This Is Life

Lessons in Living – One

'Accept that, all work and no play makes Temperance a very dull girl …'

I'd rate this a T. If anyone reckons it's an M, let me know. But it's not explicit – the implication is there, though.

"You're taking me… bowling… Booth?" He cast her a sideways glance, grinning demonically. "Because… you see… when we were talking about life, I thought you meant we could do… what we did in the archives…again." She gnawed on her lower lip, the image of it was driving him mad.

"We can, Bones," he said. "But I had a different recreational activity in mind." He took a right turn, bringing the SUV to a stop outside a long single story building – with changing neon lights that depicted ten pins being floored by a red ball.

Brennan watched the pins fall and replenish four times before turning to Booth. "Seriously? The other thing… it was better. Definitely better." Booth killed the engine, removing the key.

"Bones… are you afraid?" She snapped her head, fixing him with cool blue eyes that reprimanded and seduced all at once.

"There is something violent about bowling, you know," she said. "The force exerted to careen an enormous, not to mention heavy, ball down a…" her brow furrowed.

"It's called a laneway, Bones, and there's nothing violent about it. It's fun. Fun. Add it to your vocabulary." He pushed the car door open, stepping out into the warm sun. Seconds later, Brennan followed.

She'd pulled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and her skin appeared luminous in the light. Despite her irritation, a small smile had played perpetually at her lips since they'd left the FBI headquarters. "I know the meaning of fun, Booth," she said, thrusting her hands into her pockets. "I have fun when I'm writing." Booth turned, locking the SUV. A long beep hung in the air.

"Writing?" He asked, eyebrows rising skyward in disbelief. "Bones…" he shook his head. "You know you're a nerd, right?" Brennan followed him to the entrance, pouting.

"A nerd? Because I like to write? I've made money from writing." Booth nodded, pulling the door open and prompting her to enter. She hesitated, glancing into the darkened building. When it became obvious that she was stalling, Brennan relented, stepping inside.

"Exactly, Bones. Writing is like a job. You need a hobby." As if to punctuate his statement, the sound of thundering balls colliding solidly with wooden pins surrounded them. Music played over the intercom, similar to Booth's CD in his stereo. This was his place. She felt uncomfortable.

His hand fell on her back, firm and insistent, urging her forward. She turned to the laneways, and noticed that only half the people there were men. "C'mon Bones, you'll like it." Brennan didn't believe him for a minute. She could recall playing bowling once in her life. When she was twelve. Her arms had ached after and she'd lost.

Temperance didn't like losing, much.

"I'll be back in a minute," Booth said and the insistent weight on her back disappeared. She shifted against the soda machine, watching as one of the guys in lane four pulled his arm back and released the black ball along the polished wood. It reminded Brennan of a cannon ball. It hit the pins in the middle, propelling all ten backwards, the guy leapt into the air in glee.

"That was a fluke, Benzo! A fluke!" One of his friend called, heaving a ball into his arms. Brennan didn't think it was a fluke at all. Benzo had strong arms and a good aim.

"Hey Bones, take your shoes off." Brennan spun, glancing down at the boots she wore and then at the navy and red shoes Booth was holding out to her. She shook her head. "You can't bowl in those," he sighed, exasperated. "The lanes are waxed, and unless you want to end up on your ass with your head as the ball, you should cast your vanity aside." Brennan snatched the shoes from his hands.

"I am not vain, Booth," she snapped, kneeling to unzip her boots. "Did you get the balls?" She saw the retort form on his lips, the telltale smirk and sighed. "Booth, for once… don't…" He laughed.

"What? Is friendly banter out of the question, now?" Brennan slipped her feet into the bowling shoes, straightening and thrusting her foot out, turning her ankle in a circle and examining the dual-colour shoes. They were disgusting.

"It was never acceptable, Booth," she said, finally. "Shall we?" Brennan took her boots, slipping them under a chair and cast her eyes to lane six. With hands on her hips, she turned to Booth. "Our lane doesn't have the things…" she gestured to the darkened lane beside theirs.

"What?" Booth asked, taking a dark red ball in his hand, flexing his arm.

"Those things, Booth," Brennan pointed to the gutters at the side of the lanes. "I'll lose my balls." Booth chuckled, his eyes twinkling, full of mischief and innuendo.

