It had been easy enough to slip the Book of Whispers into the pocket of his nightgown. And it had been easy enough to persuade himself that he’d only taken it because it was too dangerous in the hands of Lucius Preston Wilcox. Booth certainly tried to convince himself that his intentions had been the most noble indeed. But unfortunately, self-deception had never been a skill in his meager repertoire. And try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself that the reason he was bringing Blaine back stemmed less from a desire to see him again than from a desire to right a wrong he had committed.
The pages felt familiar beneath his fingertips, as though the book had just been waiting for him to open it, all copies sharing the memories of those who had used them. But he hardly needed to read the instructions again. Even the chant was still as fresh in his mind as ever. But he was hearing it in Blaine’s voice, still, and he was desperate to overwrite it with his own, so he could hear Blaine’s voice anew.
The night before, Booth had gathered earth from Blaine’s grave. It had struck him again, then, the perversion of disturbing his peace like that. But it was a sin he had to commit, and he had to be mindful not to let it mingle with his tears overly much. By comparison, finding and acquiring a slab of obsidian had been such an easy feat, though it had been with a shudder that he’d realized it was the very same on which Blaine had died. Finding it had taken him weeks, would have taken him months if he hadn’t chanced upon one of Blaine’s contacts in the last of their correspondence.
He’d dug through his letters to find something that connected them, as required by the ritual. And he’d ended up discovering it in a letter Booth had particularly cherished when he’d received it. But no matter how much care he’d taken when reading it, the ink was still smudged in places. Dearest Boothie. The nickname he’d so loathed. He’d traced the line once again. He wanted to hear it from Blaine’s lips.
All that remained now was to add his own blood. The blade shone in the candlelight. There would be no turning back after this. But truly, there had been no turning back after he’d opened the Book of Whispers for the first time, all those years ago. And if he’d done it wrong last time, he was certain that this time, every detail was right.
He opened his vein and let the blood flow, chanting the words. Wondering if Blaine would greet him with a smile or a sneer, and which would sting more.
Blaine’s presence thrummed through Booth’s core, unexpected and yet right in a way that gave Booth just a glimmer of hope as he watched the shape pull itself together from the blood and paper and entrails. Muscles grew firm under skin that looked so smooth that Booth yearned to touch it as he averted his eyes with heat in his face. And Blaine was back, radiant and confident, the way he’d known him from university. Nearly untouched by the signs of age, safe for a few jovial lines on his face, so unlike the corpse that Booth had left behind in his basement.
“Your hair looks almost whiter than before,” Blaine said. Teasing but without a trace of malice in his tone.
“I- er… It was already-”
“Come here,” Blaine said, opening his arms. And in that moment, Booth understood what had drawn Blaine into the circle, back then. Because just as easily, he now rose to his feet and stepped into it. The sensation was odd, a strange power pulling at his limbs, sparking along his skin. Not quite painful, but odd enough to pull his thoughts out of the hypnotic grip of the ritual. Because now he was in Blaine’s power. And he could safely let his mask drop and suck the life from him.
But Blaine did no such thing. He was still smiling as he drew Booth into his embrace, resting his forehead on Booth’s shoulder, sighing so deeply that Booth could feel the warmth of his breath through the shirt he was wearing. And so he finally dared to lower his face into Blaine’s hair and breathe in the scent of him, unaltered by cologne or pomade. It was simply the scent of being alive.
His arms, hanging stiff beside him, slowly rose and closed around Blaine’s body. Trembling as they slid over his bare skin.
“Blaine, I-” he started, but he didn’t know how to continue. So many things had been unsaid between them. And really only one that was necessary to say.
“I know,” Blaine replied softly. He drew back to look Booth in the eye without taking his hands off him. His expression was endlessly gentle. “I’ve always known.” A desperate little laugh escaped him. “But I think I was afraid of admitting my own feelings to myself.”
It was too good to be true. It had to be. But Blaine had never been much of a liar or actor. And Booth knew him too well to be deceived.
His eyes widened when Blaine cupped his cheeks. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” he said quietly. Booth screwed his eyes shut. That was the moment it all ended. Blaine’s lips were unnaturally smooth against his, untouched by wind and weather. His soft tongue slid over Booth’s lips, firmly pressed together, and retreated again. Despite the brevity of the kiss, Booth found himself breathless.
“I thought you would be happy to see me again,” Blaine said, running a crooked finger over Booth’s cheek.
“I am,” he breathed. “I just-”
“Good,” Blaine said and kissed him again. This time, Booth allowed his tongue to push through his trembling lips. Allowed him to explore his mouth while Booth’s hands slid to Blaine’s hips of their own accord. Blaine pushed closer.
“I’ve been cold for so long,” Blaine whispered. “You will keep me warm, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Booth said. Was it guilt or love that kept his voice steady? He didn’t know. But there was one thing he was certain of. One thing that had been true from the day they had met: Booth would do anything for Blaine.
So this time, he was the one to lean down and kiss Blaine’s lips. Pushing his tongue into a mouth that tasted like nothing, the life fading from him again.
“Don’t leave me again, Blaine” Booth whispered, frightened.
