I took my time with this one. This is the chapter I have had in my head since I first decided to write this fic, so I needed to get it right. I hope you enjoy. I wrote this to a piano piece called 'Sioux' by Olim. Give it a listen.
One day. One night. Another day, nearly done. Brennan sat at her dining table as if she was a guest in her own home. 7pm. Dinner time. Her stomach hadn't complained. She was barely thinking, her life in limbo. Was this the purgatory that Catholics talked of? A vengeful God was perhaps something she could understand. She saw the worst of the world on a daily basis, evidence of a malevolent force that frequently destroyed whoever and whatever stood in its path. Apart from Booth. He was the very best. Her eyes flicked down to her phone which lay on the table in front of her. There were still no calls or messages from him. She had not been able to resist the urge to check every few minutes in case she missed him by accident. There was no doubt that she would remain in her seat for the rest of evening, wasting hour after hour in silence, waiting for him.
After meeting with Angela, the rest of the day had passed in a blur. She completed mindless tasks, tidied her office, stared into space. Just after 3pm she left and came home. It was the earliest she had ever left the lab for the day. Dr Saroyan had not made a further attempt to talk to her. Any and all Jeffersonian staff had steered clear. News of her outburst a couple of days previously had spread; no one was taking the risk. Brennan was able to exist in her office undisturbed until she returned to her apartment. Then the silence beckoned her to be still. She had not moved. Booth had not called. She arched forward with the effort not to cry.
Booth might be reading her journal this instant. She felt like he was inside her mind, burrowing down into her thoughts until she couldn't separate herself from him. Part of her fought it, but the other welcomed him in. The whisper of a thought about Dr Wyatt and something he'd said years earlier sat on the outskirts of her mind, refusing to take form. She pushed it away, which made room for an image of Booth in her bathroom wincing as he tried to unbutton his shirt. She could feel the fabric of his shirt in her hands as she intervened, the vulnerability of her own face beneath his gaze as she unbuttoned his shirt for him. Brennan retreated deeper and deeper into the memory until she wasn't sure she could find her way out.
A buzz. She jumped, knocked sideways a moment later by the slug of adrenalin that followed. Her phone lit up with Booth's name.
Come over?
Nausea. Brennan broke out in sweat.
On my way.
She drove in a stupor, the roads quiet. It was a clear evening, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and she strained her eyes when there was nothing between her and the sunlight. No rain spattered her windscreen. She hoped it would hold until after her drive home. Brennan had never dressed so quickly. She gave herself a once over, instantly knowing there was nothing she could do. She wore dark blue jeans, a maroon shirt and boots. Why she was making the effort when he was going to end things, she had no idea. Maybe an outward appearance of preparedness would help her process what was to come. A highly illogical thought. Stupid, even. Nothing would help. Already, she was shutting down. Preparing and trying to find her way back into old patterns that had kept her going since her parents disappearance. Twenty years. After tonight, another twenty years to come.
She parked, and looked up. The lights in Booth's apartment blared above her. For a few minutes she couldn't bring herself to exit the car. If she stayed in this moment long enough, her life wouldn't change. Booth was still hers. She could pretend that everything was okay. She knew it wouldn't last. It couldn't, but she wanted it to. Sick with nerves, she finally made her way to him. When she arrived, she stared for a long moment at his door without knocking. She didn't know if she could do this, if she could cope with the imminent loss. Losing Booth...it was every one of her worst fears come to fruition; a simultaneous collision of every nightmare she'd ever had. It would sweep her life away, strip from her the foundations she had pieced together and leave her stranded. She would have to leave D.C., the Jeffersonian, and likely the U.S. entirely. She would go where she was needed, where she was wanted. The dead would be her refuge, like they always had been before Booth. She would be alone but safe. Lonely, but her place in the world would be well-defined.
This is what you deserve, a voice in her head told her. She couldn't argue.
She rapped the door twice and waited, vision swimming. The sound of footsteps padded closer and closer. Brennan's breathing accelerated at the growing proximity, stopping the moment the door opened.
