The Burden of Proof

Irrefutable Conclusion

This wasn't even funny. She was losing her mind. She had no control whatsoever over anything anymore. First, she had trouble concentrating at work; she couldn't compartmentalize him at all. To be honest, she had always wanted him in a very primal way. His pheromones had definitely always called out to her. But the line had always been there to remind her of what was at stake. However, now? No line. She could have him. Not only that, but she would have him. It was supposed to be a good thing. A great thing. But it was not supposed to alter her brain functions, for God's sake!

Yet, there she was, in front of his apartment door… giving her hair some volume with her fingers. What the hell? That wasn't her. Ok, fine. It was her. She had never felt more herself than right now. She just wasn't sure she liked that person at all. That typical woman who had spent over half an hour deciding which matching underwear she wanted Booth to see for the first time. And she had gone with black? on! How original could she get?

"Hi," he greeted her, opening the door.

Her fist was still raised. She hadn't even knocked.

"Hi," she smiled, slowly bringing her hand down.

Booth realized he was staring at her in a pretty intense way that was about to become creepy. Her hair was down, wavy, shiny. Inviting. Her blouse was… yes, it was very inviting, too.

"You're beautiful, Bones."

And now you're blushing? How girly could she get?

She shoved the bag in his hands instead of dropping it to the floor to push him against the wall behind him.

"I brought wine. Red and white. I didn't know what we were having for dinner, so…"

Stop. Babbling.

"Oh, thanks."

"I knew you probably already had beer, so I didn't get any, I…"

I said. Stop. Babbling.

Booth chuckled.

"Come on in," he said, getting out of the doorway.

She did. And as she looked around the apartment she knew so well, she tried to block all thoughts. Because they didn't even have dinner yet, and all she could think about was how comfortable the couch was. And how she had always wanted to step inside that bedroom of his.

"It smells good," she said, turning to him.

"Portobello mushroom tortellini with a candied almond spinach salad," he blurted out.

That didn't sound rehearsed at all. Good job, buddy.

"Yes, that smells good too," she said, passing in front of him with a sly smile on her lips.

He followed her to the living room like a puppy. Yes, like an excited puppy.

"Do you want some wine?" he asked, slightly raising the bag he was holding.

"Sure. Here, I can do it." She went to take the bag back, but he stopped her.

"Oh, dinner's almost ready. You can sit down, I'll be right back."

"I can't just sit down while you're doing everything," she said, tilting her head.

"You're my guest. Guests are not allowed in the kitchen."

Her face dropped.

"Booth, please. Let me do something. I can't just… sit and do nothing." I'll go crazy.

He winced.

"The kitchen's a mess. It actually looks worse than when Pops set it on fire."

"It can't be that bad."

She took the bag and headed to the small kitchen. Pots and pans everywhere... pieces of vegetable on the floor… sink full of dishes…

…Was that sauce on the wall?

"Wow," she let out. "You weren't kidding."

Embarrassed, he put his hand through his hair and let it hang onto the back of his neck for a few seconds. Then he snapped out of it. He swiftly cleared the table while she put the white wine in the fridge. A wave of normalcy washed over them. Without words, they knew exactly how to move in the kitchen without stepping over each other. She set the table while he finished prepping the salad; he brought two wine glasses as she uncorked the bottle. And before they knew it, they were having dinner. Their first dinner as a couple.

But as she cleared their plates off the table so he could serve the dessert, he remembered what he had forgotten.

"I'll be right back," he said before disappearing.

She put the empty dishes in the sink and realized she wasn't so nervous anymore… which made her nervous again.

He came back and put something in the middle of the table. She couldn't see what. She heard him say, "It's a little late for that, but…" and she heard a cracking sound. The scent of a burnt match tickled her nostrils. Booth hit the lights to let the candle glow dance all around them. She smiled, looked down to blush in peace, and looked up.

