A/N: Yeah. So. Um. Little kink warning for this one:) If you're looking for the sweet, fluffy, lovey smut, you might want to turn elsewhere. Like maybe the Happy Holiday series by Nekkid Booth Inc.! But heck if I didn't feel the urge to write something just a little nasty here. Consider yourself duly warned.

You know what's amazing? How in my stories, Dr. Sweets sorta does therapy just like I do! Wow he's so good with his working knowledge of attachment theory and his empathy and his recognition that B/B just need to do each other. I want him for my therapist. Heehee.

Hope you enjoy! And don't want to lock me up!

"I get the sense that there is something specifically you wanted to talk to me about." Sometimes, Lance Sweets knew, being a therapist meant playing the role of master of the obvious. Of course there was something she specifically wanted to talk about. That's why she had called for a special appointment, alone, please, with that nervous edge to her voice. But now, sitting in front of him, Temperance Brennan wasn't being very forthcoming, so he did his best to gentle her concerns out of her.

She was silent for another moment while Sweets waited patiently. Finally, she spoke. "I'm very professional." Said decisively.

Okay, then, that was a start. "You are very dedicated to your work," he reflected, and she nodded vigorously.

"Yes. And people respect me. I manage much of what happens in my lab. And I prefer it that way."

"You prefer being in charge?" Paraphrasing. A deceptively simple, yet essential counseling skill.

She looked thoughtful. "Yes. I suppose I do."

"Is that what brought you here today? Are people challenging your authority?"

"No. The people I work with defer to me most of the time." Glancing at him again with an uncharacteristically unsure expression, her voice was almost pleading. "I am not weak."

"You're comfortable in that position. Being in control. It allows you to be the strong, independent person you feel yourself to be."

"I am that person," she replied emphatically.

"But something has happened that has challenged that perception. That has brought a question to your mind."

Now, she looked up at him, surprised. "How did you know that?"

Sweets shrugged. "I can't imagine you'd be here defending your strength, unless something occurred that made you doubt it."

Her face was fire, and she looked down again. "I was with Agent Booth the other day when he arrested a suspect. She…it was a she…was uncooperative. He had to be a little rough with her."

"Ah." Now, Sweets felt he understood. "We've discussed this before. It makes you angry when Booth uses his authority against people weaker than himself. When he seemingly violates their rights as human beings."

"No." He looked surprised. "Well, yes. But this person…he wasn't violating her rights. She gave up her rights when she killed the people she killed. And, like I said, she was being uncooperative."

"I see. I'm sorry I made assumptions, Dr. Brennan."

"That's alright. It was a reasonable assumption."

"So, if not anger…what was it? What did seeing Agent Booth subduing a resisting suspect make you feel?" She looked incredibly uncomfortable at that moment, and he tried to comfort her. "It's okay, Dr. Brennan. All feelings are welcome here."

She sighed, fingers twisting in the material of the sweater she was wearing. "I wish it made me angry, because that I would have understood."

"But instead…"

"But instead…" She was biting her lower lip so hard he was surprised it didn't draw blood. "Instead…it turned me on."

As an FBI agent and a former Ranger, there were three particularly useful skills that Seeley Booth had picked up along the way. One was to notice tiny details, even in the middle of chaotic situations. Another was to read people, get a sense of what they were thinking and feeling even when they were lying, or not saying anything at all. The last was the ability to subdue a person even when they were struggling like a wildcat in his hands.

At this moment, the last of those was probably the most important, even though it wasn't a particularly difficult task. The person he was arresting couldn't have weighed more than 105 pounds, and she wasn't strong. She had to know that the twisting and wiggling while he read her her rights was only irritating him, and not contributing to any possibility of escape.

"Would you stay still?" he requested, while he held her wrists in place with one hand easily while patting her down with the other. "You're going to hurt yourself." Satisfied that there were no concealed weapons on the front of her, he turned her and held her against the wall, checking the back.

"Fuck you," she replied helpfully, taking a jab at him with her knee, which he sidestepped and held up to the wall with his own. To be fair, he didn't really expect politeness from a hitwoman that killed 4 people in cold blood for the right price, especially not when he was about to put her in prison for the rest of her life. God forbid anybody try to make things easy for him.

