Into the Wild
Rating: M – which will come soon, but for now, I'm going to tease you. evil laugh Booth and Brennan are going to play a little game.
Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, not mine, blah, blah, blah Fox Network, blah…
A/N: I think I'm in love with the idea of Booth getting all primitive. How hot would it be to see him as caveman or something? I think I need a tissue. Drool just hit the floor. Damn. Please enjoy.
Sweetest Seduction
"Well, I think is where we're meant to stop," Booth said, turning to the gushing river, hands on his hips. "And I couldn't be more glad." Brennan shucked off her rucksack and nodded, dropping to the ground with a heavy sigh. "Feeling the pressure, Bones?" Booth asked, glancing at her now.
Through the semi-darkness, he could tell she was tired. Her fingers clenched and unclenched her shoulder as she rolled her neck. "Well, I did tell you. I would much prefer to be at the Jeffersonian now." Booth chuckled, tossing his own bag unto the ground.
"Squinting a skeletons and listening to Hodgins? C'mon Bones, relish your freedom, huh?" Crouching, he began to unpack the tent from her bag, systematically removing the poles one by one, examining them each in turn. After a few seconds, he looked up. "Did I ever tell I'm not so good with these things? Maybe you could pitch it and I could see about catching fish?" Brennan sighed.
"This is why you brought me here, isn't it? To carry the tent and do all the hard work." She sank to her knees, unrolling the khaki green canvas that would act as their roof for the evening. Brennan continued to roll her shoulders and attempted to ignore the pain in her feet. She wondered if the other agents had stopped yet. Or if they had come across any tasks. She'd noticed none so far. It made her wonder if they'd done something wrong.
"Are you okay, Bones?" Booth asked, dipping his head to look into her eyes. She blinked.
"Aren't you meant to be off catching food? Or am I doing that too?" He grumbled, removing a small hand net from his rucksack and unclipping his knife from his belt. When he began to descend the slope to the river, Brennan released a sigh and pressed her head to her bag, wishing she could go to sleep at that moment. No tent. No food. It didn't matter. She was too tired anyway.
It took her thirty minutes, but she managed to erect the tent without causing much chaos. She almost broke her wrist, twice, trying to hammer the spikes into the ground. Booth had picked quite hard terrain to camp for the night, and as her muscles twitched painfully she resisted the urge to scream 'bastard' through the trees.
Standing, she brushed dried leaves off her pants and swiped her hand across her brow. Her skin smelt earthy, filled with the scents of nature. Brennan wondered why she felt no pride in the completion of her task. She thought of nothing but slipping into an extremely hot bath. If only. The closest she'd get to a bath tonight was a wipe down with frigidly cold river water.
Moving down the slope in the general direction of Booth, Brennan wondered if he'd made any progress. Bending, she scooped water into her hands and splashed her face, breathless at just how cold it was. She marvelled why the FBI had organized an expedition in early spring instead of summer. Wouldn't July have been logical?
She clicked her tongue, thinking that, if the Jeffersonian had organised it, they'd have been thorough, and much cleverer in their approach.
Brennan searched the water for her partner, finding that the expanse of river appeared empty. She sighed. Now where had he gone? Was Booth incapable of remaining on one train of thought or a single task for any more than five seconds? Why was she so irritated, anyway?
She thought of the Tomb Raider conversation from earlier and realised she'd bristled after that. The rational woman in her had always known Booth was sexually attracted to women. He had enough flocking after him. But she had stupidly indulged in a idiotic thought that, when they were together, she was the only person on his mind. Apparently not. It seemed he thought of just about everyone who had breasts and legs.
A explosive slash in the water jolted her attention back, and she saw Booth, waist deep in the river, holding the net triumphantly. "Bones!" He called, and she caught sight of a silvery fish wriggling inside it. "I got one. How good am I, huh?" She didn't answer. There was she, inwardly chiding Booth for his lack of concentration and now her thoughts had drifted off altogether.
He removed his flannel shirt – and he looked primitive, submerged to his torso in the water, his dark brown nipples hardened by the cold. He looked delicious, his bronzed skin slick, rivulets running over his chest, past his pectorals, meandering through the taut bunched abdominals, and back into the river again. She blinked, willing herself to pay attention to what he said, but she was distracted by the line of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. She had never seen his pants quiet so low strung.
