Chapter 15: Come Succumb to Coconut Rum
Sorry jeesh this has been growing and growing on my computer. I was going to blend it even longer, but the next chapter spun out of hand, so I decided this was a moderate cutoff. I love cute B&B whirlwind undercovers. (ahahaha, pun intended) Please review! I am truly flattered and a little flushed by the emails I get - even if they are only a couple words.
"I hate the name Ellen. I sound fat and old. Or blonde. I'm not any of those things," Brennan griped under her breath to Booth, wobbling slightly in a sundress and moderate wedge heels. They were walking through the Maui airport; the wide-open spaces where windows should have been were letting in a sultry breeze filled with birds and the smell of a tempest rolling over the rainforest in the mountains.
"You're definitely not blonde," chuckled Booth under his breath and Brennan screeched a protest.
"Boo- I mean Greg," her face twisted sourly. "And how come your name is normal?" Booth smirked before slapping her butt soundly in public.
"Come on sweetheart," he said loudly, "isn't this exciting? Maui. Wow. Wowie Maui," he chuckled, "Hey listen Bones, wowie Maui."
"Booth," she griped.
"Greg," he corrected. She stuck her tongue out childishly as he swung their shared hideous suitcase off the baggage claim. For a moment her mouth went dry as she watched a loose drop of sweat roll down the biceps of his big, flexing arms coming out of his completely outrageous tacky shirt.
"Well, honey," she simpered, "Did you have to buy that hideous shirt?" He grinned his little boys grin devilishly back at her.
"Well Ellie," Brennan's mouth twisted in disgust, "I could have bought the one with naked women on it. Would that have made you happier?"
"No," she pouted. A few men around Booth laughed and he gave them the comrade nod. Brennan stalked away before he trotted cheerfully to catch up. They climbed into the shuttle that would take them to their rental car. People on the bus were watching Brennan walk possessively. Booth gritted his jaw line and pulled her arm down next to him.
"Here honey," he said, glowering fiercely at all the eligible men, and even some elderly but interested ones, "sit next to me." Brennan smiled angelically and instead sat on his lap.
"We should leave some seats open," she said in a dark, rich voice that had him trembling beneath her as her thighs opened just a little in the dress, firmly grinding her hips over his very quickly rousing erection. Embarrassed he tried to push her teasingly off. Instead she licked her lips and smacked them over her shoulder.
"Greg, don't be rude." Booth, mortified and yet amused by her flagrant teasing, finally complied and she remained sitting in his lap until they checked their key from the car rental.
Brennan was instantly mollified by Booth's choice of a ride; flashy and vagrant, the mustang screamed honeymoon as they both got inside after a cheery Mahalo and sped down the street toward their hotel.
"Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Wiley and congratulations again on your nuptials." Booth threw a smile over his shoulder until he and Brennan were in the elevator before rounding on her.
"Why do they have to call it nuptials? It's just creepy. It's weird right? Why don't they call it marriage or honeymoon? Nuptials. Ew. It sounds like an organ." Brennan raised an eyebrow.
"You are very interesting." Booth scoffed as they fought pettily, both trying to hide their rising anxiety at the quickly approaching door of a shared room. Their bickering fell silent as they walked down the hall on the very top floor, Brennan admiring the furnishings.
"This is a very nice hotel…Greg." Her voice was approving and he threw a grin over his shoulder.
"Five stars Bo-I mean, Ellen."
When he keyed open the door, Brennan gasped.
"Wow this is amazing. How did we get such a good room?" Booth smirked.
"Honeymoon suite." Smiling suggestively, Brennan swung her hips seductively as she stalked over to him; right as she was about to grab his gorgeous head of hair she was distracted by both the knocking on the door and a gift basket sitting in the midst of their own kitchen. Booth answered the door while Brennan began rifling through the basket that simply said For the Happy Couple. She smiled at the hearts, the brochures for romantic snorkeling, cruises, sight seeing trips, mountain biking and whale watching before her fingers found the champagne, strawberries, and to her great consternation and amusement, pack of pleasure fit condoms.
"Booth?" she called over her shoulder.
"Ellen," he returned loudly, and she pressed her lips together. Damn. Booth finished tipping the bell boy who gave him a saucy wink.
"Yeah, yeah kid, that's great," he grumbled, practically shoving him out the door. When Brennan had been walking towards him, he had been sure he had died and gone to heaven. Now he was upset that their hideous suitcase delivery had interrupted. Feeling daring and unused to the freedom they had expressed but never explored, Booth gently snaked his big, warm hands over her stomach and around her waist. He felt her breath hitch and her muscles flex involuntarily. He laughed deeply in her ear and felt her flesh prickle with goosebumps.
