Disclaimer: Fox owns everything. I own nothing. Not even the house I live in or the car I drive. OH WAIT! I definitely bought the TV I have with my hard earned money. So, I own a TV...which I watch Bones on...which again, I do not own.
A/N: So, this is a sequel/one-shot to my other story "Not For Kids", so you might want to read that first to understand some of the jokes or the very poignant (not) ending. If you don't wanna, just know Booth and Bones are together and all is right with the world. And FYI: T rating is there for a reason.
A/N 2: I know that some of you are waiting for the alternate epilogue to NFK, but chronologically, this would come first because that epilogue takes place six months in the future. Plus, I'm making it better. We all want it to be better, trust me. Thank you so much for your patience. Anyway, enjoy!!
She smiles widely as her partner dances around his living room, celebrating the Chicago Bears victory over the New Orleans Saints.
"DAAA BEARS!" He hoots, and she can't help but laugh.
Typical male response.
"Bones! This is exciting! They're going to the Super Bowl! Dance or something!" He says, grabbing her hands and pulling her up from the couch.
She quickly pulls away and puts her hands on her hips. "I thought you liked the Thiefs." She feigns ignorance.
"Steelers, Bones. The Pittsburgh Steelers. And yes, they are my team, but they didn't make the playoffs. However, DA BEARS did."
He seems receptive to the team. That's a good sign. Ask him.
"Are the Bears your second favorite team?" She asks, cautiously.
"No, Bones. You're not saying it right. DA BEARS."
Definitely not.
She gives him a look, indicating that she thinks he's crazy, and shakes her head. "Boooones," he whines.
She rolls her eyes but acquiesces. "Fine. Are 'da Bears' your second favorite team?" She uses the air quotes and feels quite proud of herself.
Nice usage. Angela would be beaming.
He gives her smile. "No Bones. DA BEARS. You don't have the accent."
"Hate to break this to you, Booth, but you don't have the accent either."
His hand goes to his heart. "Well, it's better than yours," he retaliates, and she narrows her eyes at him.
Giving her a playful smile, he pounces on her, throwing her down on the couch and quickly covering her body with his own. His hands find their way to her sides and his fingers begin to wiggle their way over her ribs. She shouts at him and fights, her legs flail and her hands attempt to push him away, but to no avail. Gravity is his ally, not hers.
"FINE! DA BEARS! DA BEARS! Stop it, Booth!" The tickling stops and his lips find hers for a quick kiss.
Okay, focus Bon--Temperance. He's asserting dominance, do not submit.
He pushes himself back up in a sitting position and offers her a hand, which she promptly glares at. She wrestles herself back up against the back of the couch and sticks out her bottom lip.
An underhanded but effective ploy at forcing his submission.
He lets out a loud laugh, scooting down the couch. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side. "You're so damn cute when you pout," he tells her, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
I win.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Corny." He laughs again and she feels his chest rumble beneath her.
"If I had to pick a second favorite team, I'd definitely pick the Bears," he tells her. She shifts at his side, turning to face him. "But everybody loves the Bears. Well, except for Packers' fans, but they've been rivals since the 1930s."
"1921," she spits out.
He quickly sits up. "What?" He gives a snort of amusement.
"1921. Back when the Bears were the Staleys." The information just flows from her mouth.
He gives a sideways smirk. "Bones, have you been hiding a deep seated love for the Chicago Bears from me?"
The corners of her mouth curve upward. "Booth, where did I grow up?"
And it hits him like a ton of bricks. He shakes his head as he chuckles in his seat. "What else ya got?"
Not much considering most of my football knowledge revolves around the Bears and I stopped watching after my family disappeared.
She takes in a deep breath and quickly comes up with a piece of trivia. "Well, in 1922, the name was changed from the Chicago Staleys to the Chicago Bears."
"A wise change," he comments.
"Also, the Bears are one of the two remaining charter members of the original NFL. The second team is the Arizona Cardinals, hence their longstanding rivalry," she explains to him, standing from the couch. "You want another beer?" She asks, walking toward his kitchen.
