What I Wish I Could've Said

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: ::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Hindsight is always 20/20. Everyone has a single moment that they wish they could have said something better than what they actually did. A completely random series of what-if vignettes.

Ch 42: That Time Booth Asked if She Wanted More

Dr. Temperance Brennan didn't like to admit it, but she rather enjoyed it when her partner pulled out all the stops and used his considerable skills to manipulate her into doing what he wanted.

Of course, Booth would never admit that when he used tried to his charming smile, wide-brown puppy dog-like eyes, and affable looks of appeasement on her that it was any type of manipulation. No, he'd simply say that she was being difficult, and he was showing her the errors of her ways. Sometimes she let him get away with it. Sometimes she didn't. That was why she said he tried to get what he wanted, but he didn't always succeed. It just depended, really, if she felt like being cajoled or not.

On the morning when Booth had called, to let her know that they had a case, but that he wanted her to meet him at his apartment instead of him picking her up at her loft, she knew something was off. Booth rarely varied his preferred pattern of remaining in control and leaving nothing to chance which is why he almost always picked her up in his SUV, no matter if she was at home or the lab. For some reason, as she made her way to his apartment, a strange sense of light play infected her mood.

She'd slept fairly well the night before, and she'd managed to turn in her graduate evaluations of several of her dissertation students three days before the proscribed deadline. Her outfit for the morning included one of her favorite dark red camisoles and a short black cropped jacket with which she paired with a silver and marble necklace that she'd bought in Connemara, Ireland at an international anthropological conference a couple of years earlier. After she'd dressed, she realized she was ahead of schedule, and that she had enough time to walk a couple of blocks to her usual Starbucks for a Venti latte. As she carried back the coffee to her apartment, she smiled as she savored the smell of what Booth described as overpriced hoity toity coffee that real men (such as himself) only drank in cases of dire necessity (read: either she was driving/buying/or a Dunkin' Donuts wasn't close by)—which is why she didn't bother to get him one since she knew he'd have his own stash of take home Dunkin' Donuts coffee beans at home. For once, the short ride from her loft in Georgetown to Booth's apartment, that was closer to Chinatown, didn't take forever. Traffic—both flow-wise from the perspective of potential fender benders clogging up vital commuter arteries and the pattern of stoplights—had been kind to her. She'd also heard a relatively upbeat consecutive string of 80s hits on the radio that had her grooving to the upbeat tempos of Rick Springfield's Jesse's Girl, Nena's 99Red Balloons, Genesis's Land of Confusion, and Madonna's True Blue. All in all, it seemed to be an auspicious beginning to her day, and she felt like playing a bit. Since her favorite plaything was a certain FBI agent, the timing of her arrival at his apartment coincided beautifully.

She'd begun with a mischievous double rap on his door as she called through the door for him to open up. Grinning, she recalled the film noir gumshoes who always tried to infiltrate the bad guys lairs in such a way. When a response was not immediately forthcoming, Brennan frowned. Her frown deepened when she heard a muffled shuffling through the thin wood of Booth's front door. She could tell he was inside the apartment even as he called out something to her that she couldn't quite make out. Thinking that perhaps he was repaying her quirking way of summoning him to the front door by taking his time in answering it, Brennan couldn't help herself as she muttered loudly about what was taking him so long.

After another moment, Brennan crossed her arms and was just about to start tapping her foot impatiently in a way that she knew drove Booth insane when the front door opened…and she saw her partner. From the waist up, he looked quite normal—commendable even. The military precision in the way he treated his clothes hadn't varied over the years, and Brennan admired the crisp pleats that he'd ironed into his white Oxford dress shirt. His dark tie was rather plain by Booth's normal fashion standards. However, once Brennan glanced down, she couldn't help but notice that Booth was not dressed in his standard suit trousers. In fact, he was wearing nothing but his boxers.

Her partner, Booth, had answered the door…in his boxers.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen him dressed in less before. Of course, she'd seen him in his swim trunks. And, those certainly, were no different from his boxers. She'd also seen him at the gym, and on occasion, at the park in shorts when they went jogging together. A couple of times, usually when they were out of town and/or doing undercover work, she'd certainly gotten a glimpse of Booth in his unmentionables. However, for some reason, on this particular morning, the sight of him in such…conservative undergarments unnerved her a bit. The white boxers were so simple…so understated…so unsexy.