"Booth…Greg…Booth – I…" she was stuttering as he began gently nibbling on an earlobe like it was a delicacy. "Do you…" her voice shook embarrassingly, "want some champagne?" He nodded against her neck and when he let her go to reach for the bottle he chuckled throatily and ripped the zipper down her back.
"Booth!" she squealed, sounding like his old familiar partner as she attempted to cover herself while glaring at him. But Booth was having none of it; her sheer lace bra was tantalizing as he backed her into the kitchen next to the basket and slid the straps of that sweet sundress that had been swimming in his vision all eight hours of flight long. She wasn't kissing back; her ardent love was replaced by trepidation. With great control he pulled back, his hands still covering her forearms.
"Hey," he whispered, stepping in as close as he could so she could feel him up against her. Confused, she took a cue from him and mimicked his pose, putting her hands on his forearms over his short sleeves. "Hey," he smiled, his angelic heart breaking smile. "I love you. I have always loved you. I will love no one but you until the day I die." Her voice was as shaky as her balance on her wedge heels.
"This isn't our honeymoon Booth," she whispered. He stopped smiling and stared her in the eyes until her very soul was shaking on display.
"We don't have to do this Bones." He watched her eyes flicker as she waded through the options before her blue eyes hardened in a decision.
"This shirt really is unattractive," she whispered, before ripping it down his arms. Laughing in outrage, he attacked her against the cold marble of the kitchen counter and feverishly ran his hands down her dress, pushing it to the floor around her wedge heels that made her usual five nine stature almost his height. When he saw what lay below her belly button, he groaned out loud.
"No underwear? You're serious, you went on a flight commando?" He could hear her breathless laughter as his hands roved over her body as if worshipping his own personal goddess. Her hands, in turn, were suddenly throwing his cocky belt buckle on the floor and forcing his shorts to the ground.
"The dress was tight!" she giggled, and they made love in the kitchen; not even making it to the bedroom, on cold marble that burned against her feverish skin and three inch wedge heels that never had the chance to come off.
The last coherent thought before she was helplessly moaning Booth's name was that the concierge was truly considerate; they made excellent use of the condoms.
"Bones! Come on let's go! Daylight's burning and the smugglers have a smoothie shop on the beach!"
"Hold on Greg," emphasized Brennan, finishing tying her braid off. She emerged in a terry cloth cover-up dress and flip-flops. She laughed when she saw Booth who was standing cheekily in a bright green inter tube, in a sleeveless gym shirt and swim trunks covered in poker chips.
"That's a Booth outfit," she laughed, "Not a Greg Wiley one." Booth frowned.
"Well aren't you wearing your own swimsuit?" Brennan smiled smugly.
"Angela took me shopping." She brushed past him to dig through the two duffels that had been concealed in the hideous carpetbag suitcase. "Here," she said, throwing a pair of green swim trunks with a very boring camouflage pattern at him. "Look, they're even army style." Booth's face turned sour.
"Can't I see what you're wearing?" Brennan smiled to herself.
"We'll be down on the beach as soon as you get those on." With a vivacious smirk, Booth pantsed himself within the confines of the green inter tube that was perfectly placed over his waist as a sort of audacious flaunting of modesty.
"Booth," screeched Brennan, turning her eyes away out of habit, blushing furiously. She didn't know why; even before their intercourse she had seen him fully nude.
"Nothing you ain't seen before Ellen," teased Booth, even though they were safe in their own suite. Brennan smiled privately at his teasing- he always knew how to make a situation seem normal between partners. Being with him in this way wasn't as difficult as she had originally thought – leastways not yet. And the sex was definitely a mind blowing plus.
"Let's go," Booth smirked, holding his arm out. Brennan ducked under it and pressed herself firmly to him. She quickly rebounded.
"You've got to carry the tube," she griped.
"What?" whined Booth, possessively clutching the inter tube around his hips.
"You aren't Booth today," Brennan reminded him, "You have to be civil. Mature. You down for it?"
"Are you up for it Bones, up for it." With an upset face like a little boy whose toy was taken away, Booth shrugged out of the green ring and tucked it under his arm as Brennan slung a beach bag over her shoulder and a wicker hat over her head.
"Ellen?" grunted Booth, getting thwapped in the face when she ducked into his body.
"I'm very fair…pale…Greg," she pouted. Booth laughed and they walked tucked together to the elevator.
