Part VI: A Challenge Offered & Accepted

A/N: Long time no write, huh? Halloween has always been a special time for Bren the Witch and Angel-Booth. I've been sitting on this chapter for quite a long time. It's less polished than some of its predecessors. But I've decided to share it as is. Hopefully it will be enjoyable to those who remember the story. Happy Halloween.

UNF Alert: Not the main payoff, but there is some stuff, particularly thanks to a well-placed flashback!

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Brennan snickered at him, dancing on the balls of her feet as she watched him take up position. "Perhaps we can start with the basics?"

"Sure thing," he grinned. "Whenever you're ready, Bones."

She lifted hands into a defensive stance, her hands open and raised to a point so that the tips of her fingers were just below her chin. Her eyes darted up and down his athletic form, curious to see what type of move he would make first.

"Ya know, Bones," he said, with a small taunt present in his voice. "The first thing to remember when you're dealing with super nasties like vampires and demons and other nasty bits of work is to never get distracted. Because unlike judges or gang members or your average low-life thug, if you get distracted, make a mistake, and give them an opening to make their move, the rule is that you can almost always count on them taking advantage of your fuck up and then, well—" He quickly moved his lightly closed fists to smack down her hands. As he moved to make contact, Booth attempted to soften his blows as much as he could, but he still knocked her across the mat when one of his hands smacked her in the side. Brennan winced, doubling over more in surprise than pain, and quickly bolted upright as Booth said, as if he needed to make his point with words when his actions had done so just fine, "Then, of course, you're down for the count and out."

Her eyes flashed as she met his for a brief second, and then they were masked once more but for her competitive streak. Meeting his taunt with a smirk of her own, Brennan said, "Come on, Booth. Is that the best you've got?" She chuckled at him. "Really? That's it? Because you know you've smacked my ass harder than that when we've had sex."

Pursing his lips, Booth chuckled again, "I didn't smack your ass, Bones." His head tilted slightly in her direction and then his smirk re-emerged as he retorted, "But if you want me to, all you have to do is ask."

She arched her eyebrows at him and then said, "You're holding back." Her words were firm and challenging as she made her demand. "Don't."

"And how would you know that?" he asked her, moving in a circle as he kept pace with her movements. "It's not like we've ever sparred before...at least, well...not the kind of sparring where we didn't eventually end up in bed."

"Easy," Brennan told him. "I know your body, Booth. Well. Too damn well." She quickly followed up, "I've watched you for years. We may've never sparred like this, but I've seen you fight. In Vegas, remember? And several other times. So, since I've got an eidetic memory, I know your tells and your weaknesses, Booth."

"That so?" he responded simply.

"Yes," she said as she feinted with her body to the left at the same time she moved her legs back in a ruthless double kick that simultaneously hit him in the left kidney as she pushed him away to the far side of the mat.

Booth doubled over as she knocked the wind out of him. She smiled when he looked up at her and nodded his admiration. "Nice shot," he conceded. "Especially when I thought you were gonna fight dirty and kick me in the nuts just now."

"Ha," she laughed at him. "It's not like I haven't done that before."

Rubbing his side as he hastened to his feet, he scowled lightly as he became more serious. "Yeah," he told her. "I remember. And that wasn't cool, Bones. Not one damn bit."

"Oh, please," she muttered, her eyes never breaking from his. "In a hundred and fifty years, I only did it one time. And, you deserved it." She shook his head curtly at him. "I think it's time to let that one go, don't you, Booth?"

"You kicked me in the balls," he repeated. "Just like Max did. That's the type of thing you can forgive, Bones, but it's not the type of thing you ever forget. Still—" he nodded at her. "If this were a real fight, it's not a bad move if it's all you've got left."

"You think a kick in the testicles is the only move I've got left?" Brennan asked him as she stepped foot over foot and maintained the 180 degrees that separated them in their sparring circle.

It was Booth's turn to feint as he lowered his head and leaned in towards her. Not wanting to repeat himself, he leaned in and extended the flat of his hand. This time there was no mistaking the fact that he'd deliberately reached out to hit her ass. The hard smack of the palm of his hand rang out in the silence of the loft. Slightly stinging through the thin material of her yoga pants, she felt a flash of annoyance at his cheeky movement that made it clear he wasn't necessarily not thinking about sex.

She lifted her gaze to his and asked, "So, do you often smack vampires and demons on the ass when you're fight them, Booth? Because, I had no idea that was an effective move."

"Heh," he grinned at her. "It's a little known secret, but it can be very effective...under the right circumstances." He narrowed his eyes as he watched her flushed cheeks twitch ever so slightly, then added, "I'd heard, but had never been sure, that ass-slapping was an effective technique against smart-ass witches. Seems that it might be anyway..."

Shaking her head at him, she licked her lips as she inhaled and exhaled very slowly. Centering herself, she commented, "Right." Moving her head from left to right, she kept her arms raised in a defensive position. "And, it might be surprising to you, but I might have an effective technique or two of my own against smart-ass former vampires."

Booth waggled his eyebrows at her as he said, "Now who's the one who's holding back on me, Bones?"

"Oh, I'm not holding back on you," Brennan murmured. "Not at all…" She paused for a beat as she took a breath. "I'm just waiting for the opportune moment, Booth."

"You can touch my ass anytime you like, Bones," he said with a crooked grin. "I know you've been admiring it for the better part of a hundred and fifty years. There's only so much one woman can take, right?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him as she seemed to lift her right leg in what Booth thought might be a high kick to his lower torso. He moved to hinder her kick, tucking his chin against his chest at the same time he brought his hands up in a defensive block. But, at the last second, Brennan reared back on the balls of her feet. She used the momentum she had built up by moving her leg forward to launch her into a spin. Coming around behind him, she made a sharp grab and pinioned his arms behind his back as she dug the heels of her feet into the mat for traction as she pressed herself against him. As she tilted her head, she laughed when he realized what had happened.

"I don't know, Booth," she murmured in his ear. "I think I'm doing pretty well for myself since we all know that I've got pretty good stamina when it comes to resisting you. What do you think?"

"Resisting me?" he snorted. "Hardly. It doesn't count if I'm not really trying. When I really put it into gear and made a move for you, your resistance has always crumbled pretty quickly. You yourself have told me a number of times how 'irresistible' I am." He laughed. "So I'm calling bullshit on that one there, Bones."

