would love any of the first sentence prompts, frankly, but 1, 5, or 26, whichever makes you happiest
5. “Pass me the sledgehammer.”
“Right, this isn’t going to fit. Pass me the sledgehammer.”
David throws his hands up, waving them wildly as he shouts a string of, “No, no, no, no, no!”
He yanks the sledgehammer from Jocelyn’s hands, intercepting it before Roland can have his way and potentially knock someone (or himself) out.
“Dave, I wasn’t going to destroy your desk!” Roland laughs in that sputtery way he does, his hands on his hips. “I was just going to get rid of this banister.”
David gawks. “Get rid of the bannister? Are you insane?” If he doesn’t scream right now, it’ll be a Herculean feat. Maybe two. Roland Schitt is still, after several years, a little exhausting.
“Rollie, maybe David’s right.” Jocelyn sets a hand on her husband’s arm, a wide and painful-looking smile on her lips. “Destroying the bannister isn’t the solution to getting this desk upstairs.”
“Destroying the what now?” David turns, eyes wide and pleading, to see Patrick in the doorway with a box labeled kitchen in his arms.
“Roland wanted to get rid of the bannister so the desk could actually fit going up the stairs,” David explains. He tries very hard to hold back a biting tone. “Because that’s the be option here.”
Patrick sighs and sets the box down on the floor. “What if we just turn it on its side? I mean, the legs can come off.”
He bobs his head from side to side. “Okay...fair point.”
“Great! I’ll take that sledgehammer now.” When Roland swipes for it, David takes two big steps back.
“Or,” Patrick continues, “what if we just set up an office down here like we had originally planned instead of upstairs?”
“Patrick, we talked about this.” David rubs his free hand up and down his shoulder. “The spare room upstairs gets more sunlight than the one down here which is perfect for maximum inspiration.” He ignores the way Patrick’s sparse brows angle up to turn to Jocelyn. “I have a whole vision for it.”
“I just think it would make more sense to keep the office down here than upstairs,” Patrick explains, “There’s a draft down here anyway.”
“Hence why making that the guest room is a bad idea. The last thing we need is someone getting sick because of some cold air.”
“Oh, I think I get it now!” Roland starts laughing hard enough that it turns into a heavy wheeze. David pulls a face, wincing. “You don’t want anyone hearing you guys having sex!” He actually buckles forward now with his hands on his knees, and Jocelyn gives a little chuckle along with him.
Beside him, Patrick’s doe-eyed, his cheeks reddening. “That’s, uh...”
“It’s okay, boys!” Jocelyn waves a hand at them. “We get it! It’s your house, you want some privacy. When we have guests stay over we almost always set them up in the living room just in case we—“
“Okay, Jocelyn, thanks.” David holds a hand up to silence her. “I’m not comfortable talking about our sex life with you two.”
“If you need some pointers, Dave, I can help. First off, foreplay—“
“Roland?” Patrick pleads, and the man snaps his mouth shut. “Thanks. Let’s just decide on whether or not we’re carrying the desk upstairs.”
“Upstairs,” David says, turning to his husband. “Sunlight, Patrick.”
“There’s a draft, David.”
“Okay, second argument: the guest bathroom is right next to the spare room down here. It has a shower.” He offers Patrick a lopsided smile. “It just works.”
After a beat and a sigh Patrick nods. “Fine. That’s actually not a terrible idea, anyway.”
“Good!” David turns back to Roland. “The desk is going upstairs.”
Patrick maneuvers around the desk so he’s standing on the staircase, twisting off the legs closest to him and handing them over the railing to David.
“C’mon, Pat. Lift with your legs,” Roland says in a hyped-up manner. David catches the way Patrick rolls his eyes and has to stifle a laugh.
Jocelyn sets a hand on David’s shoulder. “Rollie just gets excited,” she reasons. “Why don’t I take that box into the kitchen and start unloading it?”
“That would be lovely, Jocelyn, thank you.”
A few thuds against the wall and some sharp breath come from somewhere up the staircase. “You know,” David hears Roland begin, his voice a little muffled, “there was this one time when Joc’s folks stayed over. We were really going to town and—“
“Roland, I really don’t want to drop this,” Patrick grumbles, and it’s enough to make David laugh. They should have known what they’d signed up for when the Schitts offered to help them move in. “Please stop.”
Later, when the desk is in its new home and Roland and Jocelyn have left, David admires their still-barren home office. Patrick’s arms are crossed over his chest as he walks the length of the room, probably piecing together their collective vision.
“So I never thought I’d be agreeing with Roland Schitt,” David says, steadily walking toward his husband, “but all things aside, it probably is in our best interest that the guest room is downstairs. God forbid anyone hears us through a wall, I mean.”
Patrick smirks. “Hm, fair point,” he says. “Even in the apartment you were never exactly quiet.”
“Says you!” David gawks, “I was quiet!”
“Sure, we never got any noise complaints, but I wouldn’t call any of that quiet.”
He pokes Patrick in the side. “I’ll show you quiet,” he teases, backing his husband out of the room.
Patrick’s eyes darken, “You will?”
“Oh, I will,” David grumbles. “Bedroom. Now.”
