DISCLAIMER: The Gravitation, she's not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm bored, so I thought I'd post this fic I don't even remember writing. Enjoy.
'He's out of here. Today,' he'd always say in the morning as he woke to Shuichi's warmth across his back, his teeth nipping at his ear, waking him in the most irritating fashion imaginable as only Shu could do. He'd roll over and glare at the brat's giggling, retreating back and swear that his ass would be out on the street the next time he saw him.
He'd crawl out of bed, trudge to the kitchen for his morning Irish coffee and scowl at the new morning he was forced to greet, when he'd much rather greet it at afternoon. He'd tut and turn up his nose at the gunk sitting in the silly mug soaking in the sink and swear the kid would wash that when he got home even as he did it himself anyway.
Then he'd rub his dishpan hands and curse Shuichi's name and hope for a car to run him over.
He'd grab a beer from the fridge and a smoke from the coffee table and make his way to the study wondering once again why his latest character sounded familiar and why he still resisted pairing him up with Kyoko… or Miako, or whatever the hell he'd named the female character. He couldn't even remember, that's how long it had been since she had appeared in the novel. He decided it was because Daisuke was too annoying for any self-respecting woman to love. Besides, who could love someone with a purple mohawk? Maybe he'd make him gay and find somebody else for Kyoko or Kaori or whoever.
Damn Shuichi. He was sure this was his fault, too, in some way. He'd never had these problems before. His office had always been a block free zone before that idiot crashed into his life and upset everything. Now, every time he glimpsed that stupid stool nestled within his desk's personal space, he thought of that idiot babbling about something or other and being generally gay. That was probably it, the kid's inherent gayness was permeating into his thoughts and giving his characters ideas.
Maybe that stool was screwing up his precious precarious feng shui that he'd made by accident.
Well, he was comfortable now and his fingers were itching. He would move it in a while.
He'd be there for hours. After having seen more of that kid's stupid face in the picture on the frame of his laptop than his blinking cursor, thousands of words short, he'd finally get his juices to flow. Of course, this would be moments before the brat burst into the room to harass him. He'd kiss those invading lips and then haul him into the kitchen. He might as well feed the kid before he kicked him to the curb, he didn't want animal cruelty breathing down his neck for anything. That would be annoying.
And maybe some mercy sex would really show him who was in power.
Then he'd get rid of him, really he would.
But then, he'd watch that sweet, post-coital face, those thin arms clinging lovingly to him and soft breath on his chest and he'd think for just a moment, 'Maybe he's not that bad.'
Then the kid would snore and he'd fall asleep thinking, 'Tomorrow. He's definitely gone.'