"You didn't have to do all this," she said. "I would have been more than fine with a grilled-cheese in the living room."

"I know," he shrugged, reaching for something behind him.

As soft music from the radio behind Booth started playing, a chuckle made its way up her throat. She bit down on her lips not to let it escape and shut her eyes tightly. Oh, my God.

Booth had never been more embarrassed in his life. He was ruining everything!

"You hate it," he cringed.

"No!" she interjected strongly. "I love it. It's just a little… weird. A good weird. But weird."

Her nerves got the best of her and she couldn't her but laugh out loud. Booth groaned and she tried to shut herself up with a hand over her mouth.

He turned the lights back on.

"No! Booth!"

And shut down the radio.

"No! Please," she pleaded again with remnants of giggles in her voice. He looked so disappointed, it broke her heart. Yet she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

She walked up to him, reached for the lights.

"I'm sorry!" she said, turning them off again. "I just…"

She turned radio back on and put her hands over his shoulders.

"I have to get out of my head," she said softly, searching for his eyes. "It's just that… details like that… those little touches… You're really good at them, and I've never met that side of you before. So I…"

She ran her hands up and down his arms and ended up lacing her fingers with his. He finally looked at her.

"… I just have to relax, that's all. I'm nervous," she admitted. "I'm really… nervous."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. They swayed along the music. She looked down at his shirt.

"You seem so… in control," she said. "And calm. You're so calm that it's making me feel stupid."

It was his turn to chuckle. To prove her how wrong she was, he gently grabbed her fingers and put them over his skin, pressed them on the side of his neck, right under his jaw, where she could feel his crazy rapid heartbeats.

"Oh…" she let out.

His skin was warm. She breathed in. And he smelled so damn good. She closed her eyes, feeling his heart pulsating under her fingers. His hand dropped to her wrist, his thumb moved over it, and she slowly let her fingers go down his neck and his chest. And she placed it over his heart.

He buried his nose into her hair, intoxicating himself with her delicate scent. Light headed, he caressed her back.

She moved her head slightly so his cheek was against hers and breathed down his neck. She sensed him shiver and he held her closer. She sneaked her nose under his ear. They spent a few seconds like suspended in slow motion. One never-ending delicious moment. Her lips brushed against his skin, not really on purpose, but then she pressed them against the same spot again. And again. Her lips trailed along his jaw as he turned his face towards her. She very deliberately teased the corner of his mouth with hers and let her fingers drift up to the back of his head. He kissed her once. Their noses met and lingered. She locked eyes with him. Her heart was thumping now. Shutting her eyes again, she sighed into another kiss.

As they tasted each other with growing intensity, his breathing was getting heavier and heavier, more and more arousing. Her lower body pressed hard against his and they moved into the living room. She clutched onto his shoulders. Tried to hang onto his chest. Slid her hands over the hard muscles of his waist, always pulling him closer. Tilting her head on the other side, she let her tongue lead the way into his mouth. Urged by an overpowering yearning, he grabbed her hips and pushed his towards her, letting her feel the firm tension in his pants. A soft, strangled moan escaped her lips and she pulled his ass closer, wanting to feel it over the same spot again.

He managed to sit on the couch and she straddled him. She needed to touch him. She needed to taste him. As his hands moved over her shirt, and his thumbs caressed the side of her breasts, her face dropped to his neck and her fingers fumbled with a button of his shirt. Her lower body instinctively moved back and forth, allowing her most intimate spot to rub over the hard bulge in his pants. She couldn't get his shirt open, her fingers were shaking. She urged to rip it off. Her need for him was so overwhelming. She was about to lose her own self.

She suddenly stopped moving. Her forehead resting on his chest, her breathing, panting, matching his. He tried to look at her. She was hiding her face. He pushed her hair out of the way and saw her eyes were closed.

"You ok?" he whispered.

"I can't…" she let out, her voice muffled between them.

