~o~ Chapter Ten - My Lover Stands on Golden Sands ~o~
There's a little section of their semi-private beach that he's taken to calling 'Camp Sexy' - rolling dunes ending in soft white sands, a nearby line of towering palms, and twinkling emerald blue ocean stretching as far as the eye can see. It's nothing compared to the woman laying by his side right now, she who gives the 'Camp' its name, but it'll do.
It's kinda like those chunky necklaces she wears – only maybe in reverse. The jewelry enhances her, draws the eyes either up or down or in, and because it's her, any one of those directions is pleasurable. But this place? This place didn't even know the word sexy until Temperance Brennan stepped foot... and the rest of her... on it. She's the enhancer here. And her black bikini with the little white ties on the curve of each hip doesn't hurt a damn bit.
Mid-afternoon of day two finds the partners – in every sense of the word - sharing an oversize beach blanket underneath a large umbrella, positioned to block a bit of the most direct sun. They're side by side, their sand-covered feet extending in opposite directions, her propped in a low beach chair pretending to read a book, him laying on the blanket, arms crossed behind his head, pretending to sleep.
Really, what Booth is doing is replaying the sights and sounds of the last few days, weeks even, on the backs of his eyelids... and thinking. And thanking. And trying to abstain from a state of permanent erection. But Bones makes it hard. (Get it? Hard?)
He reaches over to grab her hand, pulling it from her book to rest with his on his bare stomach, his fingers tracing and tangling messily with hers as she strokes lightly along his midriff with her nails. "So whatcha wanna do tonight, Bones? Dinner, drinks, dancing?" He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, not quite managing to hide his leer on this last option: "Or we could always stay in?"
"We stayed in last night."
"I didn't hear you complaining." He pushes himself up to rest on both elbows, as her eyes track over his lean body: skin glistening with sunscreen, broad shoulders already bronzed after just a few cumulative hours in the sun, swim trunks tied low on his narrow hips...
She gives in and leans forward, bracing her hand on his stomach, book dropping to the blanket, and kisses him leisurely. "You either. I think it's safe to conclude that we're very sexually compatible."
"Is that the squint way of saying I'm good in the sack?" His cocky smile outshines the sun.
Her eyebrow raises and she takes on a knowing smile. "The data collected thus far points to that being fact, yes."
He licks his lips and leans toward her again, eyes drifting between the expanse of cleavage she's showing him and her face, looking relaxed, happy even, cheeks tinged pink from the sun. "More." Pushing up on one hand, he traces the other along her cheek, his thumb along the line of her smile before capturing her lips in a quick kiss. "More squint-speak."
"Through multiple replications using various experimental criteria, I have deduced that there is tangible proo-mmph-"
This. This he could get used to. Permanent erection be damned. She'd take care of him, he knows it. "Mmm... God, you taste like heaven." He smiles from where he now hovers slightly above her, licking his lips, savoring her. "And still with the salt. How many margaritas was that?"
She smacks his shoulder and laughs - after all, there's nothing wrong with enjoying the extra drinks - as he quickly jumps up, pulling her from their sandy towel and together they run hand-in-hand towards the white-cresting waves of the Pacific.
~o~
Later, after heavy "discussions" in the luxurious multi-jetted shower, every pro and con thoroughly presented and explored and vetted, they decide to go out – view a bit of what's available to them around this small island paradise.
They find a restaurant-nightclub not too far from their resort and remarkably it's hoppin' with a nice crowd of people moving on the open dance floor beneath a high thatched roof, the sounds of native Hawaiian tunes drifting between club standards and traditional rock-and-roll. Tables line the periphery, a half-wall and open shutters revealing the star-studded sky and the sound of the crashing waves echoing through the clean, pure night.
They'd had a nice dinner and now sit at the bar - a few drinks under their belts. Though neither of them are actually wearing belts. He'd chosen casual tonight - a pair of khaki pants and an un-tucked white button-up shirt, not quite buttoned-up ("We're in a bar. It's a look."). When she stepped out in her flirty black knee-length dress and heels, she'd noticed his look of desire, fleetingly replaced with concern, but had assured him he had no need to change.
He looked hot. As Angela would say, utterly lickable.
His reassurances that he thought the same of her had nearly meant another night in.
