[Amatomnes] smut drabble
Partners take care of each other. It is a mantra she repeats in her head again and again and again as she walks home to her apartment. Partners take care of each other, partners take care of each other. She is not breaking any rules that she had made for herself and she is not giving in to those haunting primal urges.
Partners take care of each other.
Even though it is a scientific impossibility, he words are practically scalded into her brain when she opens the door. Her bag drops at the door and she doesn't even remember hanging up her coat on the rack as she makes her way further into the apartment. He's not too hard find, standing awkwardly in the kitchen with his network device in one hand and a beer in the other. His collar is clearly tight - as tight as it was this morning. She wants to yell at him for that.
But as she crosses the room living area, the anger she feels turns into nerve. The raw nerve she needs to make this moment happen, to be the partner that he deserves to have. A partner not consumed by doubts or fears or selfish desires that she is only beginning to comprehend, but a partner that wants nothing more than to see him live another day.
So she stops merely a foot in front of him and takes the beer and network and places them on the counter beside him. Before he has a chance to question her actions, she wraps around his head and pulls his mouth down for a kiss. She argues that it is for his sake, to preserve his life and well being. Yet the moment their lips touch, she is remembering this moment. She is remembering the first time they kissed, years ago in the D.C. rain - drunk on tequila and disappointments. Then again, under the mistletoe, and again in this very apartment - again and again and again.
It might be their first kiss for him but it is far from the first for her. And she remembers every kiss and every taste and she only wishes for a moment that he could, too. But he doesn't and she finds it doesn't bother her as she deepens the kiss. Moments later he pulls away and looks at her in shock. Words are exchanged and promises reminded and only a few more minutes pass before they're kissing again, stumbling away from the counter and towards his room.
She trusts him to lead her and not to let her trip. She remembers how you're supposed to trust your partner, like she's trusting him now and he's trusting her. His life is in her hands - not for the first time, and she doubts it would ever be for the last. Their lives are intertwined like their bodies, hands tangled in hair and clawing at clothing. And then he lifts her and she responds by wrapping her legs around his waist. They are so engrossed in each other that they do not realize that the door is closed until she has to place her legs back on the ground as he fiddles impatiently with the knob.
Laughter fills the air and she steps behind him. Her fingers and lips trail down his spine, identifying each individual vertebra. She then moves across his ilium until buttons are within grasp again. He groans and she shivers, proceeding to undress him. She remembers him once telling her a colloquialism - something about riding a bicycle that she did not understand at the time - and wonders if this is like that. Every moment now is only a matter of relearning what had been memorized months ago.
He grumbles something about her being a distraction and she doesn't care. All complications are gone now and she just wants to have fun. They will be Booth and Bones again come morning, but right now they can be whomever they want. She's reminded of that fact when he finally scoops her up and kicks that pesky door open. There's no need to close it behind them and she secretly relishes the idea that they could be as loud as they want.
When he sets her down, her calves touching the edge of the bed. He looks at her for a never-ending moment and she finds herself unable to look away no matter how much she wants to, has to, so he doesn't know the truth. Then, he places his index finger under chin and tilts her head so that he can kiss her again. The kiss is as searing as all the others, all tongues and teeth as they finally rip off the remainder of their clothing. He lays her down on the bed and kneels on top of her, the end of his tie tickling her breasts. With a teasing smirk against his lips, she reaches for it and uses the tip to trace little circles around her areolas. She moans loudly and he watches, transfixed, until she uses this moment to her advantage and flips them over so he is beneath her.
She likes it this way, likes the semblance of control she can pretend to have right now even if it is just another lie. As she licks and nips her way down his torso, she grips the bed sheets tightly. His muscles tense beneath her but she makes no attempt to inquire about his pleasure. The spasms, twitches, and grunts are enough of an answer. They set her own heart racing.
Her ministrations go unfinished. As soon as she takes his erection in her mouth, he jerks and sits up and pushes on her shoulders. He shakes her head and looks at her desperately. Her mind races and she knows - knows - in this moment that she can never, ever tell him about what had happened once between them. But that same certainty is erased when he kisses her again. They kiss and touch and he reaches past her to the condom package sitting on the bedside table. He tears it open and proceeds to roll it on. Hands then grip her right above her hips and he leans back on the bed, slowly guiding her on top of him.
The slow pace does not last. It is as fleeting as every moment that had led up to this point. Although she knows the connection is purely biological, the culmination of millions of years of evolution and the perpetuation of the species, she feels something different when engaging in intercourse with him. Not for the first time, she wonders about his theory regarding love making. But the thought passes quickly as she loses herself in the sensations.
It is not until after the fact - after orgasm and loosened collars and an awkward promise that they were still themselves - that she finally feels comfortable in her own skin again. He's asleep; the influx of norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin in his system having rendered him drowsy and unconscious. She hasn't left yet. She should have left, should have left seconds after affirming the non-constricted state of his collar. But instead she chooses to resist rationality for a little bit longer. She is safe if he is not awake to question her, safe to watch him sleep and to ponder.
Safe to admit, aloud, words she has been hiding for months now.
"I do love you, Seeley Booth," she whispers, placing a hand on his bare glenohumeral before finally rising from the bed. She covers him with a blanket and picks up her clothing as she exits the room. The door closes behind her.
