A/N-Thanks for your continued kindness and support! I'm sorry I haven't had time to answer reviews, but I really do appreciate them, as well as favorites and follows. I'm trying to post a chapter at least one a week, so I needed every spare moment to write.
Chapter 3: Those Things
Propelled by a sense of duty and purpose, Brennan hurriedly prepared for their trip. An assistant who'd handled Brennan's book tour travel made the flight, ground and hotel arrangements. Booth went in to work to do a few things before leaving and stopped at his apartment to pack his bag for the flight.
The moment Brennan walked into the lab, Angela hurried over to her. "Honey, you seriously can't take one day off?"
"I am not taking one day off. I'm taking four days off."
"Let me guess…remains in Guatemala or Myanmar or some remote village that has no name?"
"No. We're going to England. I want to attend Vincent's funeral."
"Oh," Angela said, her teasing smile falling.
"Do you think that is a mistake?"
"No. I think it's a wonderful idea," Ange answered, her hand resting over her own heart as she was touched by her friend's thoughtfulness. "You said 'we're going to England'. Does that mean Booth is going with you?"
"Yes," Brennan said with a slight blush.
"Good. I don't think you should be alone."
"Oh, I'm not in any danger. Broadsky is locked up and—"
"That's not why I think you shouldn't be alone. Emotional support. You know?"
"I don't need any—" Brennan paused. "But I am glad he's coming with me."
Booth hurriedly arranged for a few vacation days and practically ran through his apartment to get the things he needed. He called Parker and Rebecca to let them know he'd be out of town for a few days, but back in time for his Saturday with Parker.
He'd insisted on dropping Brennan off at the Jeffersonian and picking her up when he was done getting his things. He had pretty much always felt protective of her, but given her emotional state, the changes in their relationship, and recent threats, he felt even more protective than usual. When he finally got to the lab and laid eyes on her, he felt immediately more at ease.
He rushed her out of the lab, hoping she wouldn't get pulled into work.
"What are we doing here?" Brennan asked as Booth parked his truck.
"I'm starving. I just want to stop for something for the road," he answered.
"I don't think this restaurant specializes in carryout."
"I've got it covered."
Booth took her to the bar, sat her down, and asked her to wait a moment. She ordered her drink as he hurried back to the kitchen. They arrived before dinner would be served, so there wasn't a lot of activity in the kitchen besides a few prep cooks busily chopping in one corner. "Gordon-Gordon! Thank God you're here!" Booth said as he quickly walked up to his friend and shook his hand.
"Agent Booth, what a pleasant surprise. I heard about the lovely Dr. Brennan's intern. Please offer her my condolences."
"You can offer them yourself," Booth replied cheerily.
"Mmmm," Wyatt replied suspiciously, "I have the distinct impression that this isn't a purely social visit."
"Maybe not."
"I'm no longer practicing psychiatry, my friend. The young but insightful Dr. Sweets is more than capable of assisting you both through the grieving process and any associated—"
"Look, I can't talk to Sweets. Not about this. It's about Bones."
"So you're here on her behalf?"
"Kind of…both our behalves."
Wyatt leaned back on the stainless table behind him, folded his arms and said, "I can listen. But I'm no longer—"
"Sure, sure. Look, the night the kid died, Bones' intern, I made her stay at my place just to protect her. The guy who we were chasing, they guy who killed Vincent, he was highly trained, and extremely dangerous. He was after me, which made her just as much of a target."
"Protectiveness is a hallmark of your partnership. A fact that Dr. Sweets knows all too well."
"Right. That's not the problem. She came to me because she was really upset. I've been there when she's gone through some pretty difficult things, but this really shook her. It was different."
"That's understandable. If anything, the fact that she sought you out when she was hurting and was willing to share that vulnerability with you shows incredible growth and trust. She didn't feel the need to withdraw."
"See, that's part of the problem. She trusted me."
"She has trusted you implicitly for a very long time. I'm afraid I fail to see why you've charged in here seeking counsel."
"See, look, I was holding her and comforting her and…I honestly don't know why one thing led to another this time, but it just did."
"As in…"
"As in sex," Booth guiltily whispered. "We didn't talk about it. It just kinda happened."
"Say no more. I think I know where this is headed. Some women have difficulty in that department when their minds are overwhelmed. Don't take it to heart."
