Title: The Rendezvous in the Reverie
Rating: M (some swearing, casual alcohol consumption, gambling, and sexual situations)
Summary: Coma!verse Bren and Booth are a happily married couple expecting their first child…However did they end up here?
Spoilers: Definitely for Season 4 finale, I'll be trying to weave in other bits and pieces including bits from the 100th, "The woman in the sand", and many, many others.
Disclaimer: Bones is not mine, the coma!verse is not mine. I have a tendency to steal names from other fictional worlds – I don't have a claim on those either.
AN: Um, yeah, about that wait – Sorry? Unfortunately, in addition to RL, I'm lazy and a perfectionist. I have issues regarding releasing my work for public consumption. Exhibit A: a post rate of about 5% of what I write.
-X-
Remember, they're heading to the beach…
-X-
Chapter the Third
In which Booth is Introduced to the Benefits of Sunscreen
-X-
Temperance is disappointed to spot Booth in a t-shirt the next morning, but cheers herself up by thinking that he'll soon have to take it off. The group loiters in the lobby for a few minutes, the women surrounded by their luggage as the group gathers.
-X-
Booth and Bren are standing nose to nose, arguing about the harmful effects of UVA and UVB rays and the benefits of waterproof at least SPF 15 sunscreen, ignoring everything and everyone else in the lobby. She wins the argument, mostly because, "I'll rub it all over you" and "I like the handprint. If you're sunburnt, it will disappear." Her smug smile at winning falters when he grabs her hand and awards her a quick kiss that takes her right back to last night.
The group finally gets moving once the bickering pair begins walking, hand in hand. About thirty people trail them as they go first to the parking lot to load the girls' suitcases, and then across the boardwalk and down a set of stairs to the beach, the whole ensemble like ducklings following their parents to the water.
Angela jumps on the opportunity to walk on the other side of Booth and ask questions - "How often do you work out? Sex is great cardiovascular exercise, my personal trainer said," and "I hope your intentions towards our Tempe are steamy," as they walk. He teases her back and Bren glares at Angela, a pink tinge creeping up her neck. She's glad when they reach the beach and Ange ceases her questions in favor of laying out a towel.
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Bren is wearing a white dress-like thing that turns translucent when the sun backlights her. She spreads her towel and situates her beach bag before whipping off her swim suit cover. He mutters, "Thank you God," at the sight of her body encased in her one piece swim suit, certain that he's never seen a more perfect female form. She tugs his t-shirt off and pushes him down on her towel while he's in a daze.
She has a pool of cool, greasy sunscreen on his abdomen, causing the muscles to jump, before he's recovered his wits. Her little hands start with his face, massaging the lotion into his forehead, moving down the bridge of his nose, then smoothing it over his cheeks. When she runs out, she dips her fingers in the pool on his stomach. Her massage of his ears is a little strange, but mostly erotic. Her interest in his muscles as she moves down is gratifying; less so is that wherever she touches involuntarily twitches as she coats him with sunscreen. She starts to trail sunscreen coated fingers just under the waistband of his swim trunks before he catches her wrist. She pouts as he does the last little section of his abdomen and his upper thighs, but she does slather sunscreen onto his legs.
At her urging, he flips, and she repeats the process on his back, her admiring gaze and fascination with his musculature less hidden with Booth facing away from her. She ends with a caress to the nape of his neck – a spot she already thinks of as hers. "Jesus Christ, Bren," he groans as he levers himself up and grabs the sunscreen bottle. She lies on her back and waits for him to start, a challenge – will he be as daring as she – in her eyes.
He begins with her feet – the attention he pays first to the left then the right has her moaning in appreciation. He moves up her legs, stopping an inch short of her swimsuit before moving to her arms and ending with her face. Her frank swipes under the edge of her suit to cover the places he skipped have him silently cursing his need to tread carefully with something that feels this precious.
She flips, and he starts at the nape of her neck before massaging her ears, avoiding the small silver earrings. He carefully lathers her shoulders and slowly, sensually rubs the sunscreen onto her exposed back. He does the back of her legs, ending with a foot rubdown.
Sometime later, she gently kicks his questing fingers away before standing up and pulling him with her. She's surprisingly strong, he thinks as she levers him up. They walk hand in hand down the beach to the water.
-X-
They splash in the waves like little children, bob like corks a little deeper, find shells and rocks as they play in the salt water. She swims like a fish – and he hears about summers spent in the public pool in her small Ohio hometown as they bob in the surf. He tells her about learning to swim, and the few times he went to the shore as a child. She talks about tides and surf and how chlorinated pools just don't compare to the ocean.