She could feel his body tense against her tight hold on his hands. But, he remained still but for the slight pushing up of his back against her chest.

"You're so damn cocky," she muttered, squeezing her hands around his arms to emphasize that she was the one who held him in her grasp. "I'm just surprised it took me a hundred plus years to figure out that you deserved a belt buckle for it."

"Well," Booth snickered. "For a long time, I never wore belts. Hell, you always liked the suspenders anyway. You like the way they make my shoulders look, don't ya?"

Pursing her lips, she was about to say something when he twisted and easily let himself out of what she'd been fairly certain was a tight grasp. He clucked his tongue at her as he lifted his hand and tsked her with a jab of his index finger in the air of her general direction.

"Huh," he laughed. "See? What'd I say about getting distracted there, Bones? All I needed to do was make one little mention of me in suspenders and you just about all went to pieces."

She arched an eyebrow at him as she considered his point. "Okay," she nodded at him. "You really want to stop playing, Booth?"

"No," he said, his voice dropping a half-octave. "But I might be willing to change the rules of the game."

"You aren't the only one who can be distracting, you know," she told him. Brennan tilted her head at him as she began to move foot over foot, circling him on the mat as they resumed their earlier dance. "As a matter of fact, I can be pretty distracting when I want to be myself. For example—" She paused as she reached down and grabbed the hem of her dark blue cotton cami. She quickly tugged it over her head, tossed it on the ground behind her, and then arched an eyebrow at him when she saw his eyes dart to the center of her chest and the black sports bra she still wore—exactly as she'd known they would. "I'm quite well aware that you very rarely can focus on anything but my tits if you think there's a snowball's chance in hell of you getting to see them."

"Huh," he grunted. "That's true. But then again—" He hesitated and then lunged at her, reaching for her shoulder with one hand and then grasping for her upper arm with the other, catching her momentarily off-guard and twirling her around and pulling her against his chest. "I know that you can't think straight when my lips are near your ear and you can feel my breath on your neck."

"Almost," she amended in a breathy whisper. "The more accurate statement would be that I almost can't think straight when your lips are near my ear, and I can feel your breath on my neck. The operative word being almost, Booth."

"Mmmm," he murmured, tightening his grip around her, resisting the tingling sensation in his fingertips that tempted him to reach around and grope her chest. Brushing his lips against the back of her ear, he snickered and said, "What are you gonna do here, Bones? Hmm? Start in on a recitation of the multiplication tables here? Or maybe the periodic table of the elements?" He let his tongue dart out and trace the bottom edge of her earlobe, grinning as he felt her muscles tense at the contact.

Smiling, she let a throaty chuckle precede her verbal response as she said, "I think you've always been the one who needs to count things to keep from getting distracted, Booth, not me. Remember, when I see something that I want, I've never had any problems about going after it."

"So," Booth said, snaking his arm around her waist and gripping her tightly as he let his other hand wander down along the side of her abdomen to her hip, the slid his fingers under the waistband of her black yoga pants. Letting his fingers lip beneath the elastic waist and skim along the hem of her panties, he snickered again and said, "You're saying you see something you want, huh? And what might that be?" His voice dropped and he added, "Because if you see something you want, well, I might be willing to see about accommodating you."

"Now, now," she told him, with a small shake of her head as she answered his question. "I didn't say that at all, did I?"

"See?" he laughed, sliding his entire hand underneath her high-cut panties and palming the warm skin of her hip. "You don't have to say it, Bones. I'm a pretty discriminating, clever guy, and I can tell what people mean, even if that's not what they say." He made a humming sound in his throat as he drew his thumb across the softness of her skin, then added, "It's what makes me such a very fine Special Agent. So, you don't need to say what you want for it to be obvious what, or in this case, who, you want. We've known each other too long, mmm?"

Even though he couldn't see her, her eyes narrowed a bit at the comment.

"Careful there, Booth," she warned him. "I think we both know that too much self-confidence can be a bad thing in a situation like this."

"Sounds like a threat, Bones," he said with a sarcastic edge to his voice. "But I've got you, lass, right where I want you, and since the goal is for you to show me what you've got, I say...well...bring it."

"The key words missing from your previous statement, Booth, being for me to show you what defensive moves I've got...not just what parts of my anatomy you'd like to ogle," she told him.

She then thrust back against him, allowing her ass to brush against his groin for several long seconds. She heard a whisper of a groan escape his lips, and she smiled to herself as she then lifted her right leg a few inches off the ground, and then slammed her heel down onto his instep as hard as she could. The move caught him by surprise enough so that his grip on her waist loosened even as he let out a grunt of mild annoyance, more so at being surprised by her move than any real pain that she'd caused him. Brennan spun away from him and quickly placed a couple of feet between them as she raised her arms into a defensive stance.

Arching her eyebrow at him she asked, "Now, what was that again about how dangerous it can be if one lets himself get distracted, Booth?"

"Huh," he grunted, reaching down and tugging at the waistband of his blue jeans, which suddenly felt a bit tighter than they had before. Narrowing his eyes, he began to move sideways, walking around her in a circle, his movements smooth and catlike as he sized her up. "Yeah, and I'd be the first to admit that you've got some distracting assets there, woman. But if the point of all this is to see if you can defend yourself, you need to be prepared to play with someone who doesn't play for other team." Booth smirked as he watched and waited to see if she'd catch his meaning. "Not everybody is gonna find you as fuckably distracting as I do, lass."

"You act like I've never had to hold my own before in a fight," she said. "So far, you haven't shown me anything new, Booth, aside from the fact that you like ogling my tits and the way my ass feels when it's pressed against your groin—two things I'm fairly certain I already knew. So, do you have anything else you want to try to show me since I believe you claimed you 'still remember a few moves' that might be useful to me?" Brennan paused, tilted her head, and then snickered, "Or, should we just keep playing keep away until Kathryn wakes up for her next bottle?"

Booth's brow furrowed hard over his eyes as he growled. "I don't like the idea of making a run at taking a hard shot at my own wife and the mother of my child," he said. "It offends my native sense of chivalry, lass."

Unable to help herself, Brennan laughed even as she never took her eyes off her target or relaxed her stance. She then chuckled, "You call it chivalry...I believe others might more appropriately call it you being a priggish ponce."

Booth arched an eyebrow. "You've either been watching too much BBC on cable," he snorted. "Or you've been talking to your old friend William the prissy poet wannabe. I'm gonna go with cable. You been watching Top Gear repeats behind my back, lass?"

