"The Best Little Whorehouse in Atlantis," PG-13, SGA
Remember about thirty minutes ago, when I waxed poetically about sleep? Yeah, didn't happen. Typed up as I ate over the sink, because dishes are overrated. (Go answer my art house cinema questions! Now!)
Title: "The Best Little Whorehouse in Atlantis"
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard, Kavanagh/Lorne/Parrish,
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, kissing, and inuendo
Warnings: AU, written for DoD, bad attempt at humour, has nothing to do with "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas"
Spoilers: Well, there's this show...
Summary: Sheppard receives a troublesome little letter.
“Let me make sure I'm hearing this correctly. Did you say brothel?”
John Sheppard looked the shrieking William Kavanagh directly in the face and replied, “That's what I said, doc.” The chemist groaned and sunk into a nearby chair.
“Explain this to me again,” Rodney McKay snapped from the kitchen. “Why the hell do we live in a brothel?”
“That's a really good question,” David Parrish said from his perch on the table. Sheppard rolled his eyes.
“Where's Lorne? I don't want to have to explain this more than once,” he asked. The sound of thumping came from the stairs. “There he is.”
“Oh what a beautiful morning!” filled the kitchen as Nick Lorne came bouncing in. “Oh what a beautiful day! I have a wonderful feeling-that someone killed our dog. What the hell is up with you guys? It's like a funeral in here.”
“Not too far from it,” Parrish said, giving the other man a kiss.
“Oh Lord, is Pega alright?” Lorne asked.
“The damn dog is fine,” McKay said. He walked into the kitchen with a full plate of breakfast. “Now, what's this about a brothel?”
“I found this in the mailbox this morning,” Sheppard said, holding up a letter. “'Dear Mr. John Christopher Sheppard, the city of Parmele has been reviewing its' yadda, yadda, yadda. Blah, blah, blah. Here it is. 'According to our records, you are the owner of the house at 1816 Oakview Lane. You have listed the following people as living in your home: William Jillette Kavanagh, Nicholas Evan Lorne, David A. Parrish, and Meredith Rodney McKay. This is five people. An extensive search of our records has brought this office to the realization that none of these people are related.'”
“These people are brilliant,” McKay muttered.
“It gets better,” Sheppard promised. “'According to North Carolina law, no more than three unrelated people can live together. In instances where more than three unrelated people live together, the building is to be deemed a brothel, also known as a house-of-ill-repute, and the owner is to be deemed a pimp or madam, depending on the situation. Mr. Sheppard, you have two months to rectify the situation before you and the occupants of your home are arrested for prostitution.' Blah, blah, blah. I don't want to go to jail.” Lorne snatched the letter from Sheppard's hand.
“You're kidding,” McKay said around a mouthful of badly fried egg. “This is some kind of sick joke.”
“I'm afraid not, Rodney,” Lorne said, handing the letter over. “This is insane.”
“I hate you all,” Kavanagh grumbled. The four men looked at him a bit guiltily. They had forgotten he was in the room.
“Don't say that Kav,” Parrish pleaded. “You know, you don't mean it.”
“If I remember, we're here because of you anyway!” McKay snapped as he threw the letter down.
“He has a point, hun,” Lorne said. Kavanagh gave him a look and Lorne's grin grew. “You did talk about wanting to move closer to your mother. And when John and Rodney heard you talking about your hometown, they decided to check it out.”
“If you hadn't made this miserable place sound so wonderful, we wouldn't be here!” McKay interjected, pointing his fork at the other man.
“You loved it, too, Rodney,” John said. He placed a gentle kiss against McKay's temple. “And if I remember correctly, you were the one who suggested that we ask Nick, Kav, and Dave--”
“David,” Parrish interrupted.
“To move in with us,” Sheppard continued.
“Which was really nice of you,” Parrish said. “I mean, I'm a gardener and Nick's a painter and Kav's a student.”
“Five more classes and I'll be a graduate student!” Kavanagh exclaimed. Lorne rolled his eyes.
“We still couldn't afford to live out here without John and Rodney's salaries,” he pointed out.
“The world renown pianist and his chef boyfriend save the day once again,” McKay replied, taking another bite of eggs. “Though, you think the chef boyfriend would be able to cook breakfast for the pianist once in a while.”