Nearly two hours later, they tramp out of the ocean, dripping salt water as they walk up the beach. He finally spreads his towel and lays down to dry in the sun; she surprises him when she pulls out the sunscreen and begins to reapply it.
"You put that on me just two hours ago."
"Even waterproof sunscreen washes off, and should be reapplied once you get out of the water."
"You just want an excuse to slather lotion on my hot, nearly naked body."
"I could always apply my own lotion and let you burn."
"No, no sunscreen is very important," he quickly asserts.
This time when she reaches his swim trunks, he doesn't grab Bren's wrist, and her fingers swipe just under the waistband. After she's done, he slathers her with sunscreen, and dips under the edges of her suit in most places – she just needs to apply a dollop to her inner thighs. They lay in the sun facing each other on their towels. He starts to fidget after fifteen minutes – inactivity suits neither, and hops up to get an ice cream and lemonade. They alternate bites and sips, passing the cone and cup back and forth. After their unhealthy lunch, she pulls a Frisbee out of her beach bag.
They toss it back and forth, collecting his army buddies and some of the girls as they move down the beach. He shows off a little, his natural athleticism coming to the fore as he seemingly effortlessly flicks the disk and twists to catch it. She admires his abdomen, arms, and chest in between making her own catches and throws. He admires the way her curves bounce and the hint of muscle in her arms and legs as they play.
-X-
When the game breaks up and they're back on the towels, he holds up the sunscreen bottle and asks with a waggle of his eyebrows, "Do we need to reapply after strenuous exercise?"
"If you want," she says, her eager tone contradicting the indifferent words. They reapply sunscreen for the third time, and it's barely one. Booth settles back on his towel to nap, and Bren pulls a murder mystery by J. Hodgins out of her bag and begins to read holding the book over her head. Before she finishes the first chapter her arms grow tired, so she flips to her stomach.
Mid-way through the second chapter her spine is aching from the odd positioning; she tries leaning into Booth's chest, using his stomach as a prop for The Black Widow. He shifts in his sleep a bit, but remains asleep as Bren plows through the mystery. He wakes up when she's two thirds of the way through her book, and is very amused to see that they are snuggled (there is no other word for it) together.
He makes it his mission to distract her, and begins by tracing his finger up and down her arm, his other hand tracing shapes on her stomach. She turns the pages very quickly to begin with, but her pace slows as her reading stalls due to the sensations radiating from where his hands rest on her skin. She holds out for nearly a chapter, then tosses her book aside, splays her fingers on his stomach, hitches herself up, and kisses him quite thoroughly while draped across him. They ignore the whistles and catcalls from their friends, gulp air, and come together for another kiss and then again and again. They split apart, sputtering only after Angela tosses the dregs of a lemonade, complete with ice onto them.
"This is a family beach. You're scaring the children," Angela says with a smirk.
There are quite a few people staring at them, including an adorable little boy who asks, "Mommy why were they wrestling?" Booth stands up, offers a hand to Brennan, and they walk to the ocean to rinse off with as much dignity as they can muster, considering the guffawing onlookers, flustered mother, and curious child.
-X-
They go out into the surf until Bren can barely touch and the swell of the waves hides them from view most of the times. They resume kissing – hungry, deep kisses that leave the sensible part of him grateful she's in a one piece – he'd have her topless on a public beach if a tie or clasp was all that was stopping him, and the way she's caressing him, he doubts she'd object.
A particularly strong wave knocks them over, but despite the dunking their enthusiasm is not dampened. Once they right themselves, she wraps her legs around his middle so her head is above his. The extra weight keeps him anchoredHe; he appreciates her genius when applied to the logistics of kissing him.
They break apart, gasping and grinning. He's pretty sure they're killing brain cells due to lack of oxygen, but somehow can't bring himself to care. She slides down from her perch and gives him shallower, softer kisses before slipping from his embrace and diving under and away. He follows, cutting through the water with strong strokes. Eventually he catches her, and she awards him a mind-blowing kiss before slipping away again. Booth grins while chasing after her: he likes this game.
He likes this playful woman.
-X-
They come splashing out of the water much later. Booth rummages in her bag and pulls out the sunscreen, holding the plastic bottle triumphantly with a gleam in his eye. He applies it to her and she returns the favor for the fourth time that day. After a little more sun bathing, Shelly regretfully reminds everyone that they have a lot of driving ahead of them. The group of girls minus Tempe packs up and heads towards the casino; Booth's army buddies follow.
