A/N: This fic is just a drabble of B&B loving inspired by the Eye in the Sky with a too long A/N up front. (Sorry) You won't miss anything if you skip ahead to the story.

S10E15 - Eye in the Sky, Booth: "I know exactly when this happened, uh? It was the kitchen floor night after the bottle of Brunello."

As much as I really truly enjoyed the scene with B&B when they confirmed she was pregnant with baby #2, I was compelled to write this story because, seriously Booth, the kitchen floor? I'm all for countertops and table tops and up against walls or refrigerators, but the kitchen floor? Really? It's not somewhere that's ever revved my engines as a hot spot for romance. Maybe because mine always has crumbs of some sort or sticky spots from spilled juice. Just about any piece of furniture or any other floor/surface in the house sounds more appealing to me. So I found myself pondering the question . . . why would anyone want to do *IT* on the kitchen floor? How would I even write a scene like that? Not the steamy parts per se, but what leads up to the steamy parts as that's the real story. I know, such a trivial detail to get hung up on. I admit, I was stumped and just couldn't visualize it coming together, especially not in a way that would make the night linger significantly in Booth's mind the way that smile of his implied. Then . . . Booth brought it up *again* in the Lost in the Found and with a little more context, an idea started to take shape. Good idea or bad idea – you can decide since once I started thinking about it and picturing it playing out, I decided to share my less than puritanical thoughts with you here.

S10E17 - Lost in the Found, Booth: "It definitely was the Brunello night. The baked eggplant was just perfect."

*** Note the "M" rating. ***

Disclaimer: I own nothing Bones related except my imagination.

It all started with a bottle of 1999 Valdicava Brunello Di Montalcino. Brennan had recently received a case of the Italian wine from her publisher as a token of appreciation when her e-books hit another mini-milestone on the book sales registry. She popped the cork on a bottle when she got home after dropping Christine off at Max's house for the night. Max had a friend that was a master of puppetry who was putting on a marionette show at the local community center that night and Max was taking Christine to the show and dinner, then keeping her overnight.

Brennan let the wine breathe as she changed out of her work clothes into a comfy pair of leggings and a loose fitting button down blouse before sorting the mail into piles of his and hers and folding a load of laundry that been run through the dryer while they were at work for the day.

Booth had mentioned plans to go to the gym for a work out before coming home, so she had the house to herself for a little while before he'd be home and she knew she wouldn't fully relax and breathe easy again until she saw him walk through the door. It had only been a few weeks since he'd been released from prison and he was trying to get back in shape with regular visits to the gym after work. He'd lost a lot of strength and a fair bit of weight when he'd been bedridden with multiple gunshot wounds at the start of his incarceration and between the limited exercise facilities in prison, the poor dietary options, and the regular beatings he'd received from other inmates, he'd not been able to fully recuperate his strength or stamina back to his pre-injury levels. He was working on it now though.

Not quite ready to begin dinner preparations, Brennan poured herself a glass of the wine to drink while she logged onto her computer to check her emails and address a few work-related loose ends that she'd left incomplete when the demands of her family life had required her to leave work right at 4:30 that afternoon, finished or not. The delicate cherry, blackberry and vanilla flavors with a slightly smoky overtone had lingered pleasantly on her tongue and it wasn't long before one glass of wine became two glasses.

Brennan logged off the computer and headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner, a simple baked eggplant dish made with fresh tomatoes and a variety of seasonings along with a side salad of mixed greens and some warm bread. Midway through her effort, she poured herself glass number three. It was after all, a very pleasant tasting bottle of wine. By the time Booth walked in the front door, Brennan was humming along to a tune on their jukebox, feeling quite mellow, with just a slight buzz from her almost three glasses of wine on an empty stomach.

Booth headed to their bedroom first, depositing his gym bag on the corner of their bed while he locked his gun away for the night and put all his pocket paraphernalia (keys, wallet, poker chip, FBI badge) on his dresser where he'd be able to find it in the morning. After slipping off his shoes, he decided to wander into the kitchen and check on what Brennan was up to and see whether or not he had time to take his shower before dinner was scheduled to be ready.

Booth entered the kitchen area just as Brennan pulled the baked eggplant dish out of the oven and set it on the counter. "Smells good. Is it dinner time already?" he asked, leaning in to give her a quick hello kiss. However, as soon as his lips touched hers, he felt the heat from her oven mitt penetrating the back of his neck as she reached up and held him to her for a longer, more penetrating kiss. Soft wet lips and the glide of her tongue against his kept him mesmerized until she pulled back, releasing him from her grasp.

