Title: Folie à Trois Missing Scene #1: Nothing Can Protect You From This

Characters: Booth, Brennan

Summary: Her skin was fair, and the sun relentless, and if he was offering… well, a girl could never be too safe. Companion piece to Folie à Trois, chapter 1.

It was a sweltering day in August, even by Alabama standards. Hot and humid – a hundred degrees and a humidity of… oh about a thousand percent, or so it seemed to him. He wisely refrained from saying that out loud, or his partner would mercilessly and patronizingly correct that there was no such thing as more than a hundred percent.

All three of them – Cam included – abandoned the usual dress code; they stripped down to tank tops, and Booth to his wifebeater, while they worked on recovery. It was simply too hot for propriety.

If the weather was excruciating, watching her all day – in that weather – was the worst kind of torture for him. It gave new depth to the expression 'hot and bothered'.

He had a hard time thinking of disgusting dead bodies, murder most foul, and grieving loved ones, watching her work all day in nothing but tight jeans that had to be uncomfortable in the heat, and a tank top that seemed to have both been painted onto her curves. Her appearance was deceptively slender and fragile, but every inch of her was toned, muscles sinewy beneath her smooth, pale flesh.

And every time she bent over the remains, his eyes drew inexorably to the neckline of her tank top where the fabric gave to those round, distracting, perfect mounds of… Shit. He needed to drag his eyes away. Before he started working with Bones, he couldn't remember ever being so aware of a woman's breasts before.

---

Not that Brennan was oblivious to his constant attempts to distract her from her work. By… Well, by his being there and breathing, really. Especially when the wealth of muscular flesh on display was highlighted by a thin sheen of glistening sweat on tanned skin. With the heat seemingly shimmering off of him, the way his body moved languidly – like a cougar – was pure sin.

It had been a constant distraction, the way he circled her, the expanse of skin showing today. And the way he took his sweet time rubbing 50 SPF sun block on her pale neck and shoulders.

Usually she would wear long sleeves and sunhats to protect her fair skin – perhaps not very elegant, and certainly not very comfortable in the heat, but it did the job very effectively. In this heat however, that would have been nothing short of masochistic.

If only Booth would stop hovering around her while she worked. She couldn't get ten minutes of uninterrupted work in before he was breathing down her neck again (making her shiver in the heat), asking if she was feeling okay, not too hot, was she thirsty, didn't she need more sun block to protect her soft skin from getting sunburned? Not only was she ready to kill him, it made her wonder just how much attention he paid to her "soft skin."

She'd lost count of the number of times she'd reminded him today that she could take care of herself, and of course she had put on sun screen…

But her skin was fair, and the sun relentless, and watching him as he rubbed the 50+ SPF onto his own bare forearms with firm, sure strokes, missing not an inch of skin...she felt her irritation melt away. And... if he was offering... well, a girl could never be too safe.

---

He didn't think he could take much more when his partner whipped out her water bottle for the umpteenth time that day, wrapped her lips around the rim, tilted her head back and greedily sucked down water, her cheeks hollowing and her sweaty throat working the liquid down. He tried to draw his eyes away because he really wasn't supposed to stare like this, let alone conjure up these obscene images in his mind; it was wrong, and objectifying, and it was stupid – what if she caught him?

His eyes, already a little glassy, widened when things got progressively worse. Pouring some on her cupped hand a few times, she splashed water all over her flushed face, the back of her neck, throat, and – may the saints help him – her chest, dripping down her tank top. God. He needed something to do to distract him, or she was going to kill him.

Digging up the bottle of 50+ SPF sun block from his pack, he started rubbing some on his forearms, which they didn't need – only his sanity. He wondered how long he'd stood there rubbing it in when he noticed her looking at him intently… for a while now, it seemed.

When he looked up and met her eyes, she didn't back down, or seem embarrassed about being caught staring. A lop-sided grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. "I wouldn't mind having some of what you got." He would have thought there was a flirtatious glint in her eyes, and some of it dripping into her voice, if he didn't think the heat was playing tricks on his mind.

But the heat also seemed to affect the filter of propriety between his brain and his mouth, because before he knew it, the next thing out of his mouth was, "Well, then, let me give it to you."

She cocked her head and sized him up while he bridged the few feet of distance between them, undoubtedly wondering if Seeley Booth, the man she was so sure was uncomfortable talking about sex, had just tossed a shameless innuendo her way.

"Where do you want it, Bones?" His grin was unabashedly spicy. "Glad you changed your mind about wanting a little rubdown from Seeley Booth."

She crossed her arms under her breasts and arched a lethal eyebrow at him. Uh oh. Maybe he was overplaying his hand here. Then the eyebrow relaxed back into the horizontal position, and she schooled her features into the picture of logic again. He tried not to let his eyes stray any lower than that.

"The size of your hands would make efficient work of my need for protection," she stated primly.

He grinned at what sounded suspiciously like the Brennan rationalization-of-the-week. "It's okay to admit you want my hands all over you, Bones." He was pushing it with the flirting, he knew. They weren't usually this blatant about it. But he just couldn't seem to help himself anymore. Not when it was so obviously working on her. "You want me," he smirked, insufferably cocky and knowing it.

She scowled at him, her eyes fire and her jaw tight. Bulls-eye. She only got angry when he hit his mark. And he was former sniper Seeley Joseph Booth – he always hit his mark when he wanted to.

Her mouth quirked dangerously and she stepped into his space, a little too close for comfort. "You're right, I want you..." she husked, visibly enjoying his transformation from cocky to concerned.

Just before he opened his mouth to tell her that this had gone on too far and he really didn't mean… her eyes narrowed at him.