She had never been so overjoyed and devastated to see Booth. Her body stirred and she felt alive again, blood rushing, light flooding back to her eyes. He was tired, wide-eyed and red-cheeked like a sharp wind had lashed at his face. His expression displayed nothing, his eyes locked with hers and Brennan despised the fact that she couldn't read him. Already, she was an outsider looking in, watching the man she loved and realising she soon would not be able to tell him apart from a stranger. She had pressed her face into the crook of that neck countless times. She had kissed down the column of that throat, entwined their hands together with his mouth at her ear...soon it would be a memory. A memory she would not be able to keep. It was now that she realised they had been staring at each other, wordlessly. Booth spoke first.
"Hey," he said quietly, eyes dipping down, "thanks for coming over."
Brennan tried to stop her legs trembling and just nodded, convinced her voice would give her away.
Booth stepped back, gesturing that she could come inside. She moved past him, careful not to stay too close. She didn't want to make this awkward for him. He was going to end things, and she didn't want him feeling like he had to pity her.
She would cope. She would manage. She would do it somehow. She had to.
She moved close to the breakfast bar, keeping a suitable distance between them. His brow creased like it upset him. She felt his eyes on her face, but continued to avoid them. It would make it easier for both of them. She was not used to being so passive, avoiding his gaze like a submissive animal. With other men she had stared them down, had no problem watching their faces as she ended things, or on the few occasions when they ended things with her. The rejection was uncomfortable, but she hadn't cared for them enough for it to truly hurt her. Now, she cared. Now, Booth could crush her, and she hoped, desperately, that he wouldn't. Her eyes fell on the breakfast bar and her gut twisted at the memory of the embrace they had shared there not so long ago, the night that she had taken the leap. She felt the powerful urge to go to him begin to take over her body, and internally, she battled to extinguish the fire in her veins.
"Do you want a drink?" Booth.
She shook her head, "I'm okay."
A lie. One she would have to learn to tell convincingly. Her eyes instinctively tried to look at him without being seen, one last look, but she found he was already looking at her. The dark probing gaze that met her made her want to run to him, wrap her arms around his back and beg him to never let her go. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark green linen of her journal next to the brown velvet box. She tried to steady herself. The ticking of a clock grew louder.
"How much have you read?" She barely recognised her own voice. Her heart was laid bare on the coffee table behind them.
Booth stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and looked at his feet. "Every word."
Every word. She swallowed noisily, feeling the sting of tears and tightening of her throat. She offered no response, captivated by how good Booth looked in front of her. She wanted to feel his hands on her, to feel his lips pressing against the small space beneath her ear lobe. Her mouth dried.
"Why did you want me to read this, Temperance?"
Her eyes fluttered closed. Temperance. Maybe it was the last time she would hear him say her name. Had she taken it for granted before? Perhaps she had without realising it. How could she understand the meaning of such small things until the craters they left behind were revealed? Her name in his voice. Another thing she would miss.
"Did you read the letter?"
Booth didn't waver, and his gaze fixed on her with an intensity she wasn't expecting, "yes, but I want to hear it from you."
She bit her lip, "I'm not good at expressing myself in person, Booth. That's why I wrote the letter."
His expression faltered, and she saw how deeply he needed this.
"I want you to try."
He walked round the back of the sofa and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin. Brennan felt like the walls were closing in on her. She turned from him, and ran her hand through her hair. How did she put into words why she had given him her journal? Was it instinct? Desperation? Perhaps it was the desire for salvation, for a solution, for her and for him. Filled with fear and self-loathing, but determined not to lose the one person she wanted, the journal seemed to be her only choice. She needed to find a way to communicate her torrent of free-falling thoughts before she lost him again, and the journal was one way she could do so. She watched as Booth waited patiently, gnawing on his bottom lip, eyes glistening with tears. He looked broken, as broken as her own reflection. Did he still want her? Her heart soared at the thought.
