AN: This chapter's still rated T, but it's extra-steamy, so take off your eyeglasses and tie your hair back whydoncha. : )

Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping into a vault. After the bustle and percussion of the street, the quiet felt almost cottony, and it took a moment before Booth could hear anything but the nervous beating of his heart. He was right on time, at the restaurant Bones had insisted on meeting at rather than allowing him to pick her up.

He wasn't sure why she was so insistent on meeting like this: maybe it was some sort of equal-footing thing to ensure that they wouldn't argue about who should drive. Or maybe it was so that she could leave independently whenever she wanted in case the date wasn't going well. He really hoped it wasn't that.

He shrugged out of his coat, flicking miniscule drops of fog from his jacket lapels. From somewhere in the periphery came the sound of a single string sustained, resonant and commanding in the hush. Too somber to be a violin-maybe a cello? Sibilant pops of percussion rose to his ears next: the ceramic scrape of cutlery against dishware, the ting of thin glasses, the low susurration of intimate conversations.

It was immediately clear to Booth that this was not a casual type of establishment. This was the type of restaurant you'd take a date-an important date. He swallowed nervously and handed his trench to a coatcheck who had appeared out of nowhere, pocketing the paper slip absently.

When he turned around, the maitre de had swooped in with a world-weary, patronizing tilt to his head.

"Meeting someone," Booth mumbled, tipping his head in the direction of the bar.

"Of course," the man gestured courteously.

Booth allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim, reddened lights as he scanned the clusters of people around the wood-paneled bar area. He was unsure whether this habit came from his military background or his time spent as an agent, but he was, without fail, a man aware of his surroundings. And tonight it seemed more important than usual that he keep his bearings.

The pressure of the occasion was weighing on him; he couldn't remember ever being this nervous for a date in his life. And even though he told himself over and over that this was just his partner, just his best friend, he couldn't get a single thought out of his mind: that this was his last chance. That everything was riding on this one opportunity, that he never could have expected, when Bones had asked him out.

He wanted to be the man she used to believe he was. He wanted to prove to her that he was still that guy who believed in making love, in miracles, in loyalty and friendship. That he was still that good man. That he'd made mistakes but could make it up to her if just given the chance.

And now, sooner than he had ever dared to hope, she was giving him that chance. And he felt like he wasn't ready. After settling his heart so hard for this one woman, would he ever feel ready?

He flipped the poker chip in his pocket nervously, sliding his eyes down the bar's patrons until he saw her, and his heart hummed in satisfaction. She had her back to him, but he would have recognized the slender column of her body anywhere. She was wearing an ivory colored dress that revealed her pale shoulders, and the rosy pendulum lights above her burnished the auburn curtain of her hair to a fiery copper glow.

She turned suddenly, as if she could feel his gaze burning into her, and their eyes met. Booth felt chastened, having been caught checking her out, until he realized that he was finally allowed to do exactly that. They were on a date, and he didn't have to hide his interest in her anymore.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the slightest hint of a smile grace her lips as she held their eye contact across the distance. She made no move to approach him and he made no move to meet her; they simply stilled, locked in a look that simmered and heated as if they were in a room alone.

His gaze flicked quickly from her eyes to her lips, and if she noticed their redirection, she didn't reveal it. And if he noticed her own eyes dart briefly to trace the broad line of his shoulders, he let it slide.

And before he could catch himself, his eyes were sliding farther down her obliquely-turned body, tracing the golden spill of light over her delicate shoulders and the swell of her full breasts in profile, to the lean lengths of her crossed legs and the flirtatious peek of her toes within her heeled sandals.

He couldn't believe he was finally allowed to undress her with his eyes like this; he couldn't believe she was returning his curiosity in spades. It felt like a dam bursting, to finally unleash the energy that had crackled between them from their first meeting, an energy that was so overwhelmingly sexual it threatened to obliterate all the other feeling between them.

Without knowing how he'd gotten there, he had crossed the room and found himself directly in front of her, leaning into her space with a challenge in his eyes that he hadn't revealed since that day in the shooting range when she'd dared him to be a cop.

