AN. Written for my fanfic100 challenge on LiveJournal, with the prompt of work. Ugh, another short piece. UGH ANOTHER SHORT HUMOR PIECE. (dies) Either way, reviews are much appreciated, ma'ams and… sirs?

PS. I own nothing.

Manual Labor

Keyboard clacks and pages turning floated in the air, along with the little dust particles and the afternoon sun, in a classroom long empty.

"Kyouya, remind me again why you won't just go home."

"I have to finish some work first. I won't take too long now."

Tamaki dog-eared his pretty copy of The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Nighttime and turned around to face Kyouya, or rather, the back of Kyouya's 17-inch laptop screen. "Work, work, work. That's all you do nowadays." Clearing his throat, a little song. "Kyouya's got his work, they say Kyou lives for his work, and Kyou's in love with his work! Mark – I mean, Kyouya hides in his work."

And instead of taking on the role of Roger and indulging him with the proper reply, Kyouya simply said, "Shut up."


Minutes passed, and a hand, fingers waving, blocked the glow of the screen.

"Another report? Geez, Kyouya. Get a secretary. You know you can."

"I like typing, Tamaki. It's calming."

"It's manual labor."

"No, it's not," he replied, because Kyouya knew more about the world and could name other jobs that involve rough, physical work like farming or construction or – Wait a second, hmmm.

"At the rate you're going, you're going to make your blue veins pop out of your lily-white hands. Do you see these hands, Kyouya Ootori? I have spent a good portion of my life… "

At this point, Kyouya grumbled "Do you mean the entirety of it?" under his breath, still typing, which Tamaki, as per usual, ignored.

"… Without having to strain these hands, and look: Still elegant, still pure, as beautiful and flawless as the day they first flicked out of the womb." The said hand went over his heart now, an expression of undying self-love on his face. "Oh, Adonis! Praise the virginity of hands that have never known work!"

Kyouya stopped typing. He clicked his laptop shut and removed his glasses, pushing both to the side of the desk and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I guess that's all about to change now."

Pleasant surprise only heightened the feeling of triumph. The appropriate though endearingly exaggerated expression crept quickly across his countenance. "Yes, I suppose so!" He said in a big voice, slamming both hands palms-down on the table for emphatic purposes.

With an almost feline stealth, Kyouya's hand shot out, grabbing one of Tamaki's hands and pulling him forward. Tamaki lost his balance and fell over.

The next thing he knew, Tamaki's nose met with Kyouya's, and his hand was in his pants.

One thing led to another, and Tamaki found his nose touching Kyouya's, and his hand down his pants. This all happened in the span of seven seconds. The other thing led to the other other thing, and fifteen minutes later, Tamaki was made acquainted with actual manual labor, the dirty work that's physically straining yet very, very fulfilling.