He leaned back and forced her chin up with his index finger. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were glazed with desire. His pants were tight with frustration, but his brain was confused. He tried to joke his way out of awkwardness.

"Is it because I had pie for lunch? I brushed my teeth like… three times."

She let out a nervous laugh before taking a deep breath to explain. Her fingers played with his damn shirt button and she licked her very swollen lips before talking.

"I can't. Not now."


He hadn't meant to sound pushy. But she really did look like she could. Right now.

"Same reason I couldn't six years ago," she continued.

He let his fingers through her hair and frowned.

"Because I'm a mean bastard?"

"Because I want to too much."

His eyebrows rose up but he forced them down.

"Ok… uhm…" How could he phrase that without sounding like a horn dog? "I don't want to sound like I'm pushing this or… rushing you, but…" He shook his head. "That does not make any sense. At all."

She didn't know how to explain.

"I'm sorry," she huffed, shutting her eyes.

He cupped her face in his hands.

"Well, you don't have to be sorry," he laughed. "I'm not… mad or anything. I… We can watch TV."

She still had one leg on each side of his lap. She didn't look like she had any intention of ever moving.

She needed to explain.

"I'm really sorry, Booth. I know I've made things uncomfortable."

He shook his head.

"It's ok," he assured her.

"No." She laid her hands flat on his pectoral muscles. "I really… I want you to know that I really want to sleep with you. That's all I can think about. All the time!"

His erection was never ever going away, was it?

"I realize that we are in our 30s, almost 40s…" she said, pointing to him.

"Hey!" he laughed, interrupting her.

She went on.

"And that if I could stop thinking, we would have done it at least 6 times already in the past… today."

Had she said 'today' or 'two days'?

"I mean… I've fantasized countless times about the many ways we would do it."

His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but she put her hand over his lips to keep talking.

"But…" She slightly leaned forward, making sure he was looking at her. "This is important. I've never felt like it was that important before."

He pulled her fingers away from his mouth.

"Did I give you the impression that it wasn't important to me?" he asked, concerned.

"No! No. It's not you…"

He winced at the words. She remembered.

"I know! Angela warned me never to use that phrase with a man." She gathered her thoughts. "I'm just…"

Scared. Out of my mind.

"You're processing," he finished for her.


He nodded. She hoped he wasn't too upset with her.

"Don't worry," she added. "I usually don't take too long to process things."

He smiled softly and kissed her.

"Don't worry," he said. "You probably have no idea how patient I can be."

She took his beauty in. Yes. That man was beautiful.

"I want you, Booth. With every fiber of my being," she quoted back to him. But then she added, "In fact, if I had a penis, it would be really engorg…"


He got up instantly. She yelped, but he wasn't letting her fall. He let her down easy.

"Ok! What do you say we eat some dessert and stop talking about your penis, huh?"

"W… I don't actually have one," she made clear.

He burst out laughing.

"Good to know."

Angela seemed to be waiting for something.

Brennan didn't seem to understand what she was waiting for. She had to ask out loud.

"How was dinner last night?"

Brennan smiled and answered, "Really good."

Angela's eyes were sparkling with interest.

"I bet."

But she needed more than 'really good'. She wanted details. Lots and lots of details. Juicy details. Juicy was always good.

"Go on…" she pushed.

"Gordon Gordon gave him the recipe. He made Portobello mushroom tortellini and a spinach salad with almonds. Chefs usually don't give out their recipes, but he said it was for a good cause," she laughed. "Oh, and Booth even light candles and put some music. It was very nice."

Oh yeah. That's exciting.

Angela stood there, still waiting.


"I wasn't thinking of that kind of food. More of the one that feeds the soul."

Of course she had to frown a second before getting it.

"Oh! No. We didn't."

Angela laughed out loud. Yeah, right!

"Come on! I thought I was your best friend. You should be ashamed to lie to me."

"Booth says I'm not a very good liar," she said, as-a-matter-of-factly.

She was serious?