Now he's rolled up his sleeves and she's had a few drinks and they're turned into one another on their bar stools, legs touching (everything touching because they can), and she can't help but trace her finger along his forearm, seeing the definition there and watching his brachioradialis and forearm flexors tense in response to her light touch. His silver watch glints underneath the lights of the bar and she presses beneath the clasp, feeling his pulse pick up and tracing the warm flesh permanently etched with ebony ink. She smiles as his fist clenches, the strength in these hands...
His eyes are heavy-lidded in that way she now knows means desire and need-you-now and he lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingertips, her wrist, gently, reverently. The tingle that travels along her nerve endings when he does this - looks at her like this, touches her like it's the first time - never seems to lessen in intensity; it never recedes, never fails to be overwhelming. The crowd, however - the noise and bustle around them - fades away in an instant.
She leans in closer, and he's looking at her lips, licking his, the air thick with anticipation, when she is bumped in the back by the next patron over, nearly toppling her off her stool. Of course Booth's arms surround her, his solid body steadying her, and his "Watch it, buddy!" is followed by a profuse apology from a tipsy man in a garishly-patterned shirt.
But the moment...
"I'm just going to go to the restroom, Booth," she tells him, still supported by his hands at her waist. He nods and she squeezes his biceps, then turns, moving towards the back of the establishment.
When she returns after about five minutes, she's surprised to see someone now occupying her seat: a woman, long blonde hair, longer legs extending from an obscenely short skirt. She and Booth seem to be carrying on a conversation - which should come as no surprise since Booth is a very social person, able to comfortably converse with almost anyone. It soon becomes painfully obvious, however, that this woman is flirting with him when she laughs and leans into him, laying her hand upon his arm resting on the bar-top.
Brennan can't stop the strikingly familiar feeling from filling her. She watches him move his arm away, reaching for his glass to take a drink, yet he continues to talk and smile with the woman next to him.
Thoughts fill her mind, unbidden...
~o~
She's watching Sweets and Daisy, newly married, so obviously pleased with the choice they've each made to bind themselves to one another conceivably until death. And they look so happy about it all. It really was a beautiful wedding.
Sipping her glass of champagne, she turns her head back to Angela, to the conversation she and Hodgins and Wendell are having that she thinks she should probably find interesting. But instead she finds herself shifting in her seat and scanning the room for her partner - finally finding him sitting next to one of the round tables, drink in hand. He's watching their 'shrink' and her intern - the newlyweds. He doesn't look happy and she finds that this causes her stomach to sink, metaphorically speaking, and the corners of her eyes to sting.
He's speaking with Cam… or rather Cam is speaking to him. She sees the pathologist - no, not tonight. Cam is so beautiful and radiant dressed in elegant yet simple black; she's nothing but woman this night. Probably one of the few who really know Booth, perhaps even better than herself. She sees this woman, who has a completely different knowledge of her partner, lay her hand upon his knee and can't fight the feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She knows jealousy. She knows feelings.
She's seen him on dates with other women. She's been on dates with other men.
And she has no claim, not now especially – though Angela tells her that sometimes a person has no control over who their heart chooses to love. She almost wants to believe that – that the heart is more than a muscle (and muscles can't be broken but she knows they can be ripped, crushed-), that maybe they all know something her brilliant mind can't grasp and the heart really is able to aid in decision-making.
Like in her father's trial. Booth would say that she had "put her heart in overdrive" in regard to the events that led to Max's innocent verdict. But she knows it was simply a case of displaying the facts in another logical manner, thereby casting doubt in the minds of the jury.
She's had many months to sift through the motives she had during that time - the undeniable fact that she knew her father was guilty of murder. But that fact seemed blurred, clouded by the knowledge that his motives had been out of love for his family. It was only a small leap for her to realize that hers had been as well.
And those actions had seemed so right at the time.
But now? To relinquish that control to anything but the brain? It's just not rational.
Those times - the times they were on dates with other people? It hurt. Every time.
And even this time, looking at him speaking with his friend. Rationally, she knows the two are just that. Friends.
But she wishes she could be that person for him. The one he's been for her so often. She wishes she knew the right things to say, the right things to do.
She confided in Angela a few days after the events in Sweets' office and outside the Hoover. The events that changed everything. Her friend made a few things very clear to her. First of all, adamantly voicing her level of disappointment in Brennan's reactions that night - which was really not surprising in the least - and secondly, helping her see that the desire to have things be 'the-way-they-were-before' is naive and somewhat childish.
