For those who cannot see, their sense of hearing becomes acute. For those who cannot taste, their sense of smell increases in intensity in the same way. Booth smells like any other man I have encountered, except more intense. Is it just my repeated proximity to him, or more?
Aftershave and coffee fresh in the morning, sometimes leaving a trail that is easy to follow. Gunshot residue and blood in the moments preceding his "death". Sweat and fear when he pulled me from the Gravedigger's car. Laundry detergent when he has had Parker for the weekend. Hotdogs and beer on the Fourth of July. He's an all-American guy. From his cologne to his apartment, all of his differing aromas scream, "Booth!" When he brushes close to me, it is not only my sense of touch that nudges my heart into overdrive. His scent becomes heady and overpowering, so much so that I sometimes cannot concentrate on what he is saying
He smells of starch and soap mostly; clean and homey scents. I cannot abide those whose personal hygiene affects my olfactory senses. Booth's never really has.
Whenever I have been pressed against his chest, a small part of me, in the region of my lower back, relaxes. His smell reminds me of when I return to my apartment after a long holiday. The same part of me relaxes as I walk through my front door and push my suitcase into a corner. I don't know that this part of me is tensed, until it relaxes and releases tension and pain not fully recognised until that wonderful moment. I often imagine what it would feel like if that part was to be relaxed permanently. Booth takes away that small bit of pain with his scent alone. It would be accurate for me to equate being close to Booth to feeling at home, at peace.
This is what my nose tells me.
A/N: I may repost this entirely as I have seen some grammatical errors in earlier chapters and they are bugging me. Please review...hope you like!