Partners take care of each other. Partners always take care of each other.
Partners take care of each other.
Even though it is a scientific impossibility, he words are practically scalded into her brain when she opens the door. Her bag drops at the door and she doesn't even remember hanging up her coat on the rack as she makes her way further into the apartment. He's not too hard find, standing awkwardly in the kitchen with his network device in one hand and a beer in the other. His collar is clearly tight - as tight as it was this morning. She wants to yell at him for that.
But as she crosses the room living area, the anger she feels turns into nerve. The raw nerve she needs to make this moment happen, to be the partner that he deserves to have. A partner not consumed by doubts or fears or selfish desires that she is only beginning to comprehend, but a partner that wants nothing more than to see him live another day.
So she stops merely a foot in front of him and takes the beer and network and places them on the counter beside him. Before he has a chance to question her actions, she wraps around his head and pulls his mouth down for a kiss. She argues that it is for his sake, to preserve his life and well being. Yet the moment their lips touch, she is remembering this moment. She is remembering the first time they kissed, years ago in the D.C. rain - drunk on tequila and disappointments. Then again, under the mistletoe, and again in this very apartment - again and again and again.
It might be their first kiss for him but it is far from the first for her. And she remembers every kiss and every taste and she only wishes for a moment that he could, too. But he doesn't and she finds it doesn't bother her as she deepens the kiss. Moments later he pulls away and looks at her in shock. Words are exchanged and promises reminded and only a few more minutes pass before they're kissing again, stumbling away from the counter and towards his room.
She trusts him to lead her and not to let her trip. She remembers how you're supposed to trust your partner, like she's trusting him now and he's trusting her. His life is in her hands - not for the first time, and she doubts it would ever be for the last. Their lives are intertwined like their bodies, hands tangled in hair and clawing at clothing. And then he lifts her and she responds by wrapping her legs around his waist. They are so engrossed in each other that they do not realize that the door is closed until she has to place her legs back on the ground as he fiddles impatiently with the knob.
Laughter fills the air and she steps behind him. Her fingers and lips trail down his spine, identifying each individual vertebra. She then moves across his ilium until buttons are within grasp again. He groans and she shivers, proceeding to undress him. She remembers him once telling her a colloquialism - something about riding a bicycle that she did not understand at the time - and wonders if this is like that. Every moment now is only a matter of relearning what had been memorized months ago.
He grumbles something about her being a distraction and she doesn't care. All complications are gone now and she just wants to have fun. They will be Booth and Bones again come morning, but right now they can be whomever they want. She's reminded of that fact when he finally scoops her up and kicks that pesky door open. There's no need to close it behind them and she secretly relishes the idea that they could be as loud as they want.
When he sets her down, her calves touching the edge of the bed. He looks at her for a never-ending moment and she finds herself unable to look away no matter how much she wants to, has to, so he doesn't know the truth. Then, he places his index finger under chin and tilts her head so that he can kiss her again. The kiss is as searing as all the others, all tongues and teeth as they finally rip off the remainder of their clothing. He lays her down on the bed and kneels on top of her, the end of his tie tickling her breasts. With a teasing smirk against his lips, she reaches for it and uses the tip to trace little circles around her areolas. She moans loudly and he watches, transfixed, until she uses this moment to her advantage and flips them over so he is beneath her.
She likes it this way, likes the semblance of control she can pretend to have right now even if it is just another lie. As she licks and nips her way down his torso, she grips the bed sheets tightly. His muscles tense beneath her but she makes no attempt to inquire about his pleasure. The spasms, twitches, and grunts are enough of an answer. They set her own heart racing.
Her ministrations go unfinished. As soon as she takes his erection in her mouth, he jerks and sits up and pushes on her shoulders. He shakes her head and looks at her desperately. Her mind races and she knows - knows - in this moment that she can never, ever tell him about what had happened once between them. But that same certainty is erased when he kisses her again. They kiss and touch and he reaches past her to the condom package sitting on the bedside table. He tears it open and proceeds to roll it on. Hands then grip her right above her hips and he leans back on the bed, slowly guiding her on top of him.
The slow pace does not last. It is as fleeting as every moment that had led up to this point. Although she knows the connection is purely biological, the culmination of millions of years of evolution and the perpetuation of the species, she feels something different when engaging in intercourse with him. Not for the first time, she wonders about his theory regarding love making. But the thought passes quickly as she loses herself in the sensations.
It is not until after the fact - after orgasm and loosened collars and an awkward promise that they were still themselves - that she finally feels comfortable in her own skin again. He's asleep; the influx of norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin in his system having rendered him drowsy and unconscious. She hasn't left yet. She should have left, should have left seconds after affirming the non-constricted state of his collar. But instead she chooses to resist rationality for a little bit longer. She is safe if he is not awake to question her, safe to watch him sleep and to ponder.
Safe to admit, aloud, words she has been hiding for months now.
"I do love you, Seeley Booth," she whispers, placing a hand on his bare glenohumeral before finally rising from the bed. She covers him with a blanket and picks up her clothing as she exits the room. The door closes behind her.
Partners take care of each other. Partners always take care of each other.