A Very Bad Idea

By: Lesera128 & dharmamonkey
Rated: M
Disclaimer: Ummm, nope, we still don't own anything. We have, however, apparently become squatters in the sandbox that we crashed... so, umm... yeah. There we go.

dharmamonkey's A/N: Here we are again, doing our usual B&B + angst = eventual yowzah

I want to take the chance to give a shout-out to my partner-in-crime, Lesera128, who is not just my coauthor but who has, over the last few months, become a good friend. (We found out towards the end of writing Costly Signals that we live a mere five miles apart. If that isn't the "weirdest coinkydink ever," I don't know what is.)

She's a tremendously talented writer in her own right (I am absolutely in love with her clever-as-hell AU piece Buried with the Bones, which inspired me to proposition her to co-write with me), and she challenges me to take my writing, and my favorite fanfic subject Seeley J. Booth, in directions I'd probably never have the gumption to try if left to my own devices. There's no doubt in my mind that, since we started writing together in September, she's made me a better writer. This piece, A Very Bad Idea and in particular this first scenario is really her brainchild (a characterization she disputes, but I maintain that all I did was throw the fuzzy yellow ball onto the court; she really took the first serve, of which this crazy piece is the result).

So let's hear a round of applause for Lesera128, folks!

Also, I want to give a shout-out to all the people who've read and reviewed this fic so far, and who have read/reviewed our other wacky collaborations (Costly Signals, Cognitive Dissonance and When She Ran Away), and to all of the crazy Bones fanfic fanatics who follow/tolerate me on Twitter. Reviews and other reader feedback is what fuels our muse to keep cranking out these crazy fics.

UNF alert: Okay, so here we go. This chapter starts the good stuff you've been waiting for. We're not quite done with the angsty, angry bickering, but you'll be happy to know that these two are about to spend less time talking and more time doing. Previous warnings still apply. If you were dilly-dallying about getting that NFPA-approved fire extinguisher handy, we strongly recommend you take a moment now to ensure proper fire suppression equipment is available, because it's gonna get really warm really quickly.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes: in the observation room at the top of the Washington Monument!

I. Descecrating a National Monument, Part III

Booth felt his heart race, and as he normally did when running on adrenaline and pure emotion, he moved instinctively, his muscles going into action without a moment's thought. He took a sharp step into her personal space, clearly violating it as he leaned into her, pressing her against the wall with his pelvis as he bent his head and roughly covered her mouth with his. He felt her begin to protest as her lips moved beneath his, then she relaxed into his kiss, opening her mouth as her tongue slid over his lip into his waiting mouth.

For a split second, Brennan allowed herself to revel in the warmth of a man's tongue greedily seeking out hers. God, this feels good—really, really good. She lost herself, somewhat uncharacteristically, in the moment as she only concentrated on the wonderfully sensual emotions and physical sensations Booth's kiss evoked in her. Ohhh, wow. I can't remember the last time I was kissed like this—have I ever been kissed like this? No—no, I haven't. Wow. However, when she heard him growl deeply in the back of his throat, his arrogant presumptuousness stoked the fire of her righteous indignation. I'm being kissed, but the person who's kissing me is Booth—and, when did this happen? I didn't give him permission to kiss me. I didn't give him any indication whatsoever that I wanted him to kiss me. Why did he do this? How dare he? How dare he! Shereached forward, clenching a handful of his black wool overcoat in each of her fists, and for a minute, Booth thought she was going to yank him further into her. However, never one to let him think he could consistently anticipate her, Brennan surprised him by pulling him forward and then shoving him as hard as she could away from her. Enough!

When they broke apart, Brennan's opened fists remained half-raised in the air as she stared at Booth, her eyes flashing with strong emotion. Her lips were bee-stung with his hard, sucking kisses, and the sensitive skin of her cheek had been rubbed slightly raw by the roughness of his five o'clock shadow. Struggling to regulate her short, quick breaths, she broke eye contact with Booth as she shook her head.

"I can't believe you just did that," Brennan finally sputtered, her breath falling in pants. Her eyes purposely refused to break contact with Booth's, but she gave a small shake of her head, the disbelief clearly evident as she repeated her initial statement. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Oh, believe it, Bones," he told her as if he were giving her the time or some other factual bit of information. "And, believe that I'm going to do it again in about three seconds," he said, slowly leaning in closer, his demeanor cocky even for Booth.

