It wasn't too much later than their usual long day when they got home. Both had forborne the usual and necessary questioning until the security films were reviewed, and there was almost no question once the judge himself pronounced that "that bastard would have killed her if he'd gotten another five steps."
Brennan locked up behind them after Booth took her coat and bag. She bent then to take off the Black Widow and ankle holster, then handed the weapon, butt-first and safety on, to her partner. With a sigh and a rolling shrug of her shoulders, she went to the bedroom, tossing most of her clothes in a negligent pile. Booth's own things followed hers as she finished setting her jewelry on the bureau.
"Did you already tell Cam you wouldn't be in tomorrow?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist as she stood with her back to him.
She nodded, turning to embrace him and return. "You?"
"Sam and Henry are going to cover anything that comes up."
Her response was non-verbal. Pulling him closer, she lay her head over his heart and breathed his scent in. He clasped her in return, his eyes closed as he felt her chest rise and fall against his.
It could have been minutes or hours as they absorbed the other's presence, time passing in heartbeats and breaths rather than the usual measures. She looked up at him first, tracing the line of his jaw with her hand, but he followed her assuredly, sliding one hand from her back to her nape, and cradling her head as he kissed her, his tongue seeking her own.
They finished undressing until each was bare to the other, then made their way to the bed. Their trials over for now, each sought the release that comes after a climax—the draining of emotional tension needed to sustain a warrior through a hard-fought battle.
He tasted her like she was honey. She took him into her mouth as if he was air. His body—skin, hands and breath on her warmed her all the way through, and her sighs and smiles threw light on the dark spaces he still bore within.
When he at last entered her—when she at last took him in—that same sense since they had at the start of it all of each fitting the other now recovered. She cried out as he came home to her, his own call of surprise as she welcomed him joining her own.
He took his time, now that they had it. When before it was frantic, now it was languid. When before it was forceful, now he was gentle. But it was still passionate—that was the same. The first time, each had things to forget. This time, though the cause for it all was bittersweet, each committed to memory the other's response.
His first release soon followed hers—they slept until he woke to her questing fingers exploring his body, learning all over again each bone and muscle, each clear or scarred patch of skin. He had his own battle scars, she knew, though he counted his less than her own. As she hovered over him, coaxing his length to quick attention with her firm, assured hands, he teased her in turn, his own hands' light touch on her breasts and nipples teasing her until it became a smiling test of endurance—each pushing the other. Her mouth on his length sucked and pressed on him as his fingers in her twisted and curled. When he could stand it no longer, he pulled her away from him with a groan, coaxing her to a new climax with his hands even as he shifted position.
She was still clenching and screaming out "Seeley!" as he thrust himself home, her rippling flood pulling him further inside. She rode out her climax as he slowly rocked into her, then pulled him close to caress his face and return his own wondering gaze.
He shifted atop her again, and anticipating the slow pace he wanted to set, closed her legs around his length as he straddled her, their chests—their foreheads—their lips in almost as near constant-contact as his slow shallow strokes and her own slow undulations. At last, with a sudden clench of her thighs, a quick buck of her hips and a tight squeeze of her walls, his orgasm was pulled from him, and he let out a surprised shout—her own following his in the wake of his forceful pulsing inside her.
She slept curled in the curve of his body, and woke to the strokes of his tongue in time to his thrusting heat from behind into her core. He rediscovered how a certain pass of his fingers over her breasts and her nipples in time with his strokes would make her come time and again, until her shuddering walls and moans of completion each time he filled her finally pulled him over the edge he kept pushing her from.
It was hours the first time they joined, needy and desperate, and this time it was hours again, but unhurried and loving ones. She straddled him as he sat, sucking and fondling her breasts. She pleasured him again with her mouth until he came, losing control in her mouth, then again as she drew him back to attention—attention solely on her—the slow firm work of her tongue and cheeks on him leaving him dazed. He re-explored each possible center of pleasure with fingers and lips, until she collapsed with whimpering, trembling pleasure at the sensations only he brought out in her—then he moaned in shock and surprise as she returned each exploration. Her boldness compared with past lovers almost eclipsed the wholly unexpected release in him her actions provoked.
At last, eyes locked, chests clasped and hearts pounding together, they joined one last time, finally sated.
They slept, her body curled over his, her weight like a gossamer robe, her breath whiffling over his chest like a breeze over a meadow of flowers, the warmth of her body like sunlight after cold rain.