"Lady, stop fighting me. I don't want to hurt you. But you are going to do what I say now whether you want to or not."

"You need help, Booth?" He was actually surprised his partner had asked, and hadn't simply come on over to dropkick his difficult subject into submission. Temperance Brennan. There was a woman who had no problem taking matters into her own hands.

"Nope, I'm good, Bones," he told her, really wanting to avoid having to explain to his boss again why their suspects often ended up in such bad shape. Slapping the cuffs on his feisty prisoner and holding onto her tightly, he finally hazarded a glance at his partner. And suddenly, those first two skills became very, very important.

His partner was looking at him. That in itself wasn't what was strange; Brennan was always studying everything, and Booth was no exception. She looked at him with a cool reason that drove him crazy when she thought she knew something he didn't. Looked at him with an appreciative, curious half-smile when he was doing his job particularly well. Looked at him with a relaxed gaze over their drinks at the end of a case. But none of those looks was the one she was giving him right this moment.

Her glazed-looking eyes were a darker shade of blue than he had ever seen them, and they were heavy-lidded. Her tongue darted out to touch her lips, wet them. Through her oh-so-professional-looking white blouse, he could see her nipples pressing prominently against the fabric, just begging to be set free. That gaze traveled down and up his body, where, for one searing second, it met his eyes. Right before she flicked them away with an expression that looked suspiciously like guilt. He took all this in in a split second, and it was a sight amazing enough to disarm him into not avoiding his suspect's next, well-placed kick to his kneecap. "Dammit," he swore, forcing her back up against the wall with a thump. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brennan jump. Okay, this was enough of this. With a jerk, he pulled the prisoner around, led her to the car, tried to focus on the last part of arresting business. But meanwhile, only one thought was running through his head.

No way. No. Fucking. Way. His partner wasn't always the easiest woman to read, granted. But Seeley Booth knew a woman hot for it when he saw one.

She must have been daydreaming. That was the only explanation. Indulging in a brief fantasy while her partner performed his part of their mutual job of catching the bad guys (or girls, as the case may be). That had to be it. Because the only other thing happening in that room right then was him manhandling an energetic murderess against the wall. Unless…

He pushed those thoughts from his head as he pushed said murderess into the car. Had to, lest his suspect see the hard-on growing in his pants and think that it had anything to do with her. When, suddenly, the only image that had taken residence in his usually very professional, very Catholic brain was the one of slapping those handcuffs on one forensic anthropologist who had a habit of driving him absolutely crazy…

"You're disturbed by your intense reaction to Agent Booth's show of strength and power to this suspect."

"I'm disturbed by that particular reaction."

"Because of its sexual nature?"

Talking about sex never made her uncomfortable. Why did she feel like she wanted the floor to swallow her up right now? "I just want to point out right now, Dr. Sweets, that my belief in the equality of men and women extends to sexual situations. I resent the notion that men should be in charge of orchestrating sexual encounters, or the thought that women all secretly want to be submissive. That is not me. If anything, I've always been…"

"In control," he completed for her. "Just like you have been in your personal and professional life."

"I'm not going to be ashamed of that," she replied indignantly. "If I wasn't so good at taking care of myself, I wouldn't be where I am today. If I hadn't learned to take charge of my own life, I may not even have survived."

"You make a valid point. Autonomy was not a luxury for you. It was an essential survival skill."

"Exactly."

"Which is why it makes perfect sense for you to be intrigued and aroused by Agent Booth's dominance."

"Exac…wait. What?"

Sweets had known that would throw her. "Hear me out, Dr. Brennan. We are all born dependent. Completely, utterly, totally helpless. Our caregivers must feed us, shelter us, clean us, and nurture us. Or we will die."

She nodded slowly. "I'm following."

