sab

Took a little break from New Burbage to bring you this G-rated story about sex that Punk and I wrote!

Authors: runpunkrun and iamsab
Fandom: Bones
Pairing: Booth/Bones
Rating: G
Disclaimer: It is unquestionably Bones' fault, except for any errors, which are probably Booth's fault instead. So if you find any, please point them out and we'll fix them.

Size: 2400 words

Summary: A book about sex.

(Bones, Booth, Books!)

As Punk and I assemble the Definitive Director's DVD cut of The Mind/Body Problem [SGA], we figure it's only fair to share some deleted scenes and bloopers from the earlier versions of this story. Enjoy!

( Bonus Footage: A Surge of Rodney )

( Bonus Footage: Weir Throws A Meeting )

The feature length version of The Mind/Body Problem can be found here, packed full of toes and toolbelts and easter eggs for your reading pleasure.

runpunkrun: Tony taking ONE HELL of a shower.
an onion girl: Tony is THAT KIND OF GUY. We should put Tony and Sheppard in a shower together.
runpunkrun: Tony and Sheppard in the shower would be a SHOWER OFF.
an onion girl: It really WOULD. DEATH MATCH.
runpunkrun: That would be awesome.

And Punk doesn't even watch NCIS. SEE how she loves me?

And so, here's a freebie. Tony DiNozzo & John Sheppard SHOWERING TOGETHER. First one to write it wins a GIANT PONY.

Oh, my god, EVERYBODY. runpunkrun wrote this When the Subject is a Fraction, where Rodney let Cadman get under his skin and release his hidden gay. Punk is like a SCULPTOR, and she can take this chunk of rock and carve away everything that isn't Rodney. Contents: hot blondes, screws, kisses. Marvelous.

Am back from a very inspiring and productive WBC class, feeling pumped about this pilot. And I have new SGA! runpunkrun, disk is in the mail tomorrow, tick-a-lock and so forth, go be in a variable time-speed room and come back and read this post in, like, three days.

One Ambien left.

( She said, watching SGA 2x11, Epiphany )

First, and thanks to WG, I give you Joe Flanigan on slash.


runpunkrun and I are smoking so much Rodney crack over here we've fallen into our teenaged X-Phile selves and find ourselves under the bleachers all scandalous and writing bad poetry. Punk, however, and of course we've learned to expect it from her, fandom after fandom, is writing, instead, good fic, that you people will get to read some day. *I*, for I am special, get to read it now. And, it's just, we're toast. We've fully surrendered to this impossible, pudgy, brilliant man.

iamsab: Damnit that's a good paragraph.
runpunkrun: Rodney's got such poor impulse control.
iamsab: It's because you SURRENDERED to the COMMA PARENTHETICAL.
iamsab: He really does.
runpunkrun: I do love the comma parenthetical, I do.
iamsab: Mmmm.
iamsab: Yeah, it's such a sexy, dangerous lover.
runpunkrun: So quick to get out of hand!
iamsab: Totally.
iamsab: Next thing you know you're having sex with it 24 hours a day and ordering in chinese food you never get to eat.
runpunkrun: And then, somewhere between the kitchen counter and the shower, you forget how this started and what your point even was.
iamsab: And you have no clean laundry left and you've been fired from your job and the comma parenthetical is just lounging there, moist-eyed and desperate.
runpunkrun: And you just wish you could end it, somehow.
iamsab: It doesn't take rejection well.

Seems I've reached that point in my financial career where it has become necessary to sell the Jetta. Had you asked me six months ago, I'd've said the scrappy little beast came in second to my crusty old Audi 200 Quattro, which died a coughing, sputtering death on Waverly Place in Greenwich Village in the middle of one balmy spring night seven years ago.

But now, faced with imminent separation, I've got no choice but to acknowledge what a solid little trooper the Jetta was, a good friend, a partner in crime.

I got the Jetta my last year in college, spring 1998. It was four years old then, scarcely 20k miles to its name. Black, no airconditioning, no glove compartment (how's that for a mystery?).

My college roommate and I took it across the country that summer. We took the southern route, all the way down through Austin, TX, did the trip in ten days and then I was an LA girl.

The Jetta took me to San Francisco in '00, with fialka; we grabbed runpunkrun and did a whistle-stop POTUS and Leo tour up the Pacific Coast Highway, visiting midnight dinosaurs and driving through trees. We were as clever as a piece of toast. We made it all the way to Portland with only one flat tire. Fi and I drove back singing musicals; we swam in the reservoir when the black car got too hot.

Two years later, the Jetta and I drove back to New York, packed with all the things we'd brought over in '98. kormantic recorded fanfiction on tape for me to listen to. We took the middle route so we could stop in Kansas City and pick up wearemany at the airport, and she and I drove the rest of the way together and wrote "Fan Interference is a Stand-Up Double" in the baseball field in the middle of the night.

This past June, the Jetta and I packed up our old kit back and headed back for LA, this time via Chicago, where we met up with ptpatricia and caravanned the rest of the way, through the Rockies and the Sierras, listening to our books on tape.

The AAA guy came this morning to change the most recent flat tire. I cleaned out the car for the last time, washed it with a dishtowel and dish soap. Breanna and Chris, the nice people who answered my craigslist ad, are coming over at six to give it a test drive, but they need to buy quick and I need to sell quick. I'm trying to call the DMV in NY to get a new copy of the title.

The Jetta's got a slow oil leak and a tendency to pop tires like chewing gum, but aside from that, it's a workhorse, a stallion even. I'm gonna cry to see it go. Damn good car, man, damn good car, and I'm gonna miss it like crazy.