Do Not Adjust Your Screen; Herein Lies An Actual Bones!Fic
Even though she has occasionally been involved in monogamous relationships, she has never believed in the concept. One person cannot be all things to another, cannot fulfill all aspects necessary for an individual to be content for any extended period of time.
And yet, in every role in which she has needed him-counterpart, confidant, partner, friend-he has been steadfast. She cannot imagine any other man, any other person, being all these things for her. What’s more, she doesn’t want to.
They are not lovers, but her loyalty to Booth is absolute.
If not technically monogamy, isn’t that a commitment nonetheless?
*
*
*
She’s shared her body with many men. She’s shared herself with only one. It has been a very recent consideration that the two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.
*
*
*
Yet another near-death experience, followed by the frantic reaffirmation of life.
A heated argument resolved with torn clothes and groped flesh.
A moment of profound emotion in which they find comfort in each other.
None of these are the way that it happens.
She never would have imagined that. (If she would ever admit to imaging such a thing, which she won’t. His ego is currently inflated enough as it is.)
*
*
*
“I’ve been thinking.”
He chuckles around a mouthful of chicken lo mein.
“Yeah, Bones. You tend to do that a lot.”
“Booth.” She tries for stern, but can’t seem to help the amused upturn of her lips.
She smiles a lot more these days, she thinks, and there is no denying that it has something to do with him. With this, whatever it is that feels so novel between them.
She gets up, moving to her bookshelf as Booth watches quizzically. When she returns, there is a small clay pot in her hands, intricately designed with a human face. Her partner arches an eyebrow, pointing to the object in her hands.
“Been doing ceramics with Sweets again?”
Brennan rolls her eyes, and chooses to answer a question with a question.
“Do you remember Michael Stires?”
Booth frowns a little, forehead crinkling with tiny lines she wants to smooth away.
“The naughty professor? Sure. What does he have to do with anything?”
She turns the pot over in her hands.
“He sent me this. After the Anok exhibit. As a congratulatory gift, I suppose.”
“He sent you a congratulatory pot?”
“It’s Moche. A Peruvian artifact, from the pre-Columbian era.”
“Oh.”
There is a dark look on his face, almost like foreboding, and she wonders what he is expecting to hear.
“Ever since I received this, I’ve been thinking.”
Booth gets up abruptly. Paces across the room, the broad scope of shoulders and back rigid with tension. She sets the pot down on the table and twists her hands to keep from reaching out to him. He stops, turns on his heel, and eyes her with a dark intensity. She waits.
“I get it, Bones.”
“You do?”
This is not something she expected, although she probably should have. He has always been too good at understanding her, even when she didn’t understand herself. Whereas before the realization brought a sense of discomfiture, now it inspires a warmth to blossom inside her chest.
“Yeah. You miss it. All this… the cases… it takes you away from what you really love. It’s…. it’s ok. It’s ok.”
This last part seems to be more for his own peace of mind that for hers. She is on her feet and in front of him, not a moment’s hesitation in correcting his mistake. The distress contorting his handsome features causes a stab of pain somewhere beneath her ribcage.
“No, that’s just it. I used to miss it. I used to, but now I… I like my life Booth. I feel very…. fulfilled. On both a professional and personal level, and that is greatly attributed to you.”
This openness, this reassuring comfort- they are things he taught her.
His wide, startled eyes search her face.
“You don’t ever want more?”
“More?”
“Yeah, Bones, more.”
“I find our work very satisfying, Booth. What more could I possibly want?”
There is an expression on his face she has come to recognize, but has not yet translated into the meaning behind it. Her face flushes, and she suddenly feels as if she is the one under the microscope.
“More than…this,” he says in a low rumble that brings goosebumps to her flesh. His hand is motioning between them, as if the action could describe what it is that they’ve become to each other.
She thinks she knows what that means.
Booth takes a step forward, invading her personal space. There has always been something predatory in that action. Now, the proximity seems almost a necessity.
“Bones,” he says. A whisper on a breath caressing her face, and he’s never said it that way before, as if it were an entreaty.