"As we grow physically, so does our capacity for autonomy. But achieving full independence…that doesn't happen for a long time. We learn to walk, but that doesn't mean we are ready to go out and explore the world. We learn to feed ourselves, but that doesn't mean we are capable of attaining ourselves the food we put in our mouths. We learn to create relationships with other people, but that doesn't mean we don't need that secure base to come home to. Ideally, our parents introduce us to that independence slowly, carefully. Allowing us the freedom to grow and explore, but also providing limits and assistance when needed or wanted. And, by letting their child mature in this way little by little, the child becomes secure in her own efficacy, but still trusting of others to take care of her when she really needs it. The ideal mix of self versus other, dependence versus autonomy."

Brennan cocked her head. "Why do I feel like this is going to end with you saying it's my parents' fault and I need years of therapy and medication to remedy whatever is wrong with me?"

"It's not about blame, Dr. Brennan. The fact is that your parents started this process with you, but you had it yanked away. You were forced into independence, whether you wanted to be or not. You never were able to fully trust that there would be a safe place for you to return to. Your needs to be able to put your trust in someone completely were not met."

"My needs weren't met. So therefore…I get turned on by watching Booth aggressively handle a suspect?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I've stopped following."

His voice was patient, soothing. "You know what happens when your developmental needs don't get met?"

"They go away?" She asked hopefully, knowing that it wasn't the right answer.

Sweets shook his head. "They become huge. Intensified."

She frowned. "Wouldn't that mean I'd be overly dependent then? In all areas of my life?"

"Not necessarily. For some people, that's how it might manifest. But for you…"

"For me…?"

"For you…and granted, this is an interpretation, so let me know if it doesn't fit…the need has become deeply internalized. You have externally embraced your independence, thrive on it. But deep inside, you long to give up control completely, and be safe doing it. Just to let go entirely and know that you'll be caught from that fall. You've never had that sense of safety before, and you desperately want to give into it."

She stared at him.

"So…when you saw Agent Booth arrest that uncooperative suspect, it awoke in you a powerful, dormant urge. The urge to be dominated and protected at the same time. The result of your needs being unmet for too long."

She stayed silent for awhile longer, and he gave her that time to process his words, to fit the pieces he gave her into the puzzle in her mind. When she spoke again, it was incredulously. "I want to be…dominated?"

"Not in general," he was quick to say. "Just…by Booth. I guess."

"That sounds…sick."

"I see it as a good sign. Part of you is finally acknowledging those needs you have. Albeit, in an…unconventional way." She was staring at him so uncomprehendingly that he was fairly certain any second she would stand up, call him crazy, and storm out of the room. Oh well, he might as well go for broke. "And…if Agent Booth is someone you feel you can trust…I see no reason not to talk to him about those urges." The worst that could happen is that she would slap him on the way out the door.

Instead, she remained thoughtful. "I want to be dominated. By Booth." Seeing how the words felt on her tongue.

"What would it mean for you to be dominated by Booth?"

A slow smile crossed her face.

He had a steel bar that spanned the doorway to his bedroom. A simple exercise tool, but an effective one. Now, he did pull-ups on it. And with each flex of his biceps, another unwanted fantasy popped into his mind.

One. Bones, whining an apology for contradicting him in front of his colleagues while she laid across his lap, bare bottom exposed to his hand as it came down on her with a swat just hard enough to sting, his fingers immediately soothing away the faint pink marks that appeared there.

Two. Bones, blindfolded, trembling, begging with an edge of excitement to know what he was going to do to her next, while his mouth and fingers took turns doing sinful things to her luscious body.

Three. Bones, sweetly asking him to do that just a little bit harder when he grazed her skin with his teeth, nipping and sucking to make tiny marks that would mark her as his for anyone who dared to look at her to see…

And so on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Usually exercise helped to tame the myriad frustrations that he experienced in his life and in his job, but right now it was like trying to tame a tiger with a flyswatter. This was just unacceptable. He felt dirty just for entertaining the notion of these things, let alone the images that had taken residence in his brain. He was not looking forward to his next trip to the confessional. And what would Bones say if she had any idea? She'd kill him. No. She wouldn't. She'd more likely raise her eyebrows and give him that disapproving look that always made him feel like some kind of big, dumb caveman. Somehow, that was worse.

