Title: This is Life
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I've been watching Angel reruns all day because we have them broadcast throughout the day on like three different channels, and, I am saddened to say, I don't own him either (not that he's mentioned in this…) but damn, I wish I did because he is one sexy fucking vampire! (If only he was literally fucking… okay… moving on…)
Rating: This chapter is rated M.
A/N: I think I covered my notes in the disclaimer, actually. How hot is he? Hmm…? Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Please don't hesitate to send me more!
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
He tasted like everything that was right and perfect.
Like fresh spring mornings – clean and pure, and spicy musk that was safe and masculine and his skin radiated a warmth that made her own flesh prickle with a need to have him as close as possible.
He had firm muscles all over his body. None of his physique was unappealing to her roving eye. His arms, defined and worked, flexed when he reached for her. She stepped aside, wanting, not to be held, yet. She wanted to drink the image of his perfection.
Booth had nice forearms; firm, bronzed and dusted with a sprinkling of dark hair. His biceps, not over indulgent, complimented his trim, masculine frame without imposing – without reminding her of an egotistical muscle man. Sometimes, Seeley Booth liked to permeate an air of confidence, and yes, confident he was, but he did not flaunt his loveliness. He was unassuming, sometimes. Unassuming in ways she liked.
His fingers shifted as he contemplated reaching for her again, but she merely smiled, raking her eyes over his defined pectorals, the smooth line of his breastbone, the well-formed, undulating lines of his abdominals and the fine trail of hair that disappeared enticingly beneath his waistband.
Brennan blinked slowly. He aroused her, just by looking at him. Oh, perfect he was, indeed!
The stereo in their room, a fairly high-tech piece of equipment for such a dated hotel, played the soft reedy melodies of a saxophone, and the raw sexiness of the sound it emanated made her want to undress – made her want to be touched. To be fucked.
Brennan cringed at her own thought. Fucked, she thought, was quite a vulgar word. Especially to describe sex. She wasn't an old-fashioned traditionalist by any means, but things with Booth… they went beyond sex and fucking. There was a distinct romantic connection, but God almighty, she wanted to be wild and uninhibited.
Booth sensed her need, and she relinquished any further ideas she might have had about pulling away. When he reached for her, snagging her wrists, she fell into him, her fingers searching his warm skin, her mouth opening under his.
She was entranced by his ferociousness, and how his fingers tightened into her skin, until she was aware of nothing but the numbing grip he held on her. Booth broke their kiss, passing his lips over the shell of her ear. Her nipples tightened as he released her hands and undressed her with a deliberate slowness that made each millimetre of touched skin tingle.
She undressed him as he undressed her, leisurely and deliberate, and she knew he was teasing her, making her wait.
Booth brought her to the bed, and she lay against the pillows at his silent command. He touched her, made her lungs ache with a desperate need to breathe, and her heart fluttered each time his lips passed over the inside of her thigh. She felt worshipped and adored -- just as she always did when he touched her body.
He prolonged her agony for over fifteen minutes, using his tongue in ways she'd come to realise were unlike any lover before him. His unselfishness was unparalleled, as he spent a painstaking amount of time ensuring she was pleasured – and Brennan was euphoric by the time he slid inside her with a guttural plea to God.
Despite the time he'd taken to tease and arouse her to near boiling point, Booth had remained true to his word; he was inside her in less than an hour and it felt better with each long stroke he took.
She came first, his name muffled against his lips as she cried into his kiss. Booth held her, his fingers laced into her hair, his thrusts matching her trembling. He plunged into her twice more, his own rapture meeting hers, their voices a tangled symphony of pants and groans and exclamations of love and pleasure.
The saxophone faded in the midst of their crescendo, and Brennan fell against him, her hair sprawled over his shoulder, their bodies slick. "I love you, Bones," he said, aware of how unnecessary his proclamation was. It may have sounded trite, but he never tired of telling her just how important she was to him.
He slipped from within her and she whimpered softly at the loss. His lips skimmed her shoulder, as he manoeuvred, to ensconce her in his embrace. She settled against him, her sweet breath passing over his skin in unsteady bursts. She smiled, returning his declaration.
"I love you, too," she said, brushing her hand over his chest, along the hard planes of his torso, which flexed beneath her tender touch. "I am so looking forward to what's coming…" His fingers found hers, linking in a slow, momentary dance. "Any clues?" He pressed a kiss to her forehead, looking down on her with a dark intensity that she'd come to recognise as Booth's fear. He was sometimes afraid to love her, and although she'd come to identify these moments of silent despair, she never broached the subject of what caused the dark yet luminous fear she saw within his eyes.
She suspected it wasn't so much that he was afraid to love her but rather he was afraid to lose her. Brennan tightened her grip in an unspoken reassurance.
"Well," he replied, the darkness gone, replaced by a twinkling mischief. "If I told you it involved silk scarves and you surrendering yourself, what would you say?" Her nipples tightened against his side, and she grinned.
"What are we waiting for then?"
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
It's the season finale of Bones tonight! I can't wait to see it! So maybe there will be some Woman in Limbo fics tomorrow, hmm?
Let me know if you liked this…