"You didn't?"


Angela blinked. Opened her mouth. And blinked. And closed her mouth.

"But we will," Brennan reassured her. "We're just… waiting."

"Waiting, huh?" She put her fists on her hips. "Aren't you two sick of waiting?" I know I am. "Wow. I was convinced you would have been all over each other in a matter of milliseconds." She sighed. "You, my friend, have amazing self-control."

"Why do you assume I'm the one in control?" Brennan asked.

Because. Have you not seen the way he looks at you? That gorgeous man has been walking around with a massive hard-on for the past 5 years.

"Just a guess," she explained. "Well… If you ever need some privacy here, I know this secret place downstairs. Cleopatra's bed. Fabulous." She winked and she went back to work.

"So! How are things?"

Sweets waited. Neither of them was talking. Or seemed to want to. Ever.

"Any problems you'd like to address?" he tried again.

Brennan chuckled.

"We barely even started dating. How could we have problems already?" she said.

Straight to the point, then.

"How's the intimacy?" Sweets dropped.

Brennan was instantly taken aback. She was even more shocked that Booth was still quiet. Sweets should have lost an eye by now.

"Why aren't you objecting?" she asked, turning to her partner.

"Because I'm not a lawyer," he replied.

Sweets laughed.

"Very funny!"

But his laughter died as soon as Brennan shot him a look.

"Or not. Ok," he mumbled.

"This is highly unprofessional of you, Dr. Sweets," she barked.

"Actually, it's not. It's my job to counsel you, to induce discussions to help you manage a healthy working-relationship and balance it with the new romantic aspect."

She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head 'no'.

Booth said, "Maybe we…"

But she shut him up instantly.

"I am not discussing my… our intimacy with him. No way. Uh huh."

Sweets took the opportunity to explain.

"Fear of intimacy is…"

But she cut him short.

"Can we please stop saying 'intimacy'? And I'm not afraid of… it."

The psychologist had to jump on that choice of terminology.

"You were never afraid of words either…"

Brennan couldn't believe this. She looked at Booth, helpless. But he was just sitting there, looking at the floor.

"I've had plenty of sex before Booth. I think I can manage."

"I'm not necessarily referring to sex, Dr. Brennan," Sweets rectified. "Fear of intimacy involves the reluctance to open up and reveal your true self, perhaps because you've been hurt in the past. Or, if you grew up in an emotionally closed environment and never learned how to be vulnerable to either friends or lovers, you may have a hard time opening up now."


She was still looking over at Booth.

Say something!

She glared at Sweets.

"I'm open. We talk about things. We..." To Booth again. "Right?"

"Why are you looking at me? I didn't say anything!" he said.

I know that!

"Well, you're not helping me either."

Sweets decided to continue his explanation.

"Withdrawing when others talk about their thoughts and feelings, protecting yourself, often reveals fear of intimacy."

"Well, that's Booth," she noticed.

Booth frowned. Sweets babbled on.

"Being critical of yourself or others is fear of intimacy."

"Well, that's you," Booth told her.

Brennan's dug her nails into her palms. Her teeth clenched.

"Feelings of anger or discomfort when others voice their thoughts and opinions show a fear of intimacy."

She spun up on her feet.

"That's it. I've had enough."

And she stormed out, slamming the door back shut.

Booth spat an aggressive glance at Sweets who raised both his hands in his defence.

She was leaning against the wall near the elevator when he found her.

He approached carefully.

"Is it just me or did we just swap roles? That was so Freaky Friday."

"It's Wednesday," she corrected him. "But it was freaky. What's with you? Why didn't you say anything to him? You said it yourself! It's none of their business! Why does everything we do or don't do have to go on the record? Why do we need to dissect everything? And why didn't you tell him off like you always do?"

He placed his hands on her hips.

"Because I want this to work," he whispered, leaning in closer. "I want it all, Bones. I want to work with you, I want to be with you. And if I have to pretend like I don't care spilling my guts to Dr. Doogie Howser every week, then I can do that."

