The Problem, by chibiness87
Rated M (prob high T, but I like to err on the side of caution)

A/N: So hi. *waves*. It's been a while. But something Booth said made my muse awaken from her deep, deep sleep (*cough*coma*cough*) and this was born. We in the UK have only just gotten Season 8, so apologies if the series has cheered up. This is a bit angsty, and a little disjointed, and I'm not sure if I like the ending. But oh well. Not beta'd.

Sex is not the problem – it's the solution. – Booth, The Partners in the Divorce

What he tells Sweets is the truth. They have had no problem having sex since she got back. Surprise laundry room sex. Fast morning-shower-and-there's-no-time sex. Hard I've-missed-you-so-badly up-against-the-wall sex. In fact, they've probably had more sex in the past few weeks than they did in the months before she had to run. Maybe more than when they first started dating. It's not like he's keeping count. He just knows it's a lot.

Despite what Angela thinks, they have sex. And they fuck. In any room and on any flat horizontal surface they can find in the house. And when they run out of horizontal ones they use a few vertical ones too. And once on the stairs. But after they both wake up the next morning with bruises a crippled back they mutually agreed not to do that again.

And when they run out, they go back and start the list of all the flat surfaces all over again. Well. Almost every flat surface.

The one place they have not had sex since she's been back is their bed. Their bed, where, after screwing each other so hard they both come screaming, they then say a quite goodnight to each other and then turn away. Because, even now, now that he knows she's home and no longer wakes up in the night next to an empty space, he can't hold her through the night like he used to, spooned up against her back as proof she's real and there. Can't hold her, can't touch her, can't even look at her.

And that's the kicker.

For all the surprise, fast, hard sex they're having, he's managed to keep the eye contact to a minimum; preferring instead to bury his head in her neck, close his eyes and pound into her for all he's worth. He doesn't, can't, meet her eyes, fall into the depths of them like he used to, before, when they were making love.

There is nothing loving about bending her over and taking her from behind on their kitchen counter, dishes pushes hastily aside to make room.

He's angry. And hurt. And he's missed her. By all that is good and Holy, has he missed her. Her face. Her smile. Her scent. His body has been starved of her for the past three months, and now that she is back he has a constant semi around the house, and it doesn't take much to get his motor going full throttle.

But he still can't make love to her. Can't bear the thought of spending hours worshipping her body, make her arch against his mouth. He misses her taste like no one would believe, but he knows if he was to go there, he would never look back. And that's something he can't help but do these days.

Three months is an awful long time to live feeling like half of you is missing. And now that she's back, expecting everything to go back to the way it was before, he can't help but be angry at her naivety.

Things are not the same. They can never truly be the same. As much as it sucks, Pelant has won in this battle. He will never feel like he can fully trust her again. But he still loves her. It's twisted and sick and annoying, but he will always love her.

Even when he can't make love to her.

No, sex is not the problem.

Thoughts?