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anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year ago

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hmm 15 or 16 (i literally cannot decide) for the otp prompts pls ! can be crossover or not, up to u :)

I picked 15! And since you mentioned the crossover, I went ahead and did that too. It does contain sex, so the majority of it is under the cut. Thank you for the prompt! Find all previous crossover work here.

___

Phones ring nonstop out front in Troop B headquarters for the State Police; it’s nine in the morning and the Staties have just opened up the tip line for the cluster of recently discovered murders. The public knows the FBI is involved, and the public also knows that the authorities don’t really know who committed the crimes right here in idyllic western Mass because, well, they’ve been asked to call in with any information they might have. Meaning the police have next to none.

And so, out of panic, people all over the county are calling into Northampton station in attempt to offer anything that might make the nightmare go away. People call in neighbors, distant family members, strangers off the street that look suspicious, and it’s all expected. Especially in a situation like this: citizens are scared. So they report what they hear through the grapevine and what they think others might be capable of under the right circumstances - either way, you all should keep an eye on him. Somethin’s not right. Something is definitely not right, and one of these callers, god willing, may actually have something of worth. Hopefully soon, given that the most recent killing goes back no more than six months.

At least, that’s what Maura is trying to think about as they receive a team update from Detective Captain Richmond in the conference room. She counts the people in the room, twenty-four, separates them into two groups: people she knows, people she doesn’t. Agent Booth stands with his hands on his hips next to the Detective Captain, Doctor Brennan leans against one of the rolling tables in the back of the room, arms crossed and listening intently.

Jane is right next to her.

Jane is right next to her, arms crossed, legs in a wide stance, erect at her full height. Jane stares intently at the man updating them on both timelines and personnel placement for the next week, and god Jane smells like motel coffee and lavender perfume.

It’s the damn scent that dismantles Maura now, above everything else. And it’s not even mostly the lavender, though that reaches into the deeper recesses of her amygdala and stirs her up. It’s the coffee today. The strong coffee that Jane prefers, despite years consuming Maura’s organic, fair trade beans. It smells burnt, and like control. Like dominance. This is the coffee that brewed at Jane’s apartment whenever Maura stayed the night and got ready for work in the morning, this is the coffee that tattooed her tongue just before Jane left traces of it all down the front of Maura’s skin, traces of it inside Maura before they left for headquarters and Jane drank more from the Homicide department pot by Korsak’s desk.

Combine the coffee with the cowboy posing, unintentional though it is, and Maura crosses her legs to stave off the worst of the want, the one that beats like a drum just under her hips anyway.

“And so if Agent Booth and Detective Rizzoli make any headway in the interviews they have scheduled for today, or we get any promising leads from all the calls we got flooding the lines, we’ll regroup tomorrow, but for now…”

Detective Captain Richmond is drowned out, gets pulled away by the tide of Jane’s whisper in Maura’s ear. “You’re doin’ the thing,” she says, just low enough for Maura to hear.

Maura gulps. She runs a hand through her, as always, impeccably styled hair. “What thing?” she returns, careful to keep her face neutral lest the Detective Captain, or god forbid Agent Booth, look right at it.

“You’re squeezin’,” Jane asserts. Her arms stay folded and her eyes point down to Maura’s crossed ankles. “You’re squeezin’ ‘cause you’re wet. ‘S it my shirt?”

Maura rolls her eyes. “No,” she says truthfully, though she doesn’t expand. The shirt doesn’t help matters, starched and new and white. The best look on Jane because her undershirt, that ribbed tank that hugs all her musculature, bleeds through. But she takes stock of the reactions of her body and Jane is right. Fuck Jane.

Really, though. That’s all she wants to do.

Jane reads Maura’s mind as well as her body apparently. “I know a place,” Jane says. “Meet me over in front of the bathroom right after he shuts up. We won’t get caught.” Then, like nothing has been said, like no rendezvous has been proposed, Jane straightens up and returns all her bulldog concentration to the men up front. Detective Captain Richmond turns the floor over to Booth, who has some updates on the federal side of things, including lab results, and he nods to Jane seriously just before he begins.