Brennan was just about to make a comment, unable to help herself, when she noticed the pained look that had crossed Booth's face. A moment later, after an offer of coffee, a confession that his back was hurt (after he'd guessed)—because he'd done a typically male thing and fallen asleep watching a game between the Phillies and Braves that had gone into extra innings—and his plea that she fix his back, Brennan was slightly befuddled…and torn. Booth wanted her to crack his back, to end his discomfort. Okay, on any given day that wasn't such a big deal. But, on this particular day, he wanted her to crack his back…while he was in his boxers.

Somewhat uncharacteristically flustered, Brennan couldn't help but hesitate.

Booth sensed it immediately, but since she stood between him and some much needed relief in the lower lumbar region, he decided he was going to do whatever he had to do to get her to use her magic fingers to make him feel better.

Turning around, he waved one arm at her as he said, "Right, I get it—all disclaimers apply." He nodded his head, waiting expectantly for her to comply, "Here we go, hit the back—chop-chop—we got a case."

Brennan knew she was in trouble. Booth was standing no more than a few inches away from her, in his boxers, giving her an open invitation to touch him.

It's not only an open invitation, she thought miserably. He's desperate. He wants me to touch him to make him feel better…while he's wearing his boxers. Damn it. Lacking self-control, even as she chewed on her bottom lip in worry, she couldn't help but let her eyes drop to admire the taut muscles of his ass. Not good, Brennan, another voice in her head chided her. He's your partner. You shouldn't be looking at him like that, especially when he's in pain and suffering, and all you can think about is how great it would feel if you could run your hands all over the gluteal muscle grouping to see how firm and taut it really is. Come on. Get a grip!

"No," Brennan muttered, not quite certain if she was saying that one-word response to Booth or to the irksome voice of her inner monologue.

However, Booth took her word as an answer to his question. Turning around, he began to pout as he said, "What do you mean 'no'?" He stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief. "Last time I had this, you were begging to help me," he added with a slightly exasperated frown.

As Brennan recalled the instance in question, she began to flush as she remembered how they'd fallen asleep on his couch watching the Lion in Winter. She awakened curled around Booth's slumbering form and had become slightly alarmed at the intimacy that they'd shared as they'd slept. As Booth had stumbled awake, Brennan had felt a surge of adrenaline flood her veins as she panicked about what had just happened. However, when she'd realized that he'd hurt his back because he'd fallen asleep on the couch because of her, she wanted to help him. Thus, then…just as now, she'd been torn between wanting to help Booth and also a desire to retreat from his immediate presence as quickly as possible until such time as she'd collected herself. On that morning, she'd agreed to crack his back since it seemed to be the easiest way for her to extricate herself from the situation. This time, however, she was fairly certain that if she touched Booth anywhere in the near vicinity of his deliciously grabable ass, no good could come of it—at least no good that wasn't of a prurient kind that wasn't appropriate for a man who was just her partner and friend.

"I probably shouldn't have touched you the last time," she tried to explain to him, hoping that logic might help her out of her problem—if she couldn't reason with her libido, perhaps she could at least reason with his lower lumbar region. "You need a medical doctor."

Not to be challenged, Booth shook his head. "I'm not asking you to perform surgery; just do what you did last time and fix it with your magic knuckles..." A frown creased Brennan's face as she looked at him. Realizing that he needed to put the full press on her, Booth quickly replaced the petulant/pouting look that had been on his face with a complete one-hundred percent charming and suave smile of epic classic Boothyiness. "Look," he told her. "There's no one I trust more to get my back and crack it than you." He nodded at her for emphasis, his smile widening at he looked at her.

For a long minute, brown eyes met blue. As he continued to look at her, never breaking eye contact, Brennan felt her resolve weakening.

Damn it, she thought. He's doing it to me…again. And, moreover, I'm letting him do it to me. Damn it. I'm screwed…so screwed.

At last, a small smile replaced her worried frown. Nodding at him, she capitulated, "Wow—"

He chuckled a bit with a tilt of his chin at her as he asked, "You want more?"

Yes, please! a lewdly excited voice echoed in her head. Now. Right now. More. I definitely want more. A lot more.