Once on the beach, Booth insisted on carrying her like some sort of prized animal to the water, while she kicked and screamed like the four-year-old little girl several feet away. Dousing her in moderately cold salt water, Booth winced as he realized they had yet to remove their coverups.
"Whoops," he laughed, "sorry about your…er…dress Ellen."
"Greg!" she shrieked, splashing water onto his shirt until he was similarly drenched. "Can we please lay these out to dry first?" With a chuckle he chased her up the beach and toed a line in the sand.
"Race you back to the towels!"
"The sand is hot!" she yipped, skipping quickly over it, feeling the burning spreading over her soles. He laughed outrageously until they reached their cabana; no luxury had been spared for the honeymoon suite. When they returned to their towels, piña coladas had been delivered on the house with little umbrellas on their table. They hungrily slurped them down before Booth shrugged out of his drenched shirt and hung it to dry on the back of his chair in the sun.
"Come on Ellen," he complained, "hurry up." Brennan daintily sucked the last of the coconut rum from the smoothie and stood languorously up. Watching him take off his shirt never ceased to send that cold little thrill to warm her abdomen. The water rippling off his chest in tiny rivers was killing her. Swiping gingerly at her hair plastered to her face, and glad it was already confined in a braid and not wildly flinging itself about, Brennan stood up. She heard Booth's breath hitch as she shimmied out of her sopping terry cloth cover up and hung it carelessly over the back of her chair before turning to grin at her partner.
Booth thought his mind had exploded somewhere back in rum land. Watching her curving pink lips tighten around the straw was enough to send him sprawling into the mental gutter. However, watching her so innocently strip tease almost killed him then and there. He needed to get in that water before he busted something. When inches of her bare legs had been revealed at a time, he had almost choked on his own tongue; her great reveal of a most un-Brennan like swimsuit had him almost collapsing in the dust, gasping for water for the fire that was raging under his skin that had nothing to do with the sun.
"Ellen," he stuttered and she grinned and twirled.
"You like it Greg? It's new," she chirped falsely. Booth didn't even care; the ruffles of magenta fabric that was barely covering her perfect ass and the cute ruffles that were pushing her breasts out of a strapless bathing suit, were simply killing him. Her pristine ivory skin was glowing under the tropical Maui sun, reminding him that she could be hurt. A sort of ferocious protectiveness roared in his chest and he quickly turned to the sunscreen bag.
"Easy there Ellen," he said quietly, stepping into her, "Like you said, you're pretty pale."
"That will soon be remedied," she laughed girlishly. Booth's mind was dripping out of his ears like pudding; Bones, his Bones, had just laughed girlishly.
Squirting a big glob of sunscreen into his hand he reverently smoothed it over her presented back. She squirmed and giggled.
"That's cold!" He couldn't help but smile foolishly back; he was also pretty sure that everyone around them was insanely jealous.
"Sorry," he murmured, concentrating on smoothing white over white, covering every spot. His hands traveled lower before encircling her stomach.
"Greg," she whispered, breathlessly, "I…I can do that." He chuckled darkly into her ear and felt her shiver. She pulled away and he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. The front of her swimsuit cups couldn't quite constrain her arousal. She looked down and then back at him in faux anger before pointedly looking at the front of his swimsuit.
"Get my back?" he offered, quickly turning away. He hissed as he felt her hands rubbing something smooth and creamy over him. Why didn't we think of this sooner, he groused to himself, a massage…candles… he had to stop himself for a bit before taking her hand and racing back to the water.
The morning passed sweetly in a childlike way. Although Booth had been planning an erotic vacation, he couldn't change who he and his partner were and so they played cheerfully in the sand; building sandcastles out of their empty piña colada cups and finding shells to decorate, collect and coral to fish out of the bottom of the ocean. They splashed and ran around, played tag and dunked each other and had lunch at a little stand with umbrellas in their drinks.
They briefly took a break from their role playing to question witnesses around their lunch shack that was the perpetrator for their case and Booth's face fell when he realized he'd have to follow up a lead. Alone. Bones, no matter how much she disguised herself with a staid name and flashy bathing suit was much too memorable in the minds of men to be noticed; much less dependent upon drugs coming from middle class suburbia as she so supposedly did.
"It's okay Booth," she whispered, "I'll just tan over there Greg."
"Put on more sunscreen Ellie," he reminded her. She smiled at him and winked.
"I'm already toasty. I'll take a quick dip and meet you back at the cabana in an hour or two?"
"Better make it three," winced Booth, but Bones nodded placidly in understanding before skipping off into the white waves foaming around her perfect white calves until like a goddess so far away, Booth couldn't tell where she ended and the ocean begun.