"Why in the hell did you just do that?" she said, looking up at him, the anger clear in her eyes. You had no right, none whatsoever to make such a presumption that I wanted you to even touch me, let alone kiss me like that—

"You've just spent the last twenty minutes all but outright saying I can't get it up, Bones—then...then you called me a pussy. Really?" He glared at her, almost defying her to tell him that what'd he done was out of line, let alone unwanted. "What do you expect me to do?" Booth shot back.

"I don't particularly care so long as you keep you goddamn lips to yourself. You had no right." She narrowed her eyes at him, as she finally verbalized some of her earlier thoughts. Then, she felt her stomach flip flop a bit as she thought of his prior offer and the way he was looking at her now—there could be no mistaking the sight she saw burning in Booth's eyes. Lust. Desire. Want. Lust, desire, want...because of me? "Why did you really do that?"

Not to be challenged by her again, Booth, also breathing in short gasps, shook his head and countered with a question of his own. "Why did I do that? I told you, Bones. You can believe it or not, but the more important question here is why in the hell did you break away?"

"Because!" Brennan's head shot up as she leveled his gaze at him again. I'm done being used by men for their own purposes. I will not be used again. "You had no right to kiss me like that—"

"Maybe I didn't when I started," he admitted with a wry smile, "but by the end there, when I felt your tongue molesting my tonsils, I think I got all the permission I needed, Bones."

The implication that she had not only responded to his kiss, but had liked it enough to reciprocate left Brennan a bit off kilter. "You insufferable, arrogant, primitive male hominid!" Brennan finally managed to spit at him. "Just because, for a split second, I forgot who was kissing me doesn't meant that I wanted you to do it—or that I liked it when you kissed me, Booth. Because, I didn't, in case you're wondering."

"Oh, right," Booth chuckled. "You really expect me to buy that one, Bones? You really think I'm going to believe that you didn't like the way I just kissed you? Look, Bones, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday, okay? I kinda know what it feels like when the person I'm kissing likes it." He stopped and then pointed at her as he said, "And, not only did you like it, you fucking loved it."

"No," she protested. "No, I didn't," Brennan said, trying to empty her voice of as much emotion as possible. "As I've long suspected, it was sub par—at best."

"Sub par?" he snorted. "What, do you play golf now? Because I sure as hell thought we were playing tonsil hockey there."

"Not everything in life can be reduced to a hockey metaphor, Booth," Brennan told him. "And, more importantly, there's no way you can prove I felt otherwise than as I just described."

Booth shook his head at her final comment, then chuckled as he pointed an accusing finger at her. "Uh-huh. Right," he said, his voice taking on the lilt that she'd heard so many times in the interrogation room as he backed a suspect into a proverbial corner with a group of cleverly-crafted questions. "So, I suppose you're going to tell me that that is just because you're cold, huh?"

Brennan didn't need to stare down at her chest to see where Booth was pointing at the tell-tale early signs of her sexual arousal. She'd felt the tight peaks of her nipples pressed tightly through the thin Lycra material of her bra and the flimsy blue nylon of the Jeffersonian field jumpsuit for several minutes as her sensitivity increased—and so too did her desire...for him, though she loathed to admit it.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Captain Hindsight," Brennan said with a roll of her eyes. Booth grinned at her for a minute, daring her to logically explain away to two tight nubs visible through the thin material of her jumpsuit. Okay, I know when I'm caught, Booth. Fine. Shaking her head, Brennan sighed. "You can be such a dick sometimes, Booth," she said, as she hurriedly crossed her arms over her chest and resumed her earlier defensive posture.

"Well, Bones," he laughed. "If we've proven anything thus far tonight, it's that you don't know anything about my dick."

Shaking her head, Brennan ignored the taunt. Looking up at him, she said, "Don't ever do that again, by the way."

"Do what, Bones?" Booth asked as he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Just so that we're clear here, what is it that you don't want me doing again?"

"Try to kiss me again, and I'll break your arm," Brennan said simply.