"Of course, it has to be the BBC, hmmm?" she asked him. "It couldn't possibly be anything else, hmmm, not even the most common explanation being that I actually was the one who was born in London, right, Booth?"

"That's right," he snickered. "I'm just the dumb Fenian fuck that rolled off the docks and contaminated the high-born airs of Cheapside, huh?"

Her lips curled into a smile at him as she said, "If I knew it wouldn't send you off into a moody spat of brooding that would last for at least three weeks, I'd show you the financial statements that would offer enough testament to the fact that I don't think you'd be making fun of Cheapside if you knew how much that land's rents put into our portfolio each quarter, Booth."

"Correction," he grumbled. "The dumb, poor Fenian fuck who rolled off the docks." Shaking his head, he laughed. "I might've made somethin' of myself had I kept at it back in '60. 'I coulda been a contendah,'" he said, giving his best imitation of Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront. "You'd still be losin' money bettin' against me, wouldn't ya there, lass?"

"I don't know if I'd say that on either account," she told him thoughtfully. "Seeing as how (a) you got laid low by an the contents of my handbag when I clocked you on the head that night before I had James and George bring you back to the house and (b) I wouldn't have lost any money if you'd fought fair and square." She paused, feinted towards her right, and then laughed when she saw him take a swipe at where he thought she was going to be based on her forward movement. "Careful there, Booth. It's not like your instinct is going to be accurate every single time now, hmmm?"

A smirk twisted Booth's lips as he listened to her gloating. Shaking his head again, he continued his prowl, walking around to one side of her, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, then stopped, lunged for her left side, hesitated, made another feint towards her right, then moved again for her left, reaching for her hands and closing each of his large hands around her slender wrists.

"Huh," he grunted, pulling her hands apart and tucking them behind her back as he came around behind her again. "Yeah, hmm? Bones, I'm not sure I'm keen on this." He held her hands tightly behind her back but kept her shoulders and wrists at a more comfortable angle that he'd normally use in restraining a suspect. "I mean, you seriously wanna see me try to deck you?"

"Why do you think," she muttered against him, "that you'll automatically be successful just because you try? Besides, it's not like you haven't tried before."

Angelus was holding the tumbler of Kilbeggan whiskey up in front of his nose and admiring the way the warm, wobbly light of the fire shone through it when he was suddenly shaken from his mellow daze. He blinked a couple of times and set his glass on his thigh as he looked up and was surprised by the sight of a familiar figure with pale piercing eyes in a violet-hued dress leering back at him.

"What are ya doin here, lass?" he asked her, his eyes drifting down from hers to the round swell of her upthrust breasts, admiring the way her fair skin glowed in the firelight in contrast against the dark blue fabric of her dress. After a moment, he licked his lips and brought his smoldering brown eyes up to meet hers again. "I told ya I'd call on ya Saturday, aye?"

"So you did," Brennan said as she stroked her finger along the edge of the open French door that separated the sitting room from the entryway of the rented white stucco house in the fashionable neighborhood of Belgravia. "But, I found myself with a bit of free time this evening, and since we both know I've never been one to let you dictate my schedule, I decided I would see what wicked havoc you were wreaking in anticipation of our assignation myself."

Angelus scrunched his brows and shook his head, glancing up at the clock on the wall as he scratched his head and puzzled over her words. "Ehh, what's this? You checkin' on me now?"

Brennan replied with a roll of her eyes and a dismissive pfft. "Isn't that what I just said, sweetness?" she asked. "I know that someone with roots in the Giodelic dialects might struggle with standard English usage, but surely you've become accustomed to the language in the years since you've started your sojourn here in England. Besides, perhaps I needed to pay a short visit to ensure that you were abiding by the terms of our earlier agreement that you aren't to come to my bed reeking of some low-born skank you picked up along one of the more ignoble thoroughfares of our city." She drew her finger once more along the edge of the French door and glanced at it, noting that her fingertip was free of dust. "You claim to be keeping yourself clean," she snickered. "Depriving yourself and slaking your thirst on men and boys alone, but maybe I needed to see for myself that you were holding up your end of our little bargain."

The dark-eyed vampire took a sip of his whiskey and smirked at his lover's wordy, backhanded insult, then snorted a laugh. He lazily reached over to set his glass on the side table and gave her an appraising, appreciative glance as he stood up from his chair. "I don't need no checkin' on, lass," he said. "I told ya—I cleared my calendar for ya this weekend, mmm?"

Sauntering into the room with a saucy swing of her hips, Brennan closed her eyes and gave an indifferent shrug. "So you did," she said, walking up to him and reaching for the waistband of his herringbone trousers and drawing her finger underneath his dark gray suspenders, letting the tip of her finger stroke over the arc of muscle on the edge of his armpit before sliding her finger back down to his waist.

Wincing and clearing his throat as if to somehow chase away the flash of arousal that crackled through his limbs at her touch, he glanced towards the entryway behind her, his eyes narrowed as he said, "Don't be gettin' me into no trouble now."

Brennan slipped her fingers between the waistband of his trousers, letting him feel her warm touch through the thin cotton of his shirt. "Come now, Angelus," she snickered. "You're the last man I would ever have suspected would be afraid of a little bit of trouble. I'm fairly certain you enjoy getting into a touch of mischief now and again, which in your case is just about every damn night."

He reached around and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his trousers as he walked her back towards the dark, wood-paneled wall of the sitting room. "Not when the mischief you're makin' is gonna get me into trouble with Darla." He spoke his sire's name nearly as a whisper, his eyebrows furrowed as his lips pouted and his dark eyes flickered, shimmering with desire for her even as they narrowed and shifted their gaze nervously from the swell of her bosom to the French doors at the entrance to the room, then back again. "Lass," he whispered, leaning his head in and inhaling a deep noseful of her intoxicating smell. "Come now, you know I can't see to ya tonight, mmm? I've got me certain—ehhh, well, hmmm—family obligations, you might say, that I gotta tend to tonight. That's why I told ya I'd be callin' on ya Saturday."

A scowl briefly marred Brennan's delicate features, then the corners of her lips curved upwards as she smiled and fluttered her long, dark eyelashes. "And, I see no valid reason as to why I should be the one kept waiting, Angelus," she said, her voice husky and more than a little breathy as she tilted her head to the side and exposed the side of her neck, which gesture she knew inflamed her vampire lover's rising passions. She reached for his clean-shaven cheek, drawing her fingertips along the pebbled skin along the curve of his jaw. "I wanted to see you, to feel you, to..." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss along the rough, scarred skin below his ear. "To tease you...to taste you...and a few other things...right now."