Her hand fell to her side. Breathing shakily, Brennan crossed slowly towards him and sat down. The space the size of another person was between them. She didn't want to assume anything. Her eyes remained down, but she saw from the corner of her eye how his head turned. The air between them crackled, and the hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. Electrical current rushed through her nervous system. She desperately wanted to touch him, to see if he would light up with her.
The clock spat three seconds into the silence.
"You thought I didn't love you," she said finally, her voice breaking. "The last time that happened, I lost you and we ended up on different sides of the planet. I couldn't let it happen again."
Booth said nothing. Brennan didn't allow herself to stop. His attention was a physical sensation on her skin, like tracing her features with his fingertips.
"It was like being back on those steps." In her mind, Booth's face appeared asking why, why, why. "I knew that saying sorry wouldn't be enough. I needed you to see that this is not temporary. You are not temporary to me." Involuntarily, her eyes went to his face, "I couldn't think of any other way to prove to you that I am not lying when I say that I love you."
A beat.
Then, a whisper.
"You need to know that I have always been interested in you, Booth. Ever since we first met, it has always been you. I had feelings for you not long after we started working together on a regular basis. I just...I didn't know what being in love was."
Brennan didn't think too much as she spoke, a profoundly odd sensation. She always thought. Every second she was awake she dissected ideas and waded down through the murky dark of facts until she could see what connected them. Her life's work consisted of unveiling the narrative of facts, of transforming empirical evidence into human actions. To feel herself let go of that in such an important moment was baffling and liberating.
But in a flash of white-hot panic, she knew that to resign herself to spending the rest of her life alone was foolish. It was dangerous. Why was she even considering giving up? How many times had Booth opened himself up to her? How many times had he offered himself and everything he was? She needed to do the same, and she needed to do it now. Booth had read every word of her journal. He would see that she meant it.
She was on her knees before Booth could object, slipping herself round and between his legs. He dropped his hands from beneath his chin, instinctively reaching to touch her. Breath forced its way out of his lungs as he curved his hands round her waist. Face to face, almost nose to nose, their eyes met and Booth gaped wordlessly into her clear blue eyes. He had so much he wanted to say, but found that he couldn't put sentences together. The physical pull towards her made his mind go blank. Simple imperatives spoke in his head. Touch her. Keep her close. Breathe, breathe. And then her name, and everything it meant. Bones. The tips of her fingers found his cheeks, one smoothing the skin to find the back of his head, the other tentatively on his jaw. Nearly two days of thinking she didn't want him had taken its toll, and he veered dangerously close to sobbing. His jaw tensed as he watched her trembling mouth. The urge to collapse against her rose.
"Please don't give up on me, Booth," her voice shook. Her hands did too. Booth felt his blood pounding in his ears, "I'll do anything to fix this. What I said was about the dreams, not you. I was just so tired. Every time I closed my eyes I saw you dying, bleeding out...finding your head...severed..." she had to stop, sucking in a deep breath. She screwed her eyes shut, "my greatest fear is losing you, Booth. That hasn't changed. Everything I said on the night that Vincent died is still true. It has only become more true because now I know, with certainty, just how good we are together as more than friends and partners. I will admit that this last week has reminded me of a lot of my old fears, and it has been all mixed up in my head. I was overwhelmed, but I know I can do better. I promise you, I'll do better. Please. I love you, Booth. I love yo-"
"Bones," Booth's voice was firm, but breathless. It stopped Brennan in her tracks, and she realised she was panting, trying to stop herself from breaking down. There was quiet and his face softened, the tears that welled in his eyes gently toppled down his cheeks. "I will never give up on you. Ever."
Brennan heard him, felt her mind catch up and then dissolved, her head dropping down. Booth felt her sag. His hands that had been on her waist slid round her, pulling her tightly against his chest, her face against his neck. You are an idiot, Seeley Booth. A fucking idiot. He berated himself endlessly as she cried. He cradled her, a teardrop ran off the end of his nose and splashed into her hair. She held on for dear life, his shirt in her fist, her other hand curled around the nape of his neck. She tried to calm down, but she couldn't stop. Relief, painful and harsh, gripped her in a vice. She had to tell him everything. He had to know, to understand. She couldn't let this go.