She nods back at him, like she’s been all business the entire time.

___

Maura has barely enough time to find an inconspicuous spot to wait by the women’s restroom before Jane appears from around the corner and tugs her toward an unlabeled gray door. Everyone would have heard Maura stumble to keep up if there weren’t carpet below them, the industrial kind that gobbles up all manner of sneaking about. This proves fortuitous for Maura, because as soon as Jane leads her into what is clearly a supply closet, Jane’s tongue swipes across the back of her teeth; Jane’s lips smash against her own. They stumble into a mop bucket, and Maura laughs when the handle of the mop hits her in the back.

“Shh, shh, watch it,” Jane chuckles, too, but she’s whispering just after their kiss is broken. Maura then moans because Jane’s hands rub all over her body. Without shame they roam over hips, her ass, her spread shoulders as they reach up for Jane.

“Jane,” Maura says, an amalgam of admonishment and pleasure. She speaks the name around Jane’s mouth, inside of it, against it. “The janitor’s closet? Really?”

“Genius, right?” Jane teases. “They never lock it,” she explains as she moves one set of fingers to lock the door from the inside. Maura hmphs, feeling distinctly less sexed.

“Not… oh. Not the most romantic of places we’ve come together-” says Maura as Jane returns to her, as she’s picked up by the backs of her thighs and carried through a minefield of cleaning supplies and racks of extra paper products, until she’s deposited on a shelf against the back wall. Her shoulders hit painted cinderblock and she winces because it’s cold just as much as it’s hard.

“Not the least romantic, either,” Jane finishes for Maura, brushing Maura’s blazer away. Jane must have seen Maura shiver, must have already connected it to the wall behind them, because lord knows how she manipulates Maura’s reactions to changes in temperature - nothing extreme, an ice cube slithering down Maura’s spine, candle wax pooling on her belly as she sucks it in from the heat. Jane, a font of ingenuity, uses their surroundings for the same purpose now. “Remember the alley behind The Naked Barmaid?”

Maura sucks on Jane’s lower lip before she scrapes it between her teeth. Jane leans Maura back, settles her even further, and then herself leans in. When Maura arches her back against the coolness, Jane smiles into the kiss. “An unfortunate, but apt, name for a bar,” Maura grumbles. Jane’s hands have fallen off of her again, and even though they’re occupied with tearing away at Jane’s belt, her zipper, Maura can’t help but pout. Jane pushes her pants open just enough for them to drop to around her knees, and Maura’s fingers find the inside of the boyshorts she’d watched Jane put on in their motel room this morning.

“Oh, fuck,” Jane moans this time.

Maura eats it. She uses her free hand to grasp Jane’s jaw, hard, and bites the breath between them, the one the fuck travels on. Jane stares, this time less confident and more awestruck, but she’s not immobile. She uses a rough tug to bring Maura’s thong down to mid-thigh. Fabric stretches; there might have been a rip, but neither of them care. Maura bites her own lip when fingers enter her, and she repays Jane in kind.

They are off to the races.

Soon, Maura grows antsy, writhing when the pleasure-pressure builds, when Jane seems to brush her clit by accident at first, then irregularly, then occasionally. After she rips her sleeveless blouse from its tuck, one arm grips Jane’s shoulders and she kisses a sloppy, wet trail from Jane’s cheekbone to her ear. “I want to take this off,” she pleads. “I want to show you all of me.”

On instinct, both of their gazes drop to her heaving chest. Her breasts are professionally covered, but the tops of them are visible. She presses them towards Jane’s open mouth.

“Uh uh,” Jane says to them. “You’re just sayin’ that because you know bringin’ out those things means I’ll do whatever ya want. And that is not a good idea when all our coworkers are just on the other side of that damn door.”

Maura huffs, the best she can do to concede the point. “Fine,” she says. “Then hurry up. We have work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane laughs. They do just that, and after a few more frenzied minutes, Jane comes first, and Maura falls apart after.

