Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in future

A/N: Written in response to wtvoc's prompt: booth and brennan; booth in the kitchen, preparing his specialty. he must be wearing an apron, with our without an amusing phrase printed on it. Thanks to space77 for the look over!

Disclaimer: Bones doesn't belong to me; title from Lady Antebellum's Our Kind of Love


She dropped her bag on the floor and inhaled deeply, the muffled cursing coming from her kitchen causing her to laugh. It felt good to be home though she had a suspicion it was coming back to the originator of the cursing that was the actual source of her relief; the weekend of press had been exhausting and, though it seemed ridiculous to admit, after only two days she had missed him.

"Booth," she let her fingers linger on the key to his apartment, the one nestled next to hers, idly wondering if she could convince him to give it up, "what are you making it? it smells ama-" 
 Her breath left in a small gasp and she stilled in the doorway as her eyes lingered over him.

He was standing, back towards her, hunched over her stove, wearing the sheriff's badge socks she'd bought him for his birthday, jeans, and - she reached out, gripping the wall for support - an apron tied tightly around his waist.

Where had he found an apron?

"Hey," he turned to face her, shutting the oven door as he did, "you're back."

"You knew I was returning this evening, why else would you be in my apartment?"

"Oh, you caught me, Bones, I routinely break in here to cook." He winked and adjusted the neck straps of the apron, directing her attention to his strong chest and she realized it was her apron.

Well, the one that Angela had made for her a couple years ago after finding out about her lessons with Carly. Deep blue with "Dig This" stretched across the front, it not only accentuated his bare chest, but highlighted his broad shoulders and slim waist. It fit him, well, there was no other word for it, deliciously.

"Perhaps we should correct things so that you no longer have to break into my place and I no longer have to break into yours." She glanced down at the floor realizing that now she couldn't just leave it hanging there. "I think we should move in together."

He almost dropped the pan he'd been placing in the sink. "What?! Really?"

"Yes, we're practically cohabitating already; it seems illogical to continue to do so from two sepa-"

His lips crashed down on hers and she smiled against him as his hands cupped her face. "Yes, god, yes," he pressed a kiss to her forehead, "when can I move in?"

Chuckling, she let her head fall to his shoulder for a moment before standing on her toes to glance at the mess on the counter behind him. "Whenever is most convenient for you and Parker."

"I guess I should wait for my lease to run out, but once it does..." He grinned, dimples appearing as he tugged her closer.

"That sounds logical to me. Now," she stepped out of his embrace, investigating the empty pan in the sink, "what are you cooking?"

"Well, I had planned on making the Seeley Booth specialty, but since that's chicken parmesan I had to adjust it some... turned it into eggplant parm instead...." In an uncharacteristic move, he bit his lip, worry evident on his face, "I hope it turns out all right."

"If it tastes half as good as it smells, there's nothing to worry about." She leaned against the counter, watching as he continued to clean up, "You really shouldn't be cooking without a shirt on though..." she gulped, the lower muscles of his back contracting as he moved, "it's dangerous..."

"I got sauce on it; didn't want to make it worse." He glanced over his shoulder, a wave of arousal sweeping through him as he realized what she was observing. Inhaling sharply, he moved towards the fridge, needing to distract both of them before his carefully prepared dinner was ruined.

"How were the interviews?"

"Boring. Same questions as always."

"Not surprising. Wine?"

"That would be nice.... I just don't know how many times I can state that you're not Andy, that anthropology is always my first priority..."

He handed the bottle over his shoulder, closed the door, and promptly found himself pinned to the cold metal, the wine bottle barely settling on the edge of the counter before her hands grasped his hips and her teeth scraped over his collarbone.

"Oh, fuck," his arms wrapped around her waist automatically, pulling her closer as his mouth met hers, tongue tracing her bottom lip.

Sighing, she ground against his growing erection, her fingers unknotting the apron, skimming down his spine and slipping under the waistband of his jeans. "Shit, I..." her fingers pressed into his ass, driving him, if possible, even closer, "how could I need you this much after just two days?"

His hips bucked forward, hands tangling in her hair as he sucked on her jaw. "Mmm, coz I'm," his back bowed, heated skin pressing against cool metal as her hips rocked against his, "I'm part of you and you're..." he pulled back, thumb caressing her jaw, "you're definitely part of me."

"Hmmm, I think I can accept that." She stepped out of his embrace, lacing her fingers through his, and started toward the bedroom.

He took a fleeting look at the oven and grinned - dinner could burn (there was always that frozen pizza he'd bought as a back-up plan) - before following after her.