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Perpendicular	By : KShir Category: 1 through F > Bones Views: 4044 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Bones or the characters from Bones. I also make no money from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter One
The Man in the Corner
“Looks like a late night for you,” Dr. Sweets said, opening the door to Seeley’s low-lit office from the dark floor outside.
“I- uh- needed to look at the Pelant files one more time before heading home.” Booth paused, thinking I can’t let him get away with what he’s done this time.
Lance eyed the open liquor decanter on Booth’s desk.
“And you needed Scotch to what? Clear your head?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Seeley murmured distractedly, leaning forward and shuffling a file from the pile on the left side of his desk to the right side. Sweets furrowed his brow and settled himself into one of the chairs opposite Booth’s desk.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?” Sweets laced his fingers together, elbows on either armrest of the chair, and brought his hands to his mouth. Booth groaned inwardly; this was Dr. Sweets’ “pensive” pose. The doctor would not allow Agent Booth’s drinking and dark mood to go unexplored. Booth cast about for a quick falsehood to give the psychologist something to mull over.
“I had a dream,” Booth said slowly as his eyes caught sight of a silver photo frame that some unnamed intern at the FBI had given him for last year’s secret Santa. It was imprinted with the cliché Dare to Dream.
“What was the main focus of the dream?” Sweets probed gently.
“Hodgins.” Booth winced as soon as he said the name; Hodgins had been on his mind all afternoon. Had the entomologist not strangled Pelant months prior, the serial killer may have moved on to other victims and left him alone. He might even be at home helping Bones plan their wedding right now.
“I see. What was Hodgins doing?”
“He was-“ Booth paused, thinking hard for something that would cause Sweets to think, perhaps giving Booth time to end the conversation and head home to his girls. “Bleeding black blood. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t. Then he kept flying around the room and I couldn’t catch him.”
“So, in a sense, you were trying to protect Hodgins from bleeding out. Then, would you say, you couldn’t get near to him?” Sweets eyed Booth from over his hands, his forehead creased in concentration.
“That’s what I said.”
“Do you have the waking urge to be close to Hodgins?”
“What?” Booth looked up from his paperwork again, regretting his lie about the dream almost immediately. “No.”
“It’s completely natural to want to be close to the ones we love, Agent Booth: it is the biological imperative to be near and protect our own,” Sweets said simply, as though Seeley had nothing at all to be ashamed of.
“Woah, woah, woah there. I do not love Hodgins. I mean, he’s a squint who is just a buddy. I wouldn’t want any of Bones’ little squinterns alone, either, but they don’t appear to be targets.” Why couldn’t he have predicted that this line of questioning would be blown out of proportion by the young doctor.
“Booth, it is crucial that you understand that you do, in fact, love Hodgins,” Sweets said, standing up and pacing Booth’s office in frustration. Why was Booth always so damned determined that he had no deeper connection to anyone?
“You love Hodgins like you love Angela, like you love Cam, and yes, like you love Dr. Brennan’s interns. These people are your family. Until you learn that you love all of them, you’ll never be able to fully eradicate these unconscious fantasies of their being targets!” Sweets slammed his hands down on Booth’s desk.
Seeley - who had had enough - stood up and pressed his knuckles into either stack of paper on his desk, drawing eye-to-eye with Sweets. He had forgotten completely that his dream had been a cover story for Pelant ruining his engagement with Bones. His face was inches from the doctor’s, eyes narrowed to slits.
“That there is your problem. You don’t know anything about love.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You have a semi-serious relationship with an intern and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about love.” Booth paused, breathing heavily in his irritation. “A man doesn’t love every significant person in his life. There is usually a number, a small, set number.”
“I see,” said Lance sarcastically, “and I’m sure you know exactly what that number is right now.”
“Of course I do. Five.”
“Five?” Dr. Sweets asked incredulously.
“Yes, five. There’s Parker, and Christine. My grandfather. Bones. And-“ Booth paused, feeling his face reddening. He would rather pull out his gun and shoot himself in the foot right there than admit to the insolent young psychologist that he was, in fact, Booth’s best friend and that Booth loved him for that reason.
It seemed, however, that Booth did not need to explain his feelings for Sweets. Sweets eyes widened in realization, and then clouded with uncertainty. Booth was uncomfortably aware that the two of them were still face-to-face, a mere foot separating their noses.
“Me too,” Sweets said in a much softer tone, something aching in his voice. It was not the tenor of one guy to another, admitting sheepishly that they were indeed best friends. Booth came to the sudden and sharp realization that Lance was admitting something else entirely, something darker, Booth’s meaning misconstrued.
Seeley was, for once, stunned into silence. Dr. Lance Sweets, as young a genius as he was, was vulnerably admitting feelings for him. Something tense and unexpected curled hotly in Booth’s stomach; that something was taboo, hidden, and forbidden.
