Original: "Remodeling." Slash
Summary: Ian's new house is perfect. Almost.
The house was perfect. Even as he signed away all rights to his firstborn child in triplicate to buy it, Ian was giddy with anticipation. He could easily imagine his furniture filling the rooms, his pictures on the walls, his clothes filling the closets, himself sitting on the porch swing on a sultry summer night with the sound of the crickets all around… With a grin bigger than his new kitchen, he accepted the key to his new home.
Before he moved any furniture in, Ian decided he needed to paint. The seafoam green coating the entire main floor wasn't working for him. Optimistically he set off for the nearest Home Depot to pick out some warmer, more inviting hues and get whatever supplies one needed to paint a room.
The choices were mind-boggling. How did he choose between Chai Latte and Sand? Or was Whipped Cinnamon a better choice? And did he actually need one of everything in the painting supplies section? Just as he was starting to panic-to be honest, just a little after-a garish orange vest appeared in the corner of his vision and a low voice asked, "Can I help you with anything?"
Wide-eyed and flustered, Ian's hands fluttered like butterflies on speed. "I don't know what any of this stuff is for," he confessed, babbling on semi-coherently. "I just got this house, and I love it, but it's this hideous color, and I thought I could just paint over it, but I haven't touched a paintbrush since seventh grade art class, and there are just so many things-"
Orange Vest grinned. "Take a deep breath," he interrupted. "I can walk you through it." And he did, everything from taping to roller techniques. An hour later, Ian walked out with a cart full of supplies he was fairly confident he could use, a two gallons of primer, four gallons of Old Brick, a gallon of ceiling white, and a phone number scrawled on the inside of his arm. "In case you run into any trouble," Orange Vest had said, and then winked. "At least with paint, if you screw up or change your mind, you can always paint over it." Sticking out his hand, he introduced himself. "I'm Rich, from Lumber." He gestured with his head to the section full of manly-looking two by fours and plywood sheets. Momentarily it occurred to Ian wonder why a guy from Lumber was offering advice in the Paint section, but he was too grateful to look his gift horse in the mouth.
The painting went well. So well, in fact, that Ian went back and got a few more gallons in other colors for the other rooms. He half-hoped to run into Rich from Lumber again so he could say thank you, but none of the dark-haired, tall guys in orange vests Ian saw looked familiar.
With great delight, Ian moved all of his belongings into his freshly painted house, only to discover the kitchen table that had fit beautifully in his apartment didn't even begin to squeeze into the tiny dining area of his house. His twin bed, on the other hand, looked woefully tiny in the master bedroom. But it was the shower that sent him scurrying back to Home Depot.
The Lumber department was on his way to Plumbing. Sort of. "Oh, thank god," he muttered when he recognized Rich from Lumber's chestnut curls meandering aimlessly up and down the deserted aisles of tree products. "Hey Rich!" he called, blushing and feeling a little stupid.
Rich's face lit up when he saw Ian. "Paint Guy!" Hurrying over to stand in front of Ian, he rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets, grinning. "How'd it go? You didn't call, so I assume you had no major tragedies?"
"Oh, it's beautiful!" Ian gushed. "Thank you so much! You absolutely saved me." He bit his lip to keep further embarrassing words from tumbling out.
"So what brings you in today?" Rich casually leaned his elbows on the side of Ian's cart.
Ian's smile dropped. "The shower."
Wincing sympathetically, Rich asked, "Don't suppose you just need a new showerhead?"
"Not unless a new showerhead is going to magically fix the leak in the pipes that's making the wall swell up behind the tile and the tiles start to fall off." He met Rich's eyes-Spring Soil, he believed that color was called-with an optimistic smile.
"Oh, man. You're in for a tour of this entire half of the store before we get that fixed." Taking the cart, he headed for the display of showers set up near the back. "What are you thinking in place of the tile you have now? New tile?"
"Maybe one of those little square shower things?" Ian hesitantly suggested, pointing. "They look easy."
Rich shook his head. "No way. Way too small."
"I'm not all that big," Ian pointed out.
Rich took his hand and pulled him into the nearest display model. The mauve looked terrible next to Rich's vest. "Don't you ever want anybody in the shower with you? Because there's hardly any room to pass the shampoo with both of us in here."
He was right. Ian swallowed hard. With Rich standing so close, it was easy to imagine all of the things they might want to do in the shower together, and there was definitely no room to do them. "So what do you suggest?" he asked hoarsely.