Desperately, he pumped at the bar faster, making the steel hot under his hands, sure if he could get to just the right intensity, all these thoughts would be wiped from his mind. It's not like he wanted to hurt Bones. God, no. He just wanted to see that look again. Maybe if he could see it a little closer, for a little longer, it wouldn't make him so damn curious…

And because she wanted to torture him, she knocked on his door.

He knew it was her, because nobody else came to his apartment at this time of night. And no one else was quite so determined to be the death of him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the towel he had nearby and not bothering to change out of his white undershirt, he made his way to the door and opened it, regarding his partner warily. "Bones. You just had to come tonight, didn't you."

She nodded seriously. "Yes, I did. How did you know that?"

"Because God has a sense of irony." After briefly resting his head against the doorframe, he sighed and gestured. "Come in."

She did so, the picture of professional even at 11 pm. Except for the shoes, he noticed as she walked away. Those heels could be qualified as deadly weapons. They'd probably be confiscated at an airport. Those shoes oozed sexuality. Why the hell was she wearing them tonight? Mentally groaning, he steeled himself for a long visit.

She just wanted to talk. Like she always did when she came across a particularly interesting epiphany. It was interesting. She wanted to share. And she felt just a little badly about obviously interrupting Booth's workout. Why did he always have to be such a man?

"I saw Sweets today."

"For a session?"

"Yes."

He looked hurt. "You went to a therapy session without me?"

"I had…personal matters I wanted to discuss."

Now, he seemed to be vacillating between hurt and concern. "Are you okay? Why couldn't you talk about it with me?"

Crossing her legs, she looked at him exasperatedly. "I'm fine." Pausing for a second. "Dr. Sweets thinks that I haven't had my relationship needs met."

"Well, yeah. Look at the people you've been in relationships with."

"He says…what?" Well that was kind of presumptuous. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" He glanced at her face and quickly looked away. "I mean… Michael Stires? The cult guy? Sully? They aren't going to get you. Let's be honest with each other."

She was slightly annoyed by his implied criticism. "Granted, those relationships didn't work out. But it wasn't all bad. Look at Sully. He was a very thoughtful and sensitive lover."

"Alright. That's enough of that, Bones." Looking extremely uncomfortable.

"He always was concerned with my pleasure and receptive to experiencing new things," she continued.

"Bones. I get it. Just stop." Discomfort turning to annoyance.

"And he was actually very skilled at…"

"BONES." A little shocked at his forcefulness, she stopped short and turned all her attention to him. And was surprised by the look of intensity on his face…the gritting teeth, the stiff jaw, the tense forehead. The wild eyes. Then, she was even more surprised by her immediate reaction to his anger. She got wet. Total, complete, stomach fluttering, thigh-clenching arousal. Sort of like when she was watching him with that suspect the other day… hmm. She tested him.

"Why does that make you so upset, Booth? When I talk about other men being good lovers? Does it make you question your own prowess?"

"I swear to God, if you don't stop…"

"You'll what?" she challenged. "What are you going to do to me?"

Their eyes locked on one another for an almost unbearable few seconds. He was in her face; she could breathe him. Then: he backed away.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "You know I wouldn't do anything to you, Bones." He sat back in the couch, looking defeated. Completely missing her disappointed expression.

She paused for a second before replying softly. "That's the problem, Booth. You are always getting angry at me for one thing or another. But you never do anything about it. What do I have to do to get some real feeling out of you?"

It took a second for him to even hear her, and once he did, it still didn't sink in. He looked up at her, flabbergasted. "Huh?"

"I said, what do I have to do? Push you around? Touch your stuff?" Boldly, she reached across his coffee table next to him, where he had dispensed of his badge, gun, and handcuffs when he got home from work. Her fingers brushed the butt of the gun before he pushed her hand away.

"Don't touch that."

"Why? Don't you trust me?" She made another attempt. This time, he grabbed her wrists, held them together.

