A/N: Okay, this is from last month, lol, I had to be admitted to the hospital because type 1 diabetes got my ass, so I wrote this in the er... LOL Can't stop thinking about Temperance Brennan not even when my body is failing me!

- It's got that good ole S1 Brennan characterization (but I love Brennan in every season, just so we're clear...)

- Very very AU... Just how I like it

- Also, Bisexual Brennan nation, RISE!

Lastly, It gets overtly horny at the end... enjoy!

The whole school is rolling fake dice
You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

Voted Most Likely To Run Away (... From You)

Sitting down on the stool, Temperance looked around, her dress soaked in water- it was sticking to her skin uncomfortably, and so was her hair- which she'd taken down- to her neck. She was in dire need of a drink, a shower, and clothes that didn't look like they'd been put through a shredder: the white fabric of her wedding gown was torn in places, her feet achy and swollen from running in her heeled pumps- she hadn't felt any pain at the moment, but once the norepinephrine had worn off, she'd settled on throwing them away, despite the fact that the concrete was rough and coarse against the soles of her feet. It hadn't been what she wanted- whether it be the dress that was too tight against her chest and simply too fucking layered, or this life she'd been sharing with her very probably soon-to-be ex-lover.

She looked completely out of place in the dimly lit bar in which all the patrons clearly seemed to be having a much better day than her. She sighed, dropping her face between her folded arms- this was supposed to be the best day of her life, according to just about everyone who wasn't her: they'd all been trying to drill into her mind that a woman's wedding was the most memorable day of her life, and she'd played along- despite finding the notion a bit misogynistic ("Why couldn't it also be the best day of the groom's life?"), and quite frankly outdated. She'd gone along, not knowing how untrue that statement would be to her. She had never been the kind of person to fall for peer pressure, but given her track record, she'd never really known how to be happy. Everyone else had always seemed to know better than her.

Her relationship with Michael hadn't started out bad. She'd met him shortly before starting her doctorate, after trying to decide whether to take his Advanced Osteology course. She'd walked into his office with the intention of getting more information on the contents of the curriculum, but had been taken aback by how attractive she'd found him from the get-go.

There had immediately been tension between the two. She'd been bordering on inappropriate as an attempt to push his buttons, just to make sure she hadn't made it all up, but when he retaliated by taking a step closer to her, accepting her challenge as he stared her down, she knew it was real- while she knew engaging in a sexual relationship with her thesis advisor was generally frowned upon, they'd both been consenting adults, as well as intellectual equals: they could manage, she told herself. They were two capable, intelligent adults who were attracted to each other. They'd find a way to make things work.

She'd gotten her PhDs - plural, thank you very much, and had later officialized her relationship with Michael. Her older brother, Russ, had greatly disapproved and has made sure to tell her- many times, actually ("Tempe, for a genius, you can be really dense- do you not realize how fucking weird this is?" She could still hear him nagging her), but Temperance had insisted that she was no longer the fragile fifteen-year-old who'd just lost her parents.

She loved her brother with all her heart- the two had always been close, and their parents' disappearance had driven them closer. She would always be thankful for his presence in her life and for taking care of her- not backing down even when she'd been incredibly closed off after the loss of her parents, but she had grown. She no longer needed to be taken care of.

She'd realized far too late that there might have been some truth to Russ' statements- she would personally never engage in a relationship with any of her students: students needed to be guided and taught. She didn't think mentor-mentee situations should leave any room for ambiguity, but she told herself she and Michael were different- she and her students weren't intellectual equals.

She and Michael had gotten together under questionable and borderline ethically dicey circumstances, but they loved each other... Or so she thought they did- she'd had no frame of reference, besides that not-so-brief thing she'd had with Angela during their second year of college. That hadn't lasted long enough for her to attribute it to anything other than infatuation, though- what some called young love, she could simply explain away as a simple rush of neurochemicals. Her parents had been in love, but thinking about them only brought an onslaught of emotions she didn't want to deal with, ever.

But Michael had made her happy- it very well could be explained away, but the sensation was there. He'd challenged her intellectually, was one of the only few people she could actually have stimulating conversations with, and they'd been very sexually compatible, she'd found out one night after they'd stayed late in his office. She hadn't been sure who'd made the first move, but it had ended up with her bent over his desk as he pounded her from behind. It had been exhilarating, and the thrill of possibly being caught had only made it more pleasurable.

