Arg. I'm baaack! I hope you haven't given up on me - my stupid life interrupted yet again. Why don't those people I work with realize that I don't have time for my job? I have to write! Hopefully, this chapter will make up for the longer-than-normal wait, and put me in your good graces again. And tomorrow is an EXTREMELY tasty-looking, brand-new Bones episode! Yes! Maybe, just maybe this will tide you over until then...

THE BET

"Ahh, c'mon, c'mon, come on! You have got to be kidding me!" Booth hit the horn again, leaning on it until Brennan reached over and slapped his hand. "Ow, what?"

"Will you stop it? Blowing the horn isn't going to make the traffic magically disappear. You're just annoying both of us." Pressing out of her seat, she craned her neck, trying to see further ahead. "Besides, I think it's going to clear – about a mile ahead or so it's thinning." She really hoped it was clearing up – if they didn't get home soon, they wouldn't be able to get ready in time for dinner with Angela and Jack. Sighing, she leaned back and crossed her arms, her brow wrinkling in frustration. Three hours. Three hours to make a one-hour trip. The northbound construction on the interstate, plus the two accidents because of the distraction the construction caused had completely thrown them off of their timetable. The elation she'd felt after they'd completed the course together was running hand in hand with aggravation at this point. It had taken every bit of willpower she possessed to refrain from ordering Booth to hit the lights so they could ride the shoulder home. She very much disliked being late for anything. "How much further do we have to go?"

"Five miles – the same distance as when you asked me ten minutes ago." He shifted, trying to ease the stiffness aggravated by their forced inactivity. "Hey - you were right, it is moving a little bit." Slowly they began to make progress, and soon they were sliding past the three-car accident, which at this point had been moved completely off the road. "You know, there really should be a ticket that the cops can issue for rubbernecking. What is wrong with people?"

"It's anthropology, Booth." She swept her hand forward, indicating the clot of emergency vehicles. "The cultural configuration of a group of people witnessing an accident on the road changes from a cognitive communality, also known as the eidos, to an emotional communality, or ethos."

He made a face at her. "Or, a bunch of people on the road saw a bunch of pretty, blinky, woo-woo lights and lost their ability for rational thought." He raised his brows as she frowned at him.

"That's what I just said."

"Yeah, but the way I said it actually makes sense." Pleased with himself, he grinned and focused on the road, confident he'd made his point.

"Well, if you needed me to oversimplify my explanation for your benefit, you only had to indicate your wishes. I suppose I should be happy that you managed to use the phrase rational thought in a sentence." She waited until he turned to look at her and threw him an innocuous smirk.

He glared at her on principle, but simply couldn't work up his temper. Truthfully, he didn't mind their sparring; it was actually kind of stimulating. An excellent morning paired with the rapidly clearing traffic quickly drove away any lingering moodiness. Really, he didn't know how he'd survived his weekends before he spent them with her. More often than not, his plans with Parker were disrupted by Rebecca, whose breathlessly rushed phone calls always meant a visit cut short for one selfish reason or another. Even worse were the weekends when she completely canceled their plans and he didn't get to see Parks at all. Those weekends almost always led to too much television, too much scotch, and way too much brooding.

Well, they used to. Now, when his plans were changed last-minute, he'd restlessly pace through the apartment, his eyes eventually falling on his keys. Five minutes later – well, not even that long, if he was being honest with himself – he'd swipe them and be out the door, headed for her like a homing missile. A heat-seeking missile. He chuckled to himself at his lameness. She completed his days – so much so, even more than he'd expected when they'd made the bet. It wasn't just the sex, either, although the sex was the best he'd ever had – ever. He'd bust in on her, much like he had that morning, and they'd wind up doing something fun with whatever time they had left in the weekend. As her weekends were ruthlessly plotted out, she usually protested, but he persisted, and she almost always went along with him in the end. On the rare occasion that she couldn't be dissuaded, he'd still hang out while she worked, watching a game or two on the television she'd finally bought, and eating everything in her fridge. He'd have to start bringing supplies with him soon, or she'd have nothing to eat when he wasn't there.

"Booth?"

Startled out of his musings, he glanced at her as he hooked a right onto her street. "Yeah?"

She checked her watch again. "We only have ninety minutes to get ready for dinner. You should drop me at my apartment and head home to get ready."

"Nah, we have time – I'll grab a shower at your place, and we can go from there."

She crossed her arms, amused at his lack of planning. "What are you going to wear?