"What? No! I swear everyone secretly wants me to fail in the sack."
"What a bizarre accusation."
"Why did you go there?"
"Because you and Dr. Brennan finally consummated your relationship and I assumed that would make you happy. Since you're clearly not happy, I'm guessing you felt insecure about—"
"I'm not feeling insecure."
"Then she's since withdrawn from you? Put distance between you emotionally and-or physically since then? That's also not all that surprising given that—"
"No, actually. Not at all. Which is kind of surprising. But it's good. I mean…I think it's good."
"Well, obviously I'm not the psychiatrist I once was! Before I make any more erroneous suggestions, why don't you tell me what the problem is, because I fail to see one."
"She was vulnerable, in pain. She needed me, trusted me…and I had sex with her."
"You feel guilty?"
"Yea. I mean everything was good, great actually, but I can't shake the feeling that I…took advantage of her."
"I don't think you're capable of taking advantage of her, Agent Booth. You're a man in love. And she is a woman in love. And you both treat each other with the utmost respect, admiration and devotion. Does she feel taken advantage of?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't ask her?"
"Well, no."
"If you're going to embark on an intimate and romantic relationship, you're going to need to learn to discuss the few things that have traditionally been off-limits topics. She's going to become suspicious if you keep running to my restaurant every time there's something the two of you need to discuss."
"It's not like we haven't talked at all. I mean she knows that this isn't just a physical thing. We agreed that it's something more. I just didn't ask her that particular question."
"Ah! This situation is coming into focus. You're concerned that she feels you've exploited her by making advances while she was in a precarious emotional state—"
"Not exactly," Booth interjected.
"Not exactly what?" Wyatt asked with confusion.
"She really…you know…she made the advances," Booth whispered. "But I didn't stop her. And then I was what you might call an 'active participant.'"
Wyatt chuckled, "I doubt Dr. Brennan would do anything she hadn't carefully decided upon."
"So you don't think the timing is…you know…"
"Well, you two have been dancing around this for what six years or so? Obviously a real gentleman would wait a solid decade before rushing foolhardily into a sexual relationship with the woman he loves," Wyatt said tilting his head and leaning forward with his knowing near smirk.
Ignoring Wyatt's sarcasm, Booth continued, "I just…I don't want to hurt her."
"I know that," Wyatt answered. "I suspect she knows that as well. That's why you're worried now even though you probably have no cause to be. Come here." Wyatt took them to a door beside the bar, "Take out your phone. I want you to dial her number. Watch her face when she answers."
"What do you want me to tell her when she answers?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Well she's going to get suspicious if I don't say anything."
"Just…invite her back here. That's not the important part."
"Fine," Booth said, calling her.
The two men watched through the window of the door as she fished her phone from her pocket. Booth saw the smile that flashed on her face before she answered, "Brennan."
"Hey. It's Booth."
"Yes," she replied calmly. "I've had your number programmed into my phone for a very long time."
"Right. Umm…Want to come to the kitchen?"
"The kitchen? Okay. Is someone listening? Are you in some kind of trouble? We need a code word. If you are in danger, say 'Epiphyseal Dysplasia'. If not, say—"
"If I'm not in trouble why would we need a code word?" he asked.
"That is an excellent point."
"Bones, I'm not in trouble. Just please come back here?" he asked before he hung up.
Wyatt pointed through the window as they watched Brennan gather her things. "That smile, the look on her face the moment she saw your name on her phone…that look is the look of a woman in love."
"You think?"
"I know. So lay to rest any concerns you may have about taking advantage of her or somehow abusing the situation. The two of you have tiptoed around this for years. You've made excuses, hurt each other, tried separation, tried seeing other people, talked about it, talked to other people about it…in my entirely un-professional opinion, something had to happen to trigger the proverbial leap. Death reminds us that life is ephemeral and fragile. Love…is a very positive response. In some cases, with some people, I would advise against any major changes during a time of grief. But I firmly believe that you both acted out of love. I can think of few more noble inspirations."
"Thanks, Gordon-Gordon."
"Not a problem. Now, before she gets here…You need to work on these issues with her. Talk about them. Be honest. You have makings of a very good and possibly lasting relationship. You've seen the worst and best of each other already. You've already built trust, and a love that actually runs deeper than many people in a purely romantic relationship because of all you've endured."