At last, she wrenched herself apart from him so she could see his face. Tears glistened on her cheeks, her skin flushed. "Are you sure?" Is this real?
He cleared his throat, "I overreacted. I...god, Bones, I don't know. I heard what I heard and I thought you meant you couldn't do this any more," Booth gestured between them. His heart thudded in his chest, "I guess I thought it was all too good to be true."
"I'm so sorry," Brennan cupped his face.
"I shouldn't have rushed out like that, you were upset," he grimaced, shame pulling his eyes away from hers. "That was a really shitty thing for me to do. I'm sorry."
"I don't blame you," she sniffed quietly. Her fingers found the column of his neck, her thumb resting on the point where his heart thrummed.
A brief silence. Together after what had felt like millennia apart, Booth and Brennan stayed close. Booth felt his muscles relax slowly, tension easing out of his body the longer he held her. Her thumb swept small circles on his neck, and he could feel the tremor in her arm. He thought back to her journal.
"Bones..." he began, and he felt her stiffen for a fraction of a second. He sighed gently, "thank you for letting me read your journal. I know that it must have been really difficult for you."
He sought her gaze and found it easily, those blue pools he wanted to drown in again and again. She didn't shy away. She drank him in the same way, sating herself with the warm glow of his darkening eyes in the evening light, the way they dropped to her lips and then up again. She smiled softly, like the cracking of ice in warm weather.
"Yes," she agreed. She tilted her head towards him, an inch closer, "It was difficult."
"We spoke before about when I was lying low, and you told me some of the stuff you went through but it broke my heart to read it, Bones."
Another smile, crooked this time. He raised his hand up between them to trace its path along her mouth.
"Hearts don't break."
A short puff of air through his nose, a quiet chuckle, "I know. The heart is a muscle, and muscles don't break. They're crushed."
Brennan looked mildly surprised. Booth raised his eyebrows.
"Don't look so shocked. I do listen to you, y'know."
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes," he echoed.
A pause.
"I mean it though," Booth insisted. The jovial tone was gone. Brennan watched his eyes turn watchful, like saucers. "It broke my heart that you went through all that and never told me. And then you were off in Maluku and me in Afghanistan and we were apart for so long. Thinking of you out there like that, missing...missing us...it hit home. I thought about you every day. I wanted to call, or something, but I didn't think you'd want to hear from me."
He moved closer. Another fraction of space between them, gone. Brennan felt warm all over, a deep ache in her stomach urging her to move closer, feel more, give more. She wanted that one-ness with him. She suddenly remembered what it was that Dr Wyatt had said. You want to be one with him. He was right. She needed it.
"When we were back working together... it kills me that you were hurting that much." Booth.
Brennan shook her head minutely, "it doesn't matter."
"It matters. Of course it matters," his voice was hoarse, brow furrowed, heavy with emotion.
"I intended for you to have the journal so you could see proof that I have always wanted you, not to make you feel worse about anything else," Brennan bit back, frustrated. Tears threatened again. She was sick of them.
Booth took her hand from the side of his face, held it in his own and pressed his lips to her palm. Her breathing stopped. He kissed each of her fingertips, then the inside of her wrist.
"Booth," she whispered, moved.
His resolve snapped. He moved closer and their foreheads rested together, a moment to savour what was to come. Brennan held him and gasped against his mouth as he closed the gap between their lips, kissing her firmly. A cry of relief, and then her arms slipped around his shoulders. A complete absence of pain enveloped Booth at the feel of her against him, his body straining against hers. He demanded more, twining his fingers into her hair, tasting sunlight and memories. They broke apart gasping moments later.
"I didn't know I needed proof, but you're right. It helped. I'm sorry that I needed that from you," he said, hand still tangled in her hair. "I doubted myself for a while. I'm still getting over that."
She clutched at him, and croaked, "I know. I will make sure to remind you," kiss, "that I love you." Another kiss. "As many times as you want, Booth."