"Sure." She feels him watching her as she walks away. "Keep going."
She enters the kitchen, wracking her brain for the factoids her father and brother engrained in her head when she was little. "Well, besides Da Bears, they're also called "The Monsters of Midway", a moniker abandoned by the University of Chicago." She reaches into the fridge, pulling out two more beers. "Apparently, the "Da Bears" nickname became popular by an entertaining skit on a weekend variety show. They wore hula skirts, I hear," she tells him, stepping into the living room.
He nods his head with a smile, watching her return to the couch. "Yeah. Michael Jordon, Chris Farley. It was pretty funny."
She folds her legs underneath her as she sits down, handing him his beer. "The last time they won a Super Bowl was the '85/'86 season, the year of the infamous Super Bowl Shuffle." She catches his eyes, and notices how they've darkened to a deep cocoa, a color shift only made when he's aroused.
I don't understand. How does football translate into sex? Maybe it has something to do with the testosterone.
"Think they'll win?" He asks her, turning sideways on the couch, and resting his arm against the back.
She smiles. "I hope so." She hesitates for a moment, leaning forward to put her unopened beer on the coffee table. "I watched Super Bowl XX with my dad and my brother."
"Yeah?" He strokes a hand through her hair, and a chill runs up her spine.
"We had a lot of fun," she says nonchalantly. She notices it doesn't seem to bother her to tell him about her childhood anymore.
"It's good that you have that memory." His hand trails down to her shoulder, stroking down her arm and then back up to her neck.
She simply nods, somewhat distracted by his touch.
"Say something else," he tells her, his voice low and masculine. "Not about your family."
Maybe it's something about hitting people or something. It's more primitive, primal.
She looks at him, slightly confused. "Walter Payton is the best running back of all time."
He lurches forward, his unopened beer rolling off the couch, and traps her beneath him once again. His mouth molds to hers, massaging her lips between his own. She melts underneath him as his tongue lines her bottom lip. He turns his head to find a better angle and she takes the opportunity to gain control. Insinuating her tongue into his mouth, she grips his face in her hands, and wraps a leg around his waist. She thrusts upward with her hips and he lets out a growl.
I win again.
Pulling away, she smiles. "Walter Payton fan?"
He shakes his head quickly, disentangling himself from her legs and standing up. "Bones fan." He extends his hand to her and she takes it. Pulling her up, he tugs her flush against him. "Your knowledge of football is extremely arousing," he says, gently walking her backwards away from the couch and she shakes her head.
I really don't understand.
He licks and nips at her neck as he directs her backward down the hallway, toward his bedroom. Her mind reels as she desperately tries to keep upright, clenching his shirt in her fists. Every time her mind latches on to a piece of trivia, he finds a new point on her neck to suck on, and she can't focus on anything but him, and the way he makes her feel.
I don't understand and I really don't care.
Her feet stall as the backs of her calves press up against hardness, and her eyes pop open. She takes in just enough to realize she's in his bedroom, before he releases her, and she falls back against his bed.
Reaching one hand over his shoulder and down his back, he grabs a fistful of material and tugs his shirt over his head, in a completely masculine maneuver that causes liquid heat to pool in her belly. She leans toward him, putting her hands on his hips, tugging him forward. Her fingers slowly unsnap the buttons of his fly, gently slipping the denim over his butt and down his legs. He kicks the jeans off when they reach his ankles, and takes a short stride forward, before following horizontally down on the bed. Propping himself up on his elbows, he lowers his face within inches of her own, and stares at her, watching her.
"You're so beautiful," he tells her, and she blushes. People had told her that before, men had said it a thousand times, and she always just shrugged it off. But when he said it, it was different.
I want him to think I'm beautiful.
Her body goes rigid at the thought.
Anthropologically speaking, that's perfectly normal. Survival of a species relies upon relationships between the members of said specie. Males and females alike go to extreme lengths to make themselves more attractive to potential mates. It's biologically acceptable to want to be beautiful to the opposite sex.
But it isn't the opposite sex. It's just him. And you're not exactly concerned with the survival of the species, Temperance.
