A/N: Here's a nice, smutty, non-angsty departure from the emotional nightmare that is What We Deserve. I needed it, and maybe you need it too.
Lots of good things are coming your way, beautiful people. Stay on the lookout.
Loves.
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I notice that Special Agent Seeley Booth is a man. Even if I were not an objective, empirical scientist I would notice that. The chiseled face and jaw. The bump of his Adam's apple, which bobbed so visibly every time he was nervous. The broad chest, and the slim hips that his jeans hung low on so well. Yes. Definitely a man. And I notice, because I am a woman.
Which is probably why it irritated me so much when he told me I was like a man.
Yes, I know, he wasn't intending to be mean. But I was still mildly insulted to think that he ignored everything about me that made me a woman. This is why I teased him by reversing the metaphor as we rode in car during the Maggie Cinders case…if I were a guy to him, he was a woman to me. I knew it would bug him. That was the point. And, if we are being completely honest, I wanted to bug him. Not just for the "guy" comment, but for the low blow that was sleeping with Cam again. I get it that Booth is under no obligation to get my approval for who he dates. But my boss? With whom I was having severe personal and professional issues? Ouch, partner. It was a bit childish, I will admit, the satisfaction I got from seeing him sulk and telling me he preferred not to be a woman. But childish or not, it felt good.
I suppose, if I had thought about it, I could have handled the situation a little more adult-ly. And…just maybe…that could've felt good as well.
I could have pressed the issue about what, exactly, made him see me as a guy. After all, men had complimented me before on my fine features, my firm, high breasts, and the curve of my hips. These features alone made it doubtful that I would be perceived as masculine. And he would have likely stuttered at this, telling me that it wasn't about my appearance, that of course, on the outside, I am very much a woman.
Then what exactly, I could have asked, made me guy-like? My intelligence and professionalism? Our working relationship? Obviously, that couldn't be completely the case, because he had a working relationship with Cam, and that didn't keep him from seeing her as a woman. So…it must be the sex, I could have reasoned. It was the sexual aspect to the relationship that made him recognize a person's womanhood. And since we had been so very platonic, he just couldn't see the things about me that were feminine. I could just see his increasing discomfort, his squirming as I hypothesized. And it could have made me smile a little.
"Well, Booth, I don't have a lot of time to try to show you the light," I could have said, reasonably. "So let's just get this out of the way, shall we?" My actions as matter-of-fact as my words, I could have reached over and took his right hand, and casually placed it on my left thigh. I could see his head turn and look down at his displaced hand mechanically, not having understood what I did right away, not having it sink in until the warmth of my inner thigh seeped through the material of my pants, and into his palm. Then, because Booth was Booth, he'd probably pull his hand away as if I had doused it with kerosene and set it on fire.
"Bones," he'd admonish with wide eyes that flicked nervously between me and the road. I could be mildly amused by the quick slide of his cockiness into uncertainty.
"Booth," I could say with a long-suffering sigh. "My womanhood is an important part of my identity, and I'd appreciate your acknowledging it. Let's do what we have to do so that you can." Firmly grasping his hand again, I could move it back to my thigh, keeping my hand overtop of it this time so escape wouldn't be as easy. I could contract my fingers over his once, effectively causing him to squeeze the muscle of my leg. I would smirk a bit in gratification when I felt another squeeze, this one unassisted; that smirk would last until it fully sunk in just how good that pressure felt. It was a dangerous game I could play, in more ways than one.
"I don't think…" His actions could belie his words as his fingers move on autopilot, a little further up my leg. My throat would be drying along with his own.
"Are you and Cam exclusive?" I could probe, knowing in my own mind the answer; if it were yes, he wouldn't have even played along the little bit that he had.
"Still…" I could hear the hesitancy in his voice at the same time his knuckles curled and his short fingernails scratched up the inner seam of my pants. I could fight the urge to jump, remembering that I was supposed to be the one teaching him a lesson here. But his hands were huge, and strong, and if I'm honest I would probably underestimate just how much effect they would have on my body. The whole "being a man" thing again.
"Still," I could whisper, a little breathlessly now, "I'm a woman. Can you feel it?" I would know that he could. Suddenly, it would seem like all the blood in my body was pooling in my lower extremities, and he would have to feel that heat emanating from me in waves, hand as close as it could be to the part of me that was the most undeniably female.