Recognition flashed onto his face. They'd come full circle, "as many times as I want?"
"Yes," she breathed. "I don't want to lose you." An unmistakeable wobble in her voice that breathed fire into Booth.
"You won't."
They collided again. Disbelief. The word, the feeling, the idea; it was all Brennan could think about. It consumed her as she savoured every kiss, catching her breath when she could, shivering as Booth's hands slipped beneath her shirt to lie flat across the small of her back. To think she had sat outside contemplating giving this up without a fight...
Her lips brushed his as she spoke, "are we okay? I need us to be okay."
"We're good, Bones. We're more than good." A statement of fact, solidified by another firm kiss, "I love you. I don't want anyone else."
Brennan grinned and felt like she had been released from an anchor tied at her ankles. She buoyed effortlessly to the surface, gasping for air. A laugh sounded, and the sensation felt so alien that it shocked her. Booth inhaled deeply, holding her close. She could feel his smile beneath her hands.
"Do you want up off the floor?"
No, she thought immediately. It was a thought that came so quickly she deemed it to be a reflex. She didn't want to move away from him; not now, not ever. But her knees were sore, despite the rug beneath her.
"I probably should, yes."
Booth didn't let her go far. Hands on her hips, he brought her on top of him, her knees either side of his thighs. Arms wound round each other, breathing each other in through deep, gulping breaths. Booth felt himself reconnect to his surroundings, energised through his connection with her. His lips found her collarbone, the soft skin on her sternum above her breasts warm against him. Brennan trailed her hands through his hair, tracing the ridges of his skull, his jaw, the curve of his ear as he kissed an aimless path up towards her mouth.
Seconds.
Minutes.
They lost track. Long, languid kisses between them, then a quiet kiss from Booth that spoke volumes on her lips. Peace turned to fever, fever to fire. No pressure to do more, just the sparking of focus on the space between them; warm skin and deep breathing, the freedom of Brennan's wandering hands as they sought to relearn him. Booth felt her love in her touch. He felt it and he knew it. Each kiss meant more now that he knew all of the driving forces behind them. It had all come together. Now he reaped the rewards.
"Bones," he murmured, as she kissed up the bridge of his nose and over his brow. A feather-light kiss landed on his cheek.
She hummed against him, indicating that she was listening.
"When I was in a coma, I had a dream."
She froze.
"In this dream, we were-"
"I know what we were," she interrupted. Her lips stayed close to his cheek, "I know. Booth, I can't...I'm not ready to have this conversation. Can we talk about this another time?"
He dipped his head, trying to catch her eyes. His fingers rubbed small circles into her back.
"We don't have to talk about it," he whispered, and kissed the corner of her mouth.
Shining blue eyes. Brennan struggled to breathe as she held his gaze, wary but full of hope. She took another leap of faith, "take it as another piece of evidence that for me, it has always been you."
Booth felt a lightning strike. This is it. An intrusive but welcome thought that pinpointed the moment the rest of his life began. The need to occupy the same space roared. Her face in his hands, he kissed her with renewed intensity and felt her respond. He groaned as her hips sank lower onto him, revolving slowly. She breathed harshly against his lips.
"We should really talk more," Brennan said.
"Can we multitask?" Booth asked.
"We can try."
"Good enough for me."
They scrambled off the sofa, Booth's hands sweeping her body as she pulled playfully at the waistband of his trousers. They stumbled backwards, but Brennan caught the back of her leg on the coffee table and yelped in surprise. Booth turned her round, her back against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist like two thick ropes.
"Are you okay, Bones?"
"I'm fine," she breathed, pressing into him. He was so warm. She felt like she'd been standing outside in an Alaskan winter for days, "but walking forward will be more effective."
"And productive." His voice was low in her ear.