"Well, I…fuck." He hadn't thought of that. What the hell was he going to wear? The prospect of rushing straight home to get ready was definitely not appealing, and not at all what he'd planned. Shit. What now? "Well, you could grab your things and come with me. Get ready at my place. That way I wouldn't have to come back to pick you up. It'd save time…"

"No, I can't do that."

"Why not? What does it matter where you get ready?"

She bit her lip. "It doesn't normally. But I have everything laid out in my room; I don't want to disrupt my organization. I might forget a critical component of my outfit."

He punched the button for her floor, turning to her as the elevator doors closed. "I don't get it. Why would you forget?"

"Well…" She hesitated, clearly reluctant to answer his question. As they stepped out of the elevator, she sighed and relented. "Angela made me shop for tonight."

"Uh-oh."

"If I forget anything, Angela will be…very unhappy with me. At least, that's what she said. But I'm concerned that 'unhappy' is a euphemism for some sort of physical violence. She seemed quite serious."

"Well, you know, for most women, this whole dressing-up thing is pretty important. Guys…we tend not to care so much. And by 'not care so much', I mean 'don't care at all'. He chuckled and followed her into the kitchen. "Okay, so you're here, then. Damn, this really sucks. I don't suppose I left a suit here at some point?"

"No, you didn't." She gave him a small push toward the door. "You'd better go soon, or we'll be late. You know I hate –"

"I know, you hate to be late, I gotcha. Hold on a sec…I think I have a change of clothes in my gym bag. Wait a minute." Ignoring her frown, he grabbed the bag he'd left inside her door that morning and began digging through it. Please be here, please be here…

From her position by the sink she watched him, at a loss as to what he was doing. "There's definitely no suit in there, Booth." She became even more confused when he triumphantly pulled out a shirt and sweats. "How does this help you?"

Dropping the bag and the clothes back on the floor, he turned his head and peered at her. "It means you can get ready, and then we can go to my place and I can get ready."

"I still don't see how this plan of action saves us any time." She watched him as he slowly stood. Something about him - she wasn't sure what, but something - put her instantly on alert.

His grin deepened and spread, giving his face a slightly wolfish quality. "Well, it saves us time, because now we can have that shower you mentioned." He took two slow steps toward her, his smile sharpening even more at the awareness he saw on her face.

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms in front of her. "Well, that would have been nice, Booth, but that traffic completely interfered with our schedule. We really don't have time. Even if you go home now, we'll probably be late. We have to save the shower for another day."

She was determined to have her own way; he could see that. Too bad for her he was determined to have her. Good. It only made what came next that much better. "You know, I'm really glad you said that." He saw the beginning of a smug smile on her face, and tilted his head insolently to the side. "That just means I get to convince you." The immediate, visible effect of his words on her had his body straining to be released. Rightly gauging her response, he sauntered to the doorway, blocking her access to the hall. "Sorry, Charlie. That'd be way too easy. Now, why don't you and I retire to the shower and discuss this further?"

"Booth." She was not tempted by him. She was not going to give in, not matter how much she might want to. She didn't want to. They had to hurry or they'd be late. Hands on hips, she impatiently walked forward, putting herself nose to nose with him. "We're running out of time – you need to go get ready." Without regard for his reaction, she pushed quickly past him and started down the hall to the bathroom. She swung the door closed, but it merely bounced off his solidly planted boot and sprang open again. "Stop it, Booth. We don't have time for your antics."

"I don't know, I think we have just enough time. I've been wanting to try out your fancy new shower." Easily holding the door open, he stepped in, toe to toe with her. "Besides, the way I see it, it's not so much my antics as it is me finishing what you started. Remember?" He glanced down at the firm hand she slapped against his chest, before merely smiling and placing his own over it. "Aw, you changed your mind, how sweet."

Being forced to back up in response to his advance left her feeling strangely vulnerable, to her disgust. And aroused beyond belief. "Booth…" She gamely fought the nervous laughter his actions were inspiring, but wasn't nearly as successful with the heat flaring deep in her belly. Firming her lips, she tried again. "I won't be bullied."

His lips curved in amusement. "Won't you?" His eyes flicked quickly past her, taking in the newly installed walk-in shower before returning to her. "Are you sure about that?" A single step brought them nose to nose. "You know, it's not bullying if we both want the same thing." His hand snaked around her waist, yanking her almost casually against him. "You feel that?" Her denial only challenged him, so he pulled her closer and aligned his hips even harder against hers. "You feel that. I know you do. It's for you. Besides," he whispered as he brought his other hand to her, tracing the caked mud that had dried on her face, in her hair, on her neck, "you're pretty filthy. You might need some help to get clean."

