Spoilers/Timeline: Missing scene from 5x10 The Goop on the Girl.
A/N:Companion piece to "Knees Buckled, White Knuckled, We're Holdin' on Tight". Many thanks to space77 for insisting I write this and looking it over once I did.
Disclaimer: Bones does not belong to me. Title [It's Hard to Slow It Down When It Feels So Right] found in the Sugarland song Speed of Life.
Stepping back into the Jeffersonian, I take a deep breath, having just delivered Booth the spare clothes from his SUV. I drop my lab coat in my office and run my hands through my hair. Despite the frigid December air, the tension that's been building in my body all morning is overwhelming. I need to do something.
Quickly, I slip into the restroom, grateful that the FCC scanner unit won't be here for another half hour, that he's busy changing out of his borrowed lab coat. The door slams shut behind me and I flip the lock before sinking onto the nearby chair. What was so endearing about Booth in Jeffersonian blue? How could he look so... cute... and sexy at the same time?
The chair scrapes across the linoleum as I try to get comfortable, my eyes slipping shut, the image of him perched on the lab table while I unbutton his shirt rushing back. The throbbing between my legs intensifies and I groan, sliding my hands down my sides.
It had been so damn hard not to let my hands drift over his shoulders, span his waist, trace his strong abdominals - I shudder, hands flicking open the fly on my pants, fingers eagerly pushing my panties aside - it had been a good thing Cam interrupted when she did. I've been so on edge around him lately who knows what would have happened next.
Not that something happening between us would be bad. Far from it. But with him I know it would be more and part of me - the not-as-deep-down-as-everyone-thinks part that's aware of 'making love' and the promise of forever - isn't quite ready for it.
Yet.
Hell, even having my hands in his hair had increased the desire coursing through me and I found myself relieved to have evidence to focus on instead of the reaction (the way my pulse increased as I slid his shirt off, how my breath hitched as I crouched to push off his pants) he was creating in me, the one I knew I was causing in him.
Yes, Cam's disruption had been well timed.
Slowly, my fingers begin to move against my skin, grazing lightly over my sex before sliding lower, teasing.
God, I'm wet.
Uncomfortably so.
How - oh shit, does that pressure feel good - can a man who prides himself on being able to read people so easily not realize he does this to me?
That undoing his tie, being at eye level with his waist, had left me craving - needing - release. My hips buck forward bringing my orgasm even closer, small tremors starting to radiate through my body.
Damn, he really did have a perfect acromion. And his back... the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles would twist under my hands as he moved above me...
My fingers press desperately over my clitoris again and again, harder and harder until I'm chanting his name low under my breath, clutching the chair as the pleasure rushes through me.
Opening my eyes, I lean back against the cold wall for a moment, completely gratified: now I can concentrate on helping him locate Santa's accomplice.
My respiration finally slowing, I button my pants and shakily stand, holding my breath as I pull open the restroom door. I expect to find him leaning against my doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for me, but he's not there. In fact, my eyes sweep through the lab, he's nowhere to be found. Where is he? He should be done changing by now...
All other possibilities exhausted, I pound on the men's restroom door, hoping he's inside. His voice, low, perhaps a little anxious, answers me and I let out a small sigh of relief.
Several minutes later, the door finally opens and he stumbles out, trying to close his belt and slide into his jacket at the same time. I can't stop myself: I bend over and close the buckle for him.
"All set," a jolt of heat gathers low in my belly again and I turn towards the doors, not trusting myself to look at him, "let's go find the transmission source."
I feel him fall into step behind me, his hand hovering over my back. Completely gratified? Perhaps I should reevaluate.
