Robb's smile grew impossibly wide. God, how he adored this man.
“Hardly that,” he said, nodding his approval. He hadn't even thought of crooked fingers amounting to spelling out their initials - Trust Jon to be so clever. - but seeing it now, in the flesh, as it was, made quite good sense indeed. He's the real brains of the outfit; I'm just the bloke wearing the clown nose and nudging him in the right direction when he needs it.
Falling silent for a long beat, Robb wondered, yet again, how he'd ever properly managed before his lover had arrived on the scene. Refining many of his mad, half-baked schemes into something far more palatable for both. Like a simple meat and veg dinner turned gourmet cooking just with a wave of the hand and a dash of fresh-ground seasonings.
“So that's two things. We'll need a couple more solid ones to round it out.”
Mind still adrift on a sea of random ideas, his gaze shifted; bright eyes becoming hooded. Robb took in all the minute details around him he'd never really give two figs about any other time. All the carefully-tended ornamental citrus trees and low shrubbery no way in hell either Strange or Princess would ever actually tend themselves. Toil and sweat and dirt of the day laborer entirely out of the question for those two. Which was fine. Everyone had different levels of Fucking sod this shite! I'm phoning someone. home ownership. For some it was snaking a clogged toilet, or removing a myriad of nasty things that inevitably got stuck in the drain. While others simply didn't “do” windows or outdoor things or even laundry, relying instead on maids and gardeners and personal assistants to keep their lives in perfect working order.
Whoever they've hired to trim the verge has done a bang-on job, Robb admitted (somewhat begrudgingly) the pristine state of the lawn. Took ages to get it looking that good.
Satisfied he'd gotten all he was going to get from staring at the back garden, Robb gladly focused his attention solely on Jon, whose hair – though darker than darkness itself – somehow managed to still pick up the very last rays of light. Giving each wild ringlet depth and definition.
“Maybe if we tilted our head a certain way... and blinked? Or if one of us ends up with our wrists shackled at the ankles, stroke any flesh we can get to with a ring finger?”
As an afterthought, he added, “Feel free to shoot any of these down for being bloody ridiculous or corny. My feelings won't be hurt, Jon.”