Title: This is Life
Rating: T. Sexual torture for Booth.
Disclaimer: If I owed them, they'd be too hardcore for Fox.
I had a terrible day at work today and now I just want to have a bath go to bed. While I am sleeping I hope you enjoy.
Vertical Halt
"I'm a little drunk."
"I know. You've tripped twice." He held her arm, climbing the stairs to her apartment because he didn't think the elevator was a good idea. Alcohol, apparently, was not something Temperance Brennan could handle well.
"Really?" She stumbled, laughing raucously at her own stupidity. "Whoops," she said, pressing her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes. He thought for a moment she might fall asleep. "Booth?" One eye peeked open, glassy and bright.
Slipping his arm around her waist, he steered her towards her apartment, suddenly sober. If she fell, he was not taking her to the emergency room. It was entirely her fault, for neglecting to mention her low tolerance. What a way to end a night of romantic, life changing confessions.
"Hmm?" He fished in her pocket for her key, ignoring her brazen attempt to distract him with her cleavage. "Bones, be still." She wiggled her hips in response.
"You're hot." He swallowed a chuckle, maintaining the sternest glare he could.
"Stand still."
"No." She shimmied way, moving towards the elevator.
"Bones! Where are you going?" Her finger jabbed the button, once.
Twice.
Seven times.
"Stop it! You're going to break it."
The doors binged and slid apart, and the sight of the empty elevator with all the unlit buttons were apparently an exciting prospect in her drunken state. "Bones…" he warned, racing towards her as the doors began to close. He missed a broken shoulder by a quarter of an inch. "Jesus fucking Christ! This is the last time, Bones. Last time!" He wasn't sure whether he meant his last attempt or the last time she was allowed wine. Or anything with stronger an lemonade.
"I feel sick."
"Oh shit." She belched a little. "This was exactly why we were avoiding the elevator, Bones." She ignored him, moving towards the panel of buttons, wondering if perhaps she could get out of the moving box before her stomach contents end up on the floor. Her neighbours wouldn't like it.
She tripped, slamming her palm against the panel.
Every button except one, lit up.
"For the love of God! Sit on the floor, Bones. Sit. Now." She opened her mouth to protest, but drunkenness made her quite inarticulate. "Did I confess love tonight?" Booth asked, as the elevator began to ascend. "What was I thinking?" Brennan slumped into the corner, drawing her knees to her chest, pressing her head to her legs.
"You do love me," she said, her voice muffled. He grumbled to himself, crossing his arms and realising that the prospect of steamy 'just confessed love' sex was definitely out of the question. Bones could barely recite her name.
When the elevator had stopped at four floors, she spoke. "Booth?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm horny."
Oh, so now she was going to torment him with it? What an evil little minx.
"Tomorrow, Bones." He growled through gritted teeth, eyes fixed firmly upon the numbers above the door. Why had they stopped moving? Shit. He jabbed the button, hard. "It's stuck. Bones! You did break it!" She mumbled vaguely.
"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," she said.
"You've got us trapped." He slammed his palm against the door. "Can anyone hear me?" He called, pounding his fist. Despite the noise, it proved ineffectual.
"Are you horny, Booth?" Brennan asked, her voice persistent in the back of his mind.
"We're stuck, Bones." He said, his head falling against the door in frustration. He had a presentation tomorrow at eight am. If he missed it, he'd have his ass chewed out by almost every member of the FBI who had authority.
"Who was Mulder and Scully?" He sighed, sinking to his knees in something approaching despair.
"Bones…"
"'Cause everyone says I'm Scully. Was she an anthropologist too?"
"No, Bones. She was an FBI agent." He dug his fingers into his hair, into his scalp, wondering if he pressed hard enough would the nightmare go away.
"For real?" Brennan had wide eyes, now. Enthralled.
"No. She was fictional."
"Did she have a gun?" Brennan moved towards him, her face close his. He caught the scent of wine on her breath and wondered what her lips would taste like. He changed his mind immediately.
"Of course she did." He said, turning to the panel. There was only one light lit now. Her floor.
Damn his luck.
"Why do people think I'm her, then? She didn't do what I do," Brennan said, tilting her head, her eyes conveying her mystification.
"Because…" Booth stopped. "It doesn't matter, Bones. Look, is there someone you can call? Someone who can get us out of here?" She pouted a little.
"Otis?"
"Otis?" He repeated.
"The elevator man. He's called Otis," she explained, as though he were stupid. "He has it sown unto his shirt," she pressed her finger against her breast. "Here." He glanced there, only for a nanosecond, frightened at how he hardened at the image alone.
"Bones, Otis makes the elevators. Otis are the elevator people." She gasped.
"There's more than one?" He scratched his head.
"I think you should sleep." Her head dropped to his shoulder, her fingers dancing over his torso. If she moved her hand a few inches, her interest would be aroused by how hard he was. He grabbed her wrist, lacing his fingers with hers.
"I'm horny," Brennan said again. Booth closed his eyes.
"You mentioned that," he replied patiently.
"Yes, and you love me." Temperance shuffled closer, burrowing her nose in his neck, her lips skimming his throat.
"Yes, I do." Booth swallowed.
"Aren't you supposed to make my horniness go away?" He stroked her hair, willing her to settle down, to sleep. At least until he thought of a way out. He could call Angela. But then she'd bombard them with questions, hundreds of them. His head hurt at the prospect alone.
"I will, Bones. When we get to your apartment." She played with a loose thread on her blouse, humming under her breath. She was thinking. Temperance Brennan and thought were a dangerous combination.
"If I am Scully does that mean you're this Mulder fellow?" Was the best train of thought she could accumulate.
"Well… apparently it does." He nodded, once. As long as he kept her off the topic of sex, they might be okay.
"And did they have sex?" She asked.
Damn his cursed luck.
"I'm really not sure…"
"Angela said they did. And that they were hot."
"Well… if Angela says…"
"So then we should have sex, too. Right?" Booth exhaled, his head falling back against the fall. It hurt. He wished he'd knocked himself out.
"Tomorrow, Bones."
She sighed. "I know you're hard." Her eyes were luminous with mischief. His jaw tightened. "I know you're thinking of me naked and you want to have sex here. Don't you, Booth?"
"Bones… can you call Hodgins, please?"
"I don't do threesomes."
"Oh Jesus… Bones… please."
"Alright." She pulled her phone from her pocket, spent two minutes wondering pondering over her phone book and the many names, and finally dialled Hodgins.
He didn't answer.
Booth felt his headache penetrate his skull. "Okay… call Angela."
Angela answered in two rings.
"Hi Ange, it's me. Booth and I have got ourselves fucked in the elevator and I was wondering if you could come and help us out."
Silence then a giggle that even Booth could hear.
"Oh sweetie I'd love to!"
