I'll start. Below the cut is a silly little snippet of dialog that's been sitting in my Google Docs folder since January. Feel free to point and snicker; it's pretty bad. *g*
"Where is your line now, Booth?"
"In my pants, apparently," he muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Never mind, Bones. Never mind."
"Alcohol has a depressant effect on the central nervous system. It can cause erectile dysfunction and impede ejac--"
He slapped his hand over her mouth. "All right. Thanks for your concern, but I'm managing just fine."
She shoved his hand aside. "Oh?"
"In my pants, apparently," he muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Never mind, Bones. Never mind."
"Alcohol has a depressant effect on the central nervous system. It can cause erectile dysfunction and impede ejac--"
He slapped his hand over her mouth. "All right. Thanks for your concern, but I'm managing just fine."
She shoved his hand aside. "Oh?"
Writing is a very, very serious business, and I take it very, very seriously. *g* Precisely why I decided to share that snippet.
Plumbing wheezes and pings, floorboards creak and a thick, foggy voice croaks a greeting from the kitchen.
Booth misses this. Misses the after-sex quiet, being the first person out of the bed, moving through the silent house, reliving touches that make him shiver to think about; feeling the imprint of teeth and nails in his skin still present after hours of sleep, and most of all, he misses a warm, perfect body next to his, over his, lost in dreams but reaching for him.
He’s never lacked for this bliss with the women in his life: Rebecca, Camille, Tessa, a few of the long list of satisfied women who craved his company and were happy to spend long days with him, filled with laughter and sex and lovemaking.
Those same moments are those he’s never allowed himself to have with another man. Not once, not ever. He’s never lain in bed after a night of lovemaking and refused to leave, collecting the body that made him lose consciousness in his arms and insisting that they spend the day with only room enough for breath between them.
Fuck, he’s never spent an entire night with a man. Not with Jason, and not with Scott; the Army conveniently took care of that.
“Wonderful thing about life, man. People change.”
“Nah, people don’t change. They like to think they do, but they don’t.”
And sometimes they’re dead wrong.
His breath catches in his throat as Hodgins shuffles past, rumpled and yawning and Booth knows his body is still hot from being wrapped in blankets. He’s never let Cam or Tessa or any other beautiful woman walk by him after a night like last night, and it makes no sense to let Jack pass, either.
Hodgins bounces into the cushions and takes a gulp of coffee, which Booth swiftly and carefully takes from his hand. Setting the cup on the coffee table next to his, he doesn't stop to think, to worry.
“Hey…”
Jack tastes like coffee and that hippie spearmint toothpaste he likes, and his beard smells like glycerin soap. Greedy hands rake Booth’s scalp and in mid-kiss he’s straddling his lap.
“Sleep good?” Booth asks, wiping a wild muddle of curls back from Jack's forehead.
“Dude,” Jack purrs. “Like the dead. You’re up early.” Long lashes flutter and the blue eyes close; a smile spreads, dawn-like, over his face. “Literal is good.” he sighs. "Literal is excellent."
(found this on my flash drive...homeless, and perhaps that is how it should remain!)
Booth misses this. Misses the after-sex quiet, being the first person out of the bed, moving through the silent house, reliving touches that make him shiver to think about; feeling the imprint of teeth and nails in his skin still present after hours of sleep, and most of all, he misses a warm, perfect body next to his, over his, lost in dreams but reaching for him.
What a fantastic insight. You have such an eye for the details that make a fictional reality real.
“Literal is good.” he sighs. "Literal is excellent."
*g* Love the innuendo.
Thanks for playing. ;)
"In my pants, apparently"
Throwaway snippet? Well, I like it.
I would put some lines about Brennan’s lustful thoughts and Booth’s tattoo but I’m not capable of translate it to English.
Besos
*g* You and Booth's tattoo... ;)
What happens when I am rendered speechless.....
This is hilarious; I love it. I'm sure you'll find a place for it. (Am still loving the first two lines like pancakes with fresh unsalted butter and maple syrup.)
the opening of one piece:
She liked to sit in cemeteries.