She tilted her chin up in a look that returned his challenge with interest, the blue light from her eyes singeing him deliciously, and he couldn't stop himself-didn't want to stop himself ever again-from palming the back of her head and tilting her lips against his in a possessive, passionate kiss.

They were both breathless when they pulled apart, slightly amazed at the sudden urgency of this attraction between them, having simmered and grown rich for so many years; an indefinable energy that they'd both mastered for so long had suddenly overtaken them with its power. As they shared the millimeters of air between their lips, Booth's fingers carefully caressed the skin of her soft cheek.

"I meant to wait until the end of our date to do that but... then I saw you and... I had a little trouble with the... waiting part," he explained lamely, smiling gently at her soft laughter.

His fingers traced through her hair with open curiosity, as if he was seeing her again for the first time.

She tipped her face gently towards his hand, discreetly nuzzling into the warmth of his fingers.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly.

"Bones," he whispered reverently, so enraptured that he was no longer aware of their surroundings.

His hand stilled on the side of her neck, cupping her jaw delicately, exploring the warmth and texture of her skin. He felt the tiniest tremor of a shiver pass through her body and watched, fascinated, as her lips parted just slightly. He wanted to taste her again, with an almost chemical compulsion, as if he'd already developed an addiction.

His memory of that tequila-slaked kiss in the rain so many years ago, the last time they'd unleashed the attraction between them, burned in his mind. He wouldn't have thought it possible at the time, but he wanted her so much more now, with a ferocity that that impulsive young man he used to be wouldn't have been able to handle.

And he had to handle it better now. He owed their relationship a shot at romance.

"Should we?" he asked softly, offering her his arm.

When she descended from her perch at the bar, he noted a faint wobble in her step and pulled her even closer to his body for support.

They followed the maitre de across the restaurant, almost comically slowly, like some absurdly pretentious parade. The carpet was menacingly plush underfoot, and Brennan's heels sank perilously into the nap, giving her an excuse to tighten her hold on Booth.

Their table was built into a curved partition, intimately situated away from the other guests. They were thankful for the privacy; if the conversation turned to work topics, other diners would be unsettled to say the least to overhear their words. On the other hand, if the conversation continued in the vein that it had started at the bar, the maitre de was wise to hide them away in a corner.

Two attendants flanked their table and Brennan was irritated to discover that this was the type of establishment that insisted on not only pulling out a woman's chair but also draping a napkin directly onto her lap, which she had always considered an uncomfortable invasion of her personal space. She had to fight not to slap the young man's hand away from her legs and looked up to see a knowing grin on her partner's face.

She hated sometimes how easily he seemed to peer into her thoughts.

Booth set his menu aside and smiled at the pique on Brennan's face. The dim lighting cast charcoal-soft shadows beneath her cheekbones and deepened the recesses of her auburn hair mysteriously. It was a good thing that their usual fare of workaday meals didn't include candlelight, because the soft flicker from the table votive reflected alluringly in her eyes and made him wonder how the rest of her would look in candlelight.

"So...he started. "This is a pretty fancy place. I'm not sure they're going to have any french fries for you to steal off my plate."

She smiled. She knew that this restaurant wasn't Booth's type of establishment, and part of her had thought that maybe the best way for her to gain some confidence in their new detente would be to throw Booth off his game a bit. But that plan had clearly failed. As soon as he'd arrived, he'd somehow muted all sound, blanked out all other sights, and focused her attention magnetically where he wanted it. And then that kiss... that kiss.

This place made her feel oddly soporific, the oppressive hush like being underwater. It seemed to be slowing her thoughts, turning them languid and fecund. She found herself appreciating the sight of Booth in the candlelight. His eyes seemed darker, the sculpted angles of his face more prominent.

When the sommelier appeared, she pointed to a mid-priced shiraz just to get rid of him. Maybe some wine would help her focus. Maybe not. Either way, it would be something to do, something to wrap her fingers around and rest her eyes on so that maybe she could stop staring at her partner like a geneticist with her first supercomputer.

