so, this is a bit shorter due to the fact that i need to go out tonight and have been on IM with a certain awesome lady all day. :) but you can thank jamie for inspiring me with a video of DB being HOSED DOWN WITH WATER. thank you, woman.
the talk that needs to happen is very near, but i'll just leave this part to get you interested. ;) xoxo mia
Chapter eleven.
Despite the heat being at a normal level for winter in DC, Temperance is cold. Sliding more deeply under the covers, she lets her eyes follow the perimeter of her room. It is quiet, filled only with the sound of tiny things. But her mind… as always, it is never silent.
She has rarely felt more frustrated, more helpless. Again and again she has tried to reach him, and every time she think she's getting closer, she slams herself into the same brick wall. He's even arguing with her less – this time, he's simply looked at her and said, "No."
He's mistaken if he thinks she doesn't still hate psychology. It goes against every thing she's been taught as a scientist; it involves making assumptions, trusting your instincts. She's learned to trust fact – fact doesn't confuse her, fact doesn't distract her by making her feel. She knows how to wield it, tease out the truth, even from someone who can no longer speak. She spent years after her parents disappeared wondering, speculating; spinning tales. It never brought her to the truth. Only hard science returned her mother to her.
Sighing heavily, she shifts beneath the covers, her legs tangling in the sheets. In the last hour, she's tried to list the reasons that she refuses to share how she's feeling with someone in an attempt to figure him out. The first involves wanting to protect someone. She acknowledges that hypothesis fits Booth well, but something is nagging at her, something that seems to whisper that it's more than him simply trying to shield her from something for her own good.
The only other reason she's been able to come up with is self-preservation. She's kept the history and details of her childhood and her family firmly to herself for the majority of her life. And if she's honest, she never would have shared as much as she has with Booth if her history hadn't become entangled with their work.
There are still things she hasn't told him – things she fears will change how he sees her. He tells her again and again how strong he believes her to be, how independent and confident. If he only knew how deeply her insecurities could run, he might feel differently.
He might feel differently about her.
And if that's the case, if that's why he's holding back from her, it means that her opinion of him is important, important enough for him to protect. What he doesn't realize is that when he's seemed strongest to her, seemed heroic, he wasn't fighting with his fists or his gun.
Before she can speculate further, she's startled by a sound. It's coming from the living room, and she sits upright quickly, the covers falling from her chest. Nervously, she lets her bare feet touch the cool wood of her bedroom floor, inching her way towards the door. Could someone have gotten in? She can't imagine anyone would have gotten past Seeley Booth.
But his moan is evident as soon as she opens her door, and she doesn't stop to think – she dashes towards the living room.
Her eyes adjust quickly, despite the dark, and she swiftly assesses that he's the only person in the room. He is on the couch, beneath the spare quilt that she keeps in the hall closet, and he's turning fitfully, his face displaying a pained expression.
He's having another nightmare. Whatever's haunting him, it has a tight and merciless grip. Moving closer, she reaches out to touch him when she sees the book in his hands.
It's one of her novels. Tugging it from his hand gently, she moves to set it on the coffee table when a piece of paper falls from underneath it where it had been lying against his chest, landing at her feet.
Scooping it up, she squints in the darkness, and she feels her mouth go dry. The words she'd scrawled in the front seat of her car when it was buried deep in the ground stare back at her, and she glances down at the man next to her.
The man who now knows that he hasn't been just a partner to her for a very long time.
He moans again suddenly, twisting, and she drops the page on the table, sinking down next to him, her hand pressing to his face.
"Booth," she whispers, trying to soothe him. "Booth, wake up."
But he's too lost, he doesn't respond to her voice, and she lifts the edge of the quilt, slipping next to him, trying to tuck into his arms. "Booth," she whispers again.
The couch is a tight fit, and so she tries to entwine with his limbs, trying to reassure him with her body that she is here, that he's not alone.
"Seeley," she tries again.
"I'm sorry," he suddenly chokes. "I'm so sorry, please forgive him."
He turns in his sleep, pressing his face into her neck, and she pulls him closer.
She closes her own eyes. She wishes this could stop, that she could help him, but she doesn't understand how. She only knows that when she's terrified, when she's feeling her past choke her, she feels safest when she's with him, when she can smell his scent, can hear the sound of his voice.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
When he struggles into consciousness, she is pressed beside him, her body running along the length of his, her face tucked into his shoulder. Confused, he glances around and finds he's still on her couch.
Shifting, his body groans at the tight space on the sofa, and she sighs softly when he shifts. He doesn't understand why she's left the comfort of her bed to cram onto the small couch with him, but when he attempts to sit up slightly, his nightmare comes back full force, knocking a gasp from his lungs.
She must have heard him, or known somehow.
His body still tingles at the memories, and he clenches his eyes shut for a moment. And the fact that she heard him, that she came to him – he flushes again at his embarrassment, at his weakness.