“Yes,” she says. She doesn’t know if it’s answer or acknowledgement. It feels like both, and neither.
It feels like permission.
And suddenly, there is no more space between them.
His mouth is warm, and strong, and coaxing. Which is entirely consistent with everything else about him, and she is all too aware that this is Booth. This is Booth, who would kill for her, who would die for her. Who’s already done both. Booth, who believes in breaking the laws of physics.
She would very much like to test the validity of his argument.
*
*
*
He’s everywhere.
Hands, mouth, tongue, skimming her flesh like he wants to devour it. Like he’s been waiting for too long to cross an imaginary line of his own construction. She’s beginning to think that maybe he has.
Each place he touches feels branded, and suddenly the notion of metaphorical marks takes on a whole new meaning.
But he’s already marked her in so many ways she can’t explain.
It feels like he’s inside every inch of her, invading every pore, connected on some level that goes far beyond the place they’re actually joined. Which is physiologically impossible.
Stop thinking, Bones. Stop thinking for once, and just feel.
Booth’s voice is low and soothing in her ear, whispering words of pleasure and appreciation. His explanations are in the way his mouth moves across her skin, tasting and caressing. His pointers can be found in the undulations of his hips, the rhythm his body sets against her own, the groans that reverberate deep in his chest when she arches up against him. It’s all evidence of a truth he is trying to tell her, and she can accept that.
She’s not thinking about gathering knowledge, or biological urges, or moving on, or much of anything really, except one thing.
He was right. This is worth it.
*
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*
There's an unexpected mirth bubbling up in her chest, and she gives herself over to it. Her laugh is low, husky, and his eyes fix on her face in mild horror.
"Geez, Bones. That's not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Way to give a guy a complex."
"Are you referring to your sexual performance?"
"No, I’m referring to my ability in the sack, and you know what? Some sort of reassurance would be great right about now."
He’s pouting, but she can see the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"Booth. You must be well aware by now that you are an extremely virile and enthusiastic lover. Many women over the years must have commented on your superior technique."
"Yeah, well, you're not 'many women'."
She eyes him warily, gauging if he’s just looking for a compliment. But his face is open and earnest. Her gaze travels over his long torso, barely covered by a sheet. The well-shaped terrain that only minutes ago sustained exploration under her hands beckons once again. She can’t help the swell of pride at the dental imprint bright red against his shoulder.
She’s marked him, too.
“Fine. You sexual performance is well above average. I am quite satisfied.”
He grins.
"You could have just said it was mind-blowing."
“That is highly impro-”
He kisses her soundly, effectively derailing her train of thought. The smirk is evident as he pulls away.
“I can’t believe I’ve found a way to render you speechless, Bones.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but he is already kissing his way down her clavicle, to her sternum.
“You are very skilled at that,” she breathes.
“There you go making it sound like a class again.”
“Well, you can’t deny that this has been highly educational.”
A jolt of heat moves through her at the responding chuckle.
“Booth.”
His lips still against her abdomen.
“What you said before… about the first time. I know you were speaking of an individual’s first sexual encounter, but I…”
“Bones, what are you talking about?”
“You told me that the first time you should be-”
“Totally cuckoo for the other person.”
“Yes. And that when you were sixteen, a part of you was.”
“What does that have to do with-”
“I just mean, this is our first sexual encounter. And I was wondering if your same rule applies. Regarding how you should feel about the other person.”
The vulnerability she hears in her own voice is a bit disconcerting.
“I think it’s different when you’re a grown-up.”
“Oh.” She bites her lip, looking away.
“Hey.”
A warm palm cups her cheek, turning her face towards him. His eyes are darker than she’s ever seen them, and the depth of emotion there makes her breath hitch.
“For the record- with you? It’s all of me, Bones. All the parts.”
*
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When it happens (because lets face it, it was anthropologically, sociologically, biologically, and every other -ogically inevitable), she must concede that there is much she has yet to learn.
She thinks she’ll never get tired of Booth’s methods of teaching her.
Fin.