"Bones, God dammit." Then, the light clicked on. That look. The hungry one. The one he had been picturing in his mind and his fantasies ever since he saw it a few days ago. Something inside him snapped. Swiping the cuffs from beside him in a lightening-fast moment, he slapped them on one of her wrists, ignoring her shocked look as he pulled her to her feet and half-led, half-pulled her to the door of his bedroom, mumbling the whole way. "What do you think you're doing? Think you can just come in here with your big innocent eyes and your fuck-me shoes and provoke me without consequences? What the fuck? Arms up." He had stopped her right in the door frame, right under the metal bar that he had been using earlier to try (unsuccessfully) to stop thinking about her. Unbelievably, she listened to that last demand, her arms obediently raising and her hands grasping the bar, which she reached easily in those fucking sexy-as-hell shoes. Without even thinking he threaded the chain of the cuff up and over the bar, snapping the other side on her free wrist, metal clinking against metal.

Her eyes were wide and her breath was coming fast and she was completely helpless now, trapped in his doorframe. He took a step back and looked at her. And was immediately overwhelmed with reality and guilt. This was his partner. His friend. And if anyone were to walk in on this particular scene, he'd be arrested for sure. Should be. What was he doing? But that look…

He reached out to touch her face, and she flinched, just slightly. He cupped her chin, gently. "Is this okay?" In a whisper.

Her big blue eyes reflected many things right that second. But fear wasn't one of them. She nodded once, slightly.

Game on.

At her consent, his demeanor changed again, guilt gone for a moment, heady tension and arousal taking its place. He was almost against her, but not quite. Infuriatingly, not quite. In a low voice, he talked to her. "You think it's fun to push my buttons? To make me crazy? Your hands aren't free to push any buttons now. How does that feel? What are you gonna do now?"

She sounded both nervous and excited when she spoke. "I don't need my fingers to push your buttons, Booth. You know that. I can just…"

His fingertips brushed her lips, shushing her. "You don't get to talk anymore tonight. You can beg, if you want to."

Her mouth fell shut. She certainly was not going to beg. Holding onto the vestiges of control that she hadn't given up yet, as tightly as she was holding onto the bar above her, she looked at him defiantly. Him, with his heaving chest and piercing eyes, smelling of cologne and sweat and pure man, strong hands flexing but refusing to really touch her yet, torturing her with the anticipation of whatever he'd choose to do next. And she wanted him to do things, she acknowledged, only to herself. Oh, yes. Lots of things.

Despite him telling her she couldn't talk, he continued to ask her questions. "You're a tease, Temperance Brennan. You talk about sex more than anyone I know, and you want me to not touch you? You look at me like you're hunting me down. Think I didn't notice it the other day?" Two of his fingers began to play with the top button of her shirt, twisting it a little. "You were watching me with that woman squirming in my hands, and you were wishing it was you, weren't you? Always struggling, but practically begging to have me pin you down." Her face flushed a deeper pink now, and neither of them realized just how right he was until that moment. Got her.

He pulled at her shirt. The button strained at the thread that was holding it, coming dangerously close to popping off before it finally relented and was pulled through the buttonhole. And she moaned. His cock, which had been at half-mast ever since she walked through his door and had been on a steady progression to full hardness while they talked, began a maddening pulse in his jeans at her vocalization. Like she had said, she didn't have to talk to push his buttons. It pissed him off a little bit, and he yanked at the rest of buttons; some of them held, some of them didn't, but her gasp satisfied him until he realized the other surprise she had in store for him. She wasn't wearing a bra. Standing up tall, arms in the air, her breasts were displayed proudly for him to see, nipples drawn into hard points. He stared. She squirmed.

When the hell was he going to touch her? His hands were white-knuckled gripping either side of her shirt, and she thought she could hear the pounding of his heart before she realized it was her own. "Please please please, just a little touch… stroke me, run your fingers around my nipples, pinch them, pull them, anything is better than this." But her mouth refused to verbalize the words. He let go of her shirt and she almost sobbed; it turned into a whimper when he reached for her pants instead, unbuttoning them, unzipping, bending to yank at the tapered legs of her jeans over her shoes. Her sky-high stilettos that she had convinced herself just went with the outfit, just like she had convinced herself that she didn't need a bra tonight because she'd only be stopping for a quick chat, and she'd be more comfortable this way. It couldn't have been because she had hoped for this reaction. And now, she stood in front of him in those shoes and her panties and her shirt hanging open, and he stalked around her body like she was his prey.