The next few minutes were occupied by choosing their meals. Booth could barely remember what he had ordered; his sole focus was on not declaring how sexy his partner was, on not staring too long into her magnetic eyes, on not reaching out to cover her hand with his own. He even thought that he could smell her, catching an occasional whiff of something citrusy and soft.

The waiter arrived with their wine, which Brennan approved as Booth looked on with amusement; she wasn't trying to intimidate the waiter but her discerning tone certainly straightened the kid's spine immediately. They ordered their meals; Booth wasn't even sure what he'd selected. He was having a tiny amount of trouble concentrating.

"So," he started awkwardly. "If this was a normal first date for you, what would you talk about now, Bones? He was suddenly curious to know about her average first date so that he could take careful aim and completely annihilate them all with his date.

Brennan tipped her head curiously. "I suppose I'd start with basics. Where do you live, what do you do, assuming I don't already know these things, which is unlikely." She paused, biting the corner of her lip thoughtfully. "Generally, I focus on what not to say more than what to say. I have to refrain from talking about work too much..." she explained.

"You don't talk about work on dates?" he asked.

"I've learned to provide only the basic outline," she demurred, as a waiter interrupted them with to refill their wine glasses. "I usually find my writing to be a safer topic of conversation," she continued. "But even then..."

"Even then...?"

"It's... not always an ideal topic, that's all."

He nodded. "All the blood and gore makes your dates squeamish, huh?"

Momentarily perplexed, she gazed at him. Was he deliberately misunderstanding her or did he genuinely not ascertain her true meaning?

"It's not the 'blood and gore' as you put it that my dates have objected to in the past... it's... well..." she tipped her head meaningfully at him.

Blank, he shook his head, not following.

"It's you, Booth. Why I don't talk about work. Why I don't even like to talk about my books. Whether it's questions about Andy Lister or how long we've worked together... my dates just seem to proceed more smoothly when there's less... you in the conversation."

"Oh."

Thankful for the first course that had just arrived in front of them, Booth listlessly pushed some greens around with his fork. He had no idea how to respond to her last comment. Should he apologize for apparently being all over her life, to the extent that she had to struggle to find topics of discussion that couldn't lead back to him? Should he feel bad for his role in her past romantic flops? Or should he feel smug and self-satisfied that he'd managed to derail the losers who'd come before him, even if unwittingly?

Definitely the latter, he decided, shooting her a cocky grin.

Luckily, she smiled back, seemingly too distracted by her salad plate to lecture him for his arrogance.

"This is the part of a date," she continued quietly, "where I'd already know if I wanted to see you again."

His eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear her verdict. Apart from striding across the bar and mauling her with his mouth, he'd provided very little in the way of scintillating conversation so far. He'd been too busy studying the shape her lips made as she swallowed her wine, too busy noticing the delicate taper of her fingertips and wondering what her hands might feel like on his bare skin.

So he decided to distract her before Professor Brennan could slap him with an unsatisfactory grade, completely ignoring the entree that had just been set in front of him.

"This is the part of the date where I would pretend to be fascinated by what you've been saying... you can tell because I'm leaning towards you and I have this thoughtful expression on my face, see?" he teased.

She laughed, surprised at his playfulness. "You would pretend?" she asked in mock outrage.

Booth nodded, placing his fork quietly on the table and pinning her with a gaze so heavy and intense that she swallowed convulsively.

"I'm not pretending this time, Bones. I'm definitely fascinated-not just because of the conversation." He very deliberately dropped his gaze to her lips, which felt suddenly dry.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Brennan cleared her throat.

"It's odd to think of what this evening would be like if it were our first date. Well, I mean, I suppose it really is our first date, but..." she stammered sweetly. "It doesn't feel like it. After all, I've already seen you naked," she joked.

Booth went still. She was joking, sure, but all he really noted was that Bones was talking about naked. And every part of his anatomy tightened with anticipation just from the way she throatily sounded out the word: naked.