The other result was Angela's own desire to see the whole situation between the two partners set to rights. Whether that be the restoration of their strong friendship (by not avoiding the pachyderm in the room, but acknowledging it and 'moving on', moving past it) or the development of something more (Angela's vote, of course, involved riding that elephant off into the sunset or something equally ludicrous). But regardless, her friend says the ball is in her court, it's her move to make.
She's not completely sure what all of that means, what path she should choose, but she knows she hates what they're becoming. Even if she's not sure what that is. Especially since she's not sure what that is...
She's not good at change. Change for her has rarely been a positive experience.
But maybe...
Love is a chemical process which causes delusion. An intellectually rigorous person would never get married.
... maybe it's abrupt change...
You believe that love is transcendent and eternal. I want to believe that, too.
...she can't handle.
Perhaps love comes first, and then creates the reaction.
And if she is honest with herself - truly, completely, painfully honest - she's that girl.
That girl who knew.
Right from the beginning.
But still ran. Still avoided. Still...
Her eyes flit once again to the newly married couple, swaying slowly together to the romantic music filling the reception hall, openly sharing kisses, smiles, affection. Love.
And she looks back to her partner. The man she's struggled beside for so long, the man she's learned so much from over time, the man she's realized so many things about recently.
"I want that," she murmurs and moves to place her long-stemmed glass on the nearest table.
"With him." She finishes to no-one, to everyone, as she walks toward her partner, intent on asking him for a dance… the dance.
~o~
She returns to their place at the bar and places her hand on his back. He turns to her with a smile but it fades quickly when he sees the look on her face.
"Dance with me." Not a question. She's no longer in a questioning mood. She knows what – who - she wants and she knows that she will have him.
The music is very upbeat, up-tempo, and she pulls him off the bar stool and to the dance floor. "Show me what you've got, Booth," she tells him above the music, tugging him close. Leaning in to his ear, she purrs, "No holding back."
He sees exactly how serious, and how aroused, she is with one look in her eyes. He may not know exactly why the sudden change, at least not yet, but he adopts the same demeanor, immediately determined to give this woman he loves so fucking much exactly what she's craving tonight.
Her mouth is set in a straight line, tight. Her eyes flash in the minimal lighting of the dance floor, and every time she looks at him with that smoldering blue fire, he feels himself ratcheting up another notch. He's not sure what brought this on, but if he had to guess... he glances back to the bar, sees the woman he'd been talking to now watching them. And before he can so much as smirk at the blonde, at the knowledge of what this must be, he feels his partner's fingers on his jaw, pulling his focus back to her. She doesn't say anything... doesn't have to. Mine. It's written all over her face.
Bones is jealous and god if that doesn't make him hotter than hell.
Their actions are quick, measured in time with the music, their grip on one another tight, intense. He pushes her away from him, still holding to one hand, then smoothly twirls her back into him, her back to his front. Her hand is tucked into his, his arm around her waist as he pulls her close, pressing their hips tight so she can feel him beginning to respond to her. He whispers in her ear, "What's this all about, Bones?" Then he flips her around to face him and once again begins to move her around the floor.
She raises her chin to him, their faces so close he can feel her breath on his lips. "I think you know."
"That woman?" She sees the flash of his smile just as he spins her out again, bringing her right back in to dip her, his hand splayed across her back, fully supporting her, his other hand at her hip, his thumb rubbing circles. "Jealous, baby?"
She grips his shoulders hard as he raises her back to standing, her leg wrapping around the back of his and sliding down. Their bodies are so tightly pressed together, they can feel every breath, every curve, every hard plane. Her eyes narrow onto his, her voice low and dripping with intensity. "Do you want me to be?"
His lips are millimeters from hers, his breath coming in pants that have nothing to do with physical exertion. "God, you make me so fucking hot, Temperance."
Her hands trace down his chest to his waist and one travels further to lift his shirt and slip beneath, resting on the waistband of his pants. "You didn't answer my question, Seeley."
