A/N: This might be more ridiculous than humorous, but whatevs. Um. It's my story. Lol, I've been saying that a lot lately, huh? Anyways, I had fun with it. The hysterical paroxysm thing is totally true, for those who wonder. Silly repressed Victorians. Hope you have fun with it!

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Humor in the Office: 2nd Person Brennan

You weren't one to use colloquialisms. But if you were, you thought you'd definitely say that this situation sucked. Bit the big one. Blew big time. In fact, you couldn't easily recall a time when you were quite as frustrated as you were right now. And while you typically prided yourself on keeping your emotions in check, you apparently weren't doing very well at it right now, because your best friend was looking at you with daggers in her eyes. Try as you might, you couldn't disguise the irritation in your voice.

"Ange, you have to hold it so that the concentrated beam falls directly on the anomalous structure. No, that's the anomalous structure. A fraction of an inch to the top left. Turn it….no, not that far. It's…no, you aren't doing it right."

"Bren, I know nothing about bones. This isn't my field. I'm the wrong one to be helping you with this."

"Well Zack is occupied with his own project and isn't available to assist me."

Angela looked at you with a hint of desperation in her eyes. "Sweetie, why don't you just take a few days off? This is no way to work. In a week or so, you'll be back to normal, and you won't need help." And I won't be feeling the urge to strangle you, was the unspoken message on her face.

"There's too much work to do. And I can't be at home. I'll go crazy there."

"You're driving me crazy here."

"Fine Ange. Why don't you just go draw your little pictures then." You felt bad as soon as the words left your mouth, but you couldn't help yourself. This was intolerable.

Angela's eyes narrowed. "What is with you? This goes way beyond a medical inconvenience."

How would she know? It's not like a person often considered what life would be like without the use of their hands. And even if they did, it would be mostly impossible to comprehend it. Certainly you wouldn't have been able to, if there hadn't been that unfortunate chemical spill in the lab that you had thought was mere water, so you immediately dropped to your knees to sop it up with a paper towel, pressing both palms into it to soak it up faster. The searing pain you felt told you immediately that it wasn't water, and you got to the irrigation unit to rinse it off as fast as you could. Nonetheless, the angry red blisters rose in seconds. Somehow, they didn't even seem as bad as the yards of white material that bandaged your hands now, effectively immobilizing you in your work and your writing. And everything else.

Everything else, which no one else but Angela probably would have thought of. Her anger melted into sympathy as she studied you. "Aw, Sweetie. I get it. It's not just about work at all. You don't have anybody to take care of you."

You scowled. "I've been getting by at home just fine. It's not easy, but I've figured out some things."

"No, not like that. Women have needs, Bren. And while I'm a firm believer that a woman doesn't need a man to please her, it's just not the same when you don't have your fingers."

"Oh my God, Ange." You rolled your eyes. Leave it to your best friend to come up with that reason for your bad mood.

"I'm serious. This is obviously a problem with intense sexual frustration."

"It's not. I just want to do my work."

"I'm not working with you until you get this sorted out. I wish I could help you, Sweetie. But there are some things a girlfriend just can't assist with. So get it worked out, and come talk to me when you are feeling better."

"Angela, don't you dare walk out that do…" Your command wasn't finished before the door slammed behind your friend, leaving you useless in your own lab. You were surprised by the near-growl that left your throat before you stormed into your office, slammed the door behind you much like Angela had, and collapsed in frustration on your couch, bandaged hands covering your eyes. God, it had been a long time. Usually you could depend on your work to distract you from your need for emotional and physical intimacy. But lately, that hadn't been an option.

You weren't sure how long you laid there feeling sorry for yourself before you heard your door open. "Word of mouth is that you are in a bad way."

"Then why don't you leave, Booth," you groused, struggling to a sitting position without being able to put weight on your hands. "I can't be of any assistance on a case, I'm bad company, and I'm not in the mood to be messed with."

"Yikes," he said breezily, striding into your office despite your brusqueness and sprawling out beside you on the couch. "What are you on with those things, Bones?" he said, referring to your bandages. "Week 2?"

"Almost."

"Aren't handling it very well, huh?"

You glared at him. "No, Booth. For some reason, being completely without the use of several major appendages isn't as exciting and fun as I thought it would be. Maybe next time I try to disable myself, I'll go for blindness."

"Angela was right about you. Jeez."

"You talked to Angela? Fabulous. She probably has you convinced that I'm some sort of pathetic, sex-starved cat in heat."

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Whoa. What? She just told me that you were in a bad mood."

You were too morose to even be appropriately embarrassed. "Oh."

"Is that the problem here?" His gaze was sympathetic. You wanted to punch him.

"Don't you start, Booth. Two weeks from now, I won't be sexually frustrated, and you all will still be getting on my nerves."

"This is worse than I thought," he sighed.

"Shut up."

"Bones. You're hard up. You're going to have to deal with it."

It was too much. This whole conversation was driving you crazy. You had to stop it. And what came out of your mouth was the most childish, unprofessional thing that you had ever said in your whole life. You weren't even sure where you picked it up from. It just came out.

"Bite me."

Booth stared at you for a second, then burst out laughing. "Alright, Bones. That's enough of that." He removed his jacket. Then he put his hand on your leg. You nearly jumped out of your skin.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What friends do. Help each other out."

"Oh, no, Booth. You aren't helping me out…in that way." Through your pants, his palm on your thigh sent waves of tingling sensations all the way down your leg and back up to your groin. You were defiant in the face of this. Still, he didn't take his hand away. He slid closer to you.