His words were starting little fires all over her body, and his talented fingers were spreading the flames. Almost uncontrollably, her stubborn nature reared up one last time. Her jaw jutted ominously; her eyes narrowed in a last-ditch effort to gain the upper hand. "I'm not going to give in, Booth."

"Don't you get it, Bones?" Quick as a flash, his smile disappeared, leaving only his dark eyes. Eyes that left her with nowhere to hide. "You already have." He abruptly crushed her against him, his hands tearing urgently at her mud-encrusted clothes as he dragged her to the floor with him.

"Oh, oh god, yes…" His large, rough hands were everywhere, pulling and tugging and ripping at her clothes, followed by his lips, his teeth, and the hot planes of his body. She arched, groaning in heady satisfaction as one particularly violent jerk tore her shirt from her, and she grappled furiously with him, needing his skin against hers. Rolling, she struggled, pinning him, but he answered in kind and flipped again, trapping her beneath him again. Not what she wanted, but what she needed. She needed him on top of her like this, needed the weight of him holding her down. Whining, she bucked under him, but he held her down, easily divesting her of her bra. One lazy fingertip teased her, drawing circles and lines and pretty patterns on her skin.

"Ah, look at you." Slowly now, he rubbed one nipple, then the other, avidly watching her quivering response. "You're all rose and ivory. So beautiful…and so dirty. Let's get you clean." Before she could wiggle or utter a word, he spun about to face her feet, still sitting on her to hold her in place. Deft fingers unlaced her boots, dragged off her pants.

She watched him, suddenly feeling oddly powerless, taking in the shape of his shoulders, the play of muscles in his back. The dark want in his eyes when he flicked a hot glance back at her. As if surrounded by a thick, viscous fluid, she fought to raise her arms, to grip the hem of his shirt. Turning back to her, his hands joined hers, and together they peeled the fabric away. She traced his muscles, her clever fingers locating and indexing each scar, each birthmark. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen; he was perfect. She couldn't stop looking at him. With a quick, almost throwaway flick of his muscles, he stood and pulled her up, tight against him, and walked her backwards into the tiled shower. She still couldn't stop staring, studying every line and angle and feature.

He adjusted the controls, and soon hot water and steam were pouring into the enclosure. Heedless of the water streaming on them from every direction, he toed his boots off and kicked them aside. Spinning her in slow, drifting circles, he spread her favorite body wash over her, smiling at her answering tremor. His palms slicked slowly, soothingly over her, lathering her back and legs, soapy fingers gliding around and over and between her limbs, leaving soapy trails over her breasts, her nipples. "That's much better. You're so sweet, so smooth and lovely and clean now."

Her head dropped forward onto his shoulder, the sudden weakness unnerving her even as it felt so damned good. "Don't stop, don't stop…" Her reverie deepened with every touch of his wide, skillful hands.

Her arms circled him, and she began to share her lather with him, until he was also covered. Gently, so gently he barely felt the touch, the pads of her fingers worked the soap onto his back, tenderly cleaning the scratches running along his shoulders before soaping his arms and hands, his chest and abdomen. When he felt her touch sink even lower, his eyes closed and he gritted his teeth, trying desperately to hang onto his control while she lazily stroked him through his pants. His breath was coming in fast, sharp gulps – this sudden, soft mood she was in was killing him. To his surprise, she began to push him back until he sat with a soft thump on the shower bench. Hot water ran in rivulets down her body, streaking through the thick bubbles, highlighting and exaggerating her curves, and he gazed up at her in awe. Nothing he'd seen in his life had ever been so breathtaking. A knowing, dreamy smile grew on her face, almost as if she'd read his thoughts, and she sank to her knees in front of him. He only dimly registered her supple fingers working the buttons on his fatigues and tugging the sodden material down, and he somehow managed to lift his hips to help her. His heart, his mind, his lungs all stopped working at the first brush of her hands against his hips. He fought for breath as she soaped him thoroughly, her palms moving in seductive circles, pressing and rubbing, gripping and stroking, until his eyes rolled helplessly to the ceiling. This, this was what he wanted, what he craved. The stunning intimacy only they could share. This was what he experienced only rarely, when he was able to coax her to lower her guard. Just as the streaming water stripped all the soap from him, she stripped all thought from him. He wanted.