He fights to keep his eyes open as her nails trace the bare skin along his waist, around to his back, holding him close. They're barely moving, standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor, surrounded by half-drunk tourists in flip-flops and flowery shirts - and yet he'd swear this is the sexiest moment of his whole fucking life. "I'm yours, baby. No one but you can ever make me feel like this." He pulls her closer by her hip, daring her to deny the unmistakable proof; feeling her sharp inhale, her lips against his neck, at his words and actions. And immediately following, directly in her ear, "Now, answer my question. Are you mine?"
He feels her shudder in his arms, her mouth opening slightly as her shaky exhale near his ear sends an electric shock down his spine. He has a flash of panic that she'll say no, that she'll spout off anthropological facts about ownership and lord knows what else. That she'll decide he's not worth it and...
"I need..." She pulls him close by his shoulders and breathes against his lips before capturing them with her own, "I need you to take me home. Make me yours."
~o~
They make it out of the bar, walking hand-in-hand back up the beach toward their hut. Every now and then she'll squeeze his hand, or he'll stroke his thumb along hers, but they don't look at each other. Their focus is straight ahead, eyes on that last dwelling... as if they catch the eye of the other, they might never make it.
She doesn't look at him, but her breathing is heavy and her voice hitches as she whispers his name into the salty ocean air.
And that's all it takes for him to spin her into him and attack her lips, to pull her tight to him at her waist and thread his hand in her hair at the back of her neck. His moan, her whimper, is caught in between their connected mouths, their breath passing back and forth as they break suction but never part, tongues and teeth taking over.
"Bones... need you..." he gasps against her chin, bending his knees and trailing his lips down her throat to the heaven between her breasts. His hands are cupping, pulling, circling, driving her insane.
She drops the heels she's been carrying and they land with barely a sound in the sun-warmed sand beneath their feet. She's reaching for him, any purchase she can find, the need to crawl inside him nearly overwhelming. "Take me, Booth... make me yours... make me..."
His hands are cupping her hips now, pulling her flush to him, raising her skirt to obscene heights; all the while his mouth nipping at her chest, his tongue tracing the bust-line of her dress.
She realizes, almost after the fact, that she's got his shirt completely unbuttoned and sliding down his arms. Before it's even hit the ground below them, she's stroking and raking her nails over the warm bronze flesh of her man. "Mine," she growls as she bites into the tight flesh of his shoulder, not nearly enough to break the skin but enough to leave marks and hopefully no doubt in his mind how she needs this to go.
He inhales sharply at her bite and pulls back to look at her, cast in a rhapsody of moonlight and shadows, the sea-winds blowing her hair to one side then the other. He never would have thought it possible that she could be this gorgeous, this sexy, this special to him. "You are so beautif-"
"Don't you dare..." She grips his arms tightly, rubbing herself wantonly along his erection, then digs her fingers in his hair, leaving it disheveled - the way, she secretly thrills, it looks when he comes up from between her thighs. "Don't you dare hold back on me now, Booth. Fuck me. Make me yours."
There's no more waiting, it's not even worth the fleeting thought of continuing the short distance down the thankfully-secluded beach to the guaranteed privacy of their Hale. It looks like the minimal shelter of a nearby outcropping of lava rocks is as much cover as they'll be afforded. He grips her tightly and pulls her up onto him, her arms and legs reflexively wrapping around him. He falls to his knees, the warmth of the shifting sand actually feeling cool as it transfers through his slacks to contact his overheated body.
His face is buried in her breasts once again and he wastes no time pulling the tiny straps of her dress down her shoulders, moving to feast on the freckles he can't see but knows have been highlighted by her recent time in the sun, tracing every indelible mark with his tongue.
She's grinding against him in his lap, her hands squeezing through the narrow space between them to unbutton and unzip his pants, then immediately slipping inside, stroking him firmly through his boxers. He's managed to move her dress down around her waist, exposing her strapless black bra of which he makes quick work and flings to the side.
She's still stroking him, still grinding, now against her own hand against him and he's about to lose it. Sucking a pert nipple in his mouth, he's groaning against her with every thrust until he finally snaps. "Stand up."
"Booth..."
"No arguing." He grips behind her thighs and pulls, feeling her brace her hands on his shoulders and rise to her feet. "Spread your legs." He's kissing and nipping along her thigh, heading directly toward where she wants him most. "Do you want me?"
"Booth..."
"Do you want my tongue inside you?"
"Yesss..."
He takes her hands from where they still grip his shoulders, directing one to lift the skirt of her dress to the side and places the other against her own throbbing center. "Then make way, baby."