Struggling to sit up, he pulls her into his arms, kicking the quilt from them both, intent on returning her to her bed. She snuggles closer as he stands, and he's suddenly aware of her bare legs under his forearm. She's wearing only a t-shirt, and when he glances down, he sees it's one of his, one she must have somehow picked up over the years of their partnership. It hits him in the solar plexus, and heat spreads from his belly throughout his body. She sleeps in his shirt.
He reaches her bed, setting her down gently, and she wraps her arms around his neck, and again, his first name is on her lips. He thinks he'll never tire of hearing her say it, of hearing a sigh escape her.
Untangling himself from her, he looks down at her, his eyes tracing her body. He remembers the words in the note she'd left him, remembers the way they sounded as he'd repeated them aloud over and over on a breath.
But if my heart had ever been capable of speaking, I think it would have spoken of you.
He forgets, with how clinical she can sound, that she is still a writer. Her words have hit him in a way that nothing else has in a very long time. If her heart could speak of him… what would it say? He wishes he knew. She had been under the impression she might die, trapped and without air, and she had written only to him.
It's shaken him.
And this time, he's unable to walk away. Shucking his pants, he pulls back the covers and slips in beside her, reaching for her, tugging her against him again, and she follows easily with no resistance. He slips his hand over her cheek, brushing her hair from her face, and leans down, softly touching her lips with his.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
The rain is still pelting the windows when she awakens, and the room is not bright but she can see that it's morning. There are no birds to wake her – they've all taken cover, hiding from the downpour that slicks the sidewalks.
Booth is beside her – she knew it before she opened her eyes or was even really fully awake. His arm is draped loosely around her waist, and his face is pressed to the back of her neck. She can feel his breath against her skin, can feel his hips pressing into hers.
She doesn't know when he'd brought them both back to her room, but she's surprised that he has stayed with her. Turning in his arms, she presses forward into his chest, and he mumbles something in his sleep.
His skin is warm against hers, and she inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of him on her sheets and her own skin, loving the way her fits next to her.
Without thinking, she presses a kiss at his throat, and she feels him respond, shifting next to her. Opening her mouth slightly, she kisses him again, sliding her hand down the smooth skin of his back.
He sighs deeply, pressing his hips closer against hers, and she can feel his response to her touch immediately. Trailing her lips along his clavicle, she nips lightly at his skin and he moans. When she sneaks a peek at his face, his eyelashes are fluttering, and, seeing her chance, she lifts herself up, rolling him over. Before he can open his eyes, she has her mouth on his, her body trapping his beneath her.
His hands come around her waist in surprise, and when his mouth opens, her tongue slips inside, caressing his. Tightening his grip on her, he returns her kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, and she spreads her legs, straddling his hips. At the feel of her pressed against him, he gasps into her mouth.
"Temperance!" he rasps, trying to hold her hips still.
She grabs his hands and slams them down above his head, sinking them into the mattress. His eyes widen, and she leans lower again, her breath touching his lips as he speaks.
"I need you, Booth," she whispers. "Don't push me away."
And she does, she realizes. If this is the only way he'll let her in at the moment, she wants it. Her mind wars with her for a moment, wondering if this is smart, but when he shifts again beneath her, she knows she can't pull away.
He tries to roll her beneath him, but she squeezes him firmly between her thighs and he groans. Reaching for the edge of her t-shirt, she pulls it over her head in one motion and his hands follow the newly exposed skin, sliding towards her breasts.
He doesn't succeed in getting her on her back, but after his fingers run over her nipples, his eyes darken with something that makes her heart thump, and his hands slide to her shoulders and he tugs her down to him, his lips closing over a nipple and she gasps.
Grinding her pelvis against his, he groans at her breast and she rotates her touch, feeling electricity shoot throughout her body. His hands slip from her shoulders to her back, sliding into the back of her panties, and he cups her ass, jerking her against him.
He lets go of her breast and she drops her mouth to his, thrusting her tongue aggressively against him. He's well awake now, his hands guiding her hips into a rhythm that matches his tongue, and she's practically quaking with desire.
She manages to lift her hips free for a moment, dragging at his boxers, and he fumbles desperately, hooking a finger into the crotch of her underwear and dragging it to the side. Their eyes meet for only a moment, and then he tugs her down, thrusting deep.
Her head falls back and she cries out. Placing her palms on his chest, she undulates her hips and he groans, his hands flying everywhere, touching as much of her as he can, coaxing her into a rhythm that matches his own.
The room is heavy with their breathing and gasping, and her eyes fall closed when he slips a hand between them, sliding over her clit, and she clenches more tightly around him, wanting to trap him against her forever.
She's going limp above him, her orgasm thundering towards her, and he finally sweeps her beneath him, sweeping knees apart and letting himself go, thrusting harder and more deeply.
She's grasping around his neck, falling, tumbling over the edge in a matter of minutes, and he tucks his head against her neck and thunders to his own release, leaving them both sweaty and gasping for breath.
When she can finally pull away, she meets his eyes, and she sees the struggle in them, the struggle to understand this thing between them, and she knows it's time.
This time when she pushes, he's going to listen.