Normally, if a conversation with his partner veered into such territory, he would back off, keep it casual and crack a joke. Smooth it over, keep it superficial. But not tonight; tonight he was drunk on the freedom of flirting, and possibly the third glass of wine he'd poured after the waiter brought their second bottle. So he didn't back off-he jumped in.

"And what did you think of that, Bones?"

"Think of what?"

"Seeing me naked," he said softly.

Her gaze flew to his like a flock of panicked birds. "I-" she stumbled.

Booth's face remained serious, not allowing her the easy escape of humor. He really wanted to know what she'd thought of him, and he really wanted to find a way to make her say the word naked again.

She glowed. She seemed to be thinking through his question obediently and she was literally glowing. He swore her skin had somehow taken on the sheen of crystals. If this is what her face looked like when she was just thinking sexually, what must it look like when she actually...

"I admit I enjoyed it very much," she offered quietly, her voice silky. "I'd been aware, obviously, of... your impressive musculature... but I wasn't prepared for your skin to look so... smooth," she said bashfully.

Booth's breathing had gotten steadily shallower as she talked and he was almost light-headed, hanging on her every word.

"... I wanted to touch you," Brennan admitted, looking down at her napkin nervously.

"Bones," he started hesitantly, feeling the need to offer up his own secret in the sudden intimacy. "That time, after the Santa bomb exploded all over me... you have no idea..." he shook his head gravely. "Alone in the lab, with you acting all no-nonsense while unzipping my pants, Bones. My God," he groaned. "Do you have any idea how many fantasies I've had that start exactly like that?"

Her eyes, blue lasers in her pink-flushed face, pinned him with their intensity. "What happens next? ...In your fantasies?" she asked breathlessly.

A shaky groan escaped his lips as he stared at the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way the blush had snuck south from her cheeks to decorate her neck and collarbones. He knew he shouldn't answer. That would be an answer too far; things were already heating up beyond his tenuous control and God help him, he couldn't just sit across a table from Bones and graphically describe all the ways he'd mastered her in his fantasies. Could he?

Booth swallowed tightly, pushing his plate out of the way and laying his hands palm-up near hers in invitation.

Cautiously, Brennan placed her hand on top of his and they both watched together as his larger hand curled around hers. His fingers were thicker, darker, rougher-skinned as they traveled over her own more delicate fingers. They explored eachother's hands in intricate silence, the space between their palms growing humid and moist.

Her hand fisted into a ball of tension, his large hand wrapping over and around her fist protectively. His long index finger invaded the curled space between her finger and thumb, nudging around the sensitive area before boldly pushing his finger knuckle-deep past the soft folds of skin on her hand. His eyes, serious-dark and intent, never left hers as his finger continued invading her hand in a none-too-subtle parody of sex.

Brennan's lips parted slightly, her breath coming in shallow pants as her eyelids lowered to half-mast, lost in the seductive promise he was making. Her hand tightened on his convulsively, both of them exquisitely aware of the other's thoughts.

The waiter chose that precise moment to appear table-side and ask, "May I interest you in some dessert this evening?"

"Check," Booth commanded tersely.

They paid, made their way through the coatcheck and out of the restaurant in a sizzling electrical storm of delicious tension.

Mindful of the wine they'd drank, Booth hailed a cab and barked his address at the cabbie. He turned to his partner in the darkness of the backseat, the moment thrilling him with awareness. He was finally with her, next to her, in the backseat of a cab so similar to the ones she'd disappeared from his view in too many times.

Her lips seemed swollen as she gazed back at him, docile-eyed and curious, the headlights of passing cars chasing over the beautiful lines of her face.

Booth's warm hand gripped her bare knee firmly. He wasn't sure if he placed his fingers there to calm them both down, to ease them back from the brink they'd found themselves so quickly before, or just because he wanted to.

But he found himself moving higher, as they both watched the progress of his fingers on her skin. Her leg was the texture of flower petals, and so warm.