"This is what you wanted, right, Bones? To be all exposed to me, driving me crazy? You're gonna know what it's like to be driven crazy. You'll wish you never started this game." He was standing behind her and she twisted her body to see him, but the chain of the cuffs caught, wouldn't allow her that mobility. She whimpered in frustration. "You have something you want to ask for?"

Oh, the bastard. "Touch me," she whispered through gritted teeth, bare skin on fire, trembling for his hands.

"What was that? Didn't quite hear."

"Touch me," she said, anguished. He didn't, and she knew what he wanted. Wanted her to give up the rest of her control. She couldn't. But she had to. If she had to stand her untouched for any longer, she would go crazy. She'd even settle for touching herself right now. But he had taken away that ability, as well. "Please," she whispered. Relenting. "Please touch me."

At her supplication, she felt his hot hands span her midriff, and the anticipation made the feeling nearly orgasmic. Fingertips, light as gossamer traced up her stomach and rib cage. Holding her breath as they trailed ever closer to her aching breasts….only to be disappointed when they barely swiped the rounded bottoms of them before moving up her shoulders, encountering her shirt there. Up her throat, her jaw. Her head dropped back and found his shoulder there, and it felt like a strangely intimate thing: resting her head against him whilst chained up so crudely here. But it felt good, so she stayed there, panting slightly, willing his hands towards her erogenous zones. Which, granted, felt like every part of her body right at the moment. She heard him talk lowly into her ear, making her shiver. "I'll touch you. My way."

He pulled her back closer against him and she sagged as much as the cuffs would allow while his hands returned to their tortuous, slow exploration of everywhere except the places she wanted him the most. Her panties felt unbearably slippery and a dull throb took residence in her womb. How could this be what she needed? Temperance Brennan liked quick gratification, she liked telling her lovers what to do and where to touch her. How could she possibly so fucking turned on right now? "Booth…"

"You gonna beg for me, Bones?" His thumbs slid just inside her panties on each side, hardly brushing the outer lips of her sex before removing his fingers and trailing them down her thighs. She let out a frustrated sigh.

"Booth…I need…to come. Please make me come." It wouldn't take much. If he would just really touch her…

"I'll make you come," he agreed. She squeezed her eyes shut in relief. "My way."

That couldn't be good. Well, it could be good. But she had a feeling that his way wasn't the quick, easy way, which is what she so desperately wanted right now. But this wasn't about what she wanted. It was about what she needed.

The sight of him sinking to his knees before her, as if worshiping an idol, was nearly enough to undo her, and the irony of the submissive motion wasn't lost on either of them. He contemplated her soaked panties for awhile. "I've thought about what it might be like to taste you. I know you've probably thought of what that might be like, too. But in your mind, I bet you were pushing me down, holding my hair. It's not gonna be that way." He carefully pushed the thin material to one side. She shook. "You might want to hold on for this." And then his tongue was dragging over her, from the bottom to the top, lingering over her entrance and tasting her thoroughly there before continuing its journey, stopping right before reaching the underside of her clit. She could hardly believe the sounds filling the room were from her own throat.

"Oh, God…" It wasn't quite begging, but he allowed her this, repeating his motions, coming closer and closer to the swollen nub of her clit. She wasn't quite sure whether to scream complaints or thanks to him. Finally, one of the swipes of his tongue reached her nearly painfully-aroused clit, and she was momentarily surprised until she realized she was begging without even being aware of it, her mind on autopilot while her body absorbed this pleasure. He licked her slowly, completely, pausing at her clit to give it a few rapid sucks before abandoning it, not letting her get too used to the intense pleasure. Laving her, he stiffened two fingers and tickled her soaking entrance before sliding them inside her. Her body tautened, incoherent words babbling from her mouth while he licked her into oblivion, fingers pumping into her madly while his other hand traveled up her body to touch the nipples that had been begging for him. She was on stimulation overload. She was going to explode. She was going to…

Then, he stopped, his mouth letting her go, fingers withdrawing until just the tips were inside her, teasing her. Gasping, she writhed, trying to increase the contact, but he wouldn't let her. Her body had been on the edge of something tremendous, and now the sensation pulled back, leaving a throbbing so deep it almost ached. "Oh fuck Booth…" She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew that her cursing affected him. But not so much that he'd give her what she wanted. Her breathing and fluttering pulse slowed. Which was his signal to being tonguing her and pumping her furiously once more. Throwing her leg over his shoulder she quavered against him, in a frenzy….until he stopped again.