He's watching her with a smile. "You're thinking."
Booth says love frequently transcends scientific explanation.
"You're surprised?" She asks, giving him an apologetic smile before closing the gap between them, and pressing her lips against the hollow of his throat. She sucks, and nips, and licks her way up his neck, and barely suppresses the smile that threatens to erupt on her face at the sound of his breath hitching. Her hands quickly find their way down to his butt, and as she presses her lips to his, she grasps him fully in her palms, pulling him into her, while simultaneously thrusting her hips. He groans loudly in her mouth, and she boldly inserts her tongue into the mix, curling the appendage around his own. She strokes the roof of his mouth, while he caresses the bottom of her tongue, grazing her teeth.
And the world seems to fall away.
She doesn't know when exactly her clothes disappeared or when he lost his boxers, but the next thing she knows he's inside of her, and she's struggling to breathe. Her heart feels like it might pound out of her chest and with every stroke, the tension in her body builds. She locks her ankles at the small of his back and he groans out her first name, thrusting deeper and faster, pushing her to the brink. His name careens from her lips and he grunts in a primal manner that she should hate, but just serves to heighten her pleasure.
His arms give out, and his weight tumbles down upon her, both bodies still trembling.
For a moment, they're perfectly still, nothing permeating the silence of his room, but their heavy breathing. His head rests on her shoulder, his entire body crushing her into the bed. She strokes a hand down his spine and his body gives an involuntary shake. Looking up at her with a smile, he rolls off, dragging her with him. Lying against him, she knows this is different. She feels it from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
Everything is different with Booth. A good different. Which is why I shouldn't be afraid to ask him. Do it. He's sated and happy. He's more likely to say yes.
She looks up at him and places her chin on his chest. "My agent gave me tickets to the Super Bowl."
His head jerks toward her. "What?"
She sits up, drawing the blanket from the bottom of the bed to her. She drapes it around her shoulders before continuing. "My agent gave her husband Super Bowl tickets for his birthday in October. Made the flights, booked the hotel, and everything. She found out on Wednesday that she can't go now. She asked me if I wanted the whole thing, that she'd sell it to me cheap, said everyone else already had plans, and I told her yes."
Squirt it out! Spit. SPIT it out! I still think squirt could work.
She looks down at her hands, her heart racing. "I thought we could go together. I enjoy the historical implications of the sport and you exhibit a clear passion for it."
"There are historical implications of football?" He asks, interrupting her train of thought.
She nods her head eagerly. "Of course, Booth. Actually, the sport itself predates all known records, but the first documented account of a "football-like" sport was during the 2nd century BC. The Chinese--." She stops herself and shakes her head.
You're getting off track. Discuss football's history later.
She returns her gaze to him and notices his somewhat amused smile. "My agent said she would call the airlines and the hotel to change the names on the tickets and reservations if I wanted. But you don't have to, we don't have to, I mean. I can always give them to someone else." Her eyes quickly divert to the bed sheet under her.
Please don't say no.
She inwardly cringes.
Stop being so weak. If he says no, he says no. You'll survive.
Her face feels like it's on fire as she waits for him to respond.
This fear of rejection seems to be far more paralyzing than normal. Damn you, Booth.
When he doesn't say anything, she chances a glance at him. He lays still, in all his naked glory, eyebrows rising to the top of his forehead.
"Are you asking me to go away with you?" She can see him trying to suppress a smile and she rolls her eyes. "Like on vacation?"
"No. Vacation implies taking considerable time away from your job and not doing any work during that time. We just have to take half the day off on Monday because the flight is in the morning, and I intend to bring case files and paper work to do during the downtime."
He wiggles his eyebrows. "Like a romantic getaway?"
She rolls her eyes again and smacks him in the chest. Grabbing her wrist, he pulls her down against him. "Like a trip to the Super Bowl," she tells him matter-of-factly.
His hands drift down to her bottom and he presses her against him. "If we can trade in all case files and paper work for sex, you got yourself a Super Bowl buddy."
All? No way.
She pretends to think for a moment, knowing it'll annoy him and then smiles. "I'll only bring half because you sleep more than I do."