"Aw, hell, lass," he whispered, raising his chin as he tried to pull away from her lips. "You know I'd rather be with you than anythin' else. But I've been in your bed six outta the last ten nights, and Darla's started bustin' me balls about it."

"Has she now?" Brennan chuckled, letting her breath warm the cool skin of his neck, watching him swallow as she thrust her hip against his and plucking at his bobbing Adam's apple with her lips. "What did she tell you?" she asked, her voice a husky, throaty sound that reminded Angelus of the way she moaned when he abandoned all control and started pounding into her with no discernible rhythm other than the punctuated grunts that sounded from deep in his breathless chest.

He pushed her away and tugged at the waist of his trousers as he tried to give himself a bit of room even as he knew his body was responding to her seductions. "She told me she's glad to know I didn't trade her in on a newer model," he said with a wry grin, peering at her from beneath the mantle of his heavy brow. "Though between you an' me," he said with a conspiratorial whisper, "you're definitely an upgrade, mmm?" He laughed at his quip. "Seriously, though, lass—I was just havin' me a wee dram o' this fine whiskey from County Westmeath, then I was gonna be headin' up to tend to Darla."

Brennan's brows furrowed, annoyed as she was by his prevarication. "You don't actually think she can possibly do for you—to you—what I can," she said, her voice dark and edged with a jealous anger. "You want me tonight. You can lie to her, or even to yourself, but you can't lie to me."

Angelus arched an eyebrow. "I do," he admitted. "I do want you, lass, but like I told ya, I can't. She was pokin' me just the other day about my new little lady friend an' wantin' to know who's been keepin' me well-fucked, and she asked if 'twas anyone she knew, though I'm pretty sure by the look in 'er eyes that she doesn't know for sure. Look, lass, she's not unwillin' to share, but she's my sire, and I've got certain...ehhh, well...obligations, I guess. Come on, lass. You know the score."

Brennan groaned as she turned away and walked towards the fireplace. "If Darla was so possessive of you and desperate for your attentions, Angelus, why are you idling down here in the sitting room, drinking alone?"

He rolled his eyes and scowled at the way she seemed to be luring him into the sort of verbal trap she seemed to be continually laying for him. "She's enjoyin' a quiet soak in the bath," he said. "It's her nightly ritual, ya know. When I hear the stopper go 'pop' and the water drainin' from her tub, then I'll know she's ready for me."

"Hmmm," the witch murmured, a wicked smirk bending her lips as she looked him up and down with a sultry stare. "That means we have time, mmmm?" She turned around and walked back up to him, reaching once more for his suspenders as she slid them off his round, muscular shoulders one at a time.

"Lass," he hissed in protest, gently pushing her away as he took a couple of steps back. "I can't tonight. I told ya already."

"Nonsense," she retorted, closing in again as she watched his dropped suspenders hanging loosely from the top of his high-waisted wool trousers. The dangling suspenders reminded her of the first night she saw him, fighting in a bare-fisted boxing match at Covent Garden, clad only in a pair of trousers, having dropped his braces and shed his shirt so that his sweaty, muscular chest glistened under the bright lights that hung over the boxing ring. She recalled how the moonstone ring he wore on a silver chain swung across his upper chest as he moved to and fro during the course of the match. The memory made her ache to feel the cool, smooth skin of his chest again. "We have time, Angelus. Plenty of time for you to take me the way I know you love best—a hard, dirty fuck."

The vampire swallowed, shaking his head as he backed away. "No, lass," he said. "As much as I want to—and you know I fuckin' want to—I cannot. Not tonight."

"What a load of bollocks," she cursed, rushing towards him and grabbing his shirt near the waist. "You talk a good game, Angelus, about how tough you are, how you're your own man, and how you don't take shite from anyone, but when it comes right down to it, you're just another limp-pricked fool who doesn't have the presence of mind or personal fortitude to take what he wants." Brennan leveled a hard stare at him, her pale eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she yanked his shirt out of his trousers, pulling it up to reveal the olive skin of his flat, hard stomach.

"For fuck's sake, lass," he grumbled, grabbing her by the wrists and holding her tightly as he looked her fiercely in the eyes. His nostrils flared as a low, rattling growl sounded from the back of his throat and he felt his balls hitch as his nose filled with the swirling scent of her angry arousal. "You wanna fuck?" he asked her, throwing her hands to the side as he released them. "You wanna get fucked tonight, you horny little thing you?" He reached his hands around and grabbed her by the hips, his hands holding onto fistfuls of the velvet panels of her dress's midnight blue skirt as he twirled her around and pushed her towards the chaise lounge on the other side of the room. "Is that what ya fuckin' want, lass?"

"You know what I want," she said, her voice dark and thick with desire. "Question is, are you man enough to give it to me? Or are you going to be Darla's poor little 'dear boy' and wait around to be told what to do?"

The mild, still somewhat playful irritation on Angelus' face hardened at her words. "I'm no one's boy," he growled. "Not hers. Not yours. Nobody's."

Brennan's mouth curled into a crooked smirk. "Then decide what you want," she said. "And take it. If you're, as you've said, no one's boy and are man enough to—"

"Come 'ere," he roared, pulling her against him with a rough jerk as his brown eyes suddenly darkened to the color of pitch, the only brightness in them being the flecks of gold reflecting off the warm yellow light of the fire. "You want me to take you like a cheap fuckin' whore?" he asked her. "Is that what you want?"

"No," she replied, lifting up her chin to expose the length of her silky, porcelain neck which she knew—now that the weeks of their affair had grown to months—inflamed his wanton desires the way nothing else could. His eyes swiveled to the side of her neck where he could see the faint throbbing of her pulse in the jugular vein that ran along the shapely length of her neck from her ear down to her collarbone. She saw his eyes move and widen, an approving hum sounding in her throat as she knew in that moment that she had him, and that it was only a matter of moments before he would take her the way she wanted to be taken. "You know what I want," she told him, her voice low and almost raspy as she licked her lips alluringly. "And more importantly, you know what you want. I daresay you're willing to take it. But, maybe I overestimated you, and you're going to send me away and wait to see what table scraps Darla flings your way."

