A/N: Bonus! It's #TuxedoTuesday on Monday!
What do you get when you mix an undercover assignment, Booth stripping out of a tux and Cherry Pie? A very special birthday wish...Happy Birthday, jenlovesbones!
Jena, it's been a pleasure getting to know you and I hope this makes you laugh. I just couldn't come up with a way to work in the #PoleDancing4Jesus tag...but I did manage to squeeze in a different trademark phrase. ;)
Special thanks to stephaniew for proofreading and saving me from myself when my muse tried to write this one backwards and sideways...and to MFLuder14 for being my research assistant.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones...it'd be a whole lot more colorful if I did.
Tuxedo on the Stage
Booth paces the hallway in front of Cullen's office. When the older man opens the door her immediately snaps to attention with military precision. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Listen, Booth, I'm just gonna cut to the chase," the deputy director states as he steps behind his desk. "I need you for an undercover assignment. We've been surveilling a club on suspicion of drugs and prostitution."
Booth nods, listening intently. "Okay, what's the cover?"
Cullen rubs his brow. He knows that Booth won't take this well. "The agent previously assigned broke his leg and..."
"With all due respect, sir," Booth begins. "I thought we were cutting right to the chase."
Cullen folds his hands. "It's the Hanger Club, Agent Booth. You'll be going in as the new stripper..."
The Jeffersonian...
"Come on, Bren," Angela says, taking her friend's hand and pulling her from the office. "I need a thrill."
"I fail to see how male strippers would be a thrill," Brennan says, rolling her eyes. "Though I do recall Booth enjoying questioning Miss Lust in the Newcomb case."
"Was that the stripper?" the artist asks, her hand slipping to her swollen belly.
"Yes," Brennan responds. "Booth received a lap dance. It appeared to be quite stimulating."
"I'm sure it was, sweetie," Angela replies."Let's get out of here before your niece decides to make her arrival."
Backstage at the Hanger Club...
Booth looks around the room. "You've got to be kidding me..." he mutters as he takes in a pair of assless chaps and a cowboy hat. There is a work vest and tear-away blue jeans laying beside a hard hat, another equally unappealing option. "What is this? The Village People's closet?"
He walks over to a costume rack and flips through the items hanging there. Finally, he finds it. A costume that would provide sufficient cover. One that would serve his purpose better than the others.
"Geez, man," he hears a voice coming from behind him. "I though Joe said you had experience. Quit acting like such a newbie."
Booth turns to see a younger man with long hair standing behind him. He tries to play it off. Tries to act cool. Tries not to look... "What do you mean?" he asks.
"The James Bond thing doesn't work. Show some skin. The ladies'll go crazy," he says as he pads over to the corner and grabs a bottle of water."
Yeah. That solidifies things. Booth grabs the tux from the rack and hurries into it, slinging the jacket over his shoulder. It felt different than the other's he'd worn in the past. Then he realizes why. Like the construction worker's pants, this tux is rip away. And he's got to hope he can get his man...before he's left in nothing but his birthday suit.
Booth scans the crowd. He waits as he's announced.
"Did somebody call for some fresh meat? Here he is...let's hear it for Miles Long!"
He strolls onto the stage, a song other than the one he's expecting hits the speakers. He curses silently under his breath and makes his way to a chair strategically placed in the center of the aisle. He raises his eyebrow in what he hopes comes across as a seductive motion before casting the jacket to the floor and bobbing his head. "She's my cherry pie. Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise. Taste so good make a grown man cry." He licks his lips and waggles his eyebrows. "Sweet cherry pie, yeah. Wow!"
Oh. God. Brennan and Angela. In the front row. What the hell?
"Oh. My. God." Angela says, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.
"What is it, Ange? Is it the baby? Should I...?" Brennan, distracted by her friend, hasn't noticed.
"Tell me that isn't Booth," she breathes.
Brennan's eyes go wide. "There has got to be a logical explanation for this..."
Booth swivels his hips, dancing to the music. "Well, swingin' on the front porch, swingin' on the lawn. Swingin' where we want 'cause there ain't nobody home. Swingin' to the left and swingin' to the right. I think about baseball, swing all night, yeah. Yeah, yeah." Baseball. Yeah. That's it. Think about baseball. Don't think about your partner staring at your...
He gets as close to her as he dares. He can't believe he's gyrating in her face. But he shocks everyone - including himself - when he rips the shirt from his back and licking his fingers slides them down his chest and slides on his knees across the stage. "So I mixed up the batter and she licked the beater."
As the music continues, he leans toward her. Mouthing the word undercover. Hoping she's paying attention and won't blow it.
"She's my cherry pie. Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise. Tastes so good make a grown man cry. Sweet cherry pie, oh yeah.."
Get her out of your head, Booth. You're on assignment. Why tonight? Why'd she have to be here tonight? He can't focus. Not with his partner and her pregnant best friend sitting so close. Mmm. Pie. Bones and pie.
"She's my cherry pie. Put a smile on your face ten miles wide. Looks so good bring a tear to your eye. Sweet cherry pie, yeah." It was true. Bones could put a smile ten miles wide on his face. And kissing her was as sweet as cherry pie.
He's getting into it now. With the lyrics Swingin' to the drums, he pounds the air. On swingin' to guitar, his leg becomes the instrument. The crowd cheers.
"I scream, you scream we all scream for her," he holds his hand up to his ear, encouraging the audience. "Don't even try 'cause you can't ignore her."
He makes his ab muscles ripple as he continues to dance. He feels like a clown. "She's my cherry pie. Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise. Tastes so good make a grown man cry. Sweet cherry pie, oh yeah."
"Take it all off, baby!" a drunk woman to his right yells. Reaching out, she tears away his pants.
He feels exposed. His instincts tell him to cover himself. To hide what he doesn't want everyone to see. But he knows he can't. Knows that his cover will be blown. His eyes search with the precision of years of sniper training. He wiggles and flexes as the music continues. "She's my cherry pie. Put a smile on your face ten miles wide. Looks so good bring a tear to your eye. Sweet cherry pie, yeah. Pie, yeah."
He sees his target. He tries to keep dancing as he watches the man move to a table
"I'm a trained professional..." I'm a trained professional. He forgets the music. the lyric spurring him into action, he yells, "Freeze! FBI!" The perp makes it halfway to the door before Booth has him on the ground.
"Nice thong!" Angela yelps, squeeing at the sight. Turning to Brennan she asks, "So, where do you think he hid the handcuffs?"
Booth emerges in jeans and a t-shirt to see Brennan sitting on the edge of the stage waiting for him. She smiles and heads in his direction, meeting him half way. "Angela didn't stick around, huh?" he asks her.
"She said she was tired. I'm surprised she wanted to go out this late in the first place given her advanced stage of pregnancy," the anthropologist observes. "She said she wanted a thrill."
Booth shakes his head. "Give you a lift home, there, Bones?" he questions, silently praying that she doesn't ask any questions.
"Angela said I should tell you that you've got a very nice package in your monkey hammock," she offers, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Booth chuckles, "That's what she said."
"I don't know what that means..." The words tumble out of her mouth as she comes to a stop.
He shakes her off. "It's banana hammock," he instructs.
As they begin walking again, she makes another observation. "You know, you would have been a lot more natural if you weren't such a prude."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he fires back.
"Stripping can be very good exercise," she replies. "Your movements were stiff when they should have been fluid given your physical condition, Booth."
"Is that a challenge, Bones?" he says, flashing her his charm smile. "Because I'd be more than willing to give you a private show. Maybe you could teach me a few moves..."