A/N: Surprise! I've FINALLY finished! (I may not be quick, but I will persevere! – Take heart GalaxieGurl, your story is not forgotten either)

I know, I know . . . we're not anywhere close to Christmas right now but I was scrolling through some of my old partially written stories and found some text I'd once written that I was finally able to massage enough to incorporate into my 12th prompt and call this challenge complete. (Lord knows, I've started and stopped ideas for this chapter at least a dozen other times).

While I admit the focus of this chapter is not exactly tied to the Bonesology prompt, I do at least include the 12th topic (Christmas music/movies).

Be warned . . . Ending on a bit of a naughty note (Mature audiences only).

Disclaimer: I own nothing Bones related except my imagination. (3/18/18)

Brennan stood at the foot of her bed, naked except for the big fluffy lemony yellow bath towel she had wrapped around her torso after her shower and glowered at what was set out in front of her.

It was ridiculous.

Irrational even.

She was a fully formed, mature woman and if her husband wanted to purchase her some sleepwear, then a satin negligée or a silky peignoir, even a barely there lacy teddy, would be perfectly reasonable. Something seductive and sexy that they would both thoroughly enjoy. But . . . this?

She took a deep breath and blew it out again, noisily, because she could.

It was moments like these when she found Booth's enthusiasm for the Christmas holiday and all it entailed to be a bit overwhelming. At that moment, Brennan really wanted to simply say no. She wanted to stomp her feet and pump her arms up and down and shout "enough is enough, I'm not doing it." She wanted to march back into the bathroom, slam the door, and find that when she came out again, this was all just a bad hallucination.

But no.

She couldn't do any of that.

Not without upsetting Booth. And Christine, of course, who loved Christmas and everything to do with it just as much as her father. They'd both look at her with those big, sad eyes, disappointed that her fervor for the holiday didn't quite equal theirs, and without either one saying a word, she'd feel as though she single-handedly destroyed the entire holiday for them each.

No. If she didn't go along with her husband and her daughter, she'd be forever labelled as "Mommy Grinch," a moniker that made much more sense to her now than it would have before Christine was born and one she was strangely reluctant to acquire. She didn't want to be the wet towel to spoil their fun.

With a big sigh of resignation (it was really only one night a year anyway she tried telling herself), she dropped her towel to the floor and reached down to grab the "hers" half of the "his and hers" holiday fleece footie pajama outfits that Booth had purchased for them both to wear Christmas Eve and into Christmas day and held it up in front of her, reminding herself that she'd long ago stated she'd do anything for Booth and that wearing this, while incredibly silly, would make him extremely happy.

The pajamas were red. Bright, brand-new-just-been-washed-and-waxed-fire-engine red. Except for the parts where it was covered with little cartoon-looking penguins wearing green santa hats and carrying candy canes or Christmas ornaments. They weren't even remotely accurate depictions of authentic penguins, the heads being too round and disproportionate to the body relative to a real penguin and with large googly eyes on the front, not the side, of their craniums. Besides, a penguin couldn't even hold on to something like a candy cane with their flippers.

Pure whimsy.

There were small rubbery circles on the soles of the footies so she wouldn't slip walking on the wooden floors. As she slid her feet into the pajamas and tugged the front zipper all the way from her knee to her chin, she conceded that the soft polyester fleece felt warm and cozy against her bare skin. That aspect was at least somewhat sensuous she acknowledged. Of course, the piece de resistance, as far as she was concerned, was the drop seat. The envelope-style tuck closure, complete with an elastic top and Velcro fasteners that allowed one the ease of using the restroom without having to fully disrobe from the comfy warmth of the pajamas.

Ridiculous.

Brennan looked in the mirror and felt about as sexy as if she'd been wearing a potato sack. She knew Booth was excited about their matching costumes and she just couldn't bring herself to deny him, even if she thought the outfit looked more suited to something she would put on her son, Hank, than herself.

The things I do for that man she thought as she turned and exited her bedroom to join her family.

A short while later, world-renowned forensic anthropologist and New York Times best-selling novelist several times over, Dr. Temperance Brennan sat on the sofa, her year-and-a-half old toddler perched in her lap with his head nestled between her breasts, and her daughter seated beside her, curled up against her father's side. The family of four (with parents in matching footie pajamas no less) was watching Dr. Suess' How The Grinch Stole Christmas movie together.