The kiss they share in the aftermath is slow, and it strings between them, liquid and sweet, before Maura comes forward to start it all over again. “Help me,” she orders when they break again.

Jane nods, and pulls up her own pants. She buckles her belt, but then those hands find Maura’s waist and lower her gently to the floor, until the flat heels of Maura’s boots touch. “You need-?” she begins to ask, and then bends awkwardly to hook her fingers in the elastic of Maura’s thong under her skirt.

“You don’t have to be that chivalrous,” says Maura, smiling when she swats Jane away and pulls her underwear up by herself. “In fact, I need you to leave. Now.”

“Wait, what? I thought we-” the fear on Jane’s face is evident. Maura’s heart skips a beat, thinks back on what she’s done to put it there.

“We need to put time between us,” she clarifies. “In case there’s anyone in the hall. How would it look if we both walked out of here, disheveled and flushed?”

“It’s a broom closet, Maura. Anybody walkin’ outta here who isn’t the janitor is gonna raise some eyebrows,” Jane says. When Maura shrugs, she takes Maura’s face in her hand, rubbing her thumb over Maura’s chin, and kisses her softly. “But I hear ya. I’m outta here. I got work to do anyway.”

“The interviews,” Maura teases with a wink.

“Yeah. Booth and me and the backest of the backwoods,” says Jane as she hangs on the door she’s just opened. “See ya later.”

“See you later,” Maura returns. And speaking of Booth, Maura hears Jane greet him, gruff and sarcastic in their usual style, just as the knob clicks into place. Then, Maura’s enveloped in silence, the kind she likes. The kind that fosters thinking, and she needs to do a lot of that, if the happiness in her chest is any indication.

___

When Booth finally finds Brennan the next day, it is the afternoon, and light trickles into the morgue through the thin trio of windows right above the body storage. She’d called this lab rudimentary, Bones-speak for underfunded and inadequate. And Booth tends to agree, especially because that bozo Pike runs things down here - down here being stuck in 1983, from the coffee colored linoleum to the squeaky autopsy tables and the way he talks to women. Booth isn’t exactly, y’know, feminist of the year, but at least he’s got respect. And if you’re gonna have the audacity to be a chauvinist pig, at least be good at your job.

Booth is distracting himself.

No matter, however, because when he pushes through the swinging double doors, he spots Brennan. One look at her hair up in a bun, her arms folded over her chest in that I’m the boss stance, her head cocked as she judges Pike, and Booth’s heart hammers in his chest.

Pike rambles on about the set of remains, all bone, in the drawer Bones has instructed him to open because he missed that it might be related to the case they’re all running themselves into the ground to solve. She’s mad, and Booth takes a second to pause and imagine Bones’ foot on Pike’s neck.

He revises - Bones’ foot on his neck. Oh boy. “Hey, uh, Bones,” he starts. He clears his throat and takes his voice as deep as it’ll go without being weird. “You - you got a minute? For somethin’ upstairs.”

When they find Booth, Bones’ blue eyes, sharp as always, turn as soft as they had when he and she had finally, finally, spoken through their own insecurities just a few nights ago. The corner of her mouth turns up in the faintest outline of a smile, then he smiles.

He can tell she’s remembering the kiss. That one. The one right before he didn’t go back to his hotel room for the rest of the night and they’d almost gone all the way and now he remembers it, too. They bounce off each other, refracting light, electricity attracted by lightning rods. Changing each other, attracting each other, bending each other.

Booth would like to get to the bending now. Bones seems to pick up on that. “An interrogation?” she asks, her voice exaggerated and playful. Luckily, Pike is an idiot, because he just stares between them, confused, instead of picking up on Bones’ garish gameplay.

“Uh, somethin’ like that,” Booth says. “I’m gonna borrow her for a little bit here, Pike.”

Booth barely resists dragging Bones by the arm, but only because she’s already past him at the door.

“I just pulled these remains!” Pike shouts as the two of them back out the way Booth came.

“Owe ya one!” Booth shouts back. He’s never meant anything less, and he doesn’t even care about the lie when he watches Bones lead the way to the elevator.