She was aware that most people would find that creepy at best, downright morbid at worst. It wasn't that many years ago when she wouldn't have been caught dead in a graveyard herself (and she smiled a little at that because she has been caught dead in the past or at the very least buried dead), they were spooky, icky places that boys boldly stomped through after they had been double dared. And then, she wound up spending entirely too much time in them, life passing her by because she was too busy battling evil.
Next bit was entirely rewritten and wound up in my fic Called, which is about the first time Angel saw Buffy.
When he was ten, he had skipped school one day, the perfect azure of the sky and the deep shadows of the forest promising him adventure and delight. He remembers he chased a rabbit and then a fox, both easily eluding him. He climbed trees and swam nude in the creek and afterward, stretched out in the meadow, letting the sun dry him. He lay under that perfect, cloudless sky and thought of the life he would have. He liked to go to Galway bay and talk to the sailors. Someday, he would leave this town and sail to Italy. He felt sure that his artistic talent would be immediately recognized and he would spend his days painting pictures of noblemen.
The rewrite was much stronger (it wound up being about a fox hunt) but there's still elements here I like which might get recycled some day.
and finally, the opening from a story that I will finish one day!
The vile stench of piss and shit, blood and vomit forced him from unconsciousness, the burning pain in his gut sharpening his memory of the last few hours. He slowly pushed off the concrete floor, gritty -
- sand squishing between his toes. He shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare, everything was so bright that the water appeared to have a halo skimming its surface. He turned and watched as she carefully spread out the beach blanket.
“You think we used enough sun screen on the baby?”
“Considering that you used half the bottle, I’m guessing yes.”
“Are you mocking me?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“No. Definitely no. After all, who better to be the sun expert?”
“Now I know you’re mocking me.” Before she protested, he grabbed her close and kissed her.
“Eeww. Yuck. Disgusto.”
He pulled away and grinned at his oldest. “Yup, it certainly was.”
- dirt pressed into his palms. His lips pressed together in a grim smile. Always one last twist that you didn’t see coming. The middle of the floor was now open to the sky but no sunlight was visible, only the shadows of the night. He blinked several times, trying to sharpen his focus in the dim light.
“No. Definitely no. After all, who better to be the sun expert?”
LMAO That is SO B/A! Love it. :) But unless I'm reading it wrong, it's a memory, and whatever Angel's going through at the moment, it's not good.
Chris' POV:
I had know Lorelai as the co-conspirator behind many a "disastrous and humiliating" DAR event. She and I would make trays of salmon puffs disappear only to reappear on selected guests' chairs. We moved candles, switched drinks, rigged the occassional faulty chair leg if someone dared point a finger at us. Lorelai even reapholstered the piano bench one year with a gaudy leopard print that clashed exquisitely well with the grand piano.
I peaked at her sneaking my place card to a table of DAR grandmothers when we were nine and gained her grudging respect when she found herself sitting next to me for a scarring four hours. She proposed most of the pranks and I would lie awake at night scheming up plans to top hers. The full extent of her idea would never be revealed, even to me, until the night of the event. She was always one step ahead. The night she kissed me she made it clear it was impossible to keep up. I stood dumbfounded in the parking lot as her warm lips withdrew from mine and her smile slowly crawled up to her eyes and founds its home in the blazing blue depths. I vowed I would commit myself every day to catching up to and keeping up with Lorelai Victoria Gilmore.
I fastened onto the first chink in her facade. She couldn't dance.
"I'm tired, Bones."
"I know. Me too."
"I think we need a vacation."
"I don't know how to vacation"
"I'll teach you."
I can kinda picture the scene in my head, just don't know how to go about it.
---
“Aw come on Bones-“
“Don’t call me Bones.”
Booth huffed. “Brennan. I hate these gloves. Don’t make me wear them.”
“Somehow, I think it would be difficult to get you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
Booth grinned. “Thanks.”
“I’m not sure that was a compliment. Wear the gloves.”
“Nope.”
Brennan sighed. “If this is the usual attitude within the FBI it certainly goes a long way to explaining why I receive so many contaminated remains.”
“Hey, I’ve done my training yeah? We all did our forensic science course back at Quantico.”
Brennan held her hands out, latex covered palms up. “So you know the reasons you should wear the gloves, yet you still won’t.”
“Got it in one.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I aim to please.”
Oh, boy, my turn. Prepare to laugh. For the record, I wrote this last July and even though I haven't touched it since then, I still might do something it.. you know, one of these days ;)
My first and only stab at B/B fic(and 1st person fic for that matter):
And then, in the midst of laughter, she looked up at me with a mischievous look in her eyes and she kissed me. It was soft, yet electric and lingered just a little longer than quick. She leaned away, looked at me and put her head down, blushing. I was shocked but I had the strangest sensation that the butterflies in my stomach were dancing and before I knew what I was doing, I tilted her head up and kissed her back.
--
I think I had some idea of an event to insert before this, but I honestly don't remember anymore :/
I've got one that I've been mulling for a while--it's been placed in many different stories (in my mind, anyway):
Booth and Brennan are lying in bed, at night--it's that point just before sleep takes you.
"I used to believe in God"
Booth's mind snapped back to full-on alertness, but he didn't dare move. He didn't know whether or not he'd been meant to hear her confession. Bones didn't often let him in to her most intimate thoughts; he feared that she would shy away if she knew he'd heard her.
His musings were once again interrupted by her hushed voice.
"But when Mom and Dad disappeared... It was hard believe that there could be a God."
Dunno. Just a little moment that won't leave my psyche. Figured that since I can't get through writing fics anymore I might as well get this much posted :)
This seems like fun, though - here's something from Mac's POV, post-her life sucking and everything going to hell:
It is an uneasy existence, when you become the person you despise the most. I have already been that person, that alcoholic who watches their life spin out of their control and reaches for the very thing that could possibly make it worse.
Now I am uncomfortable in my own skin once again—my own, not the polyester of my uniform or the mantle of command that comes with my oak leaves. I can only borrow an identity from these tangibles for so long. Now, it seems, that time is up.
I wrote a Tracey/Alex AU teen L&O crossover a couple of years ago (I know, right? It's despicable. But I just couldn't get the image of Alex dancing to "Another Brick in the Wall" in a school uniform out of my head...) and I made a half hearted attempt at a sequel (not so much a sequel as chapter 1 because the other fic was an INCREDIBLY long prologue, which included some of Tracey's childhood for character development and then an introduction of the school setting and some major players and THEN meeting Alex. And then the dancing.) and this si how far I got before I just went "Blah."
But I don't hate it.
“Bella, this is neither fair nor funny.” Tracey scowled across the green surface of the table at her smug companion who was absent mindedly rolling a white plastic ball in her hand. The irritated brunette coughed loudly and gave her shoulder a significant look. Bella laughed and shrugged innocently.
“Hey, you said you could beat me with both hands tied behind your back. It’s not my fault you can’t follow through.” She flipped her black hair idly and began to bounce the ball on the hard surface. It made a hollow pak sound as it connected with the table. Tracey groaned loudly in frustration and tried to pull her hands free of the extension cord that bound them together. Bella’s knots held fast.
“Look, this was funny 5 minutes ago but this is ridiculous.” She pulled at her bonds again, sighing. “Since when were you a Girl Scout?” Bella grinned and dropped the plastic ball from above her head so it bounced several times on the table before she caught it again.
“Never ever, ever. But my brother got a stamp or a badge or a patch in the Cubs for his knots and he taught me a thing or two. Not completely useless.” Bella bent low over the table, ostensibly checking the alignment of the net, but Tracey knew she was just playing coy.
“Come on, Belle. Let me out of this. I’ll play a serious game with you, ok? And you can kick my ass to your heart’s content.” Her tall friend pretended to ponder the plea before grinning and bouncing around the table to undo Tracey’s bonds. She rubbed at her wrists while Bella wound up the extension cord and threw it to the wall, giving her friend a very nettled look which was ignored completely in favour of retrieving the bats from under the table.