His face carries a serious expression. "Okay," he says, a bit hesitantly. "But when I'm awake--"
"No work. Got it."
No work? Me? Temperance Brennan, the work-aholic? My God, what has he done? Damn you, Booth.
"Okay, deal."
She smiles at him, laying her head down on his chest, fingering the medallion resting on his sternum as he places a soft kiss on the top of her head.
"That was pretty brave of you, Temperance," he tells her in his no-nonsense tone of voice.
You noticed?
"I'm an adult, Booth, and we're in a serious relationship. There's no reason for me to be concerned about asking you something like that," she explains in an agitated tone.
"I'm proud of you," he exhales.
She lets out a deep, relieved sigh. "Thank you," she responds softly, as a blush covers her entire body and her chest fills with unmistakable pride.
I'm proud because he's proud of me? What the hell is that? DAMN YOU, BOOTH.
Her thoughts stray to how much she's changed in the last two years when she's flipped on to her back. Stunned, she watches as he jumps out of bed.
"BOOTH!" She shouts, propping herself up on her elbows.
What is going on?
"I gotta call my dad," he says, quickly tugging his boxers up his body and pulling the cordless phone out of its cradle on the nightstand.
Still not following. He's never called his Dad after we've had sex before.
"What?"
Human males, whether kin or not, tend to relate over women that they "goal" with. No. "Score" with. That's what it is.
"We're going to the Super Bowl, Bones! The SUPER BOWL. Only the most important sporting event known to mankind!" He practically shouts, enthusiasm and excitement flowing out of each word. He all but skips out of the room, phone in hand.
Bonding between father and son frequently occurs over a shared common interest or activity, such as football.
She laughs at him, allowing herself to fall back to the bed. She hears quick footsteps entering the room, and is surprised when Booth leans over her, phone pressed to his ear.
He brushes his mouth over hers, drawing in her lower lip and releasing it almost instantly. "I love you," he tells her.
"I love you too." She gives him a small grin and he smiles widely.
"DAD!" He quickly pulls back from her. "Guess what?!" She chuckles, tugging the blanket over her body.
"I'm going to the Super Bowl!" She can hear the happiness radiating from his voice and her face erupts in a toothy grin.
She could care less about going to the Super Bowl. She'd be just as happy staying home and working through the weekend. But Booth was happy.
If he's happy, I'm happy. I want him to be happy. I want to make him happy.
She stares at the ceiling, thoughts circling in her head.
Where's your anthropological justification for that?
She can't think of one and she realizes it doesn't terrify her like it should. None of it does. It actually makes her laugh.
Maybe Booth is right. Maybe it transcends scientific explanation. Not that he needs to know that. His ego is big enough.
"No Dad. You can't come, there are only two tickets." There's a brief pause. "No, you cannot talk to her." Another pause. "DAD! I'm her boyfriend! She's taking me!"
She stifles her laughter at the phone conversation between father and son. There's some soft mumbling as he paces down the hallway and then back.
"Our next trip will be to Philadelphia. I promise."
She should panic. She should bolt out the front door. But she doesn't.
Everything is going so fast, and half of it, she's initiating.
She should be scared. But she's not.
She's actually excited.
A funny feeling settles in the pit of her stomach and she knows right away what it is.
It's the forever kind of feeling.
"Damn you, Booth."
Booth had some sort of Steelers' paraphernalia in an episode once, but why is he Steelers fan if he's from Phile? Shouldn't he be an Eagles fan? I'm just going with what the "people" already gave us, but it left me a little confused.
More importantly, my first stab at a Bones POV. It kinda felt clinical and detached, didn't it? Not a whole lot of emotion? Thats why I'm thinking I'm gonna stick with Booth...good ol' emotional Booth. Anywho, what did you think?
I, myself, growing up in Virginia, am a Redskins fan. However, my love for the Bears is undeniable. Most of the factoids from the story are from my head (my dad's fault), the rest are from the Bears website. Other things that don't sound like normal people would know, but Bones might? Encarta. Bless it's little computational heart.