She locked eyes with him as he continued to calm her down.

"And we don't have to tell them everything. Just... Once they see it's solid, that we're solid, like I know we are, they'll leave us alone."

She took a second to swallow.

"How can you be so incredibly confident about us? It's been less than a week," she murmured.

He caressed her cheek.

"We've been together for five years. We just... kiss with our mouths open instead of our eyes, now."

Why didn't that sound cheesy? It should have sounded cheesy.

She dug deeper into his stare. She confessed.

"I've always loved those eye kisses."

The elevator doors opened and they stared until they were inside, doors closed.

Now that she was not angry anymore, he decided to lift the mood even more and try to make her laugh.

"Maybe if we got married, they'd stay out of it."

He waited for her usual anti-marriage tirade.

"Ok," she said instantly.

His head jerked towards her. What?

"I... I was kidding," he blurted out.

She got the naughtiest smile he had ever seen.

"So was I."

And she stared at the floor countdown over the doors.

3... 2... 1...

Booth was getting beer in his fridge when she found it hanging on a chair. Catherine's tie.

"Why don't you ever wear it?" she asked him, showing it to him, before taking the bottle he was handing her.

He shrugged.

"It's just a tie."

She took a sip, swallowed, all the while asking herself if she really wanted to know. But then she asked anyway.

"Did you... uhm... Did you sleep with her?"

He stared at her blankly. How could she even wonder for a second?

"It's ok if you have," she added quickly. "I mean... you're not a monk. And I, too, know that masturbation can become less satisfying over a long period of time."

Her laugh sounded fake. Because it was.

"I didn't," he assured her.

She nodded, enjoying the relief she had no idea she needed.

He sat down on the couch and lifted his arm so that she could snuggle against him. She did.

"Don't you wanna know if I slept with Andrew?"

Booth winced.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Do I want to know?"

She smiled.

"I didn't have sex with him," she said. "I... uhm... I never even kissed him. On the lips, I mean."

Booth let his hand explore the skin of her arm, creating a line of goose bumps on the way.

"You know," she continued. "All those things I said over the years about... monogamy... and it being a waste of energy and... unnatural..." She lifted her chin to look at him. "I don't think I believe that anymore. These past few months, this past year, I've learned that I can be a jealous person. And..." She took his hand. "If you feel the same way I do... then... I could never cheat on you." He looked down at her. "I just thought you should know that."

The smile he gave her... she took it in, felt it wrap around her heart and gave it back to him.

He took the beer she was gripping on and set it on the coffee table. She couldn't help herself. She kissed him fully and, taking his consent for granted, she allowed her tongue to tease for entrance. He instantly moaned his approval and pushed himself over her so she was lying on the couch.

His weight on top of her made her crave. She brought up her knees and, with her heels, brought his lower body even closer. She let him taste her neck. She knew she was on the verge of letting go. But as his fingers gained access to the skin of her stomach, she froze. Again.

She couldn't let go. She couldn't. She wanted it to mean something. To the both of them. She wanted... she needed him to believe that it meant everything to her. But how could she ask that from him when she had spent this whole time telling him sex was sex. Sex was a release. A common activity. She couldn't.


She pushed him away, although her whole body and her heart were screaming for him. It tore her up inside, but she pushed him away.

He could have cried. He took a deep breath and sat back up.

"I'm sorry..." he heard her whisper so softly he wasn't even sure she had said it out loud.

"No, I'm sorry. You told me you didn't want to... and yet I..."

He sighed. He wasn't mad. Far from it. He just... didn't understand. He was supposed to be the prude one. Hadn't she said plenty of time how spontaneous and inhibited she was? He didn't get it. Had he done something?

"All of this is your fault," she groaned. Mad at herself. Mad at her old self. Deeply frustrated.

"My fault? How is this my fault?"