With time though, their relationship had evolved, for the better and for the worse. She had been willing to open herself up the slightest bit- not as much as she had with Angela, but she'd decided love was a chemical process that caused delusion after things had ended between them. The gratification that came with her relationship with Angela had been quick- she'd never thought of herself as the 'falling rapidly' type, but she'd found herself inexplicably drawn to the other woman, but her heart had ended up (metaphorically) crushed when the artist had inevitably packed her bags and left. The Angela Montenegro effect was very real.

Michael wasn't Angela, though. He wasn't as sensitive, artistic, vivacious, or nearly as kind, but everyone was different- there was no point in trying to recreate what she and Angela had with someone who would never be her.

(But when she had been worried about their affair possibly being labeled as the reason she got as far as she did, he hadn't even wanted to try to understand her point of view before dismissing her. This wouldn't have happened with Angela- but then again, Angela was also a woman. She probably understood better what it was like to be subjected to sexism on a daily basis.)

Unfortunately, she'd realized all too late that this hadn't been what she wanted- or at least with him. She'd tried avoiding for her mind to go there as long as possible, but her parents had been married, and they'd seemed so happy- in love. She had always been a bit more cynical when it came to relationships- those had never quite seemed to work out for her, but the way Michael had presented it had made sense- marriage was simply a way to establish and acknowledge their relationship legally. It didn't have to result in the 'picket fence life' (a term she'd had to google when he'd brought it up, and she shivered at the idea of it- god, she absolutely dreaded the idea of popping out 2.5 children and being a stay-at-home mother), but his logic seemed sound.

Marriage wasn't a new concept, and was significant in many cultures- as an anthropologist, she had to acknowledge that. Society and customs evolved over time- without it, they wouldn't survive. She had always thought of marriage as an antiquated and outdated ritual, with those most commonly being established to provide a formal structure in which to raise and nurture offspring, but she had to recognize not all marriages involved reproduction. It could serve multiple, other functions. It did make sense that if she was sharing her life for the time being with Michael, it didn't hurt to enter in this social contract.

She hadn't given in right away, though. It had taken Michael two tries for her to even consider it- the first time had been more of a spontaneous proposal, if spontaneous meant casually saying "We should get married" while buried inside her. She'd scoffed at him and simply told him that it wasn't going to happen, especially not if he asked in the middle of sex- it felt manipulative to take advantage of the state she was in.

It had taken him two additional tries for her to say yes.

She'd hated the wedding planning. She'd never seen the point of big weddings- she barely had any family, save for Russ, and it's not like he ever approved of her sleeping with her teacher, nor did she have that many friends, especially outside of the lab. She'd reconnected with Angela, tentatively at first. The odds of them bumping into each other where they did had been incalculable (literally, there were simply too many variables at stake), but Temperance was very glad that they had. Angela had traveled around the world, and had matured- momentarily settling in DC, but was still the somehow the same. Temperance would be lying if she'd sai she'd never thought about her during all those years.

She'd helped Angela get a job as a forensic facial reconstruction artist at the Jeffersonian Institute where she'd herself recently been hired, and the two had decided to remain friends, despite the tension that sometimes seemed to linger between them.

After a 'Girls' Night Out', which really just consisted of the two of them along with their colleague (or, as she would insist, "actually your boss, ladies") Cam, Angela had insisted they go home together since Cam had grabbed a cab and Angela lived by walking distance.

The two had been furiously giggling about something idiotic- Temperance couldn't exactly remember what, but she and Angela had been clinging to each other as they made their way up the stairs that led to Angela's first-floor apartment. Temperance caught a whiff of Angela's perfume- honey and lavender, just like always.

She still doesn't know who leaned in first- apparently a recurring occurrence with her- but before she knew it, she had Angela pinned against the wall as the two had shared a passionate kiss after stepping into the door, their minds fogged by the few too many Tequila Sunrises they'd had. When she gripped Angela's hips tighter, pulling away from her mouth to kiss down her neck, Angela put her hands on her shoulder, pushing her away ever so slightly. They were both breathing heavily, her lips were pink and swollen, her eyes slightly glassy with desire as the realization of what they'd just done had dawned upon her.

"I- I think you should go, Bren," Angela had quietly said, the kiss seemingly sobering her up.