Brennan pushed the voice out of her head as she answered Booth's question that his appeal was sufficient and that she'd help him if she could. A minute later, after they'd assumed the position, Brennan wrapped her long arms around his warm torso. She felt a familiar lightheaded feeling wash over her as she caught his scent—a mixture of the Ivory soap she knew he favored mixed with the crisp citrus scent of the spray starch that he used to iron his shirts. He smelled clean and felt so warm…and she was touching him…while he was in his boxers.

Damn it, she muttered to herself even as she asked him if he was okay and she helped crack his back. Why did I have to remember that part now?

Again, adrenaline flooded her veins, but this time it wasn't panic that made her feel that way. Because, even as she stood there holding him—knowing that she'd fixed his back when he said he already felt a lot better—she realized that she couldn't let him go. She wanted him…and this time she was going to do something about it.

Booth, for his part, was caught completely off guard when Brennan, after she'd cracked his back and he'd felt immediate relief in his lower back, didn't release him from her grasp. Instead, she pressed her back tighter against his, and he had to use every bit of self control he had to keep from jumping out of his skin when he felt one of her hands creep low and palm the curve of his ass.

"Bones?" he finally managed to croak.

When Brennan answered, her voice was decidedly more throaty and velvetlike in a way that made Booth shiver when she responded. "Yes, Booth?"

"Ummm…hey, Bones?" he coughed. "Do…uhhh…you realize that you're kinda grabbing my ass there?"

He felt her body ripple slightly as she replied, "Why, yes, Booth. Yes, I do." She was quiet for a few very long seconds before she added, "Is that a problem for you?"

"Nope!" came the immediate eeked out response. "I just..uhh…why are you doing that again?" Booth asked, and then immediately hit himself in the head for asking such a dumb question.

Of course she knows she's grabbing your ass, dumbass, a sharp voice castigated Booth in his mind. This is Bones here. She always knows what she's doing. Always. So, if she's grabbing your ass…she's doing it for a reason. Whatever it is, don't screw it up! Enjoy it! Because…I repeat. This is Bones. .ass!

"Aside from the fact that I seem to be experiencing a brief lapse in self-control, it appears that I'm drawn to touching the muscles of your upper gluteal grouping because the thin material of these drolly conservative boxers makes it very easy to see your muscle definition," Brennan said. "Moreover, while I know it might delay our arrival at the crime scene slightly, I believe I could obtain an even better understanding of the muscle definition of your lower gluteal muscle grouping if these boxers were no longer hindering my point of observation."

Booth, his throat suddenly having gone incredibly dry, took a minute to translate the ramble of Brennanese into normal England. The boxers are showing off the top part of your ass. She likes what she sees. She wants to see if the rest of your ass looks as good and thinks that she could do that if you lost the boxers, a voice told him. Translation: you just got the go-ahead from the third-base coach. Run for home, you stupid schmuck!

Slowly, turning around, Booth arched an eyebrow at her. He gave her a quizzical look, not quite able to believe what was happening, but when she gave him a smile of encouragement, he didn't need to be told twice. A few moments later, amid a rustling of boxers being removed, grunts, moans, sighs, and throaty laughs from Booth's bedroom, his last coherent thought was that he was going to need some excuse as to why they weren't at the crime scene on time and that maybe his back was just the excuse the pair needed…even if it was more than a slight fib.

-TBC-

A/N: So, there we have it. I know I've been a bit slow in updating things lately. However, I've been residing in the land of Dr. Ian Wexler for a bit for work, so it's made finding time to get new updates out a bit of a challenge. Two bits of news I wanted to share with you all. First, if you haven't been reading it, the co-authored story that I've written with dharmamonkey, the Inquisitor is about to reach it's epic conclusion. If you like the idea of really AU, but totally in character BnB romance in Tudor England, click on her link and check out the story. It's one I'm most proud of, filled with lots of great characterizations, plot, historical details, fluffy romance, little-to-no-angst, and BnB goodness. Second, for those of you who follow the storyline started almost a year ago (to the day this weekend) in my very first Bones story "Often Quoted Quotes Quoted One More Time," please look for a special one-shot that will be posting Sunday in commemoration of that anniversary. So, as ever, thanks for reading, and enjoy!