So, some lovely people used my positive thinking scheme against me and asked for some more to this story. And who am I to disappoint? :)
Disclaimer: Positive thinking really did work for you guys, so maybe I still have hope...Until that day, Bones is not mine.
Enjoy
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If
Pt. 2
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He is watching the television without really seeing it; one hand idly flicking through channels, the other resting atop his head. He scratches absently and finds a puckered crescent shaped scar he's long since grown used to. He runs his fingers along the scar, the edges are smooth and he knows it's only a matter of time before he'll barely be able to feel it anymore. The emotional scarring, however, still has a long way to go.
He glances at his watch and then at his phone in quick succession. It's been an entire four hours since he has seen Bones. He has taken to getting her out of the Jeffersonian on a Friday night by 5pm and no later. They would go get something to eat and debate the high and low points of the latest case they were working over a few casual drinks.
Tonight though, it was different. And he didn't like it. She insisted nothing was wrong, and that she just needed some time to relax. But when they left in separate cars to go to separate places his heart had ached a little.
He wanted to call her.
More than that, he wanted her to call him.
He will insist that she come to his place, but then fold and go to hers. He'll never admit to it, but he likes her place a whole lot more than he likes his. It's just the essence of Temperance. And she has a TV now too. More so, he'll hear the slight desperation in her voice and know that she needs the comfort of her familiarity as well as the comfort he can provide.
He will grab a bottle of wine on the way over. Another thing he won't admit is that he couch is more comfortable than his bed. A drink or two and he has the perfect excuse to use it. He knows tonight though, that if he goes over, he won't be sleeping on the couch.
He will guide her gently to the kitchen and allow her to poor the wine for the both of them. He will watch as the deep red liquid enters her mouth and, as she swallows, fantasize about kissing those now deep red lips. She will jerk him from his reverie in asking if he would like a seat.
She will guide them this time, but upon sitting, he will ask the questions. And she will answer. They will talk about that puckered scar on his head. She will cry and he will ask why. She'll just hold him as an answer.
It'll be slow; deliberate, her hand will sneak up the side of his face, brushing gently across his five o'clock shadow, he'll sigh in content and their eyes will lock. Her hand will curl into his hair, touching the scar softly. He won't breathe as she rises up onto her knees in front of him, straddling him, never breaking eye contact. She'll lean forward just a little and kiss his forehead, his hairline, his scar.
He'll pull her down to him and as she grinds gently against him he'll claim her lips as his own. Words won't be spoken; everything they need to say will be communicated through the electricity pulsing through their bodies. He will lift her and carry her to her bed and clothes will disappear.
Fantasies will flash before him, every vision of his partner his mind had ever conjured up. Nothing will even compare to the real thing. His hands will conquer her slim frame and hers will reach for him. He'll set the pace and it will be slow. He wants to savour it. He doesn't want to lose anything to a moment.
She'll cry out his name on a breath. His world will spin and then it will stop. Nothing outside of them will matter. He will whisper the words he's longed to say and she will kiss him.
He doesn't care if she never says it back to him; he knows she feels it.
He glances at his phone again.
Please ring.
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I feel there'll be one more chapter...I write fast when I'm bombarded with reviews. :)
That is all.
xx