He lifted her and walked them clumsily towards his bedroom, her feet skimming the floor, chuckling at how much she admonished him and laughed. God, he'd missed this. Her laugh. The way they joked around, jokes just for them that no one else understood. As soon as he loosened his grip on her waist, she flipped round and kissed him. Tongues met, a delicious shiver racing down Booth's spine. He felt her hands on his lower abdomen, itching to remove his t-shirt. He let her raise it above his head, and enjoyed how she gaped openly at him more than he could say. Searing hot kisses branded his neck, down the centre of his sternum and over the crest of his pectoral muscles. A hand found its way to his hip, slipping beneath his trousers. He helped her unbutton her shirt, careful not to rip the buttons off, because she really did look incredible in that colour. It fell to the floor.
"Could you help me...with my boots?" Brennan asked, her train of thought rerouted every second she looked at him. His physical form had a power that still surprised her, despite the years of admiring.
"Of course."
She sat on the edge of her bed and watched as he made quick work of her laces, glancing up at her to ensure that she was still watching. To his pleasure, her eyes stayed faithfully on his face, darkening as he climbed up towards her, and they shuffled back on the bed. Their lips met again, bodies pressed together, Booth groaning and gasping as she rolled them and pinned him beneath her. The light from the street lamps outside bled into the room, catching the perfect lines of her face. He watched her trace the ridge of his nose with her gaze, resting on his lips for a moment, parting her own.
"This is what I imagined in Maluku. The first few weeks, I tried to fight it...but it was too hard." She leant forward, hovered above him. Her thumb swept his bottom lip, "every night, we were right here."
She sought his throat, Booth's head tilted upwards immediately to grant her access. Three kisses forged the path to his collarbones.
"I have never wanted to disappear into my work so completely, but you didn't allow it. You never allowed it, not when we worked together in person, and not when you were thousands of miles away. You persisted in bringing me into the outside world."
"Bones," Booth said, strangled by desire.
She shushed him gently, and continued her torturous agenda. Her mouth travelled lower, down the natural incline of his chest, pausing at the apex of his sternum where the ribs began to part. Booth felt her hand brush low on his stomach. He writhed underneath her.
"When the Gravedigger abducted you and I thought I might not be able to save you in time..."
"You did, though," he whispered.
"I should have told you then." Her mouth reached his right hip, and she kissed and licked and suckled into his flesh purpled, holding him in place as he hissed and pulled softly at her hair. Her breath warmed his side, "I should have told you everything."
"Kiss me," he begged. "Please. Kiss me."
Another breath rippled across his skin from below his navel. He couldn't contain the guttural groan that fell from his lips. Christ, he'd never felt like this in his entire life, so desperate to hold her and feel himself disappear inside her that he could barely think straight. He was torn, tugged sharply between letting her do with him as she wanted or taking control and watching her shatter around him. His eyes watered with the paralysing indecision. Brennan felt the tension in his abdominal muscles, the way one of his hands reached for any part of her that he could touch, and the other grabbed uselessly at the sheets. She pulled at his trousers, and together they discarded them. An open-mouthed kiss on his thigh. Booth cursed quietly.
"Booth..." An admonishment paired with a salacious smile.
He could barely speak, "can you blame me?"
She responded by covering him with her mouth. Booth grabbed harder at the sheets, cursed louder and louder as she moved her hand and tongue in a maddening rhythm. Ebbing and flowing, ebbing and flowing. She took him to the edge, made heat blister at the base of his spine and then cooled him down before they passed the point of no return. The excruciating pattern revolved again and again, until Booth couldn't speak. He hadn't been able to watch last time, but now he couldn't take his eyes off her. There was no more fear that he would lose her, it disappeared like smoke into the night. He couldn't wait any longer and Brennan sensed his shifting needs, rising to meet the kiss that waited for her.
"You're incredible," Booth said, helping her out of her jeans. He felt the power of her smile.
She laughed, reaching behind her back to unclip her bra, "I know."
Nothing remained between them, and Booth let his hands wander, the soft, smooth skin of her thighs and lower abdomen adding more fuel to the raging desire that already engulfed him. He ached, kissing her hard, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth. His other hand grasped at her back, his nails dragging downwards in a slow and deliberate path. Brennan hissed appreciatively.
"Don't make me wait." Booth was back to begging. "I need...I can't..."