"I love sex!" she cried out.

He burst out laughing.

"And you think I don't?"

"No, but you had to make a big deal out of it, talking about making love and engaging and angels and... And I'm not sure... How could you possibly... How can I..." She felt tears nearing and she let out a shaky, irritated short breath.

Booth was lost.

"H... I... I'm sorry. I don't know what that means," he said, really trying. He could usually read her well. But...

She gathered her thoughts. Gave up on trying to hide the confused and scared wetness in her eyes and looked at him.

"I've spent the most of 4 years telling you I didn't believe in love and all of a sudden, here I am, viscerally needing to make love to you, to show you... I love you... and... what? I'm supposed to just ask you to believe me? How's that fair?"

Booth's stomach twisted.

"That's more than fair," he said.

"You're saying you believe me. I just have to say... I'm in love with you... and you go for it. Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"But..." she chocked on her breath. "... Why?"

"Because I know you, Bones." He took a piece of her hair between his fingers. "And you dazzle me. And so I believe you just like you'll believe me when I say it."

She could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

"How do you know what I'll believe?" she asked.

He took her hands and his eyes grazed her face before locking with hers, filled with expectations. His voice was deep. Assertive. Grave. Pressing. Honest.

"I love you."

She shakily breathed in. Her chest compressed. Her vision was blurred. She blinked away the tears. And as she breathed out she knew that's how you knew. You just knew.

She nodded. She believed. Trust. Faith.

"And not in a 'atta-girl' kind of way?" she said, her voice far from steady.

He smiled. He was there. He could feel it. He was in. And he was in to stay.

"And I know you, you need tangible evidence." He caressed her cheek, let his thumb touch her lips. She put her hand over his, leaning her head against it. "And so I'm gonna ask you to let me prove it to you," he finished.

Her gaze dropped to his lips.

So that was the burden of proof.

She took the hand he was offering her and followed him as he backed to his bedroom.

They stopped moving, studying each other. She didn't even wonder why he was with her. She didn't question it. His eyes on her made her feel worthy.

That. That look in her eye. That bare confidence in him, that implicit trust they had both worked so long to find.

He ran his fingers through her hair, delicately tilting her head back, took a step forward and leaned over her. His lips nibbled once on her bottom lip, then on her upper lip.

Feeling her knees about to give out, she grabbed his face with both her hands. When she felt his tongue, warm and wet, on her lips, hers darted out too, and they started a slow erotic dance. Mouths open, breathing already confused and heavy. The buttons of his shirt came undone easily this time. She broke the kiss. She needed to see him. Her hands parted his shirt. She let them explore his chest. Let her nails gently caress it down. She then snuck her hands over his shoulders and pushed the sleeves down. She tilted her head, brought her fingers to his neck and kissed him again. Slowly, hungrily. When her thumbs teased his nipples, his fingers dug a little deeper into her back. He kissed her neck and she threw her head back. Her chest rose, needing to be touched. Uncovered. He undid one button and kissed her throat. She breathed out. Another button, and another. He finally slipped the blouse off and took a step back to admire her. The beautiful curve of her breasts compressing over and over again into their lace cage, following the pace of her breathing.

"Oh, God..." he whispered, the tightness of his pants starting to hurt.

"You're not going to call God every five minutes, are you?" she asked, a smile on the corner of her lips.

He had barely started shaking his head 'no', and before he could respond, the tip of her fingers sneaked into his belt. And without ever breaking eye contact, she undid the cocky buckle.

"And it slides right off," she whispered.

He touched her stomach with the back of his fingers, felt it quiver. He forgot to breathe when he felt her snap the button of his pants. She bit her bottom lip, making her look so damn vulnerable and exquisite, before she brought the zipper down. About to lose it, he let his own fingers into the front of her pants and did the same.