"Ange, I-" Temperance began, leaning in ever so slightly, but the other woman held her hand up, stopping her in her tracks.

"Sweetie, you're getting married in a month... This is just- this is just... residual lust. So... let's just forget this ever happened, alright?" She pleaded, "You can either go home- or- we can stay and pretend this isn't a thing anymore. You love Michael- even though I personally think he sucks and so does your brother-, and he loves you, and- and you guys are going to spend your life together, Bren… I don't think you should throw all that away just because Tequila makes you a little horny."

Temperance's heart constricted a little at the mention of spending her life together with Michael- she'd accepted marriage as a contract for the time being, something that could be undone (even though she wasn't very happy at the idea of having to hire lawyers and engage in a legal battle over shared asset)- but not... Not forever.

But she'd stayed. She'd slipped into Angela's bed, and Angela had turned her back to her, facing the wall, while Temperance had faced the door.

"Ange?" She quietly said, after a full hour of staring at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The clock read 4:17 AM.

"Yeah?" Angela sleepily mumbled, "What?"

"I'm not sure I want to get married to Michael anymore," she said in a near whisper, "I'm not entirely sure I ever did in the first place... You know how I feel about social contracts."

She heard the slight ruffling of sheets, as well as the soft click of a light switch, and turned around to see that Angela had sat up and was looking at her, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

"Honey, you don't really mean this."

"But what if I do? What if by letting him use logic on me, I've been going against my own beliefs and behaving irrationally by my standards in the name of- of rationality?"

"Sweetie-"

"No, Angela- I just- What if I-"

"You're completely fritzing out, Bren. You're- you're freaking out because the wedding is getting closer. You're getting cold feet," she said, sending her friend a sympathetic smile.

"I don't see how the temperature of my feet has anything to do with this," she frowned.

"It's… just an idiom… It means you're just nervous about the wedding. Just sleep on it, we'll talk in the morning."

"But…what if- what if I kissed you because I don't want to marry Michael?"

"Well, would you rather marry me instead?" She raised an inquisitive brow and smirked when Temperance stayed silent, "Thought so. Until morning," she said, turning off the light and settling back into bed.

But morning came, and they didn't talk- instead, Temperance grabbed her things and bolted before Angela could even wake up.

She pulled out her wallet from her handbag- a miracle that she'd remembered to take it with her, and that she hadn't lost it in her attempt to get the hell away from everything that was wrong with her life. She'd put her phone on airplane mode to avoid all, the confused calls she would get- actions had consequences, and she was the first one to know- after all, the fact that her career had been on the line the second she decided to give in her baser urges made her all to aware of that but fuck, she just needed a drink.

She was aware of the looks she must have been getting, but she did not care. Fuck her life, actually.

Fuck Angela, for breaking her heart. Fuck Michael- for roping her into this. Fuck this.

She ordered a shot of Tequila, eagerly grabbing the shot glass, bringing it to her lips, wincing as it slightly burned on its way down her throat. She then ordered another one, just for good measure. Sometimes, indulging was the only thing stopping a girl from metaphorically burning down an entire bar.

She slightly turned around when she felt someone tap on her shoulder- a tall, brown-haired man, in a blue blouse. He had a kind smile and warm brown eyes- Angela had kind eyes too, but Michael didn't, she bitterly thought. Maybe these things simply didn't matter because seeing people's intentions in their eyes simply wasn't possible.

At least the idea of taking Michael's last name had been out of the question from the get-go.

"What?" She spat at him, not in the mood for chatting. Her day had been horrendous, and her evening was likely to be just as terrible. She couldn't go home, because Michael would be there, and she wasn't quite ready for that confrontation. She couldn't go to the lab, because Angela might be the one waiting for her there- and the Jeffersonian security might think she's insane if she were to show up in her current outfit.

"Whoa, easy there," The man said, sitting on the stool next to her, "You look like you've had a pretty rough day."

"You don't even know the half of it," She let out a humorless laugh, "I'm considering starting over and moving to Costa Rica... No one would ever bother me there…" She shook her head, "Weddings are ludicrous. We as a society need to move past this shit," He raised an eyebrow at her, a glimmer in his eye.

"Yeah, I think you could definitely use another drink," He said, motioning for the bartender to bring them two drinks, "Wanna tell me what happened? It's not every day that you find a beautiful woman in a dressing gown drinking her sorrows away in a bar."

