So I'm waiting for my yuletide and sga_santa prompts, right? And I want to write, but I don't want to start anything new until I finish those gift fics. So I asked ihatefastcars for some drabble prompts and she gave me:



Lucas should have known better. It was Mark after all.

Mark and Halloween. Well, Mark and Halloween candy, to be precise.

He hadn't wanted to hand out candy at his apartment building alone, though, so he had caved when Mark begged to help. And it had been fun, even when Mark had gotten bored and started to make mythical creatures out of his aluminum foil.

He knows he shouldn't be surprised by the sugary sweetness of Mark's mouth. After all, he watched him devour what appeared to be several pounds of jellybeans. Except for the black ones.

Lucas hated those.



It's the smell of bleach that wakes Stan. He blinks against the glare of sun in the uncurtained room. It takes him a moment to realize where he is, but the protest of his muscles as he rolls on to his back reminds him.

He's in his house. Their house.

He stumbles to his feet with a groan and takes a moment to stretch, trying to force mobility back into his overtaxed body. He's pretty sure it was hauling the ton and half of Casey's photography equipment that finished him off, but it was worth it.

Because it's their house. Officially. They both signed the mortgage papers and everything.

A noise from the bathroom brings him back to himself and his nose twitches at the renewed smell of bleach. Ten steps bring him to the doorway and he smiles at what he sees.

Casey has obviously been up for a while because the bathroom is shockingly clean. When they first looked at the house, Stan had been convinced they'd have to redo the whole room, it had been so dirty, but Casey had laughed at him and kissed him in the middle of the mildew and whispered that he loved the house, so here they are.

In a gleaming white bathroom.

"You're a miracle worker."

Casey laughs from next to the gigantic claw foot tub, "We still need to paint, but washing the walls helped."

He rinses the bleachy water down the drain and Stan hands him the bottle of vinegar when he points to it. "You know, we do have some Windex. Somewhere."

Casey shrugs and gives the window glass a final swipe with the newspaper. "I know you hate a dingy bathroom."

Stan wraps his arms around Casey. "Are you happy?"

Casey kisses him. "You have no idea."