I had often wondered what he would taste like.

I guess I already knew, of course, with the mistletoe kiss and all the steamboats and things. It can take a while to find someone's true flavour. I had gotten close to fully knowing Sully's. I had definitely known Micheal's. If someone had handcuffed and blindfolded me, I could pick those two out by taste alone.

It annoyed me that I didn't know Booth's personal flavour. It wasn't like I hadn't worked with other men and not known what they were uniquely composed of. Hodgins, for example. Of course, Angela would have known. Angela would be able to pick him out of a crowd of hundreds, of thousands. As lovely as Hodgins was, I was not jealous of not knowing his. He was Angela's. Booth was whose? Rebecca, Cam's? I envied these women that knew him so completely, while my knowledge of him lacked in identifying his flavour.

All I had to go on was the 10 second taste of his lips on mine, the smell of his blood on my hands, the iron of it in the air, tainting the oxygen I breathed. I do not like the taste of his blood.

I imagine he would taste of coffee, with a hint of salt and something indescribable, even for a world-renowned author as myself. My imaginings vary day to day, depending on what has happened between us, how long it has been since I satisfied my biological urges.

Sometimes I wondered if he felt the same way, that the craving for knowing what I tasted like consumed him, until it was all he could think about late at night. The longing to know him with my most descriptive and discerning sense was something that did not change no matter how long it had been since I had last had sex. Wanting to know Booth, to taste him, is not something that is solely linked to my libido.

All the things I have learned from my partner, Seeley Booth, I have learned from observing, hearing, smelling and feeling. I would not have otherwise learned that feelings are so often heard, rather than described. I would not have known that other paths are just as viable as my own, even if they are lit by a different sort of light. I could not have known that there is but one person out there whose touch is so in tune with my own. I definitely would not have recognised that you can identify a person as "home".

I have yet to learn one thing, however. I have yet to learn if there truly is a taste so intoxicating it can be described as "heaven on Earth".

Until I learn this, all my mouth tells me is that everything else that passes through it is akin to cardboard.

That is definitely what my mouth tells me.

A/N: That's all folks. I hope you liked it. It was just a little something that popped into my head and the idea can probably be taken and reworked to a much higher standard by the more talented authors on this site. Please leave reviews, I love them!