"I'm no one's poor boy," he groused. "And no woman's kept man." He leaned into her, his mouth watering as he smelled the heady layers of her musky sweat, spearmint oil and Burgundy wine as he opened his mouth and felt her breath tickle his gums.

"Then prove it," she whispered, her breast pressing against his chest with each heavy breath she took.

Angelus gave her no answer but a throaty grunt as his jaw shifted forward and he pushed her onto the chaise lounge behind her. She tumbled backward, laughing as she watched his dark, angry eyes flicker with lust at the sight of the petticoats beneath her up-ended skirt. He hesitated for a moment, then fell forward, nudging her legs farther apart as he took his place between them, grinding his hips against her as he leaned over and kissed her, covering her mouth with his.

Brennan opened her mouth to his kiss, drawing in a breath through her nose as his greedy tongue swept between her lips. His mouth tasted of whiskey and faintly of blood with a fleeting hint of sweet tobacco, but she had barely begun to wonder how long ago it had been since he'd smoked a pipe, knowing as she did that Darla did not permit the smoking of cigars or pipes in her home, when his mouth claimed one last, grasping kiss before he pulled away, glaring down at her with a hungry look as she gazed back up at him with a lecherous grin.

"I fuckin' hate these things," he hissed, kneeling on the edge of the couch as he reached under her crinoline skirt, which was further bolstered by not one but two petticoats. Grabbing at fistfuls of the fabric, he pulled and pawed at them, growling in frustration as he struggled to loosen them. "Get up," he snarled at her, pushing off of the couch, his eyes fixed on her every move as he reached down and thumbed open the buttons of his fly. "Come on, lass!"

Deliberately moving more slowly than she knew he wanted her to, Brennan had barely managed to stand up when Angelus turned her around and pushed her down onto the chaise lounge, forcing her onto her hands and knees. Again he reached under her skirts, fumbling for the satiny ribbon ties that held the petticoats snug around her waist. Tugging at them, he finally managed to untie them, and with gritted teeth and a throaty grunt, he pulled them off, tossing them aside as his lust-clouded mind had forgotten that there was one more layer awaiting beneath her skirt before he could bury himself inside of her.

"Holy fuckin' hell," he muttered as he pulled at her drawers with considerably less patience than he'd shown her petticoats, yanking them off as the faint sound of tearing seams could scarcely be heard beneath the sound of his animalistic growling. Tossing the damaged drawers to the floor, he pushed her skirts up, his hands sliding up the backs of her thighs and grasping a handful of her smooth, fleshy buttocks in each, squeezing them as he licked his lips. "Is this what ya wanted, lass?" he asked her, his voice gravelly and deep as his hands fell away from her.

Brennan laughed and said, "Not quite, no, since I'm not yet feeling that thick cock of yours ramming hard up into me." Though she could not see him, she felt him take a step back and she heard the soft sound of what she imagined was him thumbing open his flannel drawers and shoving his drawers and trousers down to his knees.

"Aye?" he said, kneeling back onto the chaise lounge and feeling the warm skin of her thighs against his own as he nudged her legs apart. He reached between her legs, sliding his hand between her folds and found her slippery with desire. "You've been wet for a while now, lass," he told her. "Haven't ya? I could smell it on ya when ya walked in here a lil' while ago. Night fell and ya must've realized how empty your bed was without my handsome self takin' up my usual spot, and ya missed me." Angelus slid his forefingers through her slickness and rubbed tight circles over the bead of sensitive nerves above her slit. "Mmmm, aye—you've been missin' me, huh? So bad ya couldn't get through a night without feelin' me."

She drew a sharp breath and winced at the searing pleasure of his touch. "I may...have become...used to..." Brennan groaned as he pulled his hand back a little, then slipped his middle finger inside of her, pressing into her and stroking the front of her inner wall in a way he'd learned drove her wild. She shuddered against him, arching her head back as she felt his big hand palm the small of her back. "Time's a-wasting, Angelus," she said, closing her eyes as if somehow that alone could enable her to focus a little more on her words and a little less on the way he was teasing her body. "So if you want this—if you want me—then you best stop your dallying and take it before your mistress calls for you."

As soon as the word 'mistress' fell from her lips, Angelus bared his teeth in indignant anger and pulled his finger from her. "I have no mistress," he growled as he pushed her forward and reached between his legs, fisting himself as his balls hitched hard at the sight of her ass and the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy beckoning him to take what was rightly his. "I belong to no one, man woman or demon, but myself," he said defiantly as he squeezed the soft flesh of her hip and pressed into her with a guttural sound that rumbled from deep in his chest. "I belong to no one," he said, the last word fading into a long groan as he pulled out of her, then grunted and rammed hard into her.

"Fuck, Angelus," Brennan grunted.

"Yeah?" he laughed, rolling his hips back and growling as he drove into her, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips so hard she wondered if he'd leave marks. "Ya like the way I feel?" he asked her, wincing as he felt her clench tightly around him, her body seemingly sucking him in as he rocked into her.

"You like the way I feel, Angelus?" she retorted, leaning firmly into her hands as she braced herself against his strong, rolling thrusts. She felt him swell inside her as a shiver passed through her, and she felt her release coiling ever more tightly each time his thick cock opened her up.

"Nnnnnmmfth," he answered with a grunt as the fine hairs on his arms, belly and the back of his neck stood on end, a silent signal that the woman beneath him was rapidly rumbling towards a roaring release. Her warm, wet, silky folds tightened their hold on him as the air between them crackled with electricity, and he felt a searing heat where his sweat-slicked skin touched hers. He leaned forward, flattening his hand over the middle of her back as his strokes became less rhythmic and more ragged each time her jerked into her, trying to bury himself as deeply inside of her as he could.

"Finish me," she gasped, her voice rough as she closed her eyes and felt herself being tugged down by the spiraling motion of her approaching release, unable to feel the furniture beneath her except for the way the friction of the embroidered upholstery warmed her knees each time they scraped over the backstitched floral pattern. She opened her mouth and let out a long breath, grateful to feel her plea answered as her lover grunted, then growled loudly as he reeled back and began to pound into her hard, summoning up every ounce of strength he could to spear as deeply into her wet heat as he could. She felt his fingernails claw into her left hip as his heavy balls smacked against her delicate skin with each angry, possessive stroke. "Ohhhh, fuck," she sighed. "Ohhhhh..."