"Mmm. Now that was a nice welcoming," he said as they broke apart and Brennan smiled up at him. After the months he spent in jail when she worried whether she'd ever have him back, she still struggled to fight the urge to grab him and hold on every time he walked in the room. "You taste good," he told her, licking his lips. "Fruity."

"It's the Brunello we got from my publisher. I thought I'd try some. It's an excellent bottle of wine. Would you grab the salad dressing out of the fridge?" The last bit was thrown over her shoulder as she carried the hot casserole dish out to the dining table where she had already set out the salads, bread, and place settings. As Booth carried the salad dressing to the table, Brennan returned to the kitchen to top off her glass of wine before emptying the remainder of the bottle into a glass for Booth.

"Here," she offered. "Try a glass."

"Mmm. That is good," he said after taking a sip.

Brennan served up some of the baked eggplant on each of their plates and watched carefully to see if Booth would pause long enough to say a quick prayer to his God before eating. He did not. He hadn't said a prayer at dinner since before he was arrested and that worried Brennan, but she understood his faith had been shaken and she was trying to give him the time he needed to re-adjust and feel comfortable again, so she didn't press the issue. Soon, maybe. But not yet.

Booth bit into the baked eggplant and savored the flavors bursting on his tongue. The juicy tomato coupled with the mild but meaty eggplant was perfectly balanced by the spices she'd used. "Oh Bones," he groaned in delight. "This is delicious." Another mouthful. "Mmm, just perfect."

Every time he'd sat down at a meal while in prison, he'd thought briefly about the case they worked where a person was ground up and wound up in some stew cans getting served to school children. The owner of the factory had said the stuff that wasn't good enough to pass muster with the public ended up in the food cans served to children in schools and to prisoners. At each meal in jail, he'd looked at the food on his plate and knew what he was eating was not fit for the general population. Literally. Now, he had a new appreciation for home cooked meals, especially those with fresh vegetables.

"Thanks Booth. Did you know that even though eggplant originated in the Pakistan-India region almost 4,000 years ago and is statistically the most popular vegetable eaten annually worldwide today, it did not actually appear in the U.S. until Thomas Jefferson, who was an avid gardener that liked to experiment with international plants, introduced it to American cuisine in the early 1800s?"

"No Bones. I can't say I knew that. I don't think I ever even ate eggplant before we got together."

Leaning in closer to him and placing her hand lightly on his forearm, she gave him a flirty wink. "Many cultures consider it an aphrodisiac. The Spaniards refer to it as Berengenas which means The Apple of Love."

Booth chuckled at her squinty version of flirting. "Why Dr. Brennan, are you feeding me eggplant in an attempt to seduce me?" he asked in mock outrage.

Brennan took another sip of her wine before turning her heated gaze towards his and responding in her typically blunt manner. "I'm always interested in seducing you Booth. Always." She let her eyes speak the truth of her statement to him, then shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her dinner. "But eggplant wouldn't be my first choice of aphrodisiacs. It doesn't actually contain any of the mood lifting substances like phenylethylamine or serotonin that are common to more authentic aphrodisiacs. Most cultural anthropologists believe it was either the phallic shape or the sensual color of the eggplant that made people view it as an aphrodisiac historically. More a power of suggestion thing than an actual chemical reaction thing."

"Don't underestimate the power of suggestion Bones," he replied, still studying her with a hunger that was unrelated to the food they were eating. Their gazes held, making offers and promises of carnal delights, but by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back for the time being. They had the whole night ahead of themselves for that.

For the rest of their meal, they discussed things that had happened during their respective days and plans they wanted to make with Christine for the coming weekend, flirting occasionally, bickering affectionately, and generally just enjoying their time together.

When the meal was over, Booth offered to wash the dishes while Brennan cleared the table. He carried their dinner plates into the kitchen, rinsing them and loading them into the dishwasher. But the remaining dishes would need to be hand washed, so he filled the sink with hot, soapy water and plunged in, sponge in hand.

Brennan finished wiping down the dining table with a wet cloth and turned back to the kitchen when she found herself pausing to admire the view of Booth from the back side. From the very beginning of their working partnership, she had found the sight of the "V" formed by his back spanning from the broad, symmetrical expanse of his acromia down to his narrow, well-formed ilium to be quite alluring. His gluteus maximus made for a pleasant view as well. Studying him now, she could tell he was starting to re-tone some of the body mass he'd lost in prison and he didn't seem to be favoring the strained coracohumeral ligament in his shoulder any more or the damage to his sacrospinous ligaments and greater trochanter where his femur met his pelvis like he had been when he first came home. This pleased her immensely. Things really were going to be okay.

Without pausing to consider her actions beyond her obvious and immediate desire to touch him and continue her evaluation of the current status of his injuries, she returned to the kitchen, approaching him from behind and sliding her hands under his shirt. Booth jumped, startled both by her unexpected action and by the plain fact that her hands felt cold on his skin.

