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Raleigh's used to coming home to strange sights and odd happenings. After all, he's lived with Chuck Hansen for the last five years and if there's one thing that Raleigh's learned, it's that Australians are creative.
He's given up trying to anticipate events.
But he can't recall opening the front door to an odder sight than Chuck sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a pile of small, brown-white-tan, squirming, wriggling, yipping, whining, balls of wrinkles. Puppies. Bulldog puppies. At least a dozen of them.
Raleigh just stands there with the door half open and stares.
"You're home," Chuck says, grinning as he looks up and spots his husband.
"Where..."
"Ah, well, as to that," Chuck says, grin turning sheepish as he reaches to snag a wandering puppy. "Seems Max is a wee bit more amorous than he lets on."
"Oh," Raleigh says faintly, turning his head to look at Max. Who is sprawled on his dog bed watching the pile of puppies with the most bored expression ever achieved by a dog. "Max."
Max just huffs and sits up before twisting around to lick his privates. Chuck laughs. Raleigh rolls his eyes.
"We can't keep all of them."
"No, course not," Chuck says in an absent sort of way as he rights a puppy that has tumbled into the hollow of his legs. "Reckon we'll find 'em all good homes."
Right. Of course they will.
***
"So I was talking to your dad this afternoon."
"Yeah?" Chuck doesn't even look up from his plate. "What'd he say?"
"He said he'd love to take one," Raleigh says as he spoons more corn onto his plate, tucking one bare foot over the chair rung as a puppy starts to lick at his toes. "But he can't."
Chuck glances up and blinks. "Why's that?"
"Apparently Mako's allergic." Raleigh shrugs, tucking the other foot up when the puppy finds those toes.
The next bite of steak stops in mid-air, halfway to Chuck's mouth. And Chuck stares at him. "That," he finally says in a very calm voice, "is a load of sheep shit. Th'only thing Mako's allergic to is shellfish."
"He said –"
"Love, how many times have they kept Max for us over the last few years?" Chuck sits back in his chair and taps his fingers on the table. "She's not allergic to dogs. Fucking wanker lied to you."
"Fuck," Raleigh says.
"Yeah."
***
Three weeks later, there are still puppies in the house. Only eight, because they've managed to find homes for the others, but still.
Puppies.
Raleigh no longer wanders the house barefoot and he makes sure to check his shoes each morning before he slips his feet into them. He's a fast learner and stepping in puddles at three in the morning had taught him the wisdom of slippers.
But he still comes home each evening to find Chuck on the floor, surrounded by puppies and his biology or calculus book open in his lap.
A quick headcount makes Raleigh pull up short. "Are we one short?"
"Nope," Chuck says around the pencil clenched between his teeth as he flips pages. "There."
Raleigh follows the line of his gesturing finger to see the seventh puppy sprawled in Max's bed like road kill. Without another word, Raleigh drops to the floor beside Chuck and wrangles the puppies away for his husband's homework.
Chuck grins in silent thanks and leans over to press a wet kiss to Raleigh's cheek as the rest of the puppies come to investigate.
***
Another week passes and there are still eight puppies. Seven boys and one girl.
Mako visits them on Tuesday with no ill effects, but Herc still claims she's allergic. At various times over the last month, Chuck has referred to his dad as a dickhead, a wanker, a fucktard, and a dingus. Raleigh keeps waiting for cunt to make its appearance, but apparently Chuck only ever uses that one for him.
***
"I was thinking we should name this one Happy," Chuck says. He's upside down on the sofa with his head hanging off the edge while Raleigh sits on the floor beside him. "And that one Grumpy."
Raleigh looks at the puppies in question – and yes, the one Chuck wants to call Happy does have facial markings that make him look as if he's smiling – and shakes his head even as he smiles. "You want to name two of them after dwarfs?"
"All of them," Chuck replies, dimples flashing. "Doc, Grumpy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, Sneezy...and that one's Dopey."
Looking at the one indicated, Raleigh can't help but laugh. It's the one puppy that's almost guaranteed to get himself into a fix without even trying. And the slightest breeze manages to tip him over when they're in the back yard.
"Suppose you want to name her Snow White."
"Now you're getting it, love," Chuck says and kisses Raleigh cheek as the puppies start to jump for his hair. They're fascinated by the auburn strands.
"Chuck, we're not keeping eight puppies."
"Whatever you say."
Raleigh opens his mouth but decides this is one battle he'd rather not start at the moment.
***
It's late when Raleigh gets home, the job having run longer than he'd expected. Dinner is in the oven, still warm, and it tells him that Chuck had waited longer than usual.
But he finds his husband in the bedroom.
Sprawled on his back, his calculus book covering his face, Chuck is sound asleep. The puppies are also asleep, clustered around his hips and legs, except for Snow White, who is curled up on his chest. Happy twitches in his sleep, stubby little legs churning the duvet beneath him.
A low whine draws his attention and Raleigh moves just in time to catch Dopey before he falls off the bed. "And just where do you think you're going?"
Dopey just huffs out a little bark and licks his nose.
***
"Dad called this morning."
"Yeah?" Raleigh looks up from his book to find Chuck watching him intently. "What'd he want?"
"One of the guys at his work has a little girl turning eight next week," Chuck tells him, still watching him, fingers idly stroking the puppy in his lap. Raleigh thinks it Bashful. "Dad was thinking about having the guy ring us, see about getting one of the puppies for her."
"Mmm," Raleigh says. It comes out more as a grunt than anything else.
"Be a good home for one of 'em."
"Mmm," Raleigh says again as he returns to his book. He can still feel Chuck's gaze on him.
"Thought you wanted to find 'em all good homes."
"I did," Raleigh says as noncommittally as he can.
"Rals," Chuck says and waits until Raleigh looks up. His face is carefully blank, but there's a hint of a smile in those green eyes. "They need good homes."
"They do," Raleigh agrees.
"Aren't we going to find them some?"
"We did," is all Raleigh says.
There's a few seconds of silence and then Chuck is at his side, curling into him as he dumps four of the puppies into his lap. Raleigh doesn't say anything as Chuck kisses his cheek and rests his head on Raleigh's shoulder. "What changed your mind?"
"You named them," Raleigh says quietly, kissing the top of Chuck's head and setting his book aside. After all, he has a husband and eight puppies to focus on, and he wouldn't have it any other way.