___

“I knew… the interrogation was… a ruse,” says Bones, laughing, kissing, breathing all at once against Booth’s lips. He swears he’s never felt anything like it, like the buzz that jumps from his mouth all the way to his hips and back up again.

“So glad you picked up on that,” he tells her with a chuckle of his own. His large hands are under her blouse, one cupping a breast through her bra, the other thumb stroking gently against the small of her back. “Now let’s cut the talkin’.”

No chance of course. And he likes that about Bones. Loves that she doesn’t listen to a damn word he says. Instead, she narrows her brows when she grabs onto his ass. He really, really likes when she does that. “The shape of your glutei are impressive,” she tells him, but then she reaches just below that to feel the insides of his thighs and he yelps. “But your adductor magnus show the most promise.”

“I wish I knew what the… mmm,” he starts, but then her tongue is in his mouth, laying heavy against his own like that’s where the lovemaking starts. “What the hell that means.”

“It means we haven’t consummated,” Bones starts. She shifts her fingers to the front of his slacks when his grip on her own glutei. “And while the broom closet of the State Police isn’t exactly where I want our first time to be, your musculature tells me that it’ll be a good time anywhere,” she says. Booth winces when one hand snaps open his cocky belt buckle, slips down between his pants and his boxers, and wraps around the length of him all in one swift go. “You’re erect,” she snickers, her pursed lips pecking quick, sweet kisses against his cheekbone like she’s pitying him.

He can’t explain why that makes him harder, but he’s gonna push back in some kind of way, just so that he doesn’t minuteman his way through this janitor closet afternoon delight. With his back to the door, he lifts her, tossing her roughly up onto the high shelf in the back of the room. This time, she winces, and then she laughs, too. He calls her out. “Isn’t that the point? And hey, you gotta be so clinic-”

“Oh my god!” comes a voice from the door, and a rush of light floods the dark room, freezing Booth in place.

Oh no.

Normally he’d shoot the person interrupting the farthest around the bases he’s gotten with Temperance Brennan, but his body is the only obstacle between her open blouse and the eyes of whoever just barged in. Plus, you know, the whole erect thing. “Hey, what the hell!” he settles for, and he’s got to admit that it sounds lame, even to him, even in his deep army boom.

“Sorry!” he hears, and that voice he recognizes: Doctor Isles. Maura. Oh Christ. That means the other one… yup. Rizzoli caught so off guard that it rose a couple octaves.

“It’s ok,” Bones calls out, untangling herself from Booth so she can hop back down onto the floor. “We were going to have intercourse, but obviously we’ll come out now.”

Booth stares at her, eyes wide and wild. “You kiddin’ me?! It is not ok!”

“No no, our bad, we’re outta here,” Rizzoli talks over him, and when he turns, adjusting himself, Jane’s got her eyes covered with her hand and the door open juuuust a crack. Her entire body is facing away from the scene and that tickles him a little bit. He almost smiles. Maura’s already gone, clearly, and Rizzoli’s on her way out, too. But not before she snaps, “I told you about this place in confidence, Booth. Christ!”

“Yeah yeah, sorry,” Booth waves her away, the adrenaline wearing off. He’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, and releases an exhilarated little chuckle. When the door slams, he turns to Bones. “She did make me promise not to tell anybody, Bones.”

Bones shrugs, buttoning up her shirt. “You didn’t tell me, you showed me,” she says. She straightens her blazer and has a hand on the door when she turns her head back to him. “I find my libido undeterred despite the interruption. Do you want to take a long lunch?”

“Hell yes,” he says, adrenaline spiking again, putting a pep in his step and a kiss on the back of Brennan’s head as he opens the cracked door for her from behind.

He supposes he can let Rizzoli have this place - finders keepers and all.

#otp prompts june 2023 #rizzoli and isles #bones tv #lauren writes crossover fanfiction #unintentionally edging booth in this snippet whoops #sorry seeley #starting to get more comfortable with b&b now #not super comfortable but better #imagine for this snippet that it is toward the end of this story with Jane and Maura reconciling and B&B getting together #maybe #no timelines!

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