He looked to her again, his hands automatically reaching for her, but she leaned back, just out of his grasp. Smiling at his frustration, she shook her head, a minute gesture of control. She waited; he watched. Finally he dropped his arms, causing her smile to disappear, an intensity rearing up in its place. Her head dipped down, down to his thigh, and she nuzzled him, delighting in his hiss of reaction. A fierce burst of possessiveness flared in her, filled her body and head with a rush. Caught unprepared, she could only respond, and hungrily took him in her mouth, so lost in sensation she barely heard his broken moan. He was moving now, hard, jerking motions of his hips, so she gripped him tightly at the waist and continued her hot, slick journey up and down his hard length. Tasting, testing. Taking. His fingers thrust through her dripping hair, gripping tight, holding her to him, guiding her lips and following at the same time. His gasps and moans and curses echoed faintly in the room, almost drowned out by the streaming jets of water.

God. God. The world could wait – everybody, everything. Nothing mattered more than her, more than here. More than now. His release was swiftly rising in him, and he was determined to finish this with his arms around her. His hands loosed their death grip on her hair and dropped to her shoulders, tugging and pulling until her eyes rose to him. "Now," he rasped, grateful that he could speak at all at the sight of her watching him. Watching her. He saw the reluctant concession in her gaze, and he lifted her, pulled her up. She slithered onto him, kneeling on the bench, straddling his lap. His hands grasped her hips, his long fingers curling around luscious curves, pressing into soft, supple flesh. He looked up into her eyes. So light in color and yet so dark. Dark with desire, with need, with vulnerability. She was shaking, small droplets dripping from her face to his. Their breath mingled and merged as he pulled her close, as she sank down onto him. He felt her body yield to his, her slick folds stretching, surrounding him. She moaned into his mouth, sucking and tasting his lips and tongue with an almost maniacal fervor. Neither moved, but for their seeking mouths and heaving chests. Without haste, as if they had forever to be just as they were, they stared, each taking possession of the other.

He needed more, more of her. He needed every inch. Steadying her, he spread his knees, pulling her legs wider and allowing himself to sink that last little bit further inside her. A desperate, trembling whine flew from her lips, and she bowed backwards, a pale curve of muscle and softness and heat, her hands behind her, clutching his knees. "Fuck, yeah." Slowly, so slowly, she moved, just a tiny twitch of her hips, but it was all he needed to set him off, and he surged upward in reaction, penetrating her even more fully, forcing matching groans from both of them. She was allowing him to set the pace, bending even further backward, secure in his hands. Secure in her trust. If only she knew just how secure. He wasn't about to let go of her. He increased his tempo, bringing her more forcefully onto him, viciously pleased with her moaning response. Her breath wheezed in, shuddered out, and she writhed backward and forward, grinding lustfully against his hips, delighting in the feel of him inside her.

He drove into her, harder, grunting with the effort. Soon, it had to be soon. She was ready, too, her wild cries announcing her impending orgasm. Wanting to help her along, desperately wanting to touch her, he slid one hand around her waist, snugging her center more tightly against him. His free hand dropped down, brushing between her legs, stroking her, pulling and pressing urgently. It was more than enough. "Booth!" She came violently, flooding around him, her body clenching, clutching, locking into place. A full-throated scream ripped from her, and her convulsing body pulled his release from him. Teeth bared, head slamming back into the tiles, he emptied into her with a roar, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises as his hips plunged and jerked, as he hammered himself inside her. Heart racing, his body went lax, the only muscles still working those that were holding her to him.

*****

Gently falling water covered their bodies in a satiny, soothing warmth. He gradually became aware of sounds, and hazily realized it was her. She was panting, sobbing cries continuing to pry their way out of her throat. Sliding his hands along her arched back, he pulled her forward again until she was wrapped around him, still surrounding him. Eyes closed, he began to rock her, his movements almost imperceptible. Her listless arms were trapped at her sides, and her head lolled weakly on his shoulder. But the comfort he offered her began to work. Little by little she calmed, her cries becoming whimpers, which became hiccuping gasps. Finally, she took a large, deep breath, and he felt her hands slide to his waist. He avoided her eyes, knowing she was avoiding him as well. If he looked at her now, she would know everything. He wasn't ready to reveal himself. Not yet. Not that much.

He had known that he loved her for quite some time. It was impossible not to love her. But he was totally unprepared to discover that he was completely, irrevocably in love with her. What the hell was he going to do now?

What the hell, indeed? I suppose it wouldn't be Booth and Bones if they didn't wind up getting more than they bargained for, right? Hope you enjoyed this little interlude - and doesn't that shower sound fantastic? (I'm hoping for the Booth-accessorized version for my birthday...)