal. Those dark eyes stared; unblinking, revealing nothing. "Would you like me to show you the photo I use now?"

She knew better; really, she did, and yet, as if by command, she found herself answering him, her voice somehow softer, lower, rougher than she'd ever heard it. "Yes…"

Without a word, he reached in the bedside stand and pulled a well-worn, folded picture from the drawer.

Knowing this was a mistake, her every sense screaming that she run, she reached out, waiting, her hand wavering slightly.

The photo was one she'd seen before, a picture taken by a reporter who'd been invited to do a story on the Jeffersonian lab staff, with her the center of it all. With her photographic memory, she recalled the moment precisely. She'd been bent nearly double, on her knees, attempting to remove a cadaver from the box in which it had been interred, when she'd heard Booth's angry tones, and the photographer's nervous squawking. She'd spun around in time to see Booth mercilessly dogging the unfortunate reporter, even as he continued to shoot pictures, and before she could give voice to her questions, the unlucky man had popped the disc out of his camera, handed it to Booth, and nearly run out of the lab. Booth wouldn't answer her impatient questions, save to say that some pictures just shouldn't be taken, and, busy, she'd quickly forgotten the incident. This picture was clearly from that disc. She was bent over, lab coat and skirt riding high, and was showing a shocking amount of bare thigh. But her face was turned toward the camera, and she must have been looking at Booth, because on her face was a disconcerting mix of frustration and amusement.

It was her.

She'd somehow known it would be her.

Ruthlessly stomping on the heady flare of satisfaction inside her, she tried to figure out what to do next.

Dragging at her dignity, at her independence, she attempted to find her anger. "I don't appreciate being objectified, Booth. It's disrespectful, and it's a situation that can only result in discord in he workplace." Careful not to look away from him, she began to use her peripheral vision, surreptitiously seeking a way out of the room.

"Well, you know what happens when you snoop, Bones? You find out things." A flash of something, something hot, showed in his eyes for a moment; then once again they were flat, blank.

"I apologize for going through your possessions – it was wrong of me. But, Booth, I have to ask you to please discard this photograph."

Silently, almost daring her, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Booth, stop it. I want you to throw out this picture, I find it offensive."

"Do you?" Carefully he assessed her, his eyes lingering pleasurably in several particularly curvy areas as his head angled thoughtfully. "I don't believe you." Swiftly, his eyes shot back to hers, stopping her mid-breath. "And I'm not throwing it out."

Her anger flared, and she glared at him, ignoring common sense. "Fine – I'll throw it out." As she stepped crisply to the side to pass him, her heel tangled in his discarded clothes and she stumbled. He automatically steadied her – and as their eyes met again, his hands slid just as automatically from her shoulders to her back, tugging her even closer. Furious at being reduced to acting like some helpless character from a romance novel, she planted her hands firmly on his chest, halting her forward progress – and immediately realized her mistake. Her fingers curled against his slick, wet muscles, her fingertips stroking him, her short nails leaving faint flushed tracks on his smooth skin. Betrayed by her own hands, she could only gasp as he smiled knowingly and pulled her flush against him. As his damp breached the fabric of her dress and bloomed along her body, the heat between them rose impossibly high.

Her lips seemed reluctant to work, but she finally managed to gain control of them. "Booth. You're ruining my dress. You were concerned about it before..."

"I was concerned." Again the dark grin flashed. "I still am – very concerned. It concerns me that you're wearing entirely too much. And, of course, I wouldn't want to ruin it. Maybe we should take it off." His deliberate use of pronoun had an immediate effect on her, he could see. Patches of color appeared high on her cheeks, and her hands trembled. What he hadn't expected was the immediate effect her reaction had on him. Or the strength of it. He smiled once more, his expressive face sending her a message that had her senses screaming an alert. "Fine. You want me to throw it out? Then give me a reason to get rid of it."

He was looking at her as if he hated her. But she knew what he felt was a long way away from hate. Every inch of him pressed against every inch of her told the story. Told the truth. And that towel…she gulped, not caring if he noticed. That wasn't a fold in the towel. Her breath hitched, her heartbeat skittering wildly. It was all him. She wanted him; all of him, more than she'd ever thought possible. How could she turn away now?

Finally, after what seemed days, he drew a breath, whispering huskily to her. "So what's it gonna be, Bones? You gonna say no? Are you gonna hurt my feelings?" His body rippled, and she quivered in reaction, to his great satisfaction. "Talk to me."

Before she could think twice, before logic could step in and ruin everything, she reached out, her nimble fingers darting into the gap in the towel. Through the roaring in her head, she heard his desperate groan as her fingers found him, hard and ready. Meeting him boldly, she leaned her head forward, until her lips were brushing his ear. Giving him one tight, lazy stroke, she luxuriated in the moment, soaking in his quick shudder before whispering softly to him. "You're the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt."

In that instant, the boundary between them vanished, and he dragged her toward the bed, tumbling her onto it in a furious tangle of limbs. "I want you naked," he gritted, his hands frantically searching for a zipper, a button, anything. "I want you naked now." Her hands rushed to his, and together they tore the dress up and over her head, both ignoring the pop of splitting seams. With a quick flexing of his arm, the ruined fabric sailed overhead, landing carelessly on the floor.

