I needed something happy and my Roots & Wings world makes me happy. It's sort of like an epilogue for When You Fall, You Fly, yes? As part of what happens after they 'get it right'?
.
.
.
.
They let go of the night's sleep reluctantly.
More on Booth's side of the bed than hers, Brennan lay curled into the warmth of his broad back, their legs intertwined, one hand held in his against his chest.
Without opening his eyes, Booth inhaled deeply and slowly began to shift and turn toward her.
She murmured a wordless sound of protest as his movement forced her into that area between sleep and awake. When his arm fell heavily over her waist, she burrowed closer, forcing one knee in between his.
He felt the bump of her nose against his cheek and landed a kiss somewhere close to her mouth.
"Morning." The word was a quiet, husky rasp of sound.
Her head brushed the pillow as she rubbed her nose against his. With that landmark as a guide, her answering kiss found his lips much more successfully.
"Good morning."
One kiss became two . . . became three . . . and became a fourth that didn't end until he left to nibble along the strong lines of her jaw.
"I have a great idea . . ." He finished the thought by covering her body with his.
She linked her hands behind his neck and shifted sinuously beneath him. "I'm very interested in this idea . . ."
One rough hand slid beneath her tank top; back arched with pleasure, she purred from deep in her throat. He responded to the sound with a growl of his own as he kissed his way down her neck.
Chin stretched high to allow him better access, her lashes rose fractionally.
The bright numbers of the clock on the bedside table caught her attention. The sensuous haze disappeared in a flash.
"Booth." She patted the bulging muscle of the bicep nearest the clock. "It's almost 7:30."
Distracted by the goal he had in mind with his wandering kisses, he spoke against her skin. "It's Sunday."
"Do you remember what happened the last time we allowed the children to prepare their own breakfast?"
Eyes wide, his head popped up as he stared back at her. "Shit."
They bounded off the bed together, resettling their pajamas and searching for robes and slippers in a rush of frantic activity.
Brennan reached their bedroom door first and pulled it open.
"Kill her! Kill her!" Zach's high pitched, piping voice floated up from downstairs.
They exchanged one startled glance and headed for the stairs.
Halfway down, they bent over to peer into the living room.
In the ugly yellow leather chair that seemed to have an immortal life of its own, Parker sat, arms around the four-year old brother perched on his lap, a black game controller in his hands. Christine knelt on a footstool pulled up beside his knees, a second controller in her hands. All three were paying rapt attention to the epic battle being waged on the TV set into the wall above their heads. Swords flashed, bombs exploded, and death occurred in spectacularly gruesome fashion.
"Kill her!" Zach bounced on Parker's knee in his excitement. "Cut her head off!"
"No!" Christine's little body twisted and jerked as she worked the controller to avoid the blows thrown by her older brother's on-screen warrior. "Leave me alone, Parker! Kill the purple guy! KILL THE PURPLE GUY!"
On the stairs, Booth reached for Brennan's hand. "Parker's here," he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "They won't miss us for half an hour." He crept back up toward their room, tugging her along behind him.
She followed willingly. "Only thirty minutes?" she murmured quietly. "How disappointing."
He reached their door. "Is that a dare?"
"Perhaps." She tossed a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she stepped in front of him. "Did it work?"
"Oh, it's working."
.
.
Happy Sunday! :-)
Thanks for reading!