He watched her face carefully as his fingers found the edge of her dress. "Is this okay?" he breathed, fixated with the way her head had fallen back luxuriantly on the headrest.

Booth angled his body over hers, inching closer, and she turned her head back towards him, intense desire written on her features. Their lips met cautiously, carefully, exploring slowly with a closeness that belied their first date.

Her mouth was soft under his, warm and mysterious, a combination of sensations and tastes and touches that were both familiar to him and excitingly new. Everything that she was to him collided together spectacularly; friend, partner, most trusted, most wanted, sexy and soft, the standard.

The kiss went from tender and tentative to demanding in a split second, as their tongues slid and slipped together, reacquainting possessively. Booth's hand slid brashly underneath her dress, clenching and kneading the silky skin of her thigh as they attempted to press their bodies together, heedless of the cab driver's comfort.

"God-"

"Booth," she groaned.

"Oh, baby..."

"Shhhhh..."

They spilled out of the cab in a heated flurry of humid skin and too-confining fabric and desperately welded bodies. Brennan had to wrestle the key out of his hand, because he was too intent on cupping her ass in his broad hands to bother opening his own door.

He knew they were blowing past first, second, and third base at a dangerous clip, but he just couldn't stop. Every part that he dared to place his hands on seemed to inflame her even more to the point that he felt like he was juggling fire.

When they finally struggled into his apartment, shut safely inside, the last of his restraint vanished and he bullied her against the door, pinning her still with the pressure of his hips and feasting on her slender neck. The sounds she was making, low throaty purrs and gasps of pleasure, fed his hunger, tightening and swelling his groin almost to the point of pain, making him plow his hips into the soft notch of her legs artlessly.

Her hands were everywhere, delving under his suit cleverly, tracing thin lines of shivering desire in their wake. She couldn't decide what to touch first, what to worship, but his shoulders unerringly drew her interest and she hooked her palms over top of them, relishing the feeling of being surrounded and encaged by his broad body. She writhed and wriggled mindlessly against him, almost incoherent from the adrenalin and hormones flooding her brain in a sensual wave, struggling to ease the ache in her heavy breasts by pressing herself fiercely against the flat plane of his torso.

"Sweet, so... baby..." he mumbled, sucking her earlobe into his mouth, his hastened breathing an excruciatingly hot tempo against the sensitive folds of her ear.

She writhed against him, forcing him to move his head so that she could bite his own earlobe in retaliation.

The sting of her little teeth against his flesh startled him and amped up his need. He brought both hands to her breasts in retaliation, grasping as much of her pillowy flesh in his palms as he possibly could, making her gasp.

He had to get her clothes off. He'd never felt so out of control in his life. He turned her briskly in his arms and walked her in the direction of his bedroom, wrapping his body around hers from behind and bending his head to suckle the nape of her elegant neck as they stumbled together.

She had never felt as alive as she did at that very second, with her partner's work-weathered hands pushing and prodding her pliable body into his bedroom. She was completely adrift, lost to sensation, as she turned her body back towards his and wrapped herself around him. It felt so surreal to finally add 'lover' to the list of ways she'd intimately known this man. It was almost too good to be true. When Hannah had lived here, Brennan had completely, one-hundred-percent given up her dream of being with Booth. And to be here now, with his lips sealed scorchingly against hers, his tongue invading her mouth so temptingly, and the feel of his most personal body parts married to hers. It was overwhelming. Impossible to describe.

And maybe it was the thought of how close she had come to losing their entire relationship when Hannah had lived here... or maybe it was the fact that her first look at his bed sent her heart tripping into panic. The bed was unmade with rumpled gray sheets thrown into chaos, as if the serious-as-a-heart-attack woman who'd most recently received his attentions there had gotten up only moments ago. As if one side of the bed might still hold the impression and lingering warmth of the gregarious blonde and the paltry weight of her simple youth. As if she had just stepped out of bed for a moment but might be coming back.

Booth felt her tense in his arms, felt her go rigidly still, and looked at her anxiously. Her face was an unreadable mask of tension, and she was fixated on his bedroom behind him. He turned to see what she was seeing, but comprehended nothing.