She laughed, the action causing her body to tremble even more. His eyes glittered feverishly at the sight of her kneeling in front of him, laughing, her lingerie beckoning lacily. He crouched like a feral animal and sprang forward, knocking her backward and pinning her to the bed. All the soft, yielding parts of her body lay before him, new territory for his mouth, his hands to conquer. Snarling, he ran his hands over her, pleased with her instant response, her wild groan.

Oh, god. The feel of him on her was stirring her to life, causing every part of her body to throb incessantly. His skin rubbed against hers, and she almost cried out at the intense friction. He felt so good, so good, she knew she'd never be able to survive without this, never again without this. "Touch, oh please, touch me, Booth, I want you to touch me –" Her breathless demand careened into a wail as his fingers found her, slid under her lacy panties and took control of her. "Ah, yes, don't stop, yes, please…"

He stared fiercely down at her, her head thrown back, cheeks flushed, and something in him simply went berserk. "Now you know, now you get it, don't you, Temperance? Now you finally understand." His hands moved quickly, almost a blur, and the last of her clothing was gone, and it was just him against her. He could feel her neck muscles working under his lips, molten, hot-wax sounds dripping from her throat. "You. Every night, it's been you. You're the last thing I think of every night. Every fucking night, Temperance." His mouth moved swiftly down her, teeth and lips surrounding her sensitized nipple, and he growled against her as she moaned and gasped, arching upward. "You thought you were the only one who could compartmentalize, but you were wrong. Every day I worked with you, and every night I imagined having you in every way possible. You never knew, you had no idea." He ruthlessly worked her, his hand moving quickly, driving another panting cry from her. "But I think you have an idea now, don't you?"

"Oh fuck yes, don't stop, don't, don't…" He knew what she wanted, how did he know what she wanted? Thoughts and sensations battered her until she couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel. Every part of her body was vibrating, shuddering, trembling at different frequencies. Driven senseless, she locked her hands around him, pulling at him. "I want you in me. I want you in me."

Ignoring her grasping hands, levering off of her, he sat back on his heels. Kneeling between her legs, he studied her heatedly as she sprawled on her back before him. "Well, never let it be said that I didn't give you what you wanted." Linking his hands under the small of her back, he jerked her hips several inches into the air, aligning her perfectly, intimately with him.

She cried out in surprise, her hands slapping down against the bed as she fought for purchase, fought to hold onto something, anything. Finding nothing, she struggled momentarily, reaching for him, but then stiffened in shock as he nudged her, rubbing against her center, agonizingly slowly. "Oh god, Booth, stop -"

"What? You did not just tell me to stop." Chest heaving, breath hissing out between clenched teeth, he glared at her. "What the fuck…" He groaned brokenly as she flung her arm up, wrapped her graceful fingers around him and began to stroke. She looked up at him, her cheeks and eyes flaming.

"You didn't let me finish. Stop teasing me, Booth, I want you in me now."

He yanked her to him and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their twin groans striking an odd, erotic harmony when he speared into her. "Ah, fuck, Bones, you feel so fucking good. Ah, shit, shit…" Propelled by her eagerness, by the urgent sounds coming from her, he slowly began to move, building an erotic momentum that had them both gasping.

Tense cries were being forced directly from her throat, seemingly bypassing her lips entirely. She pressed her head back hard into the mattress, conscious decision having been wrested from her the instant they were joined. He was riding her writhing body like a pro, all muscle and movement, and she couldn't get enough. "Faster, ah, yeah, more, oh yes, more…"

He was strong, and he was relentless, and her whimpers and moans only drove him to a more violent pace. The room echoed with the frantic evidence of their passion. The sight of her wrapped around him, yet wantonly open to him, set off a chain reaction inside him, and he swung forward onto her, sinking into her completely. "God, I can't stand it, ah fuck, Temperance…" His lips found her, and he pressed a savage kiss against her neck as he began to move faster. "Come for me, Temperance, come on, babe, I want it, c'mon, oh yeah, you feel so good…"

At his sordid words, her body tightened, tightened, then twitched and writhed. White-hot lights flashed behind her eyes, and her guttural scream rent the air. "OhgodBoothohgod…"

She was tethered tightly to him, her convulsions stronger than he had expected, and he exploded forward with a shout as his body erupted viciously. He rocked back and forth against her, prolonging the moment for them as they both gasped for air, slick bodies sealed together, foreheads pressed close. "Oh, shit. Shit, Bones. Oh my God." Gradually, his pulse stopped racing, and he lifted his head, looking down at her. The sight of her was so seductive, so fucking tempting, he wanted to flip her over and start again. Tangled hair, flushed cheeks, rosy, swollen lips, and her eyes...he'd never, ever seen them so unfocused, so glazed with pleasure. He eased his lips onto her mouth, his tongue toying lightly with hers. All the while, he stared at her, finally realizing the full import of what had just happened. "You, uh, okay, Bones?"

"That's a completely illogical question, Booth. I'm quite obviously more than 'okay'." She smiled wickedly up at him, her hand slipping down his body to cup him. "I'd say I'm actually pretty great, right now." At his hoarse gasp, she pursed her lips, a glint of victory in her eyes. "It would seem that you're doing alright right now, as well." Smoothly flipping, she reversed their positions and began undulating against him. "Oh, Booth?"

His eyes rolled back in his head. "Huh?"

"You owe me a dress."

Hope you liked this, not really any plot, just wanted something light after chapter two's angst-fest. Drop me a line, let me know what you thought! As always, thanks for reading!