Home by Xanthe

Story archived:

http://www.xanthe.org/home/

Story Notes:

This story is now available as part of an anthology of my

stories published in zine form under the title Breaking the

Rules from: agentwithstyle

Chapter 1 by Xanthe

John wasn't entirely sure when he'd started thinking of Atlantis as home. Not immediately,

that was for sure. To begin with, whenever someone mentioned home he got a flash of a

tidy apartment on a blue-green world in another galaxy entirely.

Now, as he wandered along the familiar Atlantean hallways after five days offworld, he

realised that the word 'home' was conjuring up a different mental image entirely. He paused

as he reached his quarters, head cocked to one side and a fond smile on his lips as he heard

a familiar sound emanating from inside the room. He opened the door quietly, and stood

there for a moment, glancing around. Home wasn't so tidy now as it had been when he'd

lived alone. Home was now littered with cups of abandoned, unidentifiable brown

beverages, a couple of half-eaten donuts and at least two laptops, usually more. Home was

strewn with papers that looked as if they were covered in some kind of hastily scribbled

code, and home smelled like a combination of slowly decomposing socks and freshly

brewed coffee. Home had its own sound too – usually the sound of one man's voice,

chattering endlessly, punctuated occasionally by his own ironic forays into the conversation.

Sometimes home just sounded like someone snoring, really loudly, in his ear. Every so often,

home reverberated with the sound of a really heated argument that always, without fail,

culminated in the noisy crescendo of two people having fantastic make-up sex. Sometimes

home was almost quiet, the silence disturbed only by the gentle sighs of tender caresses,

and little soft moans of ecstasy.

Now though…now home sounded like the inside of a concert hall. John leaned against the

wall and took a few seconds to enjoy the beautiful melody currently echoing around the

room. Rodney was seated at the little piano in the corner of the room, those endlessly

moving hands of his dancing their way across the keyboard. Around his neck, stretched out

like a long strip of fur, was the cat John had found on a mission offworld several months

previously. At least, she looked like a cat – she was smaller than most Terran cats, had fur of

the softest gold and black stripes, and eyes that shone a deep liquid amber when she was

purring. She'd been a tiny, scrappy, ailing kitten nudging at his pocket for a share of one of

his power bars when John had first found her. She wasn't timid and she didn't seem to have

a home, and as they were in the middle of a gunfight with the Wraith at the time John

hadn't wanted to leave her there to get trampled underfoot in the melee, so he'd scooped

her up, tucked her into his vest, and hoped like hell she'd be okay. He'd nearly forgotten

about her until she'd let out a huge, indignant wail as he was explaining what had happened

to Elizabeth in the Gateroom after the mission. One thing he would never forget though,

was the look on Rodney's face when John had opened up his vest and held out the little

bundle of golden fur. It had been utterly pointless to suggest returning her, and now she

was a firm fixture in their lives. John had resolutely refused to allow Rodney to name her

because Rodney was on his mental list of people who shouldn't be allowed to name things.

Rodney had argued the point vociferously and they'd reached a stalemate whereby she

generally went by the name of "the cat" although John had heard Rodney secretly call her

Monique when he thought John wasn't listening. John had no idea what *that* name was

about but he adapted it to Mona in his head because she did like to wail noisily and

demandingly at them both whenever she wanted anything, or even just by way of general

chit-chat.

John was still a little bit miffed that despite the fact that *he* was the one who had rescued

her, she saved all the affection in her little feline heart for Rodney. True, once Rodney got

his hands on her John barely got a look in. Rodney's big hands could be surprisingly gentle,

and he seemed to know all the right places to tickle and caress her – once John had timed

him as he spent a full two hours rubbing his index finger gently on the underside of her chin

as she purred her little heart out. Rodney was her god, and she worshipped him as

steadfastly as he adored her. She slept on Rodney's pillow at night, which meant that as

there was less room for Rodney's head it inevitably dropped onto John's shoulder during the

night, and John just as inevitably always woke up with a little rivulet of drool trickling down

his chest as a result. She loved it when Rodney played the piano, and always climbed up his

back and came to rest wrapped around his neck. It looked pretty uncomfortable to John but

she seemed secure enough on Rodney's broad shoulders, her sleek head resting against one

of Rodney's ears.

John got himself a beer, and drank half of it in one go, then turned and walked over to the

piano. There was a tantalising spot of bare skin between where Rodney's tee shirt ended

and his hair began and John leaned over and dropped a little kiss on it. The music faltered as

Rodney glanced up, startled, and the little cat mewed indignantly at being disturbed and

clung on tight to Rodney's tee shirt.

"I didn't hear you come in!" Rodney exclaimed.

"I didn't want to disturb you," John told him, smiling. He ran his hand along the cat's silky fur

and ended up on Rodney's neck, stroking him just as he'd stroked the cat. Rodney liked

being stroked – that was one of the first things John had found out about him. "Carry on

playing," John said, still stroking. Rodney's fingers began to move over the keyboard again,

just lightly, making only a whisper of a sound.

"You smell," Rodney said, looking up at John and wrinkling up his nose. "Also – you're dirty."

"I just spent five days loading sacks of grain and herding various items of livestock onto the

puddle jumpers, Rodney," John told him, rolling his eyes. "How did you expect me to smell?"

"Ah…it's such a shame you didn't need a brilliant scientist on your little trading mission,"

Rodney smirked. John tightened his fingers ever so slightly around Rodney's neck.

"Oh I'm sure there will be other missions with their fair share of manure, Rodney. And I'll be

equally sure to invite you on one or two of them," John told him. Rodney laughed, his

fingers still skipping over the piano keys. "Besides…this room doesn't exactly smell sweet,"

John added, wrinkling up his own nose.

"Ah…yes…well…sorry about the mess but I got distracted with these new schematics Radek

showed me. Of course he got it hopelessly wrong but there was a tiny little germ of a good

idea in there so I took it over and played with it while you were away and I admit I might not

have had time to clear up but I think we're both agreed that you are almost pathologically

tidy and there was a scientific principle at stake and scientific principles don't care about

tidy rooms I'm afraid…"

John glanced around the messy room, allowing Rodney's apologetic chatter to wash over

him. They'd taken awhile to settle into living together – Rodney was only tidy when he was

bored, and then he moped around complaining about it to everyone who would listen so

John did actually prefer it when he was preoccupied with his work, even if the downside was

the clutter and general detritus that built up as a result.

"Don't worry about it," John said, pressing another kiss to the back of Rodney's neck. He

leaned against the piano and smiled down at his lover.

"What? Why are you smirking like that?" Rodney demanded.

"Just amused, watching you – in your element. If I'd known when we first got together that

it only took four things to make you happy it would have saved me a lot of headaches."

"Four?" Rodney raised an eyebrow, fingers teasing a dancing little tune from the piano.

"Food," John listed, glancing at the half eaten donuts. Rodney made a face at him. "A cat."

John gazed at the cat and she gazed back at him, daring him to disturb the happy nest she'd

made around Rodney's shoulders. "Your work." John glanced at the various papers and

laptops littered around the room. "And a piano." John smiled at Rodney fondly.

"Ah." Rodney smiled back. "But you're wrong," he said, fingers coming to a halt. He plucked

the little cat from around his shoulders, dropped a loving kiss on her forehead, and placed

her gently on the piano. Then he got up, went over to John, and took his face between his

hands. "Five," he said firmly, and then he moved forward and kissed John passionately on

the lips.

John leaned into the kiss, hands coming to rest, as they always did, on Rodney's firm ass.

It was good to be home.

The End

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