"As if you could," Booth belittled her, although both of them knew that she was perfectly capable of carrying out her threat. Deciding to take a different tack, Booth said, "So, let me get this straight—you didn't like kissing me?"

"No," Brennan replied. "And, I never want to go through that mediocre experience again."

"Oh, okay," Booth said. "My mistake then, because that whole tangling tongues, sucking lips, latching onto my face until you can't hold your breath any more thing kinda fooled me." He grinned at her again as he fell silent once more.

"Don't you dare try to kiss me again," Brennan told him. But, let's be honest here—I think I'm more uncertain what'll happen to us, not to you, if you do, Booth—so tread lightly. I told you, I wasn't feeling very generous today, and I know that means enough to know that I'm not certain what'll happen if you keep pressing me. "I won't be held responsible for what I'll do to you if you try to do that again, so consider that your fair warning."

"Ooooh, I'm shaking here, Bones," Booth mocked her again with a snort. "I'm really frightened. But, you know what? You're right. There is no way in hell that I will ever kiss you again, even if someone paid me—"

Taking a step towards him, Brennan uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. "Oh, go ahead, Booth. Go ahead and insult me. Say what you want, when we both know that now you're the one who's lying." She stopped and her eyes narrowed a bit, as did her voice, as she said, "I know when a man's physically attracted to me, Booth. Your pupils are dilated, your respiration's shallow, your skin is flushed, and then there is the matter of that little physical response of your own that is quite noticeable."

She pointed to the bulge in his trousers. Booth shrugged and said simply, "Normal physical response when a guy's playing a round of tonsil hockey, Bones. It wouldn't matter who I was kissing, it's just one of—ya know—your normal 'biological responses,' right?"

You are so full of shit, Brennan thought. She then snickered as she said, "Bullshit. Admit it, Booth. I know that all you want to do right now is throw me back up against that wall and see what else you can make my body do aside from having my nipples peak. I dare you—"

"No, no, no," Booth laughed, a smirk still on his face as he waved his hand dismissively as he began to turn away. "There's no need for me to do that, Bones, because I'm never kissing you again. So, just like you want, I will keep my dirty, presumptuous, dickish lips to myself, and they won't bother you again, thank you very much. Hell will freeze over before I—"

The gauntlet thrown down in front of her, this time it was Brennan who snapped as she was the one who actually proceeded to do exactly what she had just described by way of action to Booth. He had hardly realized that she'd moved before he found his back pressed against the wall of the narrow stairwell as Brennan leaned into him and pressed her lips hard over his with only one goal in mind—to devour him. A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he opened his mouth to her invading tongue and winced at the warm flash of desire that pulsed behind his navel. He reached his hands up and cupped her face between his warm palms, pulling her lips even tighter against his as he felt her hip grind against his thigh.

A loud grunt—whether of frustration, aggression or desire, Booth could not say—sounded from her throat as their tongues battled in the warm, wet space between their open mouths. She reached up and yanked his hands away from her head with another, slightly softer grunt, all the while never breaking the kiss. Finally, Booth pulled away, gasping for breath as a crooked smile broke across Brennan's face. Seeing the wicked glint in her pale eyes, a raw tingle shot up his spine and he felt himself get even harder as he slid his hands down to her waist. Curling his fingers around each of her hips, the calloused pads of his fingertips stroking the smooth nylon of her jumpsuit, he hesitated as he waited to see whether she would move to resume kissing. She narrowed her eyes and, with a tilt of her head, leaned in again and brought her mouth to his, her lips hovering in front of his for a fraction of a second as she hesitated, their mouths crashing together as he simultaneously moved to meet her kiss.

It quickly ceased to be clear who was kissing whom as their mouths grasped one another hungrily. Booth squeezed Brennan's hips with his hands and growled quietly as she moaned into his mouth at the sensation. She squirmed slightly at feeling his large, strong hands grasp her that way, but as she felt a rush of warmth pulse at her center, she moved her own hands from where they lay against his lower back to the front of his waistband. She tugged at his embossed antique brass U.S. Army belt buckle, trying futilely to release the catch before breaking the kiss. She gritted her teeth and growled as she struggled with Booth's buckle.

"Bones," he murmured, moving his hands off of her hips to help her unbuckle him.

It was the first word that either had uttered in several long minutes.