“I'm a pastry chef, Rodney,” Sheppard replied. “Pastry chefs and kitchen chefs are two different breeds of animal.”
“What are we going to do about this?” Lorne asked, bringing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand.
“Well, I think it's obvious,” Parrish replied with a bright grin.
“Oh is it?” McKay snapped.
“Yeah. We convince Mrs. K to adopt all of us.”
“'David A. Parrish,'” McKay read. “What's the 'A' for? Asshole?”
“No, I'm like Harry S. Truman. It's just a placeholder.” Parrish grinned.
“Actually, that's a really good idea,” Kavanagh said.
“To have a placeholder initial?” Sheppard asked.
“No, you scruffy nerfherder. Me and one of you idiots need to 'move back in' with my mom,” Kavanagh said like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“What's up with the air quotes?” Lorne asked.
“Oh my Lord, it's brilliant,” McKay said. “Don't you see? Two of you fill out forms saying that you live with Mrs. K, but you stay here! This isn't a brothel because there are only three non-related people living here and we all get to be roommates! Wait-- why is this a good plan?”
Sheppard reached over and swatted his boyfriend on the head.
“Behave. You know you love having the guys here,” he said. McKay shrugged which was as close to “you're right” that he'd ever get.
“So,” Parrish said, hopping off the table, “Who's going to help me plant petunias?” He clapped his hands.
“I'm going to the library,” Kavanagh said, rushing to the door where his backpack was waiting. “See you guys later!” The door slammed shut behind him.
“I. . . am. . . cleaning the garage?” Lorne said. Sheppard gave him a discrete nod and Lorne quickly headed in that direction.
“I guess it's just me and Pega then,” Parrish said with a sigh. He bounded out of the house, calling, “Here, Pega! Come on, boy!” Sheppard and McKay shared a grin.
“It's like having children, just . . . older,” McKay said wisely.
“I wonder what parents do when all their kids are out of the house for the day,” Sheppard wondered aloud.
“Don't be stupid; they--” McKay snapped. Suddenly, he stopped. “Oh.” With a grin, he leaned across the table and kissed his boyfriend. As he pulled back, he realised Sheppard had an odd look on his face. "What's the matter with you?"
"I always wanted to run a brothel..."
Title: "The Best Little Whorehouse in Atlantis"
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard, Kavanagh/Lorne/Parrish,
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, kissing, and inuendo
Warnings: AU, written for DoD, bad attempt at humour, has nothing to do with "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas"
Spoilers: Well, there's this show...
Summary: Sheppard receives a troublesome little letter.
“Let me make sure I'm hearing this correctly. Did you say brothel?”
John Sheppard looked the shrieking William Kavanagh directly in the face and replied, “That's what I said, doc.” The chemist groaned and sunk into a nearby chair.
“Explain this to me again,” Rodney McKay snapped from the kitchen. “Why the hell do we live in a brothel?”
“That's a really good question,” David Parrish said from his perch on the table. Sheppard rolled his eyes.
“Where's Lorne? I don't want to have to explain this more than once,” he asked. The sound of thumping came from the stairs. “There he is.”
“Oh what a beautiful morning!” filled the kitchen as Nick Lorne came bouncing in. “Oh what a beautiful day! I have a wonderful feeling-that someone killed our dog. What the hell is up with you guys? It's like a funeral in here.”
“Not too far from it,” Parrish said, giving the other man a kiss.
“Oh Lord, is Pega alright?” Lorne asked.
“The damn dog is fine,” McKay said. He walked into the kitchen with a full plate of breakfast. “Now, what's this about a brothel?”
“I found this in the mailbox this morning,” Sheppard said, holding up a letter. “'Dear Mr. John Christopher Sheppard, the city of Parmele has been reviewing its' yadda, yadda, yadda. Blah, blah, blah. Here it is. 'According to our records, you are the owner of the house at 1816 Oakview Lane. You have listed the following people as living in your home: William Jillette Kavanagh, Nicholas Evan Lorne, David A. Parrish, and Meredith Rodney McKay. This is five people. An extensive search of our records has brought this office to the realization that none of these people are related.'”
“These people are brilliant,” McKay muttered.