She got rid of her jeans and he watched, literally aching to touch her. And so he did. He placed his left hand on the small of her back and let his right hand trail down from her throat to between her breasts. She sighed heavily and her chest jerked forward. He leaned and replaced his hand with his mouth. He kissed and teased the top of their so perfect roundness.

"Booth..." she hissed, sliding her hands into the back of his jeans, pressing his ass firmly towards her.

He lifted her up swiftly and let her gently onto the bed. She watched him take off his jeans. The sound of her breathing increased, her heart pounded even more than it already was when she saw the intensity of his desire under his underwear as he kneeled on the bed. She got up on her knees too, facing him. She traced his perfect jaw line with her fingers and he kissed her. Sensually. And he slid his fingers under the straps of her bra.

"Pink, huh?" he murmured against her lips.

"You don't like it?" she huffed.

He looked at her.

"I love it. I just always pictured you in black underwear. Or in no underwear."

She lost her breath a second as her stomach fluttered.

"Well, that can be arranged."

She slowly unclasped her bra and let it fall down.

She saw him as he tried to breathe. He blinked, as if he had never seen a naked woman before her. She swallowed, getting nervous.

She took his hands, looked him in the eye and covered her breasts with his palm, pressing them. He instantly brushed her nipples with his thumbs. And again. More. She caught his lips and as their tongues met again, partly outside their mouths, she brought his body even closer. His erection pressed directly onto her most sensitive spot. She gyrated her hips ever so slightly making him moan. She needed more of that intoxicating sound. Bringing him with her, she let herself fall back onto the mattress. He steadied himself over her, leaning on one forearm and traced circles around her areolas before swapping his fingers with his tongue. He carefully avoided her pointed nipples to make her squirm under him. He caressed her skin and she arched her back. His lips now assaulting her neck, he slid his hand down. She moaned in anticipation as it neared and neared. But he avoided touching her where she needed him to and went to her knee. Up to her thigh. Up. He finally cupped her between her legs. He groaned as he felt her wetness through her underwear. Her hips jerked forward. And she muffled his name as she searched for his mouth, eyes closed in delight.

She managed to take off his underwear, and, still kissing him, still needing him, she hooked her legs around him. She felt the tip of his rock-hard penis pushing slightly into her opening through the fabric of her panties. Instinctively, she grabbed his ass and pulled him even closer. A raspy sound came from one of their throats.

When she reached and took him in her small hand, he tensed up even more. They searched for each others' eyes and as she pumped him once, they understood they couldn't wait anymore. Her underwear was quickly gone and she took him in herself, holding the tip of it in place with her inner muscles. They were still staring when he pushed himself into her completely. Her head jerked backwards.

"Oh, God!" she cried out.

And he slowly started thrusting. In and out. And she pushed on his ass with her heels to feel him even deeper. Hypnotized by the sounds of pleasure the other made. And he moved faster. Feeling she was on the verge of complete and utter pleasure, he slowed down his pace and withdrew almost all the way.

"Don't stop," she pleaded. "Booth..." His name died on her lips as he started rubbing her soaked clit with his thumb. And after one last cry from her, he entered her again. Deeper than ever. And he hit the same wonderful spot over and over again.

"Oh, God!" She started shaking. Spasms inside. Like heartbeats. All of her senses exploded. And as her toes curled up, he spilled inside of her.

They spent a moment, completely useless, lost in each other. Lost in themselves. When their breathing finally slowed down to normal, he laid beside her. The beads of sweat on her body made her shiver. He pulled a blanket over them and held her close.

"So..." Booth whispered, with a mocking smile in his voice. "Who called out to God?"

She giggled, only because she was exhausted, and laced her fingers with his. She stared at their hands. Perfect.

"Do you think he's offended, that the one time I actually call out to him is because one of his followers is giving me the most incredible orgasm of all time?"

He didn't respond so she turned her face to him. His eyes were tightly shut. He was red in the face, and not from exhaustion.

"What?" she asked.

"You have to stop talking like that."