As soon as he had unfastened his belt buckle, he exhaled a long breath that he had not realized, until that moment, that he had been holding. No sooner had the buckle fallen away from the front of his waistband when Brennan's urgent, skillful fingers had unfastened the top of his suit slacks and, without so much as a sound from her lips, quickly unzipped his fly.

"Bones," he snarled when his previous entreaty had failed to stop her. He punctuated his words with a swift twist of his hips. "Wait."

"Wait?" she hissed, her hand diving into the space between his warm skin and the soft jersey knit of his boxers. "Why am I waiting?" Brennan asked. "Fuck waiting," she ground out.

Booth leaned his head back and swallowed hard.

"Unnnghh," was all he could muster in protest as she wrapped her fingers around his cock which, after several minutes of intense kissing, was almost painfully hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to collect all of the focus and willpower he could muster before shaking his head several times to try to clear the rising wave of his impending orgasm away without actually coming all over her hand. Fuck, what's she doing to me? I'm not...this is not—she's not going to—

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, as she began to pick up speed with the pleasurable friction of her light fingertips moving up and down his cock. With a low grunt, he sucked in a deep breath and knocked her hand away with his forearm, not realizing until it was too late that she had actually held him in a firm grip. "Dammit!" he hissed as she let go, perhaps more in surprise than because she actually wanted to release him. "Enough."

"Hardly," Brennan said. She then smirked at him as she said, "What's your problem, Booth? Is it too much for you?" she sneered, grinning mischievously as she watched him struggle to tuck his erection back into his boxers. "Am I too much for you?"

"Fucking hell, Bones," Booth groaned. "Will you please shut the fuck up for just a few goddamn seconds, please?"

"The only way I'm going to shut up is if you can do something that'll occupy my tongue," Brennan dared him.

As if his body had a mind of its own—and maybe it did with all of the blood flow going towards his second head—Booth suddenly slammed Brennan up against the wall again in response to her uttered challenge. He opened his mouth wide, drawing her lower lip into his mouth as he sucked on it like it was a ripe piece of fruit. She howled in quiet rage, her tongue pressing against his mouth, demanding entrance. Booth delighted in refusing her access, continuing to suck on her lower lip as she increased her efforts. His hands came up stealthily, and just when he opened his mouth and let his tongue dart out to caress Brennan's for just the briefest of moments, he moved his hands to her shoulders and then roughly pushed her away.

"Enough," he growled again. "I'm not fucking you standing up in a stairwell the width of a telephone booth," he snapped, looking down at his fly as he considered whether or not to zip himself up. "Alright?"

"No."

"Yes," he insisted.

"Now," she demanded. "I want—"

"No," he countered. "That little thing that you did just now may've worked with all your other boytoys, Bones, to get them to bend to your will, but I have my standards. This isn't happening in a goddamn stairwell."

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan leered at him as she said, "So, is this you're way of saying you're my boytoy now, Booth?"

"Like hell I am," he growled. "I'm no one's boytoy."

"Ahhh," Brennan said. "That's too bad. Because my so-called boytoys have been known to have a pretty fucking good time, with an emphasis on the 'fucking.'"

"Oh, I'll take the fucking good time, Bones," Booth told her. "Just not in this goddamn stairwell."

She licked her lips and laughed, her head rolling back a bit as she taunted him. "Who says you're going to fuck me?" she asked.

"Huh," he grunted with with a quick shake of his head. "Okay, so now you don't want me to fuck you?" He leveled his gaze at her, his dark brown eyes blazing like bits of obsidian. "Fine." He shrugged and glanced at his watch. "Well, if I leave right now, I might just be able to get home in time to catch the end of the Capitals-Maple Leafs game."

"You wouldn't dare," Brennan said, her eyes ablaze with a slow burning fury. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna try me?" Booth replied. "Unless you've got a better idea of something that might be a bit more entertaining—and interesting—than hockey to keep me here, huh, Bones?"

And it sure as hell better be more than tonsil-hockey, he said to himself. Even though you're really, really good at that. Way better than I remember her kissing, too. I mean, I remember it was good—great, really—but that was just...

Wow.

