My Seeley doesn't talk about his penis in mixed company. Hell, he doesn't even talk about it with other guys.
He cleans his gun every single night in complete darkness and relives ten out of a hundred clean kills while his fingers move automatically over steel and iron with the scent of gun oil coating his lungs.
He loves Rebecca randomly, it comes and goes and he's glad she never said yes.
He loves his son with a passion that scares him with the ferocity of it. He knows he would, that he could instantly snap the neck of anyone that dared to come between him and his child.
Seeley makes damn sure that he'll never have another one.
He doesn't sleep more than four hours at a time. Any longer than that and the dreams become too vivid.
My Seeley goes to Church every Sunday. He carries a rosary in his pocket. He lights a single candle and he prays and he really doesn't know what he believes anymore.
He admires Brennan's mind but he doesn't see her as another sexual partner. He thinks her friendship, their working relationship is too valuable for that.
He likes the way Angela teases him about his looks, his dates, his sexual prowess. It brings back memories of high school and innocence.
He envies the casual intellectual banter that he constantly interrupts when Zach and Jack are left alone too long. It reminds him of buddies lost in blood and sand.
He knew Zach would return, and that he wouldn't fit. But he respected the boy's need to go.
My Seeley has used the handcuffs issued him by the FBI for more than official purposes. He knows what they feel like locked around his own wrists.
He doesn't think in terms of gay or not gay. Not of himself, not of others. He knows what it's like to make a woman have multiple orgasms and he knows what it feels like to be fucked dry. He knows that boneless, fragile, too-brief, consuming feeling of desire satisfied and he denies himself over and over until he can't still the tremble in his hands and he knows he would miss if he aimed and the very scent of the expensive cologne Hodgins wears becomes the only thing he can concentrate upon.
My Booth doesn't believe in redemption. He knows that he's damned. But he does believe in justice and he wonders why he can always tell when people are lying, no matter how good they are at hiding the truth.
He smiles when he doesn't feel it. He misses his mother. He trusts Brennan with his life and no one else. He understands a lot more than he lets on when the squints are talking to each other. He knows how to create a gourmet meal out of an MRE and he likes spending his evenings alone, with a fire burning and the TV off. He sometimes reads up on final scores and player stats on the 'net before work to keep current with his favorite sports. Instead of actually watching the game.
My Seeley has infinite patience.
Sometimes he has a trigger finger.
And he knows, more often than not, he gets lucky.
He covers his face when they investigate a dead body, but not because the smell makes him sick. It's because it is too familiar. Too close. Too real. And he spent too long, killing too many from too far away.
My Booth always spends the night with Hodgins after investigating and resolving a murder.
They fuck all night and Booth makes breakfast when the sun rises. They never talk about it.
He always calls his son before falling asleep, after cleaning his gun. He drinks whiskey straight, vodka with pineapple juice and American beer. He hasn't gotten drunk, no matter how much he drinks, since he stopped wearing the uniform.
The only thing that scares my Booth is the thought of dying without saying goodbye to his son. And he knows that going to the Heaven he was brought up believing in, would be Hell. For him.
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