Gum's 55 Word Challenge- Oneshots. Won't go above "T" rating

So, given Rob's 3 little words and the madness that followed, I'm gonna go with he'll approve this one...or at the very least the visual pic I've created.
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Siren

"No. No. No. No. No," Seeley Booth stormed into one of the makeup rooms in the Hoover's undercover department. "This is not happening, Bones."

His partner-who was currently dressed in the tightest, lowest halter top known to man, along with a band-aid of a mini-skirt, and fishnet stockings that looked like they'd been tailored to her long legs- looked down at him from her high stool, surrounded by makeup artists.

"Hi, Booth," she said casually.

"Don't 'Hi, Booth' me, Bones, and don't think you're going out like that, either," he folded his arms across his chest and glared.

"Agent Perotta needs me," she glared back.

"Not dressed like that she doesn't!" he all but yelled. "And what happened to only working with me?"

"Apparently, somebody read my file and noted my superb track record in undercover investigations," she said haughtily. "Not to mention, Assistant Director Hacker felt that I would make the perfect 'red light special in a blue light district' and recommended me to Agent Perotta."

Booth clenched his jaw and tried not to focus on his desire to march upstairs and pull his gun on Hacker and his stupid crush, before replying, "You got your colors mixed up there, Bones, and I don't care if the Pope himself recommended you. You aren't leaving this room dressed like a hooker."

"I doubt the Pope would endorse prostitution."

"Bones."

"Booth."

Sensing the growing tension between the partners, the makeup techs cleared out, leaving them alone.

"What's the real issue, Booth?" she hopped down gracefully from her stool. "Why are you so upset?"

He started to answer but had to gulp mid-breath as she closed the distance between them, giving him a perfect view of all the things her outfit did and didn't cover.

"Come on, Booth, don't be shy," she pressed, continuing to move forward. "What could you possibly objet to?"

He stood his ground but more from shock than anything else. All of a sudden she stopped and pulled back.

"Well, if you have nothing further to add I believe I'll go see if this meets with Andrew's approval."

"No," he ground the word out, grabbing her arm before she could leave.

"Why. Not. Booth?" she enunciated every word slowly, her face inches from his.

"Because you're mine," the words rushed out raw and uncensored.

He braced for the fallout, but instead of either flattening him or running, she relaxed under his grip, eyes softening, and he swore he saw her nod.

"What was that?" he asked at her faint mutter.

"I said 'finally,'" she answered, looking him in the eye. "I was beginning to think I would have to resort to one of Angela's flashing techniques."

"Um," his eyes glanced at her shirt's neckline of their own accord before he dragged them back to her face, "you pretty much did- wait!" His eyes narrowed, "There's no assignment, is there?"

"I've told you numerous times I'm a good actress," she was flirting openly with him now.

"Shame on me for not believing you," he inhaled her scent, nostrils flaring.

"Indeed," she nodded, "you should be punished."

"Hey, Bones," he said as she began to nibble at his neck, "what say we not devour each other at the Hoover, okay?"

"Fine," she smirked up at him, "my place, then. I've been looking forward to finding out how adept you are at undercover investigations for some time."

Love this, but then I've always had a hard spot for playful/sultry Brennan and there's something so wrong about Brennan done up as a street walker - so wrong it's right that is. Anyway I'd say poor Booth but honestly? Lucky bastard is more accurate. First of all, he gets the girl, and second of all - he gets the girl.

RM

Dirt

A shrill noise pierced through her subconscious, dragging her up from the depths of her peaceful slumber. She groaned and fumbled blindly for the phone, answering it only to stop the incessant ringing.

“Sweetie,” Angela began without preamble, pausing only long enough for Brennan to grunt her acknowledgment. “Sweetie, you need to get up and call your publicist right away!”

“Why?” Brennan asked through a yawn. “What's going on?”

“Well,” the artist took a deep breath, “so I was in grabbing some groceries at Giant and you know all those magazines and stuff they have in the checkout lanes?” There was no time for Brennan to answer as her friend continued breathlessly, “It's not like I look at them regularly, though sometimes I do and this time I had to because your face was plastered everywhere!”

“My face?” she asked. “What's so urgent about that? I've been in the tabliods before.”

“Well, it's not so much your face as its what your face is attached to,” Angela emphasized the last word. “Or rather, who, because all I could see was you and someone who looks suspiciously like Special Agent Hot Stuff sucking some major face. And in one of the pics it looks like he got to second base too.”

“I don't know what that means,” Brennan frowned.

“And these headlines,” Angela went on, “this one says, 'Finding Her Andy,' another one claims 'More Than Just Partners,' and then there's 'FBI Agent Throws His Doctor a Bone.' Should I keep going?”

“Ange,” Brennan answered long-sufferingly, “the tabloids have been conjecturing about the true nature of my relationship with Booth for years now.”

“Yeah, but whoever touched up these pictures did an expert job. I mean, I know they can't be real but that's not the conclusion everyone else in the world is going to draw!”

“Fine,” Brennan sighed, “I'll have my publicist look into things.”

“Good,” the relieved reply came. “Though, Bren?”

“Yes?”

“One of these years you really ought to give him a chance and take him for a test ride.”

“Goodbye, Angela,” she sang, quickly hanging up the phone and sinking back down into her pillow.

“So I got caught stealing second?” a somnolent voice rumbled in her ear.

“Apparently that alley was not as private as we thought,” she felt heat rising in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Booth grinned wildly, “I'm not the one who dragged us there in the first place.”

“Yes, but you were the one who assaulted me with your lips,” she trailed a finger down his bare chest. “And pressed me up against that wall.”

“Easiest way to shut you up,” he shrugged, eyes twinkling, “and I didn't hear any complaints from your end.”

Before she could retort he pulled her closer and caught her lips with his once more. There wasn't any less passion than there had been the night before when he'd shocked her into silence, but it was slow and languorous rather than frenzied.

“How long do you think it'll take Ange to figure out they're real?” he asked when they'd pulled back for air.

On the nightstand the phone rang once more and she glanced at the Caller ID.

“Not long at all.”

Woohoo! I guess Angela's pretty smart after all.