The pair is not yet ready to move. Though they are hungry, neither want to break the skin to skin contact or end this moment. The sun sinks lower in the sky as they lay pressed together on his beach towel, sometimes in silence, sometimes conversing. Bren snags her towel as it's getting colder and drapes it over both of them, snuggling further into his embrace. They stay until the sun is nearly gone and it's half dark but for the lights from the casino and boardwalk behind them. They gather their things and head towards the casino/hotel, leaning into each other and agreeing to dinner at the casino as they walk.
Booth catches an elevator up to his room to clean up before dinner, while Bren stops at the front desk and checks for available rooms. Booth returns just as she is handed her room key, and they head to the casual restaurant together.
They hold hands across the table while waiting for their food, and their knees touch through the meal. "I have to leave tomorrow. I was going to leave tonight, but…" she cuts herself of, not wanting to say, 'you're still here,' when she's only known him for two and a half days and they haven't even had sex. (Yet - her mind adds.)
He hears it anyway. "I need to be back at base by tomorrow night."
"Let me drive you."
"Alright."
-X-
They head to her car to retrieve her luggage after finishing dessert, squabbling (I don't like pie) (But I ate some of your chocolate moouse, you should at least try my pie). He kisses her just outside the hotel doors leading to the parking lot, and again, pinning her to her car once they reach it. When she finally remembers why they came outside she has the imprint of the door handle in her ass but can't bring herself to care. As she fishes her keys out and retrieves her luggage Booth does his very best to be thoroughly distracting. He is quite successful, and she catches her breath perched on the trunk of her car with him standing in between her legs. She slides off the trunk to the ground, and gets caught up in another kiss. An inebriated passerby shouts, "Oy, get a room!" Bren contracts her abdominals and returns to an upright position from bent backward over the trunk, holding Booth in a loose embrace.
"Let's get my bag to my room," Temperance says, bending over to pull her plastic room key from her beach bag. Booth audibly groans, picks up her suitcase with one hand and wraps his other arm around her waist, guiding her towards the hotel.
He drops the suitcase when she pushes him against a wall just inside the secondary casino doors and deposits the room key in his pocket before kissing the stuffing out of him. She leads him to a stairwell. He's glad, because the management would probably kick them out if they tried the things they do on every landing in the elevator. Eventually they reach the fifth floor, despite the eleven landings along the way.
It is only 50 yards from the stairs to her hotel room, but the journey takes a quarter of an hour, preoccupied as they are. They lose track of the number of hotel guests and employees that glare, tell them to get a room, or look terribly shocked at the placement of hands. Finally, finally they are at her door, and she pulls the key out of his pocket, fumbling to put it in the slot without breaking the kiss. The lock beeps and she grabs the handle, her smile of triumph quickly turning to horror as she falls backwards into the room and onto the floor, bringing Booth with her.
-X-
They both laugh hysterically; once he's ascertained that his weight didn't crush her. Booth helps her up, and then backs up a pace, peppering her face with kisses. "Bren," he says, followed by a kiss on the bridge of her nose, "I'm not coming in."
"I thought your room had three other people in it?" she said breathlessly.
"It does," Booth answers, trying to distract her with more kisses.
"And out in the hallway seems awfully forward," she nips at his lips, delaying his reply.
"I'm not an exhibitionist."
She grabs the sides of his face to halt the thoroughly distracting kissing, "Why aren't we having sex?"
"Because I want to see you when my tour is over."
"You will," she interrupts, turning the hold on his face into a caress.
"If we have sex, all the mystery is gone. You'll know. But if you don't know, it will torment you – that you don't know, and you'll need to know. You'll have to see me."
"That is really sucky reasoning," she replies in between small kisses to his neck and clavicles.
"Sucky?"
"It seemed like a good adjective," she punctuated this with a long-drawn out kiss with plenty of tongue, "Come on, just one orgasm – each," she cajoles.
"Bren, Temperance, what makes you think I could stop at one?"
"You have excellent self-control."
"Not enough to stop at one," and then he kissed her so thoroughly that she lost the thread of the argument.
"Eight tomorrow?" she queries.
"Seven," he replies with a goofy grin on his face, before tearing himself away.
-X-
AN: Currently accepting titles for more of Mr. J. Hodgins 'pulp, crap, crime' novels. Please let me know what you think of the day at the beach – I'm an insecure fanfic author, and each reviewer gets his or her very own chance to win a set of life-size, cardboard cutout Bones cast members*. Also, any spelling, grammatical, or cannon errors – please let me know so I can fix them.
*Some restrictions may apply.