Now This is a fun meme.

[icarus]

Gacked from bethbethbeth, just like everyone else:

If you had me under your command and could make me write anything, regardless of whether or not I know the fandom or if anybody even writes fic in that fandom and no matter how crack-addled it might be, what would you love to see me write?

No promises, but I'm curious, with itchy fingers.

And, great news: Supernatural has definitively been picked up for a third season. I knew already, but it's good to have official confirmation. I'm kicked back in my easy chair now that my back-up fandom is secure. All I have to worry about at this point is SGA. Now back to preparing that Ambedkar presentation.

Comments

[bookshop.livejournal.com]

Bodhi looks like he's about to launch into his whole, 'surfing is survival' religious credo bullshit. Then he pauses in mid-breath and just says, "Fuck it, I was so goddamn scared out there I couldn't take a shower for a month."

"Yeah? Well, that fuckload of feds you left hanging out back there could see you pissing your pants from the beach."

Bodhi looks him over. Utah tries not to stand up straighter, throw his shoulders back. Bodhi smirks like he knows what Utah's thinking anyway.

"And where's your badge, old friend?" Bodhi asks after a moment.

Johnny tries to sound casual but fails. "Well, I dunno," he says, the grin creeping across his face. "Guess I must have lost it riding a breaker."

This time it's Bodhi who can't hold back the grin. It lights up his whole face like stepping into sunshine, and for the first time Johnny realizes he looks about ten years older than the last time he saw him. He wonders if Bodhi can say the same for him.

God, but he's still got it, though.

They step towards each other at the same time, Johnny reaching a hand out, ready for a slap on the shoulder, a handshake, maybe an awkward hug.

Bodhi just moves in close, right up next to him, and places a hand on his chest. Slides it right over his pectoral muscle and presses, warm, steady - firmer than a handshake and harder than a hug. Johnny's eyes are drawn automatically to Bodhi's chest - open tank, hard pecs, an ocean of lean, bronze skin.

"So what you're saying," Bodhi says, his voice sinking into a low purr, "Is that you chased me all the way across the world just so you could watch me surf."

"Something like that," Johnny says. He smooths two fingers over Bodhi's arm, from his elbow down to his wrist, encircling it where the handcuffs had been. Then he lets go, and when Bodhi reaches up to mirror the movement on his own wrist, he steps in closer.

No use trying to pretend they don't know which of them had really gotten caught.

"So," says Bodhi, voice warm and liquid, not letting go of Johnny's wrist. "Did you get used to it?"

"To what?"

"The taste of acid," Bodhi says, and now their chests are touching, and Johnny thinks there are lots of things he could get used to around this guy.

"Why don't you taste and find out?" he says.

And that's just what Bodhi does.