Title: Rooftops and Invitations
Rating: M
Beta(s): TemperTemper and ForAReason - once again, major glomps to you both… this whole process would be impossible without you guys.
A/N: Definitely inspired by Dashboard Confessional's song of the same title, though I hesitate to label this a song-fic. Even though we're not quite there yet (OO, did I just give it away?!), I'm moving this on into the land of M, just to be safe... and we all know the reasons why it's good to be safe. /PSA ;) So if you are under the age of consent, or just aren't into that sort of thing, please re-consider continuing this story. Thx!
Disclaimer: Concept of Bones + Characters of Bones + Anything you recognize ARE NOT MINE.
Even at near eleven o'clock in the evening, the city is far from silent. The squeal of tires at the nearest intersection, a slammed door in the building below, the drone of an overhead jet aiming for a landing before the imminent rain. Scattered voices calling out in laughter or anger or pleasure… it ebbed and flowed, much like the current of the nearby Potomac.
But she heard none of this. She was caught up somewhere between her past and future, her feelings becoming clearer by the second.
Temperance Brennan was never one to say something just because it was what someone else needed to hear. But it was their fifth family notification, just after two weeks of chasing their tails and uncovering more and more sadistic details of how this freak had shifted from mostly post-mortem cutting and mutilation to now nearly all ante-mortem torture. She could no longer honestly answer the common question, "Did my child/spouse/friend suffer?" without causing more pain than she cared to inflict. This madman had doled out enough pain already; she didn't want to add more to it… unfortunately, in her line of work, it was rare that she could give comfort, only answers.
So she lied.
And the first time she did, Booth gave her a somewhat shocked look, but it dissolved into understanding and ended with a shared tight smile and a gleam of pride.
And that was enough to boost her confidence in listening to what her heart was trying to say.
Before she could stop herself or think too much about potential ramifications, she moved her foot towards that of her partner and ran her toe up along its smooth bottom. She watched as his toes curled and could swear she saw him shiver.
"Bones?" she heard him ask, but her focus was still intently on his feet.
"Ticklish, Booth?"
He flexed his foot and extended his leg the few inches to caress along her instep. "A little. You?"
Her eyes flicked to his and she could just make out his cocky smile from the dimness of the night. Was she really playing footsy with her partner on her rooftop?
"Not really," she replied coyly.
"Hmm… too bad." He pulled his foot away and sat forward, reaching down to grab his beer and take a large swig, before returning the now-empty bottle to the ground. Although he had physically put a bit of space back between them, his eyes never left hers and the feeling of connection never fully dissipated.
Angela would call this an "eye-sex" moment. Would they let it pass as every other had before?
Brennan didn't have to search too deeply to find that she didn't want to wait and find out.
"At least, not on my feet," she responded as a sly grin graced her lips.
--
Booth swallowed visibly, and his smile faltered a bit before he could catch himself. What were they doing?
Brennan leaned forward in her chair and placed her near-empty wine glass on the uneven limestone tile below. This action provided her partner with an eye-full of her more than ample breasts pressed against the ribbed cotton of her scoop-neck tank. If it were earlier in the evening, a few less beers under his belt, he would probably have looked away and, truth be told, he did flick his eyes up toward hers for a moment – to see if he was busted. But the temptation to look proved too much… and once he'd succumbed, it was like he was in full missile-lock.
And she wasn't wearing a bra.
"I'm up here, Booth."
His gaze flicked to hers again, then back down, then locked onto her indescribable eyes once more… this time staying, and piercing; diving into the depths, swimming amongst her thoughts like only he could. And what he saw there…
Determination. As she reached across the short distance and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his head, his lips, hard to hers.
Heat. In sharp contrast to the coolness of her fingertips, still moist with condensation where she had just been holding her glass, now searing into the tender sun-kissed flesh of his neck.
Need. Her lips pressed firmly against his, barely moving at first, then slightly parting and pulling away before latching on… and God, he could feel her hot breath against his lips, in his mouth, the tip of her tongue tasting him like he was the newest delicacy at the most elegant restaurant in town. And the flashes behind his closed eyelids could have been strikes of lightning from the impending storm or… something else. But it was enough to get him moving, involved, participating.
He parted his lips against hers and slipped his tongue into her mouth, gliding across her bottom lip and nearly dying right then from the taste of her mixed with the bittersweet wine still clinging there. He allowed his eyes to drift open, just enough to see her. It is real, it is her.
And she's your partner. Your partner. What the fuck are you doing? Line crossed equals lives lost. But… oh, God in Heaven. This is Heaven.
Telling the angel on his shoulder to take a flying leap, he acknowledged her fingernails dragging along his scalp with a low moan and continued to devour her mouth willingly. Bracing himself with one hand upon the wooden slats of her chair, the other moved of its own volition along the outside of her thigh, tentatively exploring and coming to rest lightly at the curve of her waist.
Straight to Hell. Straight. To. Hell.
Her hand moved to rest on his chest, but not for long. Fingertips trailed lightly down, grazing past his now-sensitized nipple, one finger stopping to circle it before all five continued on a path toward his...
Fuck.