"You know what?" Brennan said, pushing him away. "I really don't need this. Like I said earlier, after the bitch of a week I've had, it's probably better if I just take care of things myself." She stared at him with a tightly arched eyebrow. "So, drive safe, Booth. Don't worry about me, seeing as how the goddamn hockey game is more important. I'll call a taxi and see you later."

She punctuated her final words with a sharp shove as she pushed him away and bounded up the remaining flight of stairs that led to the Monument's observation room. She yanked open the door with a heavy grasp and then slammed it shut with a loud, forceful clank. The slamming of the door reverberated in the stairwell, and Booth stared at the top of the stairs at the door behind which Brennan had disappeared.

"What the fuck?" Booth growled, grabbing the banister and quickly moving to take the stairs two at a time. Oh, hell, no— "No way. There's just no fucking way in hell she's getting away with that—"

By the time he threw open the door and barreled through it, he saw Brennan waiting for him on the other side, facing the entryway, legs spread shoulder-width apart and her fists resting on her hips as she'd been waiting for him.

"Don't you dare," Booth growled, as he pointed his index finger at her. "Don't you dare run away from me. You don't get to run away from me, Bones."

"Says who?" Brennan volleyed back at him. "You're not the boss of me."

You're not the boss of me? he smirked. What kind of lame-ass second-grade insult is that?

Closing the gap between them in three long strides, Booth yanked her arm to him as he told her, "Says me, Bones. And, just for the record—" Looking back at her with a dark laughter in his eyes, he added, "It looks like I'm not gonna make it home for the last period of the hockey game, after all. Fortunately, there's always SportsCenter."

He swung her arm to the side and, dropping it carelessly, brought both of his hands up to her chest, cupping one of her breasts whole with each of his veiny, muscular hands. He squeezed them, a low moan rumbling in his throat as he enjoyed the way her flesh gave way beneath his touch. Drawing one of his thumbs in an arc across the prominent bud of her nipple, he felt the irksome presence of her jumpsuit's dangling zipper as it jingled quietly at being disturbed. The curious sound resonated somewhere deep inside Booth's brain—most likely somewhere beyond the reach of his rational, modern human mind—and at that moment, there were no words to describe the process by which he decided to reach for that zipper. In that moment—a moment itself beyond the concepts of time or space, bounded only by planes of emotional intensity and raging sexual desire—Booth lost his mind, and, jutting his lower lip out and furrowing his brow tightly, drawing it almost as a dark canopy over his eyes, he reached over and took the zipper pull between his thumb and forefinger.

"Such a pity they make you hide your wares under these terrible jumpsuits, Bones," he said, his voice somewhat warm until something darker, edgier, began to creep into his voice. "But now it's time to see what the Jeffersonian really sends to work with me everyday, huh?" And then, without waiting so much as a second, Booth held the teardrop-shaped steel zipper pull between his thumb and forefinger before giving it a hard yank that nearly made him reel backwards with the force of it.

As soon as the sound of the individual teeth combined into a single zzzzzziiipppp sound and the undone zipper opened her up from the base of her clavicle down, between her breasts—the very sight of which caused a tight, coiled tugging sensation behind his navel as he wondered what her skin would taste like if he could only have a taste of her—and then down past her creamy white stomach and almost to her perfect little belly button, and a wide grin broke across Booth's face. Just as the zipper seemed to come naturally to rest about an inch above her navel where the zipper-taped fabric buckled, Booth growled pulled the zipper up and then down again roughly, but achieved no better result.

"Dammit," Booth hissed, trying once more to move the zipper past the stubbornly bent teeth that were nearly twisted off. "Well, Bones," he said. "Clearly the Jeffersonian does not want its doctors and squinterns being able to get out of these suits."

"Or, perhaps they assume a lower rate of user error from the target population," she said snidely, "than is clearly the case when the device is operated by clumsy law enforcement officials."

"Clumsy?" he said, his eyes dark and narrow as he looked down and admired the flat, creamy plane of her exposed belly. He felt a twinge in his gut as he wondered what that creamy skin would feel like against his lips and under his tongue.

"You heard me," she said, trying to control the rapid rise and fall of her breath as she felt seared by his penetrating gaze.