When Brennan walked into the kitchen and saw Booth talking secretively to Wyatt, she knew for certain Booth hadn't just come for the food. Her first thought was that Booth had regrets, and was seeking Wyatt's counsel on the matter. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Wyatt," she said, trying to look happy to see him.
"And you, Dr. Brennan. If you'd like to sit down, I'll make you something," Wyatt offered, gesturing to a nearby chair.
"Actually, do you have a to-go box?" Booth asked.
Folding his arms, Wyatt countered, "Do I look like a poorly complexioned teen at a drive-through window wearing a headset?"
"We have a plane to catch."
Wyatt stepped back and said disapprovingly, "I'll see what I can find."
Once Wyatt was on the other side of the kitchen, Brennan whispered, "You could have just told me, Booth. I can handle it."
"Handle what?"
"I know why we're here. You wanted to ask Dr. Wyatt how to 'put the brakes on things' for a while. Isn't that what you called it? Do you…do you think we're a mistake?" She felt her heart breaking, terrified of whatever words he was about speak. Internally, she admonished herself for even allowing the thought of happiness.
He immediately stepped closer, "Hey, we are not a mistake. I was feeling a little guilty. Like maybe I took advantage of you."
"You took advantage of me?"
"Because I had sex with you when you were vulnerable."
"You did not take advantage of me, Booth! Don't you remember? I was the one who initiated sex. I was responsible. And I have no regrets. Do you?"
"No regrets," he said with pure sincerity. "And of course I remember. I just…I don't want to hurt you. And I never want you to feel like I've used you."
"You're not that kind of man. I know you. You're a very good man."
"My dear people," Wyatt announced as he approached with a small insulated bag, "take this with you. When you return, perhaps we could all get together and I can serve you a decent meal in an actual social setting as opposed to a consultation in disguise."
"I would enjoy that very much," Brennan answered.
As she turned and took a few steps toward the door, she heard Booth say to Wyatt, "Thank you. Really."
The limo picked them up at Brennan's apartment, the driver actually coming to her door to gather their luggage. Booth tightly gripped his duffel, tossing a firm look to make it clear that he carried his own bags.
"He's here to help, Booth," Brennan whispered.
"You know my training regimen? I think I can handle one piece of luggage."
As they walked to the limo, the driver opened the door for them before putting the luggage in the trunk, Booth insistently keeping his bag on the seat in front of him. The driver began the trip to the airport, lowering the privacy shield after a moment and saying, "Excuse the interruption, but there have been some changes made to your travel itinerary."
"We should have made the plans ourselves," Booth whispered to her.
"Amanda has arranged for a private jet so you don't have to deal with fellow travelers during this time of loss."
"Oh," Brennan said calmly, "that's quite thoughtful. I'll email her later to express my appreciation."
Booth stared at her out of the corner of his eye and once the privacy shield was up, he said, "How is it possible that we share ninety percent of our waking hours together but somehow live in two completely different worlds?"
"I think ninety percent is an overestimation. If you spend time commuting, an hour training—"
"Bones," he interrupted, "the exact percentage isn't important."
"Then why did you mention a percentage at all? That implies a quantitative analysis of—"
"I was trying to make the point that we spend a lot of our time together. That's all."
"Okay," she allowed. "But I disagree. We live in the same world."
"The world of crime solving, sure, but you're rich."
"Hodgins says I'm 'well-off'. He's rich."
"In my world, people send flowers when someone dies. Or a fruit basket. In your world, they hire a private jet."
"I never understood the point of sending cut flowers to commemorate a death. I always thought that watching the flowers wither was just a reminder of the certainty of death, and the typical loss of vibrancy and beauty that often precedes it. Although I do enjoy fruit."
"The fruit wasn't the point."
"I understand. You're saying that my publisher offered a gift that seemed extravagant given the circumstance."
"Yea, I mean. Pretty much. Don't you think it's a bit extreme?"
"Perhaps. We may come from slightly different circumstances, but we've always shared. You showed me some black ops stuff. I've taught you the names of many bones, enough that you can often translate for other law enforcement. You took me out in the field and then showed me the joys of sharing a beer after a case."
"—And you share your pool with my son."