She gets the idea and pulls her panties to one side, just as he grips her thighs and dips his head to taste her. His arms flex as he holds onto her, helping to support her weight a bit as her knees threaten to give way. He's licking and sipping and teasing as all the while she's thrusting her hips towards his mouth, seeking more pressure, more delicious friction.
He moves one hand to the small of her back, its width spanning her ass as well, pressing her closer into him until she's nearly straddling over his face. His other hand, hurriedly releases himself from his pants and boxers.
Her moans, her shaking legs, her pulsating center are all telling him that she's very close. He grabs her hips and pulls her back, wincing at the sound of her frustrated moan. He looks up at her, deep into her hooded eyes and in a low, rough growl, "Are you mine, Temperance?"
"I need you, Booth... god, please..."
She's begging for it, but still can't relinquish that last shred of control.
He pulls her hips, bringing her down to hover just above him. "This is what you want?"
Her hand reaches between them to grab him and her intent is clear. Before she can manage to connect them, he grabs her wrist.
"No... c'mon Booth... no holding back... give me-"
Her groan floats away on a crashing wave as he presses forward into her, just a bit, both their hands still holding tightly. Slowly, so slowly until progress is stopped by her fist around him and his fist around hers. He lifts his other hand from her trembling thigh, his fingers cupping her chin. Brushing his lips across hers, "You... keep telling me to make you mine... but that's something you've got to give, baby. You've gotta give it to me, Bones. Can you do that? Give yourself... to me?"
Her legs flex as she raises and lowers herself over that mere inch of him, knowing it's not nearly enough, but unable to stop completely. And finally, finally...
"God, Booth... I already did. Have... so long ago... god, I knew too. I've been yours all along. Yours. Yours..." He releases his grip after the first few words and her hands move to his face, her eyes gleaming with the truth as her body sinks down onto his, joining them, making them one.
Her chanting mixes with his, alternating yours and mine until neither knows who is saying which, both saying both, the distinction becoming insignificant as all is lost, swallowed by the ocean waves (wave after wave after wave after wave) echoing in their ears, rippling across their joined bodies. A dance as old as time.
~o~
Several hours later, after trading the sand for another shower and then their luxurious bed, the two are relaxed with one another, even if a little less than talkative. The raw emotion they exuded on the dance floor and later exchanged on the beach, the power they each allowed the other to have, the usually tight-reined control - it was all unleashed upon the other in such a visceral reaction, leaving them utterly exposed in a way neither had ever felt before. Almost a "what the fuck was that?" moment.
This new aspect, frontier, of their relationship has thus far involved a degree of uncertainty on both their parts, but it has not driven them apart - on the contrary, they've remained within arms reach or closer of one another since returning to their Hale.
They appear to be drowning in the refreshing, cotton linens of their king-size bed, her head resting on his shoulder, fingertips drawing random patterns across his chest, his doing the same along her arm.
It's late, they're tired - both physically and emotionally exhausted - but the 'noise' of her thinking prompts Booth to conversation, lest they never get to sleep.
"That woman... she wasn't flirting, Bones. Her name was Anna, her husband had some bad fish and was back in their hut - she was getting herself some takeout and stopped to have a drink."
"Still... that... she shouldn't have been touching you."
"Some people are just friendly like that, Temperance. It didn't mean anything," he whispers into her hair.
"I..." She ducks her chin, pulling the cool sheet further under her arm. "Why is this so hard for me?"
"Bones, I think you're doing great. And we're just taking it day-by-day. No one ever said love is easy."
She raises up, propping her arms on his chest, her eyes delving into his. And then he realizes just what it is he said.
"I... Bones..." He stutters, taking her curiosity and mild impatience to be something akin to annoyance... or fear.
"Are you ever just going to say it?" She points her finger into his chest, helping to convey this clearly. "I've been... I know how important it is for you. And I figured you'd want to be the one to say it first. But, I'm going to beat you to it if-"
"Bones..." Suddenly it's like he can't catch a breath. "God, baby. God yes, I love you." He's peppering kisses (and those three words) all over her face, her lips, her neck, and then rolls to press her underneath him. "So much. For so long. I just didn't want..."
She puts her finger against his lips, taking his face in her hands and drawing him to her. "I love you, too."
TBC...