"To shut up and rub some sun block on me," with a voice that had suddenly increased in volume and sharpness.

Shooting him a final glare she turned her back to him. "YOU insisted on that, remember?"

---

Was it wrong that this kind of snarky bickering kind of turned her on?

She knew that she'd pushed it with the flirtatious way she'd asked him to rub some lotion on her, but dammit the heat was getting to her, too. At worst, he would be a little uncomfortable, and that would be entertaining enough on its own.

She hadn't really expected him to respond to her flirting in kind, so when he told her he would give it to her – oh god, if only – and then swaggered her way, she couldn't help but wonder how seriously he was taking this. Because even to her literal brain, that seemed like a shameless innuendo.

By the time he pouted his lips around the taunting "You want me," her writer brain had conjured up the wording: Kathy's hands fisted in Andy's shirt and threw him against the side of the truck. The crime scene was abandoned now, the remains already on the way to the Smithsonian. He'd teased her to the point of distraction while she worked, and she'd had enough. "I want you right now." An impatient, bruising kiss, to which he responded in kind. "I don't want to wait." Off with his shirt. "When we get back, I have to examine the bones." Andy wrenched open the rear door they were standing next to. More kissing as he laid Kathy down on the backseat with the care of a partner and the passion of a lover. He unbuttoned and peeled open her shirt to worship her breasts. "Oh, Andy…" "Oh, Booth…"

Angered by her own treacherous, lecherous mind, and clamping down on the burgeoning arousal, she had snarked at him and turned around as quickly as possible, lest her eyes betray her.

There was a moment of anticipation where her senses seem to strain in every direction. She heard the squirt of the lotion, the slippery sounds of it rubbing between his hands. She felt the sun beating down even more exquisitely on her shoulders. She smelled coconut oil and it made her think of the beach, and barely clothed bodies, and all things sexy. And then his huge hands encompassed her shoulders and suddenly it was very hard to think of much anything at all.

If she thought he would make this easier on both of them by making it quick and practical, she was sorely mistaken.

His hands spread across the crest of her shoulders and lathered the lotion thoroughly, in slow strokes that would feel like caresses under any other circumstances. While he was at it, his hands worked on loosening the knots in her deltoids – an occupational hazard after spending too much time hunched over the remains – and it was all she could do not to moan her appreciation for it.

She lifted the sticky strands of her messy ponytail away from her neck so he could cover that area too.

Somehow she'd ended up almost pressed back against his chest, feeling the heat emanate from his body, and he was breathing in her ear, creating distracting sensations, as he told her huskily, "Only one kind of pink flush is acceptable for you, Bones."

She couldn't help it – she shuddered. A flush crept up her neck and heated her cheeks. What the fuck was he doing? He couldn't mean… Not sure if she wanted to know, she asked anyway, "What's that?"

He snickered softly. "Blushing, of course."

She could just picture his mock innocent face, hear the smirk in his voice. And it made her crazy.

Apparently one to be thorough and not miss a single spot, Booth lifted her tank top in back and slipped his hands underneath. His curled fingers tickled along her damp back, passing her bra strap, until they splayed against her shoulders again underneath the fabric.

"Because you don't want to get burned at those edges," he whispered into her ear as he put the finishing touches to his work – and to her.

---

He snickered softly. "Blushing, of course."

He was taking his sweet time rubbing the lotion on her shoulders, and enjoying it. Not a peep out of her, in fact, she appeared to be enjoying his touch. A lot. She seemed to be stifling a sound of satisfaction once or twice, and when he looked over her shoulder, he watched in fascination as her nipples hardened underneath her shirt. But he half-expected her to slap him, or at least protest, when he thrust his hands under the back of her tank top.

At that, her spine straightened with a snap and a gasp left her lips. He leaned in to whisper next to her ear, "Because you don't want to get burned at those edges." He worked the last bit of lotion into the crest of her shoulders and her shoulder blades underneath the fabric.

They should stop, really. They were in public. And this was bordering on the obscene. He had his hands under her shirt and he was this close to feeling her up.

With one final brush over her shoulders, he regretfully deemed his work done. "There, that should be enough. Let's not overdo it with the lotion. Wouldn't want you dripping all over the remains." He allowed a flirtatious tone to seep into his voice again, even though he knew he was walking a fine line, especially when saying things that could easily be interpreted as dirty double entendres. On the other hand, how big of a risk could that be with his ever-literal Bones?

Maybe bigger than he thought, because the next words out of her mouth nearly knocked him on his ass. And though he couldn't see her face, he thought he heard a hint of suggestion in her voice when she muttered back, "Maybe you like me slippery."

He couldn't think of a witty comeback to that to save his life. All he knew was that it was really way past time to stop. His fingertips traced a path down the skin of her back as they slipped out of her shirt again.

When he looked up he immediately gleaned that EVERYONE on the team had stopped what they were doing to stare at them, and he cringed. Cam, the sheriff, the techs, and every other law enforcement officer present all jumped, and pretended to be busy working, but not in time for it to go unnoticed. Great. He'd subjected his partner to a gawk fest without intending to, and even though she seemed oblivious, he felt bad.

"Thanks, Booth," she offered hesitantly. She didn't quite meet his eyes, before she sauntered back to the remains to continue her work.

"Anytime, Bones…." he muttered into nothingness.

--

Note: I am indebted to SSJL for the suggestion to write this, for cracking the whip to make me write this ;-p; for soothing the resulting sting *rubs sore ass* by offering encouragements, a couple of choice lines in this thing to keep me going when I got stuck, and buckets of drool. Also to NicoleMack for looking it over and helping me spiff it up.