"And in turn, I've been able to have Parker in my life. To share my love of science with him. If we came from identical circumstances, think of how many experiences we would have missed out on? Our lives are 'richer' because we share them with each other."
Booth smiled and nodded, "That's really smart. Actually, it's very romantic."
"I am not romantic."
"That makes it all the more romantic," he argued.
"You are a very confusing man," she replied.
"I think that's why you like me."
"Well, now we can share another new experience. A private flight to London."
Booth tried to take it all in stride, to act like he didn't feel completely out of place as they walked through a small screening area and out to board the plane. Brennan walked up the steps and into the plane before him, and he heard her say, "See. Our worlds are not all that different. Flowers."
He looked past her and saw the flowers on a table in front of one of the stuffed reclining seats. It was the largest arrangement of bright white flowers he had ever seen. "Yea. Practically identical," he mumbled.
"They're lilies," she explained. "From the Greek 'leiron'. Often used at funerals to symbolize a return to purity and innocence after death."
Booth sat down in one of the recliners and put his feet up, sinking into the comfortable chair and sighing his content.
"There's a minibar," she added, looking pleased that he was enjoying himself. Holding up a bottle of fine scotch, she said, "Want some? I like these tiny bottles."
"You know that's a lot bigger than the normal bottles in a minibar, right?"
Ignoring him, she handed over the bottle and sat down in the seat next to his. She also put her recliner back and feet up. "This is a lot better than a normal plane," he admitted.
"Perhaps being associated with me can have its perks."
Rolling on his side, facing her, he smirked, "Associated with you?"
"Yes. I can't help but think that it is more fun to share this trip with someone else."
"I can't believe I slept that long," he said when they landed. "I barely got to enjoy it."
"Your snore is…impressive. Astonishing, really."
"I was on my back," he defended, "and my head was tilted at a weird angle." He stretched to try to work the kink out of his neck.
"We still have a return flight," Brennan responded pragmatically.
They immediately got in another smaller limo and continued their journey. "The funeral is in a few hours," she explained somberly. "We have to go almost immediately. I'm sorry there won't be much time in between. We were fortunate to get here in time for the service."
"No problem," he answered softly.
His hand fell on top of hers, offering unassuming comfort, seeming to know when she felt particularly sad and uncertain. "I am glad you are here, Booth."
"I'm glad you wanted me here," he replied.
She watched as Booth seemed equally awed by the hotel, and she remembered all of those times they stayed at different places, she in more expensive hotels while he slept in budget motels with mattresses that inevitably killed his back. She readied herself for the funeral, dressing in a simple black dress with neatly tied up hair. Vincent's family was very wealthy, so she expected the funeral would be formal. Booth seemed to transform in mere seconds from casual American traveler to handsome gentleman. He actually shook her breath for a moment, and she wasn't quite sure why. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a deep purple tie. He was refreshed, and the care he took to make sure his suit was perfect, hair neatly combed and gelled, and face shaven showed a level of respect that she fundamentally understood.
"You don't usually wear that suit, do you?" she asked.
"You noticed, Bones?" he proudly replied. "This is for formal occasions. Weddings, funerals, you know. Not the same stuff I wear to take down bad guys and look at dead bodies."
"It complements your structure."
"Thank you," he smiled softly. "You look amazing too."
"Unfortunate that we're dressed for a funeral."
"Yea," he answered, offering his arm.
She took it and he escorted her back to the waiting car.
Vincent's funeral was enormous. Everyone gathered in the echoic Anglican Cathedral for a formal service. "Vincent was an atheist," Brennan insisted as a loud pipe organ filled the space with song. "This funeral is not what he would have wanted."
"Because funerals are for the living, Bones," he replied. "So the living can mourn the dead."
"It doesn't seem right."
Booth stared down at a hymnal and Brennan added, "Would you do that to me?"
"Do what?" he hush whispered.
"Would you want to have a Catholic funeral to mourn me?"
"No. Of course not. Not that it matters—"
"Of course it doesn't matter," she agreed. "I have specified the exact nature of my funeral in my will."
"I meant that it doesn't matter because you're going to live a very long time."
"You don't know that," she argued as the music stopped. A few tiny, withered women nearby cast her a disapproving look for speaking at such an inappropriate time.
"Can we continue this discussion later?" he asked.