"Like what?"

"I'm actually embarrassed for you," he said.

She laughed out.

"Well, you didn't look at all embarrassed when you were pleasing me."

He groaned and she hid most of her laugh in the crook of his neck.

She brought her lips to his ear and whispered into it, now really serious.

"I love you, Booth."

His eyes fluttered open. He dropped his face to the side until their noses were brushing against each other. And he looked at her. Really looked at her. She had seen that expression on his face hundreds of times over the years. Always mesmerized by it, it would always accelerate her heart rate and do funny things to her stomach as she always tried to hold his gaze, trying to read, trying to understand the meaning of that specific look.

"I love you," he stated. He explained.

The breath she drew was filled with butterflies. It felt so good, she physically hurt.

"You love me," she whispered, much to herself.

"Yes. Do you want me to prove it to you?"

"W… If you're not too sleepy…" she lingered, reaching underneath the covers to verify the sleepiness of his manhood.

As he turned to her, she asked,

"When we were married in your head... was it as good as this?"

He let his finger trace circles on her naked shoulder.

"Nothing can be as good as this," he said. "I wonder if my neighbors will still like you, though."

Her clear laugh filled the room.

"Hey, don't blame the vocals on me."

She crossed her arms over his chest.

"So, what are you gonna tell Angela?" he asked.

"About what?"

Her eyelids were heavy with contentment. Bliss. She could actually hear his smug look in his voice.

"Am I as good as I am in your books?"

She snorted.

"Actually, I know what I'm gonna tell her."


"That it's none of her business."

Surprised, he looked down at her.

"Wow. She's not going to like it," he warned her.

She kept silent for a while. Then,

"Well... Would you mind if I... told her just a little bit?"

"Oh! You wanna brag about me!"

He felt her shrug.

"Just trying to spread the joy," she explained.

"So..." he started, resting his head on his fist, elbow on the mattress. "When you say you fantasized about us countless times and many ways..."

She chuckled.

"Could you be more specific?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Your puritan self can't handle it."

"Try me."

She turned over and rested on her stomach.

"The bathroom in that bar six years ago," she admitted.

"The bathroom, really?" he asked, surprised.


"I dunno. It's just... not sanitary."

"In my mind, it is," she explained.

"Sure. Go on..."

She thought. There were way too many.

"Maybe I should just enumerate them. My bed, your bed, your couch... countless times. My..."

"... desk?" he guessed.

"Oh, yeah."

He smiled.

"We're always on your desk," he continued. "Or against a wall."

"Which wall?" she wanted to know.

"Any walls. In my mind, you love walls."

He drew with his finger on her back.

"On the airplane going to China," he admitted.

"I would have gotten kicked out of first class," she pointed out.

"I'm not first class enough for you, Miss Rolex?"

Before she could reply, she thought of a place.

"Oh! That room in Vegas."

He sneered as he remembered that dress.

"Or our trailer at the circus," she added.

Booth laughed. Wow. She really had thought this through. A lot.

"And definitely your bathtub," she continued.

"With or without the beer hat?"


Their feet tangled.

He got one.

"The interrogation room."

She shook her head.

"I'd be worried people would watch us on the other side."

"And they would to. We are hot!"

And to prove it, he kissed her. She instantly wrapped her arms around him and they rolled over. He pinned her hands over her head. He said,

" Sweets told me of a secret place downstairs at the lab..."

"Cleopatra's bed?" Brennan finished for him.

"How do you know?"

"Angela," she said.

They frowned.

"Angela and Sweets?"

"Noooo....That's just disturbing."

"Well.. Sweets with anyone is disturbing."

"Sweets alone is disturbing."

"Can we not talk about Sweets in bed, please?"

"Sure." She waited a bit. Then imitated the shrink. "So. How's the intimacy?"

"Mmm..." He kissed her neck. "I think we have to work on certain issues..."

"Oh yeah?"

They rolled over again.

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