"Bones?" he choked out, watching as her hands slid towards his front and feathered across the abdominal area beneath his t-shirt.

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Examining your injuries," she replied, as though the answer should've been apparent. "You appear to be moving much more fluidly than when you first came home a few weeks ago so the strain in your joints is obviously healing." Reaching down and grabbing the hem of his shirt, she started pulling upwards. "Lift your arms so I can take your shirt off."

Lifting his arms as she ordered, he felt the soap bubbles on his wrists trickling down towards his elbows. "Um, Bones. I'm in the middle of washing dishes here."

She cast him a look that indicated she didn't understand why he was stating something so obvious. "Yes. Of course you are. You can continue."

She reached up and massaged the outside of his left shoulder muscle, trying to apply pressure to or around his coracohumeral ligament, while Booth reached back into the sink to start scrubbing the next dish. "Any tenderness when I press here or push like this?"

"No. I can still feel a twinge of discomfort there while lifting certain weights, but I've been making an effort not to overdo the exercises that feel like they could be aggravating something that's healing."

Next she slid her hands around to the front of his chest where he'd experienced extensive bruising in his abdominal region. She knew from seeing him naked in their room daily that the discoloration was almost all gone, but she hadn't questioned him about the healing under the surface lately. "Does any of this hurt?" she questioned as she applied pressure to her fingers as they stroked up and down his chest. Every time she pushed her fingers against him, it had the reciprocal effect of pressing her body tighter against his backside and he could feel her lush breasts pushing against his bare back and her pelvis molding to his ass while her breath ghosted gently across his skin with each of her exhalations. His skin erupted in goosebumps and his nipples pebbled in response. She'd press, release, then stroke her fingers to the next spot . . . press, release, stroke . . . like a blind person might be, she was totally concentrated on the information being communicated to her brain by her fingertip exam, able to read his body like it was written in braille.

"No. No more tenderness," Booth grunted, closing his eyes and trying to recall some hockey stats. This evaluation may just be clinical to Bones, but the effect it was having on Booth was far removed from what a detached examination should produce. In typical Brennan fashion though, she was focused on her task and seemed unaware of the impact caused by her intrusion into his personal space.

When she next slid the fingertips of one hand under the waistband of his sweat pants and pushed her hand down over his hip to where his leg joined his pelvis, taking his pants down a couple inches in the same motion, Booth couldn't hold it in anymore and made a sound somewhere between a hiss and a strangled groan. She was killing him. He was so turned on, he was about ready to ravish her right then and there.

Brennan froze, curious and surprised. "Did that hurt?" She hadn't expected that to hurt.

Booth shook his head. "No, Bones," he answered in a raspy voice. "Not in the way you mean. No."

"Oh . . . . . Oooh, I see." For the first time since she'd started her exam, Brennan seemed to realize how intimately she was touching him and what impact her caresses were having on him. Booth couldn't say what changed between one instant and another. As far as he could tell, she didn't even move, but suddenly her touch was seductively deliberate instead of clinically detached. When she started to move her hand in caressing strokes across his stomach this time, it was obvious she was doing it because she enjoyed the feel of his skin beneath her delicate fingertips and she wanted to arouse him, not because she was looking for injuries.

"Bones?"

"I want to touch you."

"Yeah," he gasped. "I get that. Maybe we should . . ."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Here. Stay just like you are."

Booth tried looking over his shoulder at her and she just flashed him a wicked smile before leaning in to plant an open mouthed kiss between his shoulder blades so she could taste the salt on his skin with her tongue. Meanwhile, her one hand that was already partially embedded in his pants slid the rest of the way into the front and wrapped around his burgeoning erection, pulling it free of his clothing. She began stroking and speaking at the same time and Booth wasn't sure which to focus on most.

"We've made love almost every night since you came home Booth. Every time, it's been sweet . . . and tender . . . and full of love. And I cherish that. But tonight? . . . Tonight I don't want sweet and tender. I want wild and uninhibited."

By now, the dishes were all but forgotten as Booth gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and involuntarily flexed his hips in time with her firm strokes. With her free hand, she reached up and unfasted the buttons on the front of her shirt, then the front clasp of her bra so that when she leaned into him again, she was pressing her bare flesh against his causing him to suck in his breath at the erotic sensation. A couple tugs and a wiggle and his sweatpants and boxer briefs were pooled at his feet, where he could easily step out of them.

"Tonight, Booth . . ." she continued as her free hand slid back to his chest, lightly flicking, pinching, or scraping her fingernails across the hardened nub of his nipple in time with her strokes of his cock, ". . . tonight I want you to remind me just how hard you can fuck me and just how deep you can go."