Brennan nodded, listening to the ceremony. Her eyes remained fixed on the shiny metal hardware and sleek lacquered look of the casket itself. She took a few mental notes about the ceremony, deciding to consider any anthropological lessons learned, but found her thoughts more often drifted to Vincent. She wondered what kind of funeral he would have wanted, and thought, selfishly perhaps, that he probably would have enjoyed the simple sendoff given outside of the Jeffersonian the best.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, finding a few teary young women and wondering if they were romantic interests or relatives. Vincent's father looked so much like him, only slightly older. He had touches of grey in the hair around his face, and was a few pounds heavier, but had overall the same lanky and somewhat feeble build. Vincent's mother appeared calmly stoic. Brennan respected that, in a way, but realized as she watched the woman that her pain seemed the most palpable in spite of her lack of overtly emotional behavior.
After the ceremony, the crowd filed out, the attendees heading to their vehicles to go to the cemetery. Brennan nearly told Booth that she was relatively certain that Vincent would have preferred to be cremated, but then she realized with great sadness that someone as young as Vincent probably hadn't put much thought into his funeral, least of all formalized his wishes in a will.
Booth had been to too many damn funerals. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, quite the contrary. But he'd been to more funerals in his life than weddings and baptisms combined, and that seemed to throw life off balance. He'd expected more arguments from Brennan, but after her initial criticisms, she remained quiet. In his mind, he could still hear her talking during his "funeral" years ago.
After the ceremony at the cemetery, she politely waited to speak with Vincent's parents. Booth watched while she offered her condolences, clearly stating, "I'm very sorry for your loss," just as he'd taught her all those years ago. But he could hear how thoroughly she meant it. She handed Vincent's mother a box, and said, "These are a few mementos from Vincent's colleagues and mentors at the Jeffersonian. He was well-liked, respected for his knowledge and desire to share all that he'd learned. He was also devoted, hard-working and quite enthusiastic. He would have become a very well-respected authority in the field. He was my favorite intern."
"She really means that," Booth added. "Dr. Brennan isn't the type of person to say things just to be polite."
"I am not a polite person," she agreed.
Booth wondered if she had any idea how that actually sounded. "I really liked your son. I'm with the FBI. I worked with him on several cases."
"Agent Booth," Vincent's father said. "We've heard of you as well."
"I am very sorry for your loss," Booth said. "Vincent was a good kid."
Many people were waiting behind them, and neither of them knew what else to say, so they slowly ambled back to the car. "So often after people die, I focus on solving their murder. Bringing the person who is responsible to justice," Brennan noted.
"Yea well, we already did that," Booth answered.
"Usually it takes time. I spend time with the bones. Get to know them. I don't know what I expected to have happen today. I still feel sad."
"That's understandable. It takes time...the people who matter to us don't just vanish. They fade."
"We came all this way and, I'm not sure what I accomplished."
"It meant something to his parents that you came."
"You too."
"Yea, but, he was one of yours. You represented the whole squint squad. Speaking of the squint squad, what was in the box?"
"Oh. I wanted to give them the paper that Vincent and I had worked on."
"The T-Rex versus Humans thing?"
"Yes. I did my best to complete it. When I told Angela what I was doing, she wanted to send something. Then everyone wanted to share something with his family. Angela drew a picture of him and around it in those cartoon bubbles she wrote many of the facts he'd discussed. It was a humorous rendering of his time at the Jeffersonian. Hodgins gave them some basic schematics that Vincent drew for one of their contraptions. Cam gave them a letter of recommendation that she was working on for him…something he wanted for a dig abroad during the summer."
"That was a really nice touch, Bones. Really. For a bunch of people who like to insist the heart is just a muscle, your squints really showed a lot of real heart…the kind of heart that isn't a muscle."
"I think I am the only one who insists on such cold, logical distinctions."
Hearing the dour tone in her voice, he insisted, "I didn't say that. I don't think you're cold." Getting her attention, he lifted his eyebrows suggestively, "In fact, I think you can be very, very warm and very, very, very affectionate."
"You're only saying that because we now have intercourse," she clinically noted.
"No," he said when they were only a few feet from their vehicle. "I've always insisted that. I know who you are. The warm, caring person that you keep hidden inside. I actually think you're the one with the most sensitive heart, if you want the truth."
She crinkled her forehead, "Is that an attempt at humor through sarcasm?"
"What? No. Not at all."
"Then I suspect you're only trying to be kind."
"I'm not. Bones, I wouldn't do that. The reason why you're so careful with your heart is because deep down it feels too much. It hurts too much. Over the years, you've let me see more and more of it. Because, hopefully, you trust me with it."
He awaited her swift dismissal of his thoughts, certain that she was about to cut down any such silly notion, but she took a lightening step forward, her height equal to his in her heels, and kissed him. For a second her lips stilled, but before he could even process the fact that she was against him, she tilted her head, deepening the kiss as her fingers held the back of his head, her nails gently scraping his scalp.
"Funeral, Bones," he said as he carefully but firmly held her waist and put a few inches of space between them.
"No one can see," she replied, looking around.
"Come on," he said, leading her toward the car, mumbling that it was only a matter of time before they were discovered and that a burial wasn't the appropriate place for kissing.
In truth it scared him a little, the quick and easy way he seemed to desire her so intensely and completely after just a kiss.
As soon as the limo began to move, she locked the privacy window and started kissing him again. Sometimes it felt like Booth was the only one who could really see her. He saw beyond the exterior, perhaps even better than she did. Here he was, next to her, dropping everything to accompany her to a funeral, guarding her when he was concerned for her safety, holding her hand when she was uncertain, comforting her when she was sad. She seldom felt at a loss for words unless she was trying to explain intense feelings. Brennan had no idea what words could possibly convey her feelings.
As their kissing and subtle groping became a bit heavier, she felt the dizzy headiness he seemed to provoke frequently in her as of late. There was a sound he always made when he really started to become aroused. It was the mixture of a heavy sigh, a groan and a whimper, just barely engaging his vocal chords in wordless approbation.
Her hand wandered down the outside of his thigh, pressing firmly into the muscle, rounding his knee and very patiently working back up his leg. Her thumb was on his inner thigh, her palm resting on top of his leg, and she wondered momentarily how far he'd allow her hand to ascend before he picked it up and forced her to stop. So she moved slowly, allowing her fingers to massage his leg like they were content to just do that. She wondered if he was fooled by her actions. She distracted, allowing his hands to roam her sides, even skimming her breast, stroking her neck, all somewhat decently.
She actually made her way very far up his leg, feeling the tugged and tightened up fabric of his pants before he grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. "We'll be back at the hotel soon," he warned, looking around as if someone might be watching.
"The privacy screen is locked. The windows are tinted so no one can see in. And with traffic we have plenty of time."
"We keep getting caught up and then we rush things. Let's wait until we get back to the hotel and then we can…you know…enjoy it."
"We can take our time next time," she said, her eyes mischievous and playful. "I'm certain you'll enjoy this. You're not that inhibited, are you? You told me about all those girls under the bleachers and in parked cars, so I know you're not that shy…"
"Bones," he warned, but her hand wiggled free from his, moving down his chest and over to his hip, creeping over his leg until it paused warmly on his erection.
She heard him sigh deeply as she slid down in front of him, settling between his knees as she continued to fondle him with light strokes. "There's people out there," he mentioned, half-heartedly, as if he didn't really want her to stop.
"That's part of the excitement, Booth," she insisted. Using one hand to untuck the front of his shirt from his pants, she whispered seductively, "Relax."
When he dropped his head back against the seat, she knew she had won this particular battle. She'd wanted to taste him for years, to see what it was like to suck his cock. He was such an interesting combination of confidence and uncertainty, both cocky and shy. That alpha male, the one who'd stood proudly with his hands on his hips like he was indestructible, seemed powerless as her lips slid along his length and her tongue laved passionately, studying every inch of taut, suede skin.
She expertly tied him up in knots, bringing him right to the brink and then slowing and lessening pressure to allow him to regain some control. The first time she did this, he seemed relieved, his fingers gently brushing her neck while his breath slowed. Gradually she allowed his passion to escalate again, this time continuing until he was right at the edge, and somehow breaking the rhythm that he'd come to expect and leaving him just short of release. That time he sounded momentarily more frustrated than relieved, but as she continued her exquisite tease, he was almost immediately swept up in the arousing sights and sensations she was offering.