Brennan shushed him again, tenderly this time. She met his gaze, saw how he was still hurting and needing her reassurance. Tears brimmed in her eyes, stinging with love and regret.
"I'm here, Booth. I'm right here."
They were done waiting. They'd given enough time to 'what ifs' and 'maybes', more than their fair share. She reached down between them, aligned herself and slowly sank down until they were as close as they could be. An explosion of need behind Brennan's eyes as she watched Booth's eyes flutter closed, his jaw tensing to trap a groan. A sharp exhale as his eyes opened again. She saw the warm, soulful brown she had always loved, like autumn turning to winter, like glowing fires and cinnamon. She rolled her hips and felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. She did it again, slower. His lips parted.
"I love you," she whispered.
Booth sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so his feet were on the floor. Brennan's settled on his lap, breath catching as their connection deepened. His left arm wound round her, his other hand twirled a tendril of her hair.
"Show me."
A shared smile.
Slow revolutions and wandering hands traced the time that passed between them. Gentle movements, hips meeting and communicating in a secret language that only they knew. Booth's mouth against her neck. Brennan's hands tracing the rise of his trapezoid muscles, her fingers finding their way into his hair, bringing her lips to his ear lobe. Their connection, forged in fire, rebranded them both as they moved together. A whisper of breath against her shoulder raised goosebumps down her side. Booth felt her lips move down the length of his face, forceful and gentle all at once. He felt her in every part of his being, the same three words pounding over and over in his head.
She loves me.
She loves me.
She loves me.
"Fuck," Booth grumbled.
He gestured that they needed to move. They lay down, Booth parting her legs and slipping inside her without hesitation. He looked down at her. Her skin was rosy, lips swollen and pink, her eyes shining. Booth couldn't hold back. Need overpowered everything else, the need for her, for closeness. There was a coalescence of soft and rough. Sharp thrusts were met with tender words, and they strained to get closer, closer than was physically possible. Brennan dragged her nails down his back, marking him. A low snarl of pain was followed by affirmations that made her dig her nails in even harder. His gasp spoke for him. I can't get enough of you. Echoing in her ears, his voice began her ascent, and he felt her tighten around him. He licked the dip above her collarbone, blew softly across it, then worked his way up her neck to the space behind her ear. Their hips slammed together, sweat beading on his back as Brennan brought his lips to hers moments later. They parted and then Booth felt her fall, drinking in her release, feeling her pleasure everywhere in his body. The sound of her voice brought him closer to his own peak, her arms curled around him as her body tensed and then relaxed in a steady cycle. Her eyes opened and they flashed brighter than the sun. Booth's mind went white...then a symphony of colour descended. He let go. He fell, and he heard his voice rasp and groan in ways he'd never experienced. Brennan caught him, like he'd always wanted her to.
She cradled him as he lay with his face pressed against her breasts, recovering. She was sweaty and exhausted, overwhelmed and breathless...but at peace. A different peace than she had known before. It was not linear and two-dimensional like the peace she had known before Booth. This had peaks and troughs, confusion and rage, despair and joy – it veered off the path she chose, made its own way against her wishes, took her to places she'd never considered. It had brought her to Booth. He needed her in a way that no one had ever needed her before, and she hugged him tighter to remind herself that she could never let this go.
"Hi," Booth croaked, a smile in his voice. He breathed heavily.
"Hi," Brennan replied. "Just so you're aware, that was probably the best sex I've had."
"Probably?"
"Except for the first time we made love, yes. It's a close call."
Booth leaned up on his elbows, gazed down at her with an acutely sly smirk.
"We're ranking them now?"
Irritation flickered on her face, and Booth grinned wider. Brennan scrunched her nose, "I love you but I find you intensely annoying, Booth."
He kissed her, more deeply than she anticipated. Her irritation melted away with his lazy kisses, kisses that told her he was sated and happy and relieved. That he loved her, too. That he would always love her. They were a team in everything now.
Little did they know, a change in the game was already on its way.
How did I do? I love to hear your thoughts!