"Bones? Baby? What's wrong?" he asked, still breathing heavily.

"I-" she backed away from him suddenly and his body already felt chilled without her presence.

"Talk to me. What is it?" he begged, his concern increasing exponentially as her face remained impassive and wan, all that molten desire inexplicably cooled to ash.

"I'm sorry... I have to go," she mumbled, breaking from his arms and hastily returning the shoulder strap of her dress to its rightful place. "I'm sorry," she called again, striding quickly from the room and leaving Booth in a state of shock and disbelieving pain.

His chest felt tight, like the blood couldn't get to his heart because his heart was being squeezed by something. He wondered for a second if he was having some sort of stroke. He felt light-headed, shaky.

By the time he realized that he needed to go after her, he'd pounded down the stairs to find her already gone, having probably evaporated in some godforsaken taxi like she always seemed to.

He plodded up the steps slowly, feeling on the verge of either punching the wall or crying like a giant girl.

What had just happened? Everything had been going so, so well... and then... And then Bones had just... stopped. Simply shut herself off in his arms like a marionette doll who had run out of revolutions. Was it something he'd done? Or not done?

Dear God... the thought that maybe he'd just sexually molested his partner... But no, she'd been willing, right? I mean, she'd seemed really... but then she'd never actually said... because God, he didn't ask...

Shit shit shit, his brain drummed in rhythm as he dredged his fingers through his hair and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. The bed! She'd been looking at the bed when she'd...

Like a true investigator, Booth hopped up and turned to stand where Brennan had been, observing his room from her vantage point as if he had never seen it. As if he were Bones.

Okay, a few pieces of dirty laundry in the corner, maybe a little too much dust on top of his dresser... a general lack of decoration, but nothing to freak her out like that. She had acted like she'd seen a ghost.

And suddenly he realized, looking down at the bed, the way the sheets were flung haphazardly across it, the pillows in disarray, that from Brennan's perspective, it might look too much like... like someone had been there recently other than him. Like dozens of someones had been there.

He remembered the lost look on her face and knew somehow that he was right. She'd seen his bed and for some reason, she'd thought of Hannah. Of how recently the other woman had shared this very bed- not only as a temporary occupant but as the bed she returned to each night. As her bed; as home. This wasn't just his bed anymore. It had been Hannah's too.

"Oh Bones," he whispered into his lonely bedroom, heartsick for the mess that had flourished disease-like around both of them. Just when he thought they had shaken it, the pathogen resurfaced, ripping this singular chance from his hands and dusting Bones' beautiful face with hopelessness.

Then, a beacon in the darkness, his phone lit to life in his hand. A text, from Bones.

Not running. Was just too much too soon. Realized u just broke up with H, probably need space/time. Shouldn't have asked u on date yet. Sorry for all of it. -T

Booth collapsed back in exhaustion. Part of him was relieved; the Bones of even one year ago wouldn't have been considerate enough to send him any message. But the Bones of now clearly wasn't being totally honest about what had upset her.

Dammit, she wasn't upset that Hannah had been with him so recently; she was upset that Hannah had been with him at all. And the damn bed had served to rub the whole situation in her face again. They would need to talk about this again. Even if Bones was ready to forgive, apparently she wasn't ready to forget. He'd been so stupid, again.

Booth went through his nighttime rituals and got ready for bed. It was a very different end to his evening that he would have expected when he'd first gotten home with Brennan's limbs wrapped around him like a starfish.

He knew that sleep would be a long time coming that night. The combination of guilt and disappointment, layered over the near-constant state of arousal he'd been suffering since finding her at the bar, was going to vex him for hours still, he knew. But he needed to get at least a little rest, because tomorrow he had important work to do. He was going to burn his fucking bed to a pile of scorched cinders and ask Bones to please try again.

AN: Whew! Writing kissedy scenes is always nerve-wracking. Could you let me know how it was? Things to improve? Thanks for reading! Xoxox- Maggie