"They're called bumpers, Bones, and as for your balls, I think you've already lost them. Either that or you were born a wuss." She resented the statement, and resisted the urge to shove his bowling ball down his throat. Or up his ass. Whichever would have proved most painful.

Turning to the screen above their head, she saw the two blank score cards and frowned. "Bones? You programmed me in as Bones? Booth…" He just laughed, spinning the ball in his upturned palm.

"Me first!" Stepping up to the line, Booth examined the length of the lane, the angle at which he stood and when he threw the ball, it hit the wood with the crashing thud and propelled in a perfect line, hitting the pins head on. Like Benzo in lane four, his throw diminished all the pins instantaneously. He performed a little victory dance that made Brennan wonder if all men harboured the same egotistical desire to prove themselves.

Booth was as masculine as any male she'd ever known. Physically and emotionally.

He stopped when he saw that she was frowning and looked momentarily contrite. "C'mon Bones, it's your turn." Taking a smaller navy ball in his hand, he slid it into hers. Brennan watched as the pins were replaced and she instinctively knew she'd never get them all down. Damn, she hated 'having fun'.

Before she released the ball, she knew her aim was all wrong. The heavy sphere rolled haphazardly down the lane, veering off to the left and thumping down into the gutter, rolling past the ten pins which seemed to laugh at her from where they stood, undisturbed, not even rocking.

She sighed.

Hate was too mild a word. She loathed having fun.

The score board displayed a mocking '0' next to her name while Booth had a joyous 'X'. Strike. Damn him!

She dropped unto the bench, dully aware that the machine didn't even need to replace the pins.

"It's still your turn, Bones," Booth said. "You get a second go." Her cheeks flamed, and she wasn't sure she could handle the humiliation. A quick glance a Booth told her he wasn't making fun of her. "I'll help you," he said, proffering the ball to her again. She sighed, taking the weight into her arms, awkwardly arranging it until her fingers and thumb slipped into the holes. "It's easy, I'll show you." She rose, stepping reluctantly up to the line. Behind her, Booth stood close.

She glanced over her shoulder and he shifted forward, his body flush with hers. Brennan sucked an unsteady breath into her lungs, her eyes wide, staring fixatedly ahead at the white pins. Booth bent his head, easing her hair aside with his chin. His lips grazed her ear.

"Relax, Bones," he whispered, brushing his hands down her arms. She felt her muscles loosen at his command, but her pulse raced erratically against her throat. His fingers caressed hers, until she thought she might drop the bowling ball on her toes. "You can't throw if you're wound like a spring." His cheek brushed her jaw and prickly hair sent a tremble through her body.

Slipping his arm around her waist, he passed his lips across the shell of her ear. Brennan leant into his embrace, wondering if now was a good time to bail out of bowling and engage in the recreational activity she enjoyed. The basic reasoning skills she once chided Booth about, disappeared when his fingers slipped beneath her shirt and ran across her torso.

"Aim, Bones," he whispered, taking her wrist in his hand again. "Pull your arm back." She obeyed. "And… throw." When the ball fell from her hands, it flew effortlessly down the lane, in a vertical line, and when it hit, it was just a few centimetres off the middle. She watched as, like dominos, the pins tumbled, one after the other, clattering, crashing and disappearing.

She smiled.

"That's called a Spare, Bones. It means you're not really so bad." His mouth passed across her ear again, his breath hot and sweet and arousing. Brennan pressed her thighs together, acutely aware of his own arousal, pressed against her lower back.

"I'm not?" She asked, vaguely conscious that it was now Booth's turn, and they were standing at the line, watching the pins like idiots. "Well… that's something, I suppose." Booth nodded against her shoulder. "Hmm… if my next throw is bad, will you help me again?" His chuckle was gruff, desperately arousing and completely Booth. He closed his lips around her lobe for the shortest second, and she felt faint.

"Nope, Bones, you're on your own now. My turn!" He turned, leaving her alone, her legs weak and her throat dry, torn between the desire to throttle him and the desire to maul him.

"Booth?" She followed him back to the bench, running her tongue across her lips. "About the archives-"

"Are you insatiable, Bones?" He slipped his fingers into the heavier bowling ball he used.

"Will there definitely be a repeat?" His eyes twinkled again as he swept his gaze over her body. He was distracted from their game, momentarily.

"I personally guarantee it, Bones. For now, just play."

Should this be continued? I was thinking of turning Brennan's quest for life into a little game between them? Let me know! Thanks!