She'd seen the movie at least a dozen times in the last couple years, and let her mind wander, thinking about where she was in her life.

Ten years ago, she'd have scoffed at anyone who would have told Brennan that she would become a primary figure in the stereotypical classic American nuclear family. Husband and wife with a son and a daughter living in a suburban neighborhood and snuggling together on the couch watching Christmas movies together. All they lacked was a dog named Spot or Rover.

What was even more surprising to her was just how much a part of her had secretly yearned for precisely this life and how happy and satisfied she felt with where she'd ended up. Cohabitating with Booth in a committed relationship and sharing both physical and emotional intimacies had turned out to be quite rewarding. She still occasionally traveled to remote regions of the world for work related activities, but the trips were fewer in frequency and of shorter duration than in the formative years of her career.

And, she was okay with that.

She had made a conscious evaluation of where her many skills would be most valuable and where she could make the biggest difference and determined that, for now and for the foreseeable future, the best utilization of her time and intellect meant staying in Washington D.C., fulfilling the roles of partner, wife, lover, and mother.

Her family needed her to be with them the most.

She needed to be with them too.

Especially Booth, who she must confess, looked quite delicious in his red outfit, even dotted with inaccurately depicted penguins. Red was a very good color on him. One she found quite enticing.

At the sounds of giggles from her progeny, she cast a covert glance towards her husband. He was just as enchanted with the movie as the kids, wearing a goofy grin on his face as he followed along with the events occurring in Whoville. He seemed happy, something she had long ago been worried she'd not be able to provide for him. Just as importantly, given all the turmoil he'd been through in the past couple of years, he seemed relaxed. Truly relaxed. She could tell because the hand at the end of his arm resting on the couch back above Christine's head was still. His fingers peacefully dangling there – no twitching, no flipping his sobriety chip around and around, no rolling a die between his digits. They just lay there calmly, not moving at all.

Brennan turned her head back to the movie but her mind was still stuck on thinking about Booth's fingers.

She thought about how strong they'd felt the time he wrapped them around her arm and pulled her from a rocky grave in the early days of their partnership. If she closed her eyes and thought about that experience, she could still recall the overwhelming relief she'd felt as she'd realized he had hold of her. He'd gripped her so hard, there'd been bruises on her skin in the imprint of his fingers for several days after and she would have been perfectly content if those particular bruises had never faded.

She thought about how powerful his hands looked as they confidently cradled his gun whenever he had to challenge an adversary in the course of his work, something she'd found oddly arousing even long before they'd become sexually involved.

She thought about how comforting his fingers had felt as they held her close and combed gently through her hair while she'd despaired over the loss of an intern who died at the whim of a serial killer that thought he was the Hand of God. She didn't believe God really existed, but if he did, his hands would be more like Booth's than Broadsky's, of that she was certain.

She thought about how sexy they could look, the contrast of his perpetually tan fingers against her pale skin and how exciting they felt when he stroked them over her body, whether it was to smooth over the naked contour of her back or a barely there caress across the tips of her nipples or any other number of ways he masterfully strummed her body like Niccolo Paganini strummed his violin.

Just as she was beginning to feel her body starting to respond to her salacious thoughts, she noticed the Grinch was serving dinner to all the Whos in Whoville, signaling the end of the movie.

Hank had fallen asleep on her lap, snuggled in to her warm fleece outfit, so Brennan rose gently from the sofa and carried him down the hall to his crib, tucking him in.

Christine on the other hand was still fighting the sleepys, the excitement of knowing it was Christmas Eve and what the morrow would bring keeping her wound up, so Booth volunteered to read her a couple bedtime stories.

Brennan returned to the living room, poured herself a glass of wine, a scotch for Booth, and set the jukebox to play Christmas songs softly in the background, knowing from years past that her husband would want to hear the holiday tunes for the remainder of the evening. She smiled to herself, it had become a tradition of theirs and Booth had taught her to appreciate having traditions that were uniquely theirs.

A few minutes later, Booth returned and Brennan handed him his scotch as he dropped down onto the sofa beside her.