“I won’t,” Blaine said, his hands working open the buttons on Booth’s shirt. “As long as you’re with me, I won’t.”
Blaine’s hands worked quickly, skilled. Booth had always loved watching them. When Blaine had been playing the piano or tying his tie. Or simply turning the page of an old book with the all the due care. And his fingers were just as skilled as they slipped the shirt from his shoulders with gentle touches to his chest, a prelude to relieving him of his undershirt too, leaving Booth to shiver in the cool basement air.
When Blaine opened his trousers, Booth could feel his chest tighten. It was too soon. But it was Blaine. Blaine, whose eyes were alight with desire. Whose hands were gently stroking over his cock while all Booth could do was gasp helplessly and clutch Blaine’s shoulders.
“It’s all right,” Blaine said gently. “Kneel, now.”
When Booth didn’t react, Blaine coaxed him down with a light grip on his shoulder. The stone beneath his knees was cold and hard, but Booth barely paid it any mind. He was staring up at Blaine. Waiting for him to show him the way. Just as he’d always done.
“There are some things that haven’t changed, have they?”
Booth felt his cheeks color with shame, let himself lean into Blaine’s hand to stop his nerves from fluttering. Blaine had always enjoyed teasing him so.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Blaine said. “You’re with me.”
He pushed a thumb between Booth’s lips, exhaling quietly as Booth drew it deeper into his mouth. Booth sighed in relief when he tasted the salt on Blaine’s skin and let his eyes fall shut. Trusting that he wouldn’t simply vanish if he let him out of sight for a moment.
A little noise escaped him when Blaine drew his thumb back. Booth opened his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Blaine’s hand grasping his cock, spreading the saliva over the flesh that was firming in his grip. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, looking up at Blaine.
“How often have you thought about this?” Blaine asked, pulling Booth onto his cock without awaiting his answer.
Never. Every single night. Booth didn’t know anymore. All that mattered was that he could feel Blaine’s pulse on his tongue while Blaine continued guiding his head, until he simply rested his hand in Booth’s hair. Soft sounds escaped him, warming Booth to his soul. By the time Blaine pulled him off his cock again, Booth was panting heavily. He was quite glad that Blaine had opened his trousers before. The confinement would have been hell. And even now, he ached for Blaine’s touch, his cock hard between his legs.
“Lie down for me,” Blaine said, and Booth obeyed. The pattern on the obsidian pressed uncomfortably into his back. But the pain faded into nothingness when he watched Blaine kneel down before him, deftly freeing him from the remainder of his clothes.
Entranced, Booth watched him take his own fingers into his mouth, sucking on them with all the obscene little noises Booth had been trying so hard to suppress. His lips were red when he withdrew his fingers again, smiling down at Booth.
“Spread your legs for me,” he said, and Booth tried to obey as best as he could. Still, he shivered when he felt Blaine’s hands on his thighs, pushing his legs further apart and towards his chest, then he ordered him to hold the position. It took Blaine a few seconds to realize that he was to hold himself open with his open hands. So he did, hands hooked around the back of his knees, elbows resting on the cold stone. He felt so exposed like that. And it hurt, the pull at his tendons and muscles, stiff from endless hours spent hunched over desks. But Blaine looked ever so pleased, so Booth could bear this, for him.
Still, he couldn’t suppress a small whimper when Blaine pushed two fingers into him, slick but too soon.
“Relax,” Blaine whispered gently, starting to move his fingers. Stroking inside him in a way that made Booth wonder if he’d done it before. How easily he found a spot inside him that made him gasp and forget the deep ache.
Far too soon, it felt, Blaine pulled out of him again, leaving him empty and longing. And when Blaine lined himself up, looming over him, Booth found himself trembling.
“I’m here,” Blaine said in a gentle tone, and pushed firmly inside.
Booth let out a groan, fingers digging painfully into his own skin, the pain ringing so through his mind so loudly that it took him a few moments to notice that Blaine was gently shushing him, a hand caressing his cheek. “I’m here,” he repeated.
And that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? He was here. He was with him. And he was content.
When Blaine leaned over him, placing his hands close at his sides, Booth finally dared release his legs and slung his arms around him. His skin was warm, and he could feel the muscles flex with the movement beneath his skin. The pain didn’t quite subside, but the sounds of Blaine’s quiet moans when he pushed so deep inside him softened it.
“Blaine,” he gasped, pulling him closer, “Blaine.” Repeating his name like a litany, his lips still moving when Blaine kissed him again and stole his breath.
Booth spilled between their bodies, his limbs growing slack. But Blaine hardly seemed to notice, pounding into him without mercy until he, too, reached his peak. Booth winced when Blaine pulled out, his body feeling tender and sore. But it was a relief to be able to rest his legs, to stretch out his back again. Blaine gently coaxed him onto his side, and before Booth could protest, Blaine hugged him tightly against his still chest.
“I love you, Blaine,” Booth whispered into the silence that was only cut by the sounds of his own labored breathing.
“I love you too, Booth.”
Booth shivered and gripped Blaine’s hand tightly. Squeezing it against his chest to ignore the cold that was clutching at his heart.