"You," he grunted, hammering into her as his nails scraped at the silky skin of her hip. "Can't...get...enough..."

His voice was rough but edged ever higher with each ragged stroke, and he gritted his teeth as the pale azure energy between their bodies pricked at his sweat-damp skin.

"You fuckin' minx," he hissed, his mouth falling open as he heard her sighs shift to long moans and her silky heat begin to clench around him. "You knew..."

Her body gripped him hard as she cried out sharply, the warm yellow firelight around them suddenly dimmed as the room filled with a pulsing blue glow as she shattered around him. Pricked by the surge of energy, his warm olive skin was dotted with goosebumps as her body quivered and vibrated, milking his release from him as he emptied himself into her. He fell forward into his hands, his body arched over hers as he felt her heaving breaths press her back against his chest.

After a few moments, her breathing still ragged as she blinked away the haze that clouded her vision, she turned her head to the side and rasped, "I knew you couldn't resist having me."

He acknowledged her with a soft grunt as he pushed away from her, slipping out of her as he stumbled to his feet. Brennan turned and lay back against the chaise lounge, vaguely aware of the combined fluids of their passion dribbling along the insides of her thighs as she smiled at him standing there, flush-faced and a little stunned as he tucked himself into his drawers, his shirt into his wool trousers and quickly buttoned his fly.

"Guess you had somethin' to prove here tonight, lass?" he asked her as he pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders and tugged at his shirt, which clung to the damp skin of his chest. "Hmmm?"

Brennan leaned back against the arm of the chaise lounge and arched her brows as she gave him a knowing smile. She had just opened her mouth to reply when another voice rang out from the top of the spiral staircase just beyond the sitting room doors.

"Angelus," came Darla's voice, calling out to her childe. "My dear boy, where are you?"

Booth blinked away the memory and peered over her shoulder at her with a smirk. "So who won that little duel, lass?" he snickered. "Hmmm? 'Cause I'm not sure that one wasn't a draw. Not that I put up much of a fight, you know. Not when losing meant I got to fuck your brains out on the couch in Darla's parlor."

Brennan narrowed her eyes and turned her head to shoot him a skeptical look. "So you think fighting is all about brute strength?" she asked him. "You know as well as I do that fighting and combat is about sound strategy and quick reflexes."

"Oh yeah," he snorted. "What was that one all about, huh? The only reflex I saw you show that night was when you came like a fuckin' freight train when I hammered into you." He paused, his smile spreading wide as he shrugged. "But then again, maybe that was your strategy all along so I'd say it was a win-win, hmmm?"

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Brennan shook her head. "What do you think, sweetness?" she asked. "Hmm? Did I come over to Darla's just because I needed a good fuck? An orgasm? Or was there something else I wanted?"

Booth licked his lips and raised his chin, growling a little at her as he bit back a smile and tightened his grip on her wrists. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his nose, almost nuzzling into the back of her neck as he let his breath tickle her nape, grunting softly as he felt her shiver in his grasp. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as her reaction—more than the smell of her sweat or the faint, lingering scent of her shampoo or the sound of her breathing—made his groin tighten in a way that was both a delight and a torture.

"You don't wanna spar like that, lass," he whispered against the side of her neck, his voice soft and rich, like velvet. "I don't wanna fight you, or hurt you. Right now, the only kinda full-contact sport I want is the kind that involves me tuckin' my hard cock between your legs and makin' you come so many times you're gonna beg me to let go because you won't know if you can take any more. Mmmmm..."

Furrowing her brow, Brennan snorted and tried half-heartedly to shrug out of his grasp, unwilling to let him know how much his words, and the lascivious tone of his voice, was really affecting her. "Don't get distracted, Booth," she said.

"I'm not distracted," he growled back. "I just would rather fuck you than fight you." He leaned over her shoulder and nipped at her earlobe with this teeth. "And, if you stopped being stubborn for more than two minutes, I think you'd admit that that's what you want, too."

Feeling his hot breath warm against her skin, Brennan jerked her head away before he could nip at her again. "You'd think wrong, then," she said. "I know you're like the old dog that's always distracted from the hunt by the squirrels in the trees, since it's not you nature to focus long on any one task, but work with me here, Booth. Stay on task. And right now, your task is to test my ability to defend myself, and by implication, our child, by simulating an attack on me." She could feel his arousal press against her from behind and couldn't help but smile. "But clearly you're not up to the task. "Perhaps your skills at hand-to-hand combatives aren't as well-honed as I believed them to be," she said. "Or, put more colloquially, you talk a good game, but in the end, your fighting skills are at this point focused on those involving use of firearms. All this hemming and hawing leads me to think that you really aren't much of a fighter anymore when it comes to unarmed combat." She shrugged a little, her movements limited by the fact that he still had a firm grip on her arms. "Maybe you left that legacy of yours behind when you attained your Shanshu."

"Bullshit," he hissed, his hands tightening their grip around her arms. "Fucking bullshit, Bren." He gritted his teeth as he thought about it, pulling her closer to his chest for a moment, then pushing her away again and releasing his hold on her. "I've been spending most of my adult Booth-life fighting, ya know. U.S. Army Infantry School, Ranger School, Sniper School. Combat service in Iraq, Somalia, Kosovo and a dozen other places I can't even tell you about. And on the other hand, I spent years fighting off all kinds of mythical nasties keeping demonkind from running rampant over the L.A. metro area. Never mind, umm, Sunnydale." His voice faded a bit at the mention of Sunnydale, knowing it was a flashpoint for Brennan, even years after he'd departed the place. "I know a little bit about hand-to-hand combat, Bones, mm'kay? You haven't, you know, done those kind of things. And karate class ain't the same thing, alright?"

"I don't doubt that," she finally said. Sighing, she relaxed her body against him, and shook her head as she said, "But, fine. I should've known better than to think you could be objective about this." She paused and slipped out of his grasp when she felt him loosen his hold in response to her change in body language. She walked a few feet away, grabbing for the water bottle that she'd set down on the floor earlier. Reaching for it, she picked up the bottle with one fluid movement, and then said over the corner of her shoulder, "I suppose if I just want a real go of things, I can always call Spike, and he'd be more than happy to oblige me." She stopped, narrowed her eyes at him, made an exacerbated sniff of the air, and then asked, "How is he, by the way? This isn't his first time in D.C., I take it?"

Booth blinked and swallowed, then looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, resuming his predatory circling as he flexed and unflexed his fists.