"I suggest you finally tell me your name," Rich murmured, a hint of a cocky grin lurking about the corners of his lips. "And then I suggest you have dinner with me before you take me back to your place and let me help you with your bathroom."
Ian gulped, pulse flickering wildly, wondering if Rich was going to kiss him right there in the fake shower in the middle of Home Depot. "Okay," he nodded. "I'm Ian." The cocky grin came out in full force, and it was gorgeous.
As it turned out, dinner was great. When not wearing his orange vest, Rich was actually kind of hot, and he made Ian laugh so hard he got Dr. Pepper up his nose and spent the rest of the night feeling like he was about to sneeze. And while Rich was checking out Ian's bathroom, Ian was checking out his ass. It worked out well for both of them, and Rich didn't have to try very hard to convince Ian he needed a bigger shower.
Once the shower was fixed, Rich helped Ian knock out a wall in his kitchen, build on in back for more space, and install some new cupboards. When he was done, all of Ian's dishes had homes, and the table he had been afraid he was going to have to sell fit perfectly in the new dining area. Rich helped him pick out a bigger bed to fill the master bedroom and carted off the old twin to the dump. When a leak sprung somewhere above the living room, Rich was the one who climbed onto the roof to patch it. Every time something broke, or a space was too small, or a shelf too inconvenient, Ian got Rich to help him fix it. Usually Rich had a suggestion already in mind for how to make the fix an improvement at the same time. Pretty soon, the house Ian had thought was perfect when he moved in really was, except for one thing.
"You know," he mentioned casually to Rich one night as they sat on the porch swing, drinking a couple of beers and listening to the crickets, "with all the work we've done, I think this house is too big for me now. It's really a house built for two." Slanting his gaze over to Rich's profile, he took another sip from his bottle and waited for Rich to pick up on his hint, his nerves dancing a jitterbug.
"Of course it is." Rich's mouth turned up into that cocky grin Ian loved. "I built it to be perfect for both of us. How about I move in next week?" His lips were cold and smooth against Ian's. "You didn't really think it was a coincidence I talked you into painting the living room my favorite color, did you?"
Yeah, Ian's house was perfect.
The house was perfect. Even as he signed away all rights to his firstborn child in triplicate to buy it, Ian was giddy with anticipation. He could easily imagine his furniture filling the rooms, his pictures on the walls, his clothes filling the closets, himself sitting on the porch swing on a sultry summer night with the sound of the crickets all around… With a grin bigger than his new kitchen, he accepted the key to his new home.
Before he moved any furniture in, Ian decided he needed to paint. The seafoam green coating the entire main floor wasn't working for him. Optimistically he set off for the nearest Home Depot to pick out some warmer, more inviting hues and get whatever supplies one needed to paint a room.
The choices were mind-boggling. How did he choose between Chai Latte and Sand? Or was Whipped Cinnamon a better choice? And did he actually need one of everything in the painting supplies section? Just as he was starting to panic-to be honest, just a little after-a garish orange vest appeared in the corner of his vision and a low voice asked, "Can I help you with anything?"
Wide-eyed and flustered, Ian's hands fluttered like butterflies on speed. "I don't know what any of this stuff is for," he confessed, babbling on semi-coherently. "I just got this house, and I love it, but it's this hideous color, and I thought I could just paint over it, but I haven't touched a paintbrush since seventh grade art class, and there are just so many things-"
Orange Vest grinned. "Take a deep breath," he interrupted. "I can walk you through it." And he did, everything from taping to roller techniques. An hour later, Ian walked out with a cart full of supplies he was fairly confident he could use, a two gallons of primer, four gallons of Old Brick, a gallon of ceiling white, and a phone number scrawled on the inside of his arm. "In case you run into any trouble," Orange Vest had said, and then winked. "At least with paint, if you screw up or change your mind, you can always paint over it." Sticking out his hand, he introduced himself. "I'm Rich, from Lumber." He gestured with his head to the section full of manly-looking two by fours and plywood sheets. Momentarily it occurred to Ian wonder why a guy from Lumber was offering advice in the Paint section, but he was too grateful to look his gift horse in the mouth.
The painting went well. So well, in fact, that Ian went back and got a few more gallons in other colors for the other rooms. He half-hoped to run into Rich from Lumber again so he could say thank you, but none of the dark-haired, tall guys in orange vests Ian saw looked familiar.