"Christine go down okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. She's excited about tomorrow, but she was really tired too." He took a sip of his drink, relishing the flavor on his tongue, and chuckled. "First we read The Polar Express and then we read Twas The Night Before Christmas. She was out by the time St. Nicholas came down the chimney with a bound."

Brennan leaned back against the couch and smiled warmly at him. "You are a wonderful father, Booth."

He smiled back, always pleased to get her praise. "Thanks, Bones." He took another sip of his drink before leaning forward and setting it on the coffee table. "Hey, you know what?" He stood up. Turning to face his wife, he held out his hand, palm up. "I think you should dance with me." Bing Crosby's I'll Be Home For Christmas was playing in the background.

She rolled her eyes, but set her drink next to his and accepted his hand, happily letting him help pull her up and into his arms. Booth maneuvered them over in front of the Christmas tree so they'd have a bit more room and wrapped his arms around her waist as she draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his clavicle as she snuggled in to his chest and began to sway, slowly. "You look beautiful tonight, Bones."

She couldn't help it. She let out a full throated laugh. "I look like a plum tomato with a spotting disease."

Booth lifted one of his hands from around her waist and swatted her playfully on the ass.

"Hey" she leaned back, pretending affront. "None of that or you're not getting anything but coal in your stocking later tonight."

"You look beautiful," he insisted, a twinkle in his eyes as his voice softened and they continued to dance. "You look, you know, kinda soft and cuddly, not like some stiff, starchy kick-ass forensic anthropologist and I love that I'm the only one who gets to see this side of you." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I look at you in this outfit and I see a beautiful woman who loves me enough to indulge my whims and one who's willing to bend on her natural inclinations to please her children. You look fun . . . and loveable . . . and I just think you look great . . . . To me that's beautiful."

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "If you're wanting to have sex, Booth, all you have to do is say so."

Booth rolled his eyes then leaned down and blew a big, loud, wet raspberry on her neck, right below her ear. She squealed and squirmed in his arms, hollering his name, but he didn't let her get away. "Of course I want to have sex, Bones. I always want to have sex with you, but that's not what I was getting at."

Brennan moved her arms, running the palms of her hands over his shoulders and down his pectorals. "You fill these pajamas out better than I do. They don't even look silly on you."

He chuckled at the hint of a pout in her voice. "Mmm, that's cause I'm so hot I make everything look good, but if you keep running your hands over my chest like that and neither one of us will be wearing these outfits for very long."

The corner of her mouth lifted in a flirtatious grin as she deliberately, provocatively smoothed her hands over his chest again, pausing only long enough to flick his nipples through the fleece with her thumbnails. "Promise?"

His response was to move forward the short distance that separated them and press his mouth to hers, sipping at her lips until she opened and let him in, his tongue tangling with hers as they both fought to be the one in control. She could taste the smoky flavor of his scotch in his kiss and moaned in pleasure. He used one arm to pull her body closer to his, pressing them together intimately, while sliding the other hand down to palm her bottom, taking advantage of the drop flap in her pajamas to slide inside the material to the warm flesh beneath.

"Bones," he pulled back, breaking their kiss and looking at her in faux outrage, "No panties?"

She answered with a saucy grin. "Good detecting there, Agent Booth. Think Santa will consider that naughty or nice?"

"Oh, well, I can't speak for Santa, but I find it naughty . . . definitely very naughty, but in the nicest way."

She gently tugged on the zipper at his neck, sliding it down to the base of his sternum so that she could plant small wet kisses at his suprasternal notch, letting her tongue sneak out to sample his warm skin.

"Mmmm," he groaned. "I love when you do that."

They continued to dance, their slow swaying to the music becoming a little more aggressive as they deliberately rubbed together, rocking their hips suggestively. Brennan could feel the stiff ridge of her husband's penis cradled against her abdomen through the soft fleece of both their outfits. Booth placed a knuckle under her chin and lifted her face to his so he could kiss her again.

That they would end up making love before the evening was through hadn't ever really been in doubt, but he claimed her mouth in a manner that let her know things were progressing rapidly towards that direction, promising sooner rather than later. The moist heat of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue, the breathtaking way he consumed her lips still left her reeling.

"Booth?" she broke for air.

"Yeah, Bones."

"Mmm, I'm very aroused and the natural increase in blood pressure combined with the flushing of my capillaries near the surface of my epidermis related to my arousal is elevating my body temperature."