Booth arched his brow and laughed. "So now you're questioning my fine motor skills?" he asked. "You know what, Bones, I'm getting pretty fed up with you insulting my skills. I'd be very happy to show you how good I am with my hands, if you would just shut up and let me get down to business here—"

"Promises, promises," Brennan hissed, bringing her hands up and pulling his wool coat off his shoulders. He removed his hands from her hips and shrugged out of the heavy overcoat, letting it fall quietly to the floor. She did not meet his smoldering eyes, but instead focused her attention on loosening his tightly-knotted necktie.

Booth groaned as she slid his tie out from beneath the collar of his shirt. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to hold on to the last remaining thread of self-control, gently clenching and unclenching his fists as he let his arms fall to his side. She slowly unfastened his shirt, button-by-button, smirking as she watched the way his muscular chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Brennan mindlessly licked her lips as she opened his shirt, revealing the first hint of his hard pectoral muscles. She remembered the glimpse she'd had of his chest a few months before when they had traveled to eastern Washington to work that case involving the human remains found inside a dead bear, and he wore that French blue shirt to the local dive bar, with the top two buttons unbuttoned. She'd been tempted then to leer down his shirt and admire his chest then, but had shaken away the thought.

But as she blinked away the memory, she noted with a keen sense of disappointment that one thing stood between her fingertips and his broad, muscular chest: a well-worn, tank-style, ribbed white T-shirt. Oh, fucking hell. Why does he always have to make things so difficult? Now, what is this again...I know Russ wears them...shit. What are they called? she thought. Her brain struggled for the answer. Spouse-smacker? No, that's not it. Wait...wife-something. What the hell was it? Oh, wait. I remember now. Yes—a wife-beater, that's it. Brennan frowned at the term, then smirked as her eyes skimmed over his chest and down to his waist. She slipped the T-shirt from the waistband of his suit slacks, the latter of which were already gaping open due to her earlier efforts. I want to touch him again, Brennan thought to herself. I need to touch him again. Now. Right now. I want him...all of him, right now.

Brennan squirmed as she stood in front of him as she recalled the smooth, hard feel of Booth's warm cock as she held it in her hand a few minutes before. Her pulse began to race as she knew she wanted to see and feel him—all of him—as quickly as humanly possible. She swallowed and tugged at his T-shirt, glancing up at Booth to see his gleaming brown eyes watching her with amused interest. She grumbled something incomprehensible under her breath as she tugged again at the bottom hem of his T-shirt, then raised her arms and yanked it upwards.

"Bones," he moaned as he raised his arms slowly—apparently, too slowly, since the next thing either of them heard was the soft sound of fabric ripping. "Hey!" he yelled.

"You were the one who insulted me, Booth," Brennan muttered. "That means, I'm the one in control here, so you're the one who actually needs to shut up, right now."

"Like hell you are, and like hell I will," Booth told her with a shake of his head.

"You know what, Booth, I'm getting pretty tired of these goddamn mixed signals from you," Brennan said. "Either you want to fuck or not. Because, if you do, I don't see what the big deal is about a little tear in the fabric of your very worn support garments, which are very sub par, by the way."

"Support garments?" he snorted. "You make it sound like a girdle."

"Yes, and a cheap one, apparently," Brennan said.

"Besides," he said. "What's the problem with wearing a comfy old T-shirt, especially on cold night like tonight?"

"I know that you have to budget your meager government income, Booth, but even discount stores have better quality items than this shirt."

"What?" he choked. "It's laundry day, Bones. You know? Laundry day is the day that all the old, comfy T-shirts come out to play. Not that you would know. You probably haven't washed your own clothes in—wait, I bet you haven't washed your own clothes since the Clinton administration. You probably even take your panties to the dry cleaners."

"For your information, while I do frequently patronize a very excellent dry cleaner in Georgetown, I do actually have an en-suite washer and dryer in my apartment that I frequently use," Brennan frowned. "While I may not have to sink to the plebeian depths of frequenting a laundromat like you do, I do do some of my own laundry, thank you very much." She stopped and then muttered, "The one time I did send out my lingerie, when it came back, two of my favorite bras had the underwire bent and three of my colored panties were bleached, so, yes, you're correct. I don't trust anyone else to do it the way I like it."

"Oh, gee, you having trust issues? Why is that such a shocker, huh, Bones?"