Walking towards the console table that sat behind the couch, she grabbed her cell phone off off it, pressed a few buttons, and then tossed it to him. Brennan chuckled when she saw Booth's scowl deepen as he read the screen. "He does rather like using the words 'brooding', 'pounce', 'prat', and 'prig' to describe you, even after all these years, you know that?"

Booth's jaw shifted to the side as he read the text message on the screen:

"Elphie, the brooding prat of a ponce is on his priggish way home. Ta."

He stared at it for a few seconds, then closed out the screen and tossed the phone back to her, unable to suppress a faint grin as she deftly caught it in midair. "Yeah, alright," he said. "So, yeah, he was in town. And, well, he and I go way back, and..." Booth's voice trailed off as he realized he was being sucked into a conversation he really didn't want to have, then he replayed her earlier words in his mind, and his jaw hardened. "Wait. Now wait just a damn minute. What the fuck do you mean that, if you wanted a real go of things, Spike would oblige you? What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Bren?"

"It means," she said, resting her hip against the back of the couch. "That if I ask him not to hold back on me, he won't. I'll get a fair sparring session with a partner, I'm sure you'd agree, whom has seen just as much hand-to-hand combat as you have with supernatural creatures."

"Spike's a lotta things, Bren, but 'fair' ain't one of 'em, okay?" Booth snapped, immediately taking the bait as she knew he would. She tightened her lips into a thin line to keep from smiling into a smirk of satisfaction as she pressed his buttons about an old trigger. "You have no fucking idea how he can be."

"Fine," Brennan conceded after a moment when she could hold her composure. "I'll rephrase. If I want him to try to go after me, he will—no holds barred."

"You think you can do this?" he asked, taking a deep breath as he threw the last measure of caution and gentlemanly decency to the wind. "You want this, huh?"

"We've had this conversation before, Booth," she sighed. "Many times. You hem and haw, I push, you brood, and then you eventually give in. Well, forgive me, I just don't have it in me to go through the motions this time. So, it's okay. You can go back to eating your breakfast sandwich, which I'm sure by now is getting quite cold. I'm going to call it quits for the time being, take a shower, and wait until I can test my skills against a partner who won't allow his personal feelings to compromise his professional objectivity." She stopped and then said, "I shouldn't be long. Try to stay out of trouble until then, hmmm?"

Thrusting his lower jaw forward at hearing her words, he knew he was being baited, the way she'd baited him a hundred times before, but something inside of him suddenly snapped, and he grunted, "Fuck Spike." Rolling his shoulders back and standing to his full height, he took a deep breath and closed his hands into fists so tight he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. "Fuck Spike, and fuck you if you think he's half the fucking man I am."

"Now don't be like that," she suddenly snapped, realizing her teasing of him had gone too far, and she'd rubbed the old wound too far open. Brennan shook her head as she became more serious. "I never said any such thing."

Booth shook his head, ignoring her words as they failed to penetrate the heavy veil of anger and indignation that had fallen over him. "You wanna see if you can handle me, huh? You wanna see?" He narrowed his eyes, his brows knitting hard over his darkened, deep-set eyes as he glared at her, his nostrils flaring in anger. He bent his knees slightly as he beckoned her to come closer. "You wanna stop playing keep away?" he asked. "Come here, lass. Maybe we were goin' about this all wrong. See, the thing is, the best defense is a strong offense. You think you can take me? Take me." He emphasized his words by patting his chest with his open hand. "Huh? Bring it. Show me what you've got. 'Cause if you can't attack, you'll never fight off whatever the hell it is that comes after you. If you wait for whatever it is to strike the first blow, you might as well pack it in. You won't get a second chance."

She paused, thrusting her hip out as she used her index finger to circle the closed plastic cap of the water bottle she held in her hand. Brennan's flash of guilt was quickly washed away as Booth taunted her. She seemed to be contemplating his offer, tilting her head from side to side, as she wordlessly going over the offer in her mind. Then, she said, "I don't know, Booth. Why should I when I can just get what I need from Spike?"

Booth's eyes narrowed and the smoldering anger in his dark gaze flashed brightly as he felt her words stab him sharply where his angst and insecurity ran deepest. "You think he can give what you want, huh?" he growled. "You think he gives half the fuck enough about you or Kathryn to give either of you what you need? You don't have a fucking clue, Bren." He clenched his fisted hands so tightly his knuckles shone white in the morning light. "You have no fucking idea what a fucking tool he is, that fucking asshole. He's only ever looked out for number one."

"Getting a soul changed you," Brennan countered. "Why can't it be the same for him?"

Booth shook his head. "Because he plays fucking dirty," he said. "He...look, I never told you about the time, after he got his soul, that he decided he was Mr. Shanshu after all, the one who was prophesied, and so he decided he was gonna try and be the biggest, baddest ensouled fucking vampire. Tried to fucking kill me to get this fucking cup that was a goddamn hoax anyway. Showed his true fucking colors, though."

Sighing, she said, "And, you're quite certain that your recollection of that even might not be a bit...well, colored, by things? After all, you and he have always had a certain...well, I believe the correct euphemism would be either for you two to engage in a perpetual pissing contest or having a need to whip out your dicks to see whose was bigger, hmmm?"

"He's still hung up on the fact that I fucked Dru when he was a wee tyke, a brand new baby vampire who didn't know the rules. The rules were, there were no rules. No ownership, no possessions. I fucked Dru, back when I was Angelus, and Spike's still pissed, a century and a half later."

"And, yet," Brennan chuckled. "If that were so—the bit about no ownership and no possession—then why was it that Darla whispered in his ear that if he really wanted to piss you off then best way would be to visit a certain house in Cheapside for an evening's repast, hmmm?"

"You wouldn't be interested," Booth said immediately as he dismissed the possibility instantly. "He's not that impressive."

Brennan couldn't help but chuckle. "Deflecting the question again, Booth?" She shook her head slightly. "Besides who's to say that I haven't seen his goods?" Brennan blinked. "After all, he was quite interested in pissing you off royally circa 1885. Very interested."

Becoming so focused on Spike as he often did whenever his frenemy was in his line of sight, Booth ignored Brennan's point. "So, what are you telling me here, Bren?" he asked. "That you fucked him? 'Cause I don't think ya did. He wouldn't have been able to contain himself. He'd have told me if you had."