"You know how they used to treat anxiety and neuroses in women back in the Victorian Age?" he asked you. He leaned over and spoke softly, soothingly in your ear, and his fingers made small circles on the inside of your thigh. You should have elbowed him. But you didn't. "Doctors would have special implements only available to the medical community—electromechanical vibrating devices used for 'pelvic massage.' They would induce 'hysterical paroxysm' that seemed to work wonders on all those annoying symptoms."

"Orgasm," you said, feeling a little faint, fighting the growing desire in your belly with all you had.

"Yes. But they couldn't call it that, of course. That would mean acknowledging that it was sexual, and not purely medical."

What he was saying sunk in slowly. "I am not neurotic. And this is very unprofessional," you told him weakly, ignoring the fact that while he had begun to toy with the zipper to your pants, you had begun wriggling to help him get them off.

"Take your medicine, Bones." His hands slipped down the back of your now-open pants, pushing them down over your ass which you raised up for him, and then returning to give you a squeeze. A whimper emanated from the back of your throat. You tried one more time to hang onto your irritation and protests.

"I don't need you to do me any favo…"

He cut you off, firmly. "Bones. Do you want to feel better?"

Startled by his forcefulness, you nodded immediately, without thinking.

"Then lay back and shut up."

You did something then that you had never done before. You immediately obeyed him, and he pulled off your shoes and worked your pants and panties down the rest of the way. Eyes rolled backwards, you tried to comprehend what was happening here. Was this happening? Yes. He was definitely smoothing his hands down the inside of your thighs, lifting you gently so that he could move you back and adjust himself between your legs. In your office, on your couch. Booth.

"You're really very pretty," he said, thoughtfully, gazing at you before lowering his head and gently kissing the tender skin of your thighs. The stubble on his face was a scintillating irritation against you. Your muscles twitched.

"Booth…"

"Shh." He blew a soft stream of warm air across your throbbing sex. Would it be embarrassing if you came right then, just from that minimal stimulation? Whatever. You didn't care. You thrust upwards towards his face, eagerly. "Relax," he spoke hypnotically. The tip of his tongue darted out to taste your trembling entrance. "This will be much more satisfying if you let it build." Then his lips gently closed around your clit and applied a gentle suction, making you stuff a bandaged hand half into your mouth to stifle your groan. In the back of your mind, he wondered if he had locked the door when he came in. Again, the conclusion you came to was whatever. You didn't care.

His tongue rasped over your clit. "That good?" he asked softly. You glared down at him for having the audacity to talk right now, but found yourself transfixed by the scene. For all your efforts to perceive Seeley Booth as your colleague and friend, there was no denying that he looked damn good between your legs. Another rush of colloquialisms ran through your head. Blowing your mind. Sexy as sin. Fucking your brains out. You had been spending too much time with Angela. He was good at this. Hot, slippery, smooth wetness massaging these long-neglected parts of yourself, making you whine with need, bringing the tension inside you to an almost unbearable level. When he added a finger to his stimulation, swirling and stroking inside of you, you nearly let out a scream.

"You'll have to let me know…when those paroxysms start," he teased gently between kisses to your near-exploding sex. "So I don't have to bill you…for extra time."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up," you cursed between gritted teeth. Damn your useless hands. It would be nice just to shove his mouth back onto you, where it was much more useful.

"I'm not sure whether I like your dirty talk better, or those sexy little sounds you were making before." You made sure it was the latter by clamping your reddened thighs around his head and crossing your ankles across his back. Taking the hint, he wrapped his lips around the most sensitive part of you once more, swirling his tongue. You had a brief but effective fantasy about being a woman in the Victorian Era (which would, by itself and in other circumstances be a nightmare), visiting Dr. Booth in his office to treat her anxiety and finding the experience much more pleasant that she had anticipated.

That did the trick. The first paroxysm hit you with Mack truck force. Your hips rolled and you groaned into your bandages, garbled words that fell somewhere between 'Please God please' and 'Screw you, you bastard.' There was something infuriating about his ability to make you come so hard in your own private house of science. Something infuriating, and something hot.

He nudged you from the inside and the outside while he worked to draw out your release, either ignoring or not caring about your insults. That was one of the things you always liked about him. Eventually your words dissolved into gasps and soft pants, which he encouraged with soft kisses.

"Better?" he asked, rubbing his cheek against the inside of your leg almost tenderly. But a glance down evidenced a familiar, cocky look in his eyes.

"I didn't need that," you huffed, feeling disappointed when his fingers slipped out of you.

"So it didn't work?"

You glanced at your swathed hands. "No. They're still there," you said sarcastically.

Booth sighed dramatically. "You are an impossible woman, you know," he said. Regretfully, he picked up his jacket from the back of the couch and shrugged it on. Your eyes widened as he made to stand up and leave.

"Wait."

He looked down at you. You weren't quite sure what to say.

"Sometimes, it takes more than one dose to achieve therapeutic effect," you said in a small voice.

He stared for a second, before a slow smile crossed his face. "So that's what we'll do? Continue to call it therapy?"

"Yes."

"What'll we do when your hands are better?"

"I'll break yours."

"Ah." With a grin, he lowered himself back down and pressed those wonderful lips on yours for the first time. Before you gave yourself over to the feeling, one last colloquialism passed through your mind.

Living in a dream world.

Whatever. You didn't care. Therapy, it would be.

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A/N: Hottest line in the story comes from Kinsey Jo: "Lay back and shut up." Lol. Loves it. She's my girl.

Ooh, you like how I decided that this little encounter still counts as a first time? I decided to open my mind a little bit to the definition of sex. And I can. Because it's my story. Heehee.

Next up: Um. I don't know. What do you want? More Be With Me? Valentine cuteness from NBI? Another crazy-ass Scene? Let me know. Trust me, you don't want to leave it up to my mood;)