Brennan shook her head, and had opened her mouth to reply, when Booth cut her off with a shake of his head.

"You know what, Bones? You're too picky—just too goddamn picky." She opened her mouth again to reply, and Booth quickly placed a finger over it to shut her up. "And, another thing. I'm getting a bit sick and tired of you making the poor kid cracks at me. Not all of us can be as loaded as you are, Miss Nouveau-Riche, world-famous, 'I'm the best in my field' forensic anthropologist, yada yada yada. So knock it off with that stuff, huh? Keep your little potshots about me and my natty old T-shirts to yourself."

"If you want to wear a T-shirt, that's fine with me," Brennan replied when Booth had removed his finger from her lips. "I just need to know one way or another to be certain because if so, that preference infers that you plan to remain to stay clothed, which in turn intimates that you have no further interest in continuing our current efforts. Ergo, since it appears that you no longer have any interest in having sex, I believe that solves the issue of the mixed signals I'm getting from you. Consequently, I'm going to have to insist that we desist—"

"Look, if you would just shut the fuck up," he grunted, his impatience growing, "then you'd find yourself a lot closer to that fucking good time you mentioned earlier. Keep on talkin', Bones, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that's all we'll be doing tonight."

"See, there you go again," Brennan said in exasperation. "You say one thing that directly contradicts your prior statements. I'm beginning to think that you don't even know what you want anymore, Booth, and frankly I'm tired of getting jerked around—"

Reaching out, Booth roughly grabbed the open edges of her jumpsuit and yanked her towards him. With a hard jerk downward, his muscular hands suddenly parted the flimsy nylon of the field jump suit in a single movement. The rip echoed in the small, but seemingly cavernous confines of the Monument's stone observation room. Booth raised his eyes to hers and said, his voice rough as he spoke, "If you're going to rip something, Bones, you might as well do it right."

"And," he added. "I know exactly what I want." He cupped her shoulders with his hands in a gesture that, for a brief moment, seemed almost warm, then, in a motion that was so swift Brennan didn't realize he had even moved, slid his hands down her shoulders, over her arms and covered her breasts with his palms. A smile cracked the corner of his mouth as he gave her breasts a hard squeeze—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to elicit a sharp wince and then a slow, deep moan from Brennan's momentarily-silent lips. "Yeah," he said. "I know exactly what I want." He narrowed his eyes and held her stare. "But, are you willing to give it to me?" Are you, Bones? Are you really? Because, if you are, I'm going to take it all—I'm going to take everything.

"I've never known you to be the type of man whose strong-suit was delayed gratification, Booth," Brennan barely could manage to utter through a strangled breath. Take it. Take it all. Take everything, she silently encouraged him. Take me.

Careful, Bones. Last chance— "No," he shook his head slightly. "No, I'm not—not about this kind of thing. I want what I want when I want it, Bones."

"So, in your own way, you're just as bossy as I am," Brennan said quietly.

His hands moved quickly to the meager straps of her bra. The garment was relatively plain it its construction. Booth stared at its simple underwire design, noticing how the nude-colored mesh was probably more for comfort than support. Squinting at the very small threads that attached the bra straps to the cups, instinct guided his thumbs and forefingers as he reached for the critical juncture, pinched it between his thumbs and forefingers and gave another sharp tug. The bra easily gave way in his hand, causing her breasts to spill forth as she took a sharp breath.

Game on, Bones. The game is fuckin' on. He stared at her for a minute, looking at her naked breasts stand pert and at attention, as if they were waiting, just for him.

"Well, Bones," he said slowly, as he licked his lips. "'Bossy' to me is a person that talks a lot. 'All hat and no cattle,' as they say." He smirked and arched his eyebrow. "I'm a man of action," he added, finally raising his hand drawing his calloused right thumb over her nipple with a broad grin on his face.

"And, what is it that you plan to do right now, Booth?" Brennan said as she leveled her stare at him. "Aside from destroying my clothing? That is, I presume you've finished indulging in that past time to your satisfaction?" she asked, although her eyes never left where they'd locked onto watching him play with her tits.