"Unless I put a spell of compulsion on him to keep his mouth shut," Brennan countered, smiling crookedly. "As for whether he wanted to," she said evenly. "Well, there's no doubt of that. He came around quite often in the spring and summer of 1882. He'd seldom come up the steps to my home. Usually he'd just stand out there on the street, looking through my windows. Every time he came by, I knew he was there. I could sense him, lurking down there."

Booth's jaw hardened and his brown eyes darkened as he thought of his grandchilde, standing on the street below Brennan's bedroom window. He felt a tingling in his arms that ran all the way to his fingertips as he visualized strangling Spike. "I told him not to touch you," he said darkly. "I told him to stay away from you. Not to see you. Not to go near you. Not to speak your name. Not to even think about you. I told the boy that. I told him you were completely fucking off-limits."

"You know William," she said casually. "He doesn't listen well, and he doesn't take advice. Especially from you. Remember all those dozens and dozens of red roses that I kept in my bedroom that summer, mmm?"

Booth merely grunted in reply.

"Of course," Brennan said with a mischievous edge to her voice, "you always sent daffodils. From the very beginning, from the first time you brought me flowers, it was always Narcissus flowers. Whether it was the usual yellow daffodils of the Narcissus pseudonarcissus variety, or the Narcissus poeticus with its white petals and red-edged yellow corona, it was always daffodils from you."

For a moment, Booth's rigid expression softened as he remembered all the times he'd given her daffodils over the years, and how the flower had grown into an emblem of what they shared between them and with no one else. A faint smile flashed across his lips as he remembered learning that there was a particular variety of Narcissus, the Narcissus triandrus, native to Spain and Portugal, that had come to be commonly known as Angel's Tears, and how he'd had a dozen such blooms delivered to her Chicago home as an apology after an especially angry row they'd had in 1961 when Brennan had returned from a dig at Shanidar Cave in the Kurdistan region of northern Iraq where she'd helped excavate 60,000 year-old Neanderthal remains. He remembered feeling quite proud of himself for that little stroke of floral poetic genius. After a moment, he blinked away the memory as Brennan continued to speak.

"I never particularly cared for roses," she explained. "Especially red ones. They're so...well, trite, really, the way they've been used as a banal symbol of romantic love, and I've never...well, I would never buy them for myself. You know that, right?"

Booth rolled his jaw from one side to the other, shifting his lower jaw forward before taking a deep breath. "Yes," he replied, his deep voice rumbling out of his throat as his eyes smoldered.

"I knew immediately, when the first dozen showed up, that they weren't from you," she said. "After a couple more dozen showed up, each following a few days on the heels of the last dozen, just as the last dozen were about to wilt, I'd looked out my window after seeing the delivery boy away and then I'd glance about and see William, standing down there on the street with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking up at my window with this wistful look on his face. He's a quite handsome young man, really. He was especially comely before he began affecting that punk rock, bleached-blond look he's taken to sporting these last few years."

"So, what?" Booth snapped. "What are you sayin' here, Bones? After all that, are ya tellin' me you wished you'da fucked him? 'Cause I don't believe that, either."

"No," Brennan said with a lopsided, sexy smile. "If I'd have wanted to fuck William, Booth, I would've fucked him. You know I've always taken what I wanted, when I wanted it."

Shaking his head with a snort, Booth asked, "So what's your point, Bones?"

"I know you recall he sported a horn for about a month in the middle of his forehead around that time, do you not?"

The hardness in his expression shattered as he laughed. "That was pretty fuckin' funny," he said with a snort.

"Where do you think he got that from then, hmmm?" Brennan asked. "It wasn't from an irate Gothart demon like he said, by the by."

Quirking an eyebrow, Booth stood back and put his hands on his hips as he thought about it. "He must've opened that nasty yap of his and said somethin' that pissed you off," he observed. "Which means he probably said something off-color and uncomplimentary about you, 'cause I doubt you'd have zinged him just on account of huckin' on me."

Again, not wanting to make the same mistake that Booth just had and become too distracted by the topic of Spike, Brennan shrugged. "You know William has a tendency to speak before he thinks. Let's just say that I taught him to work on that issue of his."

Booth snickered. "I'm sure you did, lass." He laughed this time, a true laugh instead of a mere chuckle as he repeated himself. "I'm sure you did."

Tilting her head, Brennan gave an honest smile in response to his laugh. "Who knows? Maybe if you're lucky enough I might teach you a thing or two."

Booth blew a loud raspberry to give her an idea of what he thought of that. "When it comes to squinty-stuff, I willingly acknowledge you can run circles around me, lass. But when it comes to stuff like this?" He gestured back and forth between them as he shook his head. "No, not buyin' it." He then made another face at her as he edged in closer to her. "Come on, woman," he said, using a term he knew she hated, but tired of being the only one susceptible to being goaded. He jerked his chin upward in a nonverbal taunt, then beckoned again for to come closer. "Quit yappin' and show me what you've got. You always told me you weren't the passive type. So do it. Show me. While I'm still fucking young, alright? Come on."

"If we're going by that benchmark, we're going to be here a while since that ship has long since sailed, Booth," she said as she resumed her defensive stance but didn't move towards him quite yet.

He stood there, his hands on his hips, and waited for her to move. Brennan tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and took a couple of steps forward, her eyes narrowing briefly as she saw that her husband hadn't moved at all. A smile flashed across her lips as she squared her hips, drew her right arm back and punched him, her first blow landing against his forearm with a thud and a grunt on his end, but when he blocked it with a barely audible growl, Brennan followed up with a left uppercut that landed squarely on Booth's chin.

"Unngh," he exclaimed, reaching up to palm his chin, his mouth hanging open as he watched her take a step back, her face split with a proud grin.

"Surprised?" she laughed as she watched him shake off the blow.

"No," he groaned, letting his hand fall away from his throbbing chin. "I saw you smack that judge," he said. "I wanted to see what you've had in you...besides me, that is."

"You haven't seen anything yet," she said, reaching up and tugging her bra down a bit after noticing it had ridden up on her during the course of their sparring. "You still up for this, Booth?"

Running his hand through his hair as he looked at her, scanning her form from head to toe, he shook off the sting of her blow and, shrugging with a flash of his eyebrow, simply said, "Bring it."

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-tbc-

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this. I have no idea when other stories will be updated. They all will be at some point. I never abandon anything. But things will be posted when they are posted. Until then, enjoy.