"I knew I could do this, Bones. Just needs practice." She ran her tongue across her lips, blushing. "You alright?" He waded back to the shore, his catch had ceased to move. He held it by its tail, lifting it for her inspection, all-male pride written across his features. She caught his eye, then watched as a single drop slipped along his jaw and dripped off his chin. His cheeks were darkened with afternoon stubble. There was a ruggedness about him that had nothing to do with being a clean cut federal agent.
Seeley Booth looked like he belonged in nature.
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"Are you sure you've never went camping?" He asked when she had arranged a pile of dried leaves and logs inside a ring of medium sized stones. For someone who had never watched movies it was astounding how much Hollywood knowledge she had acquired.
"Never. Logic tells me that it's quite simple to make a fire with matches, Booth. I'm not asking you to use flint." He smirked. Trust Temperance Brennan to be clinical and rational at all times. She was hilarious sometimes. "Erm, Booth?" Her eyes shifted awkwardly from the fire to his face. "This woman on the TV show… is it something in particular about her that you like when she bathes semi-naked in the water?" He paused, halting the task he'd started of slicing the fish. His brow furrowed.
He didn't want to sound like a crazed nymphomaniac. So he shrugged. "Yeah… I guess there is something about her." Brennan dipped her head, once, in a sharp nod, rising to her feet.
"Good," she said. "Because I didn't want to be distracting you when I bathe." She moved toward the river, pulling her shirt over her head. His body stilled at the sight of her bare back – his mouth instantly dry. "While you make the food, I'm going to get cleaned up. Call me, okay?"
When she was out of sight, he blinked.
Christ almighty! Bones was sexy? Who the hell would have thought that, underneath all the science and infuriating logic, Brennan had a killer ass and the sexiest body ever? He shook his head.
"Jesus," he whispered, wrapping the fish in aluminium foil and dropping it unto the travel grill.
He was having trouble dissecting the new information. Of course he found other women attractive. Hell, he thought, raking his fingers through his still wet hair, how could he not? He was a man. But there was a tingling in his groin that made him realise he didn't been so attracted to a woman in a long time. Ordinarily, he needed a glimpse of breast. Bones had shown her back. Her smooth, bare back. And it was enough.
It didn't take fresh fish very long to cook. Within fifteen minutes, a succulent smell rose from the grill and when he peeled the foil back the flesh was tender and crumbled easily. He removed it, rummaging in his rucksack for the little plastic plates. Some things were necessity and plates, in Booth's eyes, were included.
"Bones?" He called, getting to his feet and moving down the slope to where she bathed. He willed himself to remain in control. She wasn't naked and she was submerged to her neck. He would be okay if he didn't fantasise.
"Is it ready?" Brennan called from the centre of the river. He nodded. "Great, I'll be there in a second."
He hesitated and then turned to leave when she stood, the top half of her body exposed to the chilly evening air. He halted, noting how her sensible sports bra, drenched, had went transparent and her nipples were hardened to tight little peaks. He saw every line and curve of her body and felt himself harden immediately.
"Christ Bones," he whispered, dropping his eyes to his feet. The temptation was too much. As she rubbed unscented soap unto her hands, and passed the it across her skin, he stifled a groan. She looked delectable, her taut torso flexed when she passed her soapy fingers across her belly and her lips parted. She knew he was watching her and, damn, she was playing on it.
He shifted.
Who would have thought Temperance Brennan had familiarised herself with the art of seduction?
She trailed her fingers through her hair, leaning back and submerging the soapy locks in the water. The sight of the darkened strands fanning out, in the silvery water made her look celestial. She slipped one strap of her bra off her shoulder and passed the soap across her chest, under the water to where her breasts were no concealed. He turned his back, so hard it hurt.
She caught his eye. "Are you alright, Booth?" She asked.
Oh Bones, he thought, tonight is definitely twenty questions night. And I will make you sleep with me.
One way or another.
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Next up, twenty questions. I promise. And I always keep my promises. You got your topless Booth, didn't you?