“It gets better,” Sheppard promised. “'According to North Carolina law, no more than three unrelated people can live together. In instances where more than three unrelated people live together, the building is to be deemed a brothel, also known as a house-of-ill-repute, and the owner is to be deemed a pimp or madam, depending on the situation. Mr. Sheppard, you have two months to rectify the situation before you and the occupants of your home are arrested for prostitution.' Blah, blah, blah. I don't want to go to jail.” Lorne snatched the letter from Sheppard's hand.
“You're kidding,” McKay said around a mouthful of badly fried egg. “This is some kind of sick joke.”
“I'm afraid not, Rodney,” Lorne said, handing the letter over. “This is insane.”
“I hate you all,” Kavanagh grumbled. The four men looked at him a bit guiltily. They had forgotten he was in the room.
“Don't say that Kav,” Parrish pleaded. “You know, you don't mean it.”
“If I remember, we're here because of you anyway!” McKay snapped as he threw the letter down.
“He has a point, hun,” Lorne said. Kavanagh gave him a look and Lorne's grin grew. “You did talk about wanting to move closer to your mother. And when John and Rodney heard you talking about your hometown, they decided to check it out.”
“If you hadn't made this miserable place sound so wonderful, we wouldn't be here!” McKay interjected, pointing his fork at the other man.
“You loved it, too, Rodney,” John said. He placed a gentle kiss against McKay's temple. “And if I remember correctly, you were the one who suggested that we ask Nick, Kav, and Dave--”
“David,” Parrish interrupted.
“To move in with us,” Sheppard continued.
“Which was really nice of you,” Parrish said. “I mean, I'm a gardener and Nick's a painter and Kav's a student.”
“Five more classes and I'll be a graduate student!” Kavanagh exclaimed. Lorne rolled his eyes.
“We still couldn't afford to live out here without John and Rodney's salaries,” he pointed out.
“The world renown pianist and his chef boyfriend save the day once again,” McKay replied, taking another bite of eggs. “Though, you think the chef boyfriend would be able to cook breakfast for the pianist once in a while.”
“I'm a pastry chef, Rodney,” Sheppard replied. “Pastry chefs and kitchen chefs are two different breeds of animal.”
“What are we going to do about this?” Lorne asked, bringing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand.
“Well, I think it's obvious,” Parrish replied with a bright grin.
“Oh is it?” McKay snapped.
“Yeah. We convince Mrs. K to adopt all of us.”
“'David A. Parrish,'” McKay read. “What's the 'A' for? Asshole?”
“No, I'm like Harry S. Truman. It's just a placeholder.” Parrish grinned.
“Actually, that's a really good idea,” Kavanagh said.
“To have a placeholder initial?” Sheppard asked.
“No, you scruffy nerfherder. Me and one of you idiots need to 'move back in' with my mom,” Kavanagh said like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“What's up with the air quotes?” Lorne asked.
“Oh my Lord, it's brilliant,” McKay said. “Don't you see? Two of you fill out forms saying that you live with Mrs. K, but you stay here! This isn't a brothel because there are only three non-related people living here and we all get to be roommates! Wait-- why is this a good plan?”
Sheppard reached over and swatted his boyfriend on the head.
“Behave. You know you love having the guys here,” he said. McKay shrugged which was as close to “you're right” that he'd ever get.
“So,” Parrish said, hopping off the table, “Who's going to help me plant petunias?” He clapped his hands.
“I'm going to the library,” Kavanagh said, rushing to the door where his backpack was waiting. “See you guys later!” The door slammed shut behind him.
“I. . . am. . . cleaning the garage?” Lorne said. Sheppard gave him a discrete nod and Lorne quickly headed in that direction.
“I guess it's just me and Pega then,” Parrish said with a sigh. He bounded out of the house, calling, “Here, Pega! Come on, boy!” Sheppard and McKay shared a grin.
“It's like having children, just . . . older,” McKay said wisely.
“I wonder what parents do when all their kids are out of the house for the day,” Sheppard wondered aloud.
“Don't be stupid; they--” McKay snapped. Suddenly, he stopped. “Oh.” With a grin, he leaned across the table and kissed his boyfriend. As he pulled back, he realised Sheppard had an odd look on his face. "What's the matter with you?"
"I always wanted to run a brothel..."