"And this is this any of your business, how?" She said, downing another shot. Maybe the cathartic release she needed could be found at the bottom of a bottle of hard liquor.

He didn't seem taken aback by her cold demeanor, "It's always easier to talk about these things with strangers- no judgment, and all."

She turned to face him, feeling emboldened by the alcohol- she wasn't intoxicated yet, damn her high alcohol tolerance, but the warmth radiating in her belly was indicative of the fact she would be getting there soon with the help of a few more shots. "Well, if you must know..." She smirked at him, "I screwed my college professor while I was still his student, let this relationship put my reputation as a forensic anthropologist on the line despite being the best in my field, then let him talk me into marrying him before realizing at the absolute last fucking minute that this is not what I want, so I ran the hell away. And now I'm here, so today may go down in history as the worst twenty-four hours of my life."

"Is that all?" He said, tilting his head. She shot him a look but immediately softened when her eyes came into contact with his- her breathing quickened slightly when he smirked at her.

"Isn't that enough for you?" She inquired, slightly shaking her head as she rested her head on her closed fist. "But for your information, it only gets worse. Any intellectually rigorous person would never get married... I'm glad I reached that conclusion before it was too late."

"Hey!" He softly protested, "I'd like to get married someday."

"Yeah well, because that worked out so well for me," she said, pointing to her torn dress, "Good luck with that... And let's hope your bride-to-be doesn't run away from her own wedding."

"Ah," He nodded, "I had an ex, uh, and- she didn't want to get married."

"Smart girl. I should have known better," she sighed, staring down into her glass.

"Come on, is it that bad?"

For the next fifteen minutes or so, she went into excruciating detail about her relationship with Michael- she was shocked at how much she was willing to share with someone she barely knew, but he'd assured her there would be no judgment from him- and if she did, she'd simply flee the bar and never step in this town ever again. Fleeing was something she was getting scarily good at.

"Ah well," The man said, sending her a sympathetic smile, "That's quite the story you got there, love."

"Don't call me 'love'... We really don't know each other like that..." She said, and he raised an eyebrow at her. She simply sighed, "But yeah, I guess it's… an unfortunate turn of events."

"Well, I still haven't caught your name, so it's not like I can call you by that... I'm Seeley, by the way," He said, extending his hand towards her, "But I like Booth better."

"Seeley's a unique name," She answered, shaking his hand, "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. Emphasis on the Doctor. PhD… I don't like flesh... Or living people."

"Dr., huh? Pretty unique name yourself," he said, echoing her words, "So, how did you end up here? I mean, you could have gone anywhere else..." He said, his tongue darting out to moisten his top lip.

"I needed somewhere no one would find me... The wedding dress definitely makes me a target."

"Ah," he said, nodding, "The opposite of a needle in a haystack, I supposed... Is there anything I can do to help?" He said, slowly inching towards her.

"Maybe," She eyed him up and down, licking her lips. What was she doing? "Perhaps you can just drink with me... Let me use your shower or something," she said, looking down at her dress.

He raised an eyebrow, "So you'd come over to my place?" He asked, and she nodded, and he pulled back slightly, trying to assess if she was being facetious.

"Are you joking?"

"It's not really something I do."

"Did your parents never teach you about stranger danger when you were a child?"

She winced slightly at the mention of her parents. "You know, I could kick your ass if I wanted to, just so you know," she said, turning back to her drink, "I am trained in three forms of martial arts…" She held up three fingers, "It's not a problem, who I go home with."

"Oh, so you wouldn't mind me talking you home then?"

She chuckled, shaking her head, "I'm not going to have sex with you, stranger."

"And I never said anything about that, stranger."

"I need a shower," She said breathlessly as she rubbed her arms, her teeth chattering. She was freezing, even with his jacket that she'd draped over his shoulders, her arms shaking slightly as she shredded it. She reached for the back of her dress, slowly unzipping it and letting it pool around her ankles, needing to get out of this stupid garment after so many hours in it- she didn't like what she symbolized- if burning it was an option, she would have taken it right away- but right now, she didn't care.

She turned around, smirking as she took in the stunned look on Seeley's face, before walking into the door he had designated as the bathroom.

She felt all the tension leave her body as the hot water hit her back- god, this felt good. After her day, she just needed to sit and let herself stew. Maybe she could just turn into human soup if she stayed there long enough. Soup wasn't sentient. Soup didn't need to go home to its shitty fiancé that it ran away from.