"We can't… oh, God, we can't." Booth breathed heavily and pulled away abruptly, but not completely, his hand still gripping her waist. At that moment, bowing his head and closing his eyes tightly, he would have sworn to anyone within swearing distance that it was the hardest thing he had ever done - to pull away from the sweetness that was her mouth. And unconsciously, his thumb continued to lightly stroke the ribbed cotton, just above the elastic waistband of her skirt.
"Booth…"
Dammit, Booth, you're a masochist. "I'm sorry, Bones…" You did just have your tongue down her throat; you could at least call her by her given name. "Temperance, I…"
She reached forward and lightly touched his chin with the knuckle of her right forefinger, raising his eyes to hers. The slight upturn of her swollen red lips, along with her swirling eyes, captivated him and made him see one more thing. Trust.
He could see that moment in their history, the one her action had just mimicked, as plain as if it had happened yesterday. Family. We are all of us, your squints.
However, it was clear to him that, at this moment, there was only one he truly cared about.
"Bones…" released from his lips, entangled with a sigh of frustration. It's okay, I gave her that name.
As he pulled his hands away from her and sat back, he clenched his fists in his lap. Never more had a grown man wanted to cry – or maybe punch something… yeah, a lot more manly to pound into something than to... Oh, God… straight to Hell.
"Booth, you once told me there was a difference between head and heart, and that sometimes I needed to disengage one and listen to the other. I… I thought I was doing that." She leaned back in her seat once more and crossed her legs, yet her eyes stayed locked on him.
And he realized that while there was confusion residing there, the one emotion he didn't detect was fear.
It also wasn't lost on him that when she said the word "head", she pointed to herself, and at the word "heart", motioned to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his face with both hands, a vain attempt to 'wake up' to this situation. He templed his fingers in front of his still-tingling lips and met her eyes again.
She was right.
And if he truly was thinking with his heart, he never would have stopped kissing her. They could be well on their way back down to her apartment, her bed… Oh, God.
But someone had to be rational, right? Someone had to keep a cool head… what would happen in the light of day? What if they woke up together, yes, fully satisfied, but also full of regret? What if…?
"Life is too short. Too short to have so many regrets," he whispered. He wasn't even sure he had spoken out loud, through the shelter of his fingers.
"You don't think I know that?" She was no longer looking at him, worrying instead with her hands in her lap.
His head dropped as well, and his focus came to rest on her feet: smooth and slender, toes painted a vibrant red that he would never have predicted.
Is there a scale of magnitude – a Fujita Scale for regrets? Is it greater to regret making a decision that could alter everything? It's hard not to have a fatalistic view of that choice – a feeling of near-certainty that the outcome of that decision would be to see their friendship and partnership in shards beneath their bare and bloodied feet, an unrecognizable twisted mass of rubble likely to be found in a Midwestern trailer park after an F5.
Would it be worth it? To forever feel the guilty weight of every victim failed due to a decision made in a moment of self?
Or is the far-weightier regret never making that move at all? Never giving themselves the chance to see if they sputter and fall or burn bright and soar…
Taking a deep breath, but still not able to look at her for risk of losing his grip on his thoughts, Booth broke the silence. "Bones, I don't know the right decision here. But I know that right now, what my heart is saying and what my head is saying are two different things… and, more than anything, I hope that one day they will both be saying the same." To you. He stopped speaking and looked at her, waiting until her eyes lifted to his. "I'm not sure when that will be…" But I hope it's soon.
Brennan nodded. "Just so you know… I'm already there, Booth."
She rose from her chair and moved once again towards the roof's edge, wrapping her arms around herself and taking in the view – the city once so bright, but now seemingly pale in comparison to the feelings she had finally acknowledged for this man.
His eyes widened as he realized what she had just told him. His chest constricted, his heart raced and the space taken up by his lungs ached for release as he could no longer find his breath. If anyone had asked him days ago, weeks ago… hell, years ago, who was the more emotionally advanced in this partnership, he could easily have answered that it was him. The irony that he was the one mired in what amounted to fear at this proposed step in their relationship was not lost on him.
But there's just too much to lose.
Isn't there?
--
Former wisps of clouds had gathered and congealed into a dark gray storm-bearing front that seemed to be making its way steadily toward the city, its singular focus to obscure and darken the horizon and wash clean the soot and grime that had been building for weeks.
A sudden, loud crack and rumble of thunder caused her to jump… then laugh at being caught off-guard. Her partner's hand, suddenly resting on her elbow yielded the same result… including the tingling electric pulse of the lightning strike that immediately followed.
"We should probably head back inside, Bones. Storm's coming."
She tried to catch his eyes as they turned toward the rooftop door, but he kept his gaze averted and instead looked to the sky, the chairs, the doorway… anywhere but her.
She approached the heavy, metal door first, reaching for the handle and suddenly angled her body towards his, effectively blocking his path.
"Any chance you'll change your mind?"
"Bones." Don't look. Don't look. Don't look at her.
But he looked up just in time to see her enigmatic expression and the wink of an eye as she grasped the metal door handle and pulled.
And just then, nothing happened.
TBC.
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