"Yes." It could seem like it was the only word he could manage, as one of his fingers found its way to the crease of my thigh. A gasp could leave me at the caress of this sensitive spot, and the sounds of my growing arousal would surprise him. He'd stare for a moment, eyes flickering from my face, to his hand, back to my face. The car would swerve. He'd swear under his breath and drag his eyes away, towards the road. His hand, however, could stay firmly put, although the last of his tentativeness would keep it from moving to the place I most wanted it.
Truthfully, I would be feeling a little less bold now, but the heat of his fingers so close to me would override any self-consciousness, and with a shuddering breath I could make the most daring move yet. Unbuckling my seatbelt (I had given up the pretense of staying safe a few minutes ago, so this would seem like a natural next step), I could slide up and sideways on my seat, head leaning back against the cool glass of the window and my left knee bending up and onto the seat, to open myself up and give him easier access. Giving one last prompt, I could take his large hand in mine one more time and place it directly against the heat of me. "Booth," I could command, softly. "Make me feel like a woman."
And that, he could do. The thickness of his middle finger could draw up my sex, the pressure causing my pants and panties to cling a little to the damp skin. I'd whimper when the pad reached my clit, noticeably swollen against the thin fabric, and rubbed back and forth, just once, as if making sure it was what he thought it was. My reaction could embolden him, and he'd stroke again more firmly. My head could fall back with a 'bump' against the glass.
Some men handle a women's genitals as they would their own, and end up being too forceful, irritating the sensitive skin. Others treat them as if they might break, frustrating with a cautious touch. But in my fantasy, Booth is expert, even as he necessarily divides his attention between the highway and my needy clit, the perfect integration of firmness and gentleness, rubbing me with a tantalizing rhythm and pressure, occasionally pausing to run his hand down my thigh again, or running his fingernail across the material covering me, making me jump.
"Yes," he could murmur, other hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "From what I can feel…definitely a woman."
Facing away from him, my heavy-lidded eyes could take in all those things I had noticed that made him a man, gaze falling hungrily from his face to his chest to the bulge in his pants. I could imagine for a second ordering him to pull over into some abandoned parking lot somewhere, once stilled putting my own hands to work over the damn annoying console between us, unzipping him and putting the poor, uncomfortable man out of his misery by wrapping my lips around his cock and sucking until he came, gasping and cursing into my mouth. That thought…as it had before…could make the place where all my nerve endings came together spark, and I'd suck in air between my teeth and close my eyes against the almost-too-intense images.
He could sense my growing urgency, and he'd know he couldn't stop now…his fingers would rub me back and forth, back and forth, and even through my pants I could feel the friction of the fingertips. Cars would be whizzing by us, and yes, this was so dangerous, but now I'd be far beyond caring as the car filled with my (very feminine) moans and the smell of my arousal combined with just a hint of his. My elbow could find itself on the armrest on my right side, and hit the automatic window button. There would be a sudden blast of cold air on my overheated neck and shoulders, and this added stimulation could make me cry out suddenly, surprised into orgasm, pressing up and into his hand with my feet and my elbows and every ounce of energy I still had in me. At the moment the first spasm hit, I could open my eyes and for a split second, catch his, unwilling to miss the moment for mere safety at high speeds.
"Watch the damn road," I could moan desperately as the next shock racked me. Luckily, he could hear over the screaming whistle through the open window, and his head would jerk back before we veered over the median. He might move to take his hand away, but I could hold it for another moment, not knowing if I'd ever have the pleasure if it there again. I could let the pulses ride out to a dull throb, then finally release his hand and allow mine to drop to my sides. This time, it could be he who stays pressed against me for an extra few seconds.
When he'd reluctantly pull back, I could take on the somewhat awkward task of rearranging my body into a position less…wanton. The blowing air through the window would suddenly seem more disturbing than refreshing, as if it were sucking the air out of my lungs. Silently, I could pull the button, and the whistling sound would quickly dwindle until all that was left was the sound of the road, our breathing, and the static of the radio which had lost its station awhile back. We'd glance at each other, neither quite knowing what to say.
"Well," I could say weakly. "I hope you learned something."
"That I've been sleeping with the wrong woman?"
I'm startled out of my fantasy. Is that the lesson I had been trying to teach him?
Maybe.
"Maybe," I could whisper. And even though it was my fantasy, the word sounded unsure.
"Definitely," he could agree, with a breathless smile at me. And, in my mind, a part of me thrilled with joy.
In my mind, that day wouldn't end with a "guy hug."