She walked into the living room only in her towel and underwear, to find Booth sitting on the couch, beer in hand, watching the TV. Maybe it was time to move on to another method of achieving catharsis- perhaps… Perhaps she just needed someone to fuck her like the world was ending.

"I thought you weren't going to have sex with me," He said, smirking slightly at her when she pushed him onto the couch, straddling his lap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," She said in a low voice, "It's purely innocent." Her lips twitched into a smug grin as she heard his hitch when she slowly inched towards him.

"You know, you asked what you could do to make me feel better," She whispered in his ear, and his hand flew to her hips. She winced a little bit at the cold contact against her now warmed-up skin, but she didn't mind the slightest bit. Her mind was a little too clouded with alcohol for her to care- maybe Angela had been right about Tequila making her libidinous.

She moved her head, pressing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She brushed her lips against his, his breath hot on hers. God, this was exactly what she needed.

"I think I might need you to fuck me, actually," She said pulling him closer and crushing her lips against his.

Her lips moved in sync against his. She slid her tongue into his mouth, letting out a small moan as his hands moved down her body to cup her ass. He squeezed, pressing her core against his.

"Yeah," she whimpered, when his hand traveled up her body to cup her breast, his hands brushing against her nipple ever so slightly, making them strain against the white lace of her bra. Her entire chest felt flushed, and she felt a tugging in her lower abdomen and could feel the beginning of an erection, "Touch me. I need more."

He pulled her even, pressing her core further against his erection. He gasped into her mouth, pulling slightly at her now erect nipples, his mouth moving to her throat, stopping to suck on a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Her hand flew to his hair, pulling at it a bit harshly as it traveled down lower to her chest.

"Suck on my nipples," She said, grabbing his face with both of her hands and bringing it to her chest.

"God- Looks like-" She gasped, letting out a particularly high-pitched moan as he yanked down the cup of her bra, his lips fastening around her nipple, "Looks like I'm not the only one getting something out of this, altar boy," she managed, remembering a comment he'd bade about his upbringing. By that moment, she was breathing so loudly she could barely get the words out. He moaned when one of her hands left his neck and cupped his erection through his pants. He simply smiled against her nipple, flicking it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth, sucking ever so slightly on it. His other hand moved from her ass to her front, palming her through her panties, groaning as he felt the dampness through the silky fabric. He softly stroked her, causing her to press further in his hand.

"Mhh," She moaned, writhing and rocking against him, the pressure in her chest inexorable, the light touches between her legs sending tiny jolts of electricity through her body, "Stop teasing," She commanded, feeling slightly disappointed as she felt a rush of air against her chest as his lips left her nipple, only for him to flip them over so she would be spread out against the couch as his mouth moved down on her.

He yanked her panties down her legs, not caring if he tore them. This would be a problem for another time. He grabbed her hips, his breath hot against her.

"How do you like it?" He said, looking up at her eyes.

"I just- I don't know, right now. Just stop talking and fuck me with your tongue."

"You're quite bossy, you know."

"Yes, I know," she gasped, "Now get to work before I fucking kill you."

That was all Booth needed to hear, as he spread her legs, separating her lips with his fingers and flicking her tongue at her. Her knees nearly gave out as she bucked against him, his tongue going back and forth on her clit. Her nipples throbbed in rhythm as he lapped at her core, and she couldn't help the moans that were making their way out her mouth. Yeah, this was exactly what she'd needed to forget about her day.

"Yeah like that," One of her hands flew to his hand, pulling ever so slightly and steering hiù, while the other cupped her breast, her chest heaving up and down as the tension in her body built to up to a fever pitch. Every single cell in her body was humming as he continued his ministrations, and felt herself unravel when he inserted a finger in her, then another one, stroking her inner walls. The combination of sensations was too much, and she let out a keening cry as her inner muscles contracted against his fingers. He slowed his tongue and fingers down, whimpering slightly as he helped her ride out her orgasm.

"Well," she said, as she tapped on his shoulder, indicating for him to come up, "That's one way to spend my wedding night," She said, as she yanked his collar, putting her mouth to his. "Now give it to me like you mean it... Please."

"Well, I guess I should be glad you said 'please'," he chuckled as she worked on his belt buckle.