"Jesus Christ, Bones." He was practically panting by now. The wine, he thought, Gotta be the wine. While Booth would never describe Brennan as being inhibited in their lovemaking at any time, he'd definitely learned over the years that a few glasses of wine could bring out some of her more aggressive inclinations. "You keep pumping me like this and talking like that and I'm not gonna last long enough to get inside you at all."

"You'll last" was all she said, changing the pace of her strokes to bring him back from the edge before slowly building him up again.

Over and over she used her magicians hands to bring him to the brink, then back him down, then up again, alternating her attentions between the head of his cock, his shaft, and his testicles while she regaled him with seductive words that ignited his libido impossibly further. Booth couldn't remember a time when he'd ever been so worked up. Of course, right now he could barely remember his name. Foreplay was a great thing. Wonderful really. But he'd had enough. He needed to be inside her. Now.

Booth spun around, intending to grab her by the waist and lift her onto the counter where he could bury himself inside her, but his unexpected maneuver caught her off-balance and before either of them could re-adjust, they both tumbled to the floor, Booth landing on top of her.

At the sound of her "oomph," Booth's concern overcame his lust long enough for him to ask if she was okay. At her affirmation though, all he could think about was being inside her. Booth sat up just enough to reach down and, with her help, strip her pants off her body before he covered her again with his. With one hand, he gripped a breast, lifting the puckered nipple to his mouth so he could latch on sharply at the same instant he plunged his cock into her beckoning core.

"Yessss," she hissed, an orgasm rippling through her and causing her inner walls to clench down on him tightly with his first stroke into the center of her womanhood. She'd been just as aroused by their foreplay as he had and was desperately ready to feel him penetrating her.

It took all Booth's willpower to hold still while she rode out the first waves of pleasure, especially when he felt the sting of her fingernails as they dug into the flesh of his back with a pleasure-pain that literally made him see spots in front of his eyes. As soon as he felt the initial tension leave her body, he began to move.

He tried to start slowly. He had the best of intentions. But, as Bones wrapped herself around him and inundated him with moans of "more . . . deeper . . . harder . . . aahhh," he snapped. His control fled and he began pumping into her with all that he had to give.

Brennan did not believe in the soft science of psychology, but sometimes the distinction between psychology and anthropology was difficult for the average person to discern. Anthropologically speaking, it was to be expected that a man like Booth, whose whole perception of the moral high ground he'd fought to protect and honor his whole life had been shattered by the events of the last several months, a man like that might need to constantly feel in control of every aspect of his life in order to feel secure again. But trying to control everything was too exhausting for one person and unhealthy as well as it was an unrealistic endeavor. Brennan believed Booth needed to lose control in a secure situation as part of his healing process. He needed to experience losing control and coming out on the other side okay in order to start trusting again. She could help him with this.

Booth's mind had shut down and tuned out everything except the sounds and sensations associated with making love to the woman who owned him, heart and soul. He wasn't thinking, he was simply acting on instinct and feeling. He felt the slickness of her channel as he moved in and out. He felt the walls of her sheath gripping him and pulling on his shaft. He felt the grip of her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

It felt so good, so liberating to be able to let go of his control in her arms and know he'd still be safe.

At Brennan's urging, Booth thrust as hard and deep into her as he could. He could tell by the sounds she was making that she was as close to another climax as he was. As soon as he felt her stiffen in his arms and call his name, he erupted. Again and again his body jerked convulsively as he ejaculated deep into her womb, until he was completely spent and there was nothing left.

When it was over, they lay on the kitchen floor, both still gasping for breath from the intensity of the encounter. Booth started to shift off Brennan, figuring she couldn't be comfortable on the cold, hard tile floor, but she tightened her arms and legs around him, refusing to let go.

"Not yet. Just . . . stay, right here . . . a little longer," she implored. She could feel him starting to soften inside her, but she wasn't ready to lose that connection quite yet. While she felt extremely sated physically, emotionally she was still experiencing an overload of feelings and didn't want to let go of him quite yet.

"Wow . . . Bones. That was . . . holy shit." Booth propped himself up on his elbows so he could look down and see her face. "Damn Bones, what you do to me. I think I forgot my own name there for a bit." He leaned down and gave her a soft, sweet, lingering kiss. "You got a little wild there, Tiger, and I have the scratches to prove it," he teased with a smile.

Brennan ran her hands down his back from shoulders to buttocks before pulling him impossibly closer and grinding against him seductively with a smile of her own. "I blame it on the Brunello."

A/N: Well? Did you enjoy it? Did I adequately explain why the floor and why so significant to Booth?