As he neared ecstasy the third time, she heard him murmur, "Please, Bones, ohmygod," repeatedly until his murmurs became moans of tightly drawn pleasure. He lifted off the seat, her one hand moving to his hip to encourage him to slide into her mouth. She offered a slow, guttural moan, knowing the vibrations were going to shoot straight through him, and she was not disappointed. This time she didn't break her rhythm or intensity, in fact, she slightly tightened her grip, and he was undone. It sounded almost like he thanked her as he came, but the words that emerged from him were unclear at best.
When she was finished with him, she rubbed her palms over his abs, watching his heaving chest and unfocused eyes as he slumped down in the back of the limo. Reducing that man to such a state was empowering, and she wondered if she ever felt as confident and sexual as she did with him.
"Oh…my…God…" he barely managed to pant.
Sure the unknowing people outside had been a bit exciting, also nerve-wracking, but he had long since forgotten them. She'd made him forget the driver, and the motion of the vehicle, and even the seat he'd sat upon. It was just Brennan and him, and her mouth, her tongue, her hands. He shook his head, it was too soon to think about all of that again.
He felt her practically hop on the seat next to him. "I really do enjoy sexual contact," she happily stated.
His head rolled so he was facing her, his neck still too relaxed to actually support the weight. He smirked, "I can tell. Give me just a minute." His hand wound behind her back as he held her close, silently offering his thanks.
"We're almost back to the hotel now," she said. "Anything else will have to wait. Which is probably for the best. You seem a bit tired."
He saw her smirking, but he defended, "I do not leave a woman unsatisfied. Ever."
"I am not unsatisfied. Orgasm isn't the only type of satisfaction," she explained.
"That sounds like something you say to a guy so he doesn't feel bad when he…you know…"
"I do not know."
"You know…when he lets you down."
"Oh," she nodded slowly. "I am not worried about that. I have every confidence in your abilities. It is occasionally fun to simply give pleasure. I have to admit…I enjoyed that very much. Plus, this way you'll have some time to recover and hopefully you'll be able to perform again later."
"When we get back to our room, it's my turn to do things my way. I'm going to make you beg."
"That sounds promising," she grinned hungrily.
Brennan looked around and gathered her things since they were nearly at the hotel. She looked at her reflection in the window, and quickly ran a finger under her lip to fix a smudge of lipstick. He felt a jolt of preliminary excitement at that sight alone, and wondered if she really was always as spontaneous as she'd claimed to be.
"What would you like to do tomorrow?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. "We have all day. Want to have lunch and wait for the bridge to go up for good luck? Or maybe see some of your Scotland Yard counterparts?"
An image flashed in his head. He thought of sitting near London Bridge, taking her hand in his and, somewhat casually, asking her if she'd marry him. He knew, without a doubt, she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It was fast, terribly fast and long overdue at the same time. As far as he was concerned, he was ready to propose and plan the wedding. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd sadly told him that soon she'd be the only one without a child, and part of him wanted to tell her that together they could have everything they wanted. Then there was the fact that they hadn't used any protection, or even talked about any sort of precautionary measure. They trusted each other with their lives, and they both knew they wouldn't do anything to risk the other's well-being. Oddly enough, it didn't even have to be said. Of course there were other considerations, but neither of them mentioned those possibilities.
If she knew he was even considering the possibility of marriage, she would think he was absolutely insane. He knew she didn't like the institution of marriage, and even if she would consider it in some bizarre alternate universe, she still wouldn't consider it so soon. He knew better than anyone, Bones could not be rushed. He was going to have to take things much slower than he wanted. When he thought about the fact that he wanted to be with her even though she didn't want to get married, he knew she was the only one for him. This relationship, or whatever it was, was going to involve a hell of a lot of compromise.
She was the only woman he was willing to be monogamously un-married with indefinitely. Still, he felt a strange confidence that one day he would have his wish. Prudently he decided to keep that thought to himself.
"Patience," he sighed without realizing that he'd spoken.
"I'm not acting impatiently," she responded.
"I was just thinking," he sleepily answered as he tried to tuck in his shirt, realizing that she must have buttoned and zipped his pants for him at some point.
"What were you thinking about?"
He looked at her, nearly saying a few of the things that had been floating in his head. Instead he smiled reassuringly and said, "You know…about the things we don't say."
"Ah," she said, offering a similarly reassuring smile, "those things."
