rp: skyping Who Jon Snow, Robb and Marjatta McLellan When: 21 May 2013; evening Where: Their home; Santa Ana, CA Rating: PG-13 - Light swearing, mild mentions of sex. Status: Complete
Living in the same house changed very little between Robb McLellan and Jon Snow. Already joined heartstrings and hips, the pair went together as Westo and Folten. Uniquely styled soles walking the same path ever since that first production meeting in February when the lads were immediately lumped together by their co-workers at Red Gum Studios.
Two Brits, Must Be Best Friends mentality ensuring Robb and Jon were always paired for projects, seated side by side in meetings, singled out as partners in crime. And from after work bevvies to on-set catered lunches, creative punkings and bitching sessions about music, clothing, people and everything between, they had proved the point well. Which suited them perfectly, thanks much! More excuses to spend every moment discretely snogging and fondling while others assumed an innocent brotherhood. Never one without the other; the whole enchilada, the full monty, ball of wax, the entire shooting match. Kit and caboodle.
Moving Jon into Robb’s home simply legitimized the time they already spent in one another’s pockets. The biggest changes in the last little while being Jon learning to put the cap back on their toothpaste, for starters. They were also having a lot more sex.
A lot.
Exactly why Jon had needed that final shower of the day. Dirty scrub water sloshed out of the sink, over the front of his tug-twist-ripped tee, elbow deep in suds while Robb was belly deep in him. The evening’s cuppas cold and forgotten on the counter, washing up abandoned in favour of settling age old debate whether to watch a film or snug up over a good book and the best of The Eagles.
After his third shower, Jon could not be bothered to dress in anything more than a thick set of jersey cotton sweats. Knee length, grey trousers with a spot of patriotic red-white-blue bordering the waistband. A subtle salute to the saltire and cross allegiance decorating Old Jack and the union of Scotland and England. Chances were he’d be dressed for all of twenty minutes before crawling starkers back between the sheets for a bit of evening buggery so a shirt hardly mattered.
Only Robb wasn’t in their room when Jon padded out of a steamy bathroom, towelling off soggy curls, skin still red and damp. A brief inspection revealed he was not in the kitchen either; only the dinner dishes air drying on the rack.
Bloke's practically Cinderella...
Smiling at the memory and still feeling a lovely adjustment with each step, Jon called out, ‘Robb?’ the short, curious word ringing through their home. With no immediate answer he began trudging room to room, making a full clockwise circle as the old turn of the century house was built to accommodate. As he entered the foyer, Jon’s tuned ears picked up on his boyfriend’s laughter, rich and inviting seeping through his office door.
Letting himself in without bothering more than a knuckle rap against the doorframe, Jon entered the study expecting to find Robb trolling YouTube videos.
‘There you are. Was about ready to grab Weir and go hunting for- Oh. Sorry.’