He did this to her four times, and the last, at the brink of her long-frustrated orgasm, she remembered why he had told her to hold on. Lights flashed behind her eyelids, and her fingers began to slip. "Booth, please…catch me." And right before her full weight collapsed on the cuffs, he lifted her completely, wrapped both of her legs around his neck and supported her, never stopping what he was doing to her for a second. In that second, all of her frustrated longing and desperate urges and wants and needs caved in on her. Her senses all jumbled up and switched places, and she was tasting his groans against her, hearing his touch, feeling his scent as she cried and let go against him. Yes. Thank you. Thank you.

There was some orgasm-driven amnesia after that moment. She barely recognized her feet hitting the floor again when he gently set her down, the break in contact as he went to the table to get the keys, the tingling in her wrists when he uncuffed her and her arms slowly lowered again and she stared at her hands as if forgetting what they were for. She didn't even pay much attention when he lifted her with infinite care, scooping her up and carrying her to his bed, where he laid her, smoothing back her hair, taking off her shoes. What brought her back to awareness was the gentle touch of his lips against hers—their first kiss. Suddenly everything came back, and she was there again, no longer submissive, participating as fully as she ever had in a kiss in all her life.

That's how they made love then… taking turns, but always together, the sounds of their mutual pleasure crescendoing into the darkened room, coming to a stunning peak and an equally satisfying denouement which, this time, left them both dazed. They laid for a long while in one another's arms, stunned expressions on both of their faces until one of them could speak again.

"Stay the night," he asked.

"But work tomorrow…"

"I'll take you."

She nodded in agreement. Satisfied, he closed his eyes, until she spoke once more. "But I'm driving."

His eyes snapped open, and he almost had to chuckle. Deep down, he was glad that Bones' submission was a temporary condition. It just wasn't in him to dominate her all the time.

"Booth?" she asked, sleepily.

"Yeah?" Kissing her forehead.

"Thanks for catching me."

"Thanks for falling with me."

Then, the place they fell was asleep. Chains broken, needs met, and fears held in submission.

"I'm glad that you agreed to come for a follow-up session, Dr. Brennan. How are you doing?"

"Very well, thank you."

Dr. Sweets smiled at the put-together scientist in front of him, her looking much less insecure than she had at their previous meeting."Were you able to assertively communicate your needs for being able to rely on Agent Booth…for having permission to be occasionally submissive?"

"I believe so." She seemed to think about it for awhile. "Yes…I was fairly direct."

"And the outcome?"

"I would say that the outcome was positive. I had been worried that if I gave up my power on one occasion, that there would be negative consequences—that Booth would respect me less, or begin to treat our relationship as an unequal one. But that doesn't appear to be the case. He seems to be open to meeting a variety of my needs…whether I am dominant, submissive, or somewhere in between."

Dr. Sweets beamed at her. "I'm proud of you, Dr. Brennan."

She nodded. "I'm proud of myself, believe it or not." She appeared to hesitate. "There is one thing…"

"Let's talk about it."

"I put myself in a very vulnerable position with Booth. And I'm glad that I did, because I believe I learned from that experience….learned about trust and safety. But I do feel that the dynamics of our relationship might now be slightly skewed. Because I've never seen him that vulnerable.

The young doctor nodded. "It makes sense. Your need to depend on people is balanced with your desire for mastery over your world, for equality in your relationships. This is the way it should be. Striving for a balance, for equality, rather than superiority."

"I feel I'm closer to that balance than before. But how to I gain that sense of equality?"

"Well, let's consider this. You allowed yourself to experience an intense vulnerability with someone you trust, with a positive outcome. What would it be like to ask for the same in return? What would it mean to experience Agent Booth at his most vulnerable?"

And once more, a slow smile crossed her face.

A/N: I just can't help it. I love the idea of Booth with handcuffs. Forgive me.