"Nope," Booth said, as he ran a hand down her torso, over her navel, and then stopping only at her pubic bone. He let his hand linger at the waistband of her nude colored panties. He inched his index finger underneath the waistband, and looked up at her as he said, "I still haven't torn these yet, Bones. So, it's your call—you want me to rip these off your body, too, or what?"

"Such efforts are unnecessary, Booth," Brennan smiled at him. Let's quit wasting time here and see what you can really do, huh, Booth? "If you're sure you're still actually going to follow through on something aside from indulging the fetish involving tearing female clothing you apparently have of which I was previously unaware?"

"Whatever," he hissed, shrugging out of his button-down shirt with a grunt, sliding each arm out of its sleeve before crumpling it into a rough ball and throwing it to the side. He stood before her, clad in his stretched-out wife-beater T-shirt with its torn shoulder seam, with his pants unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his bony hips. He shook his head and smiled, then reached down, grabbed the bottom hem of his T-shirt, raised his arms and peeled it over his head. With a cocky grin, he tossed it to the floor and stood there before her, bare-chested, with his hands resting on his hips.

He stood there, watching her watch him for several long moments, before—taking in the sight of her creamy, round breasts and her pert, rosy-colored nipples staring at him—he realized he needed to take off his pants, and that before he could do that, he needed to take off his shoes. He hesitated for another second, then toed off his dress loafers, kicking them to the side before sliding his slacks and boxers off his hips in a single, smooth motion. He walked one step back to step out of them, then inhaled sharply as he felt the cold wall against his bare ass. Booth glanced at his feet as he wiggled his toes, then decided against removing his socks.

Brennan, watching Booth undress, had been mesmerized by the sight for a few seconds. However, she quickly snapped to when she realized her nerve endings were suddenly pulsing with her growing arousal and the remnants of her jumpsuit and bra were hindering rather than helping her situation. She quickly reached down and unlaced the gumboots of the suit and kicked them away, thankful that she was wearing warm white cotton socks when her feet hit the cold granite floor of the Monument's observation room. She balanced first one one foot and then then other as she kicked took off the boots and silently offered up a statement of thanks to the ethos when she didn't lose her balance and fall over in front of him. After a few seconds more, Brennan quickly shrugged out of the remnants of the jumpsuit and bra and turned to look at Booth clad only in her panties and white socks.

Brennan scanned Booth's naked form—noting with a lascivious smile how well-formed he indeed was—and her eyes fell once more on his muscular chest. She felt an irresistible compulsion to press her lips against the warm, smooth, taut skin that covered the fan-like pectoral fascia in the middle of his chest.

Booth took a step towards her and then said, "Bones—you would make this a lot easier if you weren't standing all the way over there."

For a minute, Brennan stared at him, swallowed once, and then said, "Or, maybe you should come over here, because I'm done meeting men half-way, Booth. This is on my terms...or not at all."

At this, Booth laughed. "I already told you once, Bones. I'm not like you're other boytoys. If you want me, come and get me, but there's no way in hell that I'm chasing after you again."

"I thought you said that you take what you want, Booth," Brennan taunted him. "This your way of saying you don't want me anymore?" She took a moment to point at his stiff cock, proudly jutting up ready to serve her in more ways then one. "Because," she snickered, and then purposely echoed his earlier words. "I suppose you're going to tell me for some illogical reason that makes absolutely no sense that that's just because it's chilly, right?"

"Wouldn't you be the lucky one if it was like this just because of the cold," Booth smirked at her.

Shaking her head, Brennan looked nonplussed as she said, "No, not really."

With a sigh, the playfulness left Booth's face. "Why do you always have to make things so fucking hard, Bones?" he said, mindful at the moment the words left his mouth how impossibly hard she had managed to make him—despite, or perhaps in some small part because of, her incredibly aggravating mouth—as he quickly closed the gap between them and yanked her towards him. "Seriously? Why does everything have to be a battle with you?"

As he drew her toward him, he remembered she was still wearing her panties. Mindful of her earlier words, he was careful not to tear them, but none too gently pushed them off her hips and down her thighs.

"Off," he muttered into her ear. "Right now, unless you want me to go three-for-three, Bones."

Gee, I wonder what is going to happen.

::smirk::

Dinner at the Diner? Or something else?
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One more chapter of this Scenario I is left to go.

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