Booth’s eyes darkened, and for one maddening moment, he considered leaning forward and brushing his lips against Lance’s.
“Booth...” Sweets’ mouth was inches from his; he could feel the younger man’s breath warming his lips. Booth’s pulse thundered in his ears and his heart beat a rapid pattern against the inside of his chest. Without conscious thought of his reaction, Booth’s hands flew out, knocking the psychologist back several steps.
“This- I can’t. I have a daughter with Bones,” he said, frowning at the thought of Brennan home alone with Christine right now. With Pelant still at liberty to play games with his life every second that Bones and Christine spent alone and away left Booth wondering about their safety.
“I understand,” Lance replied quietly, straightening his suit jacket and fumbling with the end of his tie. Color had rose high in his cheeks, and unless Booth was very much mistaken, there was a telling shine to his eyes. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Sweets,” Booth called half-heartedly as the psychologist turned on his heel and walked briskly out of Seeley’s office. Booth groaned and threw himself down in his chair. He then folded his arms on his desk and slammed his forehead down on top of them, the bobble-head on his desk shuddering with the force.
Booth sat quickly back upright as the glass door to his office crashed open, leaving an angry-looking Dr. Sweets standing in the door frame.
“Do you realize what you just said to me?” Lance said, taking the room in several long strides. Booth stood up awkwardly, nearly tripping over his rolling chair as the young psychologist stormed right up to him, backing Seeley into the corner in his frustration.
“I don’t-“
“What did you just say to me?” Sweets asked, exasperatedly.
“I s-said I can’t,” Booth said quietly, looking away from the brown eyes that were boring into his. Seeley did not want to see the hurt that was poorly concealed there.
“And your reasoning?” Lance was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his eyes alight.
“I-” Booth paused. “I don’t know.” Booth was completely bewildered by Sweets’ sudden anger. Sweets continued to move closer to Booth until their chests were almost touching and the heat radiating off of Sweets was felt through Booth’s dress-shirt and white tee.
“You have a daughter,” Sweets repeated. “It wasn’t I love Dr. Brennan. It wasn’t I’m not gay. It wasn’t I don’t feel that way about you. This is not about prior commitments, or sexuality, or feelings. You’re only acting as you assume you should do.”
“I don’t underst-“
“I’ll explain later,” Lance said, closing the gap between them. Sweets’ hips were pushed flushed to Booth’s, their chests touching. Both were breathing heavily – Lance in excitement, Booth in anxiety.
Sweets raised his hand slowly, his eyes asking for permission before laying it on Booth’s neck. When Booth’s eyes registered only bewilderment, fear, and shock, Lance threw caution to the wind and laced his hand into Seeley’s hair, pulling their faces together.
Once more, Booth felt Sweets’ breath hot on his own lips. The dark, coiling something that had previously taken up residence in his stomach inched its way to his groin. Sweets inched towards Booth, running his nose along the FBI agent’s before closing the distance.
When the two men’s lips touched, all was lost. There was no office, or view of the metro from the window. There was no heartbroken woman at home, feeding a young girl her dinner. There was no break-up with Daisy. Hell, there could have been no Daisy. The desk, the glass door, the bobble-head, the security cameras all ceased to exist.
What existed were Lance’s arms around Seeley’s neck as the agent lowered his hands and clawed at the psychologist’s hips, drawing their hot bodies even closer together. What sounded was Sweets’ murmured groan as Booth drew his tongue along Sweets’ soft lips, parting them and entering roughly.
Booth grabbed at Sweets, abandoning all thought, and roughly forced his suit coat down from his shoulders while his other hand expertly loosened the younger man’s tie. When Sweets indicated he needed to breathe, Booth pushed his head to the side and slid his teeth along the psychologist’s jaw, drawing a breathy keen from Lance. Seeley backed Sweets up to the desk, popping buttons on his shirt two at a time while Lance’s hands raked down Seeley’s chest.
“B-Booth,” Sweets gasped, feebly attempting to push the agent back as he was now grinding his hips into the psychologist’s. “Booth – ow, ouch – your gun.”
It was as if the sultry, shielding bubble around the two men had not just popped, but exploded into deafening silence. All that was left was the sound of heavy breathing as Booth backed away from Sweets, his face closed into a mask of angry shock, livid with himself for what he had just done.
Agent Booth’s brown eyes raked over Sweets. The tousle-haired psychologist was sitting on his stack of papers, shirt ripped open, tie and jacket cast wantonly to the side. The man’s cheeks were red and his erection evident. His eyes were slowly recovering from half-lidded in lust to bright with concern as Seeley raised his hands defensively; backing so far up that he knocked a tray of files over.
“Booth?” Sweets said, standing up from the desk. Booth shook his head and raised a hand to silence him. Without another word, Seeley Booth retrieved his jacket from the coat rack by the door and walked silently out of the FBI building, leaving a breathless Lance Sweets reeling.
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