With great delight, Ian moved all of his belongings into his freshly painted house, only to discover the kitchen table that had fit beautifully in his apartment didn't even begin to squeeze into the tiny dining area of his house. His twin bed, on the other hand, looked woefully tiny in the master bedroom. But it was the shower that sent him scurrying back to Home Depot.
The Lumber department was on his way to Plumbing. Sort of. "Oh, thank god," he muttered when he recognized Rich from Lumber's chestnut curls meandering aimlessly up and down the deserted aisles of tree products. "Hey Rich!" he called, blushing and feeling a little stupid.
Rich's face lit up when he saw Ian. "Paint Guy!" Hurrying over to stand in front of Ian, he rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets, grinning. "How'd it go? You didn't call, so I assume you had no major tragedies?"
"Oh, it's beautiful!" Ian gushed. "Thank you so much! You absolutely saved me." He bit his lip to keep further embarrassing words from tumbling out.
"So what brings you in today?" Rich casually leaned his elbows on the side of Ian's cart.
Ian's smile dropped. "The shower."
Wincing sympathetically, Rich asked, "Don't suppose you just need a new showerhead?"
"Not unless a new showerhead is going to magically fix the leak in the pipes that's making the wall swell up behind the tile and the tiles start to fall off." He met Rich's eyes-Spring Soil, he believed that color was called-with an optimistic smile.
"Oh, man. You're in for a tour of this entire half of the store before we get that fixed." Taking the cart, he headed for the display of showers set up near the back. "What are you thinking in place of the tile you have now? New tile?"
"Maybe one of those little square shower things?" Ian hesitantly suggested, pointing. "They look easy."
Rich shook his head. "No way. Way too small."
"I'm not all that big," Ian pointed out.
Rich took his hand and pulled him into the nearest display model. The mauve looked terrible next to Rich's vest. "Don't you ever want anybody in the shower with you? Because there's hardly any room to pass the shampoo with both of us in here."
He was right. Ian swallowed hard. With Rich standing so close, it was easy to imagine all of the things they might want to do in the shower together, and there was definitely no room to do them. "So what do you suggest?" he asked hoarsely.
"I suggest you finally tell me your name," Rich murmured, a hint of a cocky grin lurking about the corners of his lips. "And then I suggest you have dinner with me before you take me back to your place and let me help you with your bathroom."
Ian gulped, pulse flickering wildly, wondering if Rich was going to kiss him right there in the fake shower in the middle of Home Depot. "Okay," he nodded. "I'm Ian." The cocky grin came out in full force, and it was gorgeous.
As it turned out, dinner was great. When not wearing his orange vest, Rich was actually kind of hot, and he made Ian laugh so hard he got Dr. Pepper up his nose and spent the rest of the night feeling like he was about to sneeze. And while Rich was checking out Ian's bathroom, Ian was checking out his ass. It worked out well for both of them, and Rich didn't have to try very hard to convince Ian he needed a bigger shower.
Once the shower was fixed, Rich helped Ian knock out a wall in his kitchen, build on in back for more space, and install some new cupboards. When he was done, all of Ian's dishes had homes, and the table he had been afraid he was going to have to sell fit perfectly in the new dining area. Rich helped him pick out a bigger bed to fill the master bedroom and carted off the old twin to the dump. When a leak sprung somewhere above the living room, Rich was the one who climbed onto the roof to patch it. Every time something broke, or a space was too small, or a shelf too inconvenient, Ian got Rich to help him fix it. Usually Rich had a suggestion already in mind for how to make the fix an improvement at the same time. Pretty soon, the house Ian had thought was perfect when he moved in really was, except for one thing.
"You know," he mentioned casually to Rich one night as they sat on the porch swing, drinking a couple of beers and listening to the crickets, "with all the work we've done, I think this house is too big for me now. It's really a house built for two." Slanting his gaze over to Rich's profile, he took another sip from his bottle and waited for Rich to pick up on his hint, his nerves dancing a jitterbug.
"Of course it is." Rich's mouth turned up into that cocky grin Ian loved. "I built it to be perfect for both of us. How about I move in next week?" His lips were cold and smooth against Ian's. "You didn't really think it was a coincidence I talked you into painting the living room my favorite color, did you?"
Yeah, Ian's house was perfect.