Title: This is Life

Disclaimer: Shall my dreams of owning multi-million pound characters ever come true? I don't own these particular money-making gems.

Rating: M, my little honeys.

A/N: I'd fuck Booth in an instant. I really would. But since marriage vows and the fact he ISN'T real seriously impede this plan, I have resorted to writing about Brennan being the lucky lady and me being… so sad. But reviews would make me happy and I'll be tremendously sad if you don't… does emotional blackmail work around here?

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Cellos, he thought, were perhaps the boldest of the stringed instrument, for the sheer depth of its notes when a horsehide bow was passed across its strings vibrated inside his chest, sullen and classic, reverberating throughout the high arches. The very room seemed to throb in the wake of it, matching his dark, brooding mood exactly as his impassive eyes swept across the marble floor, to the spot where she stood, a vision of perfection.

He imagined he would like her hair curled, pinned in intricate and fancy ways with a thousand pins which would defy logic. But watching as she dipped her head in polite courtesy, the smooth column of her neck exposed to his famished eyes, he decided he like the elegancy simplicity of the chignon and the way the muted light caught the reddish stands and made them look almost like golden silk.

Her spine stood straight, a proud symbol of her effortless elegance and he stood against the tall marble column, watching as the string of single diamonds she wore around her neck twinkled, blinking lights of white, lustrous fire. The delicate, sweet incline of her back catching his attention as she twirled on the dance floor, caught in a flurry of satin and chiffon.

She choose black for the occasion, saying that her personality didn't warrant vibrant, outrageous colours. But, as with her hair, we was delighted with her choice, for the subtle, graceful beauty of her dress made her, without hesitation or fear of doubt, the most stunning woman in the entire room.

He admired the soft feminine flare of her hips, the flattering way in which the dress offered her just a hint, a delectable, tantalizing hint of a cleavage. She was classy, and the doctors, professors and a lone FBI agent wanted her. Every single one of them lusted after her curves.

Brennan's lovely feet were clad in satin shoes that curled around her ankles, and offered him a glimpse of the long, lovely leg that was hidden behind layers of satin and chiffon.

Her boss, uncharacteristically cheerful, commented on her loveliness which she accepted with a rose-tinged blush and a modest 'thank you' that made his heart swell with pride for that woman, the image of pure, wonderful beauty, was all his. And while he should have blamed his sentimentality on alcohol fuelled emotions, he could not. For since arriving at the prestigious black-tie dinner, he had touched nothing but lemonade, fearing that his memory of her would be tarnished. He wanted her to remain vivid in his mind for as long as he lived.

Dr Goodman released her, spinning her on toes right into his arms, where she seemed to melt into his embrace, their bodies meshed in ways only lovers could be. And for once, neither of them cared.

"You smell so good," Booth murmured into her hair, his fingers splayed across the curvature of her spine. She shifted her hips, nudging her slender frame closer, breast to thigh.

"So do you," she replied, her own fingers caressing gently at the nape of his neck. "And you've been watching me. Staking your claim. But don't worry, not a single man has propositioned me for a date or more all night." She sounded far from disappointed, and behind him, a flurry of scarlet red breezed by; Angela in the arms of the resident bug-guy. She was smiling, her lips matching the colour of her dress exactly.

"Men," Booth said, turning back to Brennan, "understand the very simple concept I have laid down for them." Temperance lifted a fine eyebrow toward the roof, the tell-tale hint of a smirk toying at her lips.

"What's that then?" she asked, desperately aware of the heady masculinity that radiated from his body, hot and pulsating. It never took long before the chemistry between them sizzled like lithium dropped into water. She already craved the taste of his lips and she trembled, recalling the saccharine promise that came from his lips earlier.

"The concept is this," he continued, his thumb grazing her shoulder blade as he spun her, "if any man tries to touch you, I will break his arms. Both of them. Then, when I have caused sufficient pain to his upper limbs I will take disturbing pleasure in breaking his legs, starting with his knees. I think I radiate this kind of menace…" his voice lowered, torn between soft affection and rough arousal. "Fear not, Bones," he whispered against the shell of her ear, evoking a head-to-foot tremble that shuddered through her body. "Every man in this room wants you. All of them. Even Hodgins and he's got a boner for Angela."

Brennan's eyes widened into rounded globes, her irises almost matching the fine sparkle of her diamonds. "That's so vulgar, Booth," she scolded, swatting his chest, her fingertips lingering long enough on the solid wall of him to notice the thumping rhythm of his heartbeat; a sure sign of his mutual arousal.

"It's true, he does have a serious thing for her. But I'm not so much concerned with that as I am with your eyes…" he narrowed his own, peering into hers with all the concentration of a psychic staring into a mystical ball.

"What?" she asked, slightly unnerved. His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.

"When you're horny," he whispered, "like now, your eyes always widen as though someone has just told you the sun is falling from the sky and we're all going to be incinerated in an instant. You look at me, Bones, as though you want me to fuck you like it's your last hour alive…"

Unlike the soft, understated blush she'd displayed when Goodman complimented her, her cheeks burned crimson, now. "You play dirty, Booth," she hissed, speechless to find herself backed into the cool, smooth length of the marble column, her nipples hardening in response to the cold. Damn! He'd think it was him. She knew he would.

"Dirty game, Temperance? Is that a proposition?" he seemed to mull this over, his lips parting as he sucked cinnamon and spice scented air into his lungs. "Let the games begin." With the deft movements of a sleuth and a sniper, his hand passed across the soft curve of her breast, provoking a jerk from her hips as he released her. "Too shy for public sex, Bones?" he asked and she cleared her throat, unnerved by the brazen and raw sexuality that oozed from every pore of his over confident, self assured body.

"No," she said with stiff determination, turning her back on him and striding across the ballroom, dipping her head in polite acknowledgment of Dr Preston, Professor Green, Dr Narayan and someone she didn't actually know but felt certain offered a great amount of money to the Jeffersonian every year.

She couldn't concentrate, the familiar thrill of Booth surging through her body as she sunk into the darkened shadows surrounding the high French doors, almost slipping behind the long velveteen drapes completely, she tried her best to remain unobserved, ensuring that all eyes were averted before she turned the handle, stepping out into the frigid December night, her bare shoulders feeling the effects of the temperatures immediately.

The gardens beyond the luxurious hotel were white and flawless, a blanket of snow catching the overhead moonlight and as she stood at the edge of the sweeping stone balcony, Brennan imagined that the world were covered in icing and that she were in an enchanted land, a million miles away from work functions, honking cars and science.

Just when she thought he might not have the courage to carry through the game he'd started, a heavy jacket fell across her shoulders, the perfect and somewhat sly excuse for him to take her subtle cleavage into his hands, testing the weight of her breasts as though he were gauging the weight of gems. She ought to have known he wouldn't turn down a challenge.

"So, Bones," he said, the tip of his finger tracing the milky softness of her breast where her silken dress gave way to bare, tempting flesh. "How deep do you want me?"

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EVIL LAUGH

How deep DOES she want him?

Reviews keep the devil in my soul at bay.