Do you know what I think we need?
Well, or maybe it's just me, but the John/Rodney DOLLHOUSE OF YAY has got me thinking that we need DOMESTIC JOHN/RODNEY ficlets. That's right, people, the sparkly-curtainfic beckons. Write some older, crotchety retired boys, some horny boys of any age, our boys moving in together, our boys getting hitched, our boys with Teyla's baby, our boys with
( Read more... )
All that's clear is that right now, at 10.37pm on a Tuesday evening, there is bedlam in every room of their modest, timber-framed house, and most of it has to do with the cat getting into the oregano which John left on the counter after making dinner, and the cat, being Rodney's, is somehow stupid in direct proportion to the genius of its owner, and has it in its tiny head that oregano is catnip. Something like that at least, because when John comes in from setting buckets over the roses Rodney's mother sent (and let's not even discuss the fact that she's still alive, because that was a hell of a month), save them from the frost, he finds the cat on its back in a mess of dried herbs, rolling around like some wanton little reprobate, and he starts to laugh, which sets the cat off to jump down from the counter and start doing laps around the living room walls.
That's when the dog gets involved and, being John's dog, it's a big ole mutt with a heart too big for its body and enormous paws that have knocked Ronon on his ass a time or two, and now the dog's chasing the cat and Rodney's standing on the sofa as if the dog or the cat or both are mice, and he's clutching his laptop to his chest and yelling, "SOMEONE STOP THE INSANITY." Which is pretty funny considering he's wearing his very last pair of boxers, a pair of shorts in threadbare shades of pink that someone gave him as a joke one Christmas in Siberia - it's his turn to do the laundry, and as usual he decided to strip down to his necessaries and throw every last thing in. John wonders if he remembered to use the color safe laundry detergent - but then remembers it doesn't matter anymore, since they switched to the environmentally friendly kind last Thursday after seeing a documentary on dead fish that made them feel guilty about the once-in-a-long-while laundry they bothered to do.
"SHEPPARD, FIX THIS!" Rodney yells, and John whistles for the dog, but that doesn't help much - the big, dumb mutt just runs for the back door and doesn't spare a thought for the fact that it might be closed, rebounds with an astonished little yelp, then gives the word a doggy grin and sets off in search of the cat once more. John tries to get to the cat, but he stands in half a plate of spaghetti and smears it on the rug, trips over Rodney's tennis shoes, face plants onto the couch, and that makes Rodney lose his balance, so next thing, there's 175lbs of physicist on his head.
That makes the dog stop chasing the cat, so John supposes it's good.
"John?" Rodney says, shifting his ass, letting John breathe.
"Hi honey," John says weakly. "I'm home?"
Reply
Reply
*giggles*
Oh how cute. ♥
Reply
Reply
Reply
ROTFL!!
Reply
eeeeeeeee wee pink boxers :>
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Julia, I go back and forth on whether stupid cats are better or worse than criminal mastermind ones.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
*giggle*
I want their house on CCTV :)
<3
Reply
Leave a comment