Booth looked at his wife and blinked. Twice. Three times as he tried to understand her comment through the haze of lust clouding his mind. "You're getting too warm?"

She smiled with pleasure, always pleased by how well he understood her. "Yes. Comfy as these pajamas feel for lounging around, the fleece is feeling overly warm now."

He kissed her again, just because he couldn't not kiss her. "Well, we can rectify that pretty easily, Bones." He stepped back from their embrace, but retained hold of one hand. "Bedroom?" he gave a tug and started to pull her that direction.

Brennan bit her bottom lip and pulled back, resisting. "Sofa."

"Yeah?" He stepped closer again and reached for the top of her zipper. "Sofa, huh?"

She blushed and gave him a sheepish grin. "Well . . . it's kind of tradition, Booth."

"Tradition," he grinned, "making love in front of the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve," his gaze focused on the hints of flesh revealed by the hum of her zipper coming undone. "Man, do I love our traditions."

They quickly disrobed from there, leaving two piles of red fleece and a bunch of happy penguins on the floor.

Brennan fell back into the sofa cushions, pulling her husband down on top of her.

Foreplay wasn't really necessary after their dancing and flirting. She was already wet and he was already hard. Nonetheless, they weren't in an urgent frenzy yet and both still took immense pleasure in all aspects of their lovemaking.

So, they took their time . . . she fisted him and stroked top to bottom, swirling her thumb over the tip of his glans on the upstroke . . . he trailed open mouthed kisses across her chest, suckling on one extremely responsive, pert nipple until he heard her mewl of pleasure before switching to the other . . . she slid her hand down to palm his ass and pull him closer, letting her fingernails scrape along the seam between his cheeks, sending shivers up his spine at the teasing hint of taboo . . . he reached between her legs, spreading her labia and stroking her folds, making sure to tease her clitoris just enough to keep her on edge without letting her go over.

They each knew what the other liked so they stroked, nibbled, sucked, squeezed and rubbed together, the pleasure for each increasing with the pleasure of the other until they could hold back no more.

"Booth. Now."

"Bones."

He shifted his hips and she was ready for him, greeting him warmly as he slid into her body, uniting them fully at last. She orgasmed almost instantly at the feel of him deep inside, the walls of her vaginal channel gripped him tightly as they rippled around him. "Aw, fuck, Bones. You're incredible."

"I know." With Herculean effort, Booth stayed still until she settled down, then started to slowly rock his pelvis. "More, Booth," she commanded.

He delivered.

The next several minutes were filled with grunts, sighs, and moans broken by demands for "more . . . harder . . . don't stop . . . oh god, do that again."

When Booth was certain she was about to hit her second orgasm, he let go, burying himself as deep as he could get while she clenched violently around him, the legs wrapped around his hips keeping him pressed as tightly to her as he could be. They both exploded together, completely consumed by the fire they'd built.

When it was over, neither moved for several minutes. They both relished the aftermath of their lovemaking sessions too, lying quietly together as their breathing returned to normal, their blood pressure calming, the rapid beating of their hearts pressed close together slowly stabilizing.

However, they couldn't stay there all night. They had stockings to stuff and Santa's Christmas presents needed to appear under the tree so eventually, they started to stir.

"I love you, Booth." Brennan stated as he shifted off her body, allowing her to sit up.

"I know, Bones." He smiled at her tenderly. "I love you too."

Naked, disheveled, sweaty and sticky, she strode across the room to the hall closet and removed several bags of goodies, all wrapped previously, and turned back towards the tree. She could sense her husband's eyes following her and turned to catch his hungry gaze admiring her body.

"C'mon, Booth. Give me hand here," she ordered. "Once we're done with this, we can do that . . ." she glanced towards the sofa with a teasing smile ". . . . again, if you're up for it."

Booth stood up and picked up one of the bags of gifts, starting to pull things out and place them under the tree. Flashing her his cockiest grin, he responded. "Of course I'm up for it, Bones. It is tradition, you know."

A/N: For those that may not recall, Booth told Brennan he was going to celebrate Christmas wearing his footie pajamas in S11E8. That was the true prompt for how this chapter came about. Hope this provides a little warm cheer, especially for those about to be hit with their 4th Nor'easter in the last few weeks. As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated.