Disclaimer: I give full credit where credit is due: Booth and Brennan are not my characters. Title is from a quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes.

Author's Note: Double drabble, 200 words. First thing I've finished in a while. This idea has been floating around my head, but I only recently figured out how to write it. Enjoy!

Phalanges. He brushes a kiss across her knuckles.

Metacarpals. A kiss to the palm of her hand.

Carpals. He kisses the smooth sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.

Then is radius, on the inside of her forearm, and ulna, as he turns her arm over.

Humerus is a kiss to her shoulder, and scapula is to the bony process above her shoulder. Clavicle is – oh – a scraping kiss along her collar-bone, nearly clean-shaven chin against fragile skin, coming to rest in the hollow in her throat just above the manubrium, which gets a kiss in passing as well.

His jaw scrapes against hers, feather-light kisses, mandible, mandible, man- ohh, and that's the fossa, the – dammit – it doesn't matter, because it's soft and sensitive and pulsing, and his tongue flicks out to taste it, and she sighs. But then there's mastoid process right behind her ear and zygomatic arch sweeping down towards her cheek and then there's her mouth and all the bones go straight out of his head.

He knows she doesn't think he cares, but he knows her, inside and out, head, heart, and body, and he'll never let her know he learned her bones for her.