Disclaimer: It's Maki Murakami's sandbox; I just play in it. I don't own the rights to Gravitation or its characters, nor do I make money from them; Maki Murakami and her publishers do. No copyright or other infringement is intended.
Rating/Warnings: M for profanity and sexual content, including references to doujinshi rated 18+.
Summary: Shuichi babbles into his iPod.
STREAM OF SHUICHI'S CONSCIOUSNESS
My butt hurts.
Yeah, spare me the obvious jokes and insults. It's not what you think. Eiri is not the culprit here. It's that bitch Lisa.
No, Lisa isn't some dyke who plunges into my ass with an enormous strap-on dildo. Trust me, Eiri's enormous enough, and despite his reputation for coldness, is warmer than any dildo I've ever tried.
Tohma hired her as our choreographer and dance coach. Except she calls herself a "kinesthesiologist". I guess it's a real profession, at least in the States, and means that in addition to being a sadistic bitch, she has the training in anatomy and physiology to go with it. It might be a good background for a dominatrix.
Actually, Mari Winsor is the real culprit, but I would never have known her were it not for Lisa. Lisa is really big on "conditioning" and "muscle toning". She says we are athletes as well as musicians and "artistes". She says it will help keep up our energy levels for our performances and music videos. She's even said it will help our love lives.
What Lisa actually said was that it would also help our performance with our groupies. She doesn't seem to know that most of us stay as far away as possible from the fans who want semen autographs.
Anyway, in addition to the dance class she conducts for us weekly, she has "recommended" that we take up this weird exercise routine called "Pilates". That's three syllables, not two. I was confused. I've only ever heard of the Pilate who sentenced that Jesus guy to death in the Christian scriptures.
According to Lisa, "Pilates" was a German-born physical therapist who came up with this frightening contraption called a "reformer" to help rehabilitate some of his most badly injured clients. Thank whatever gods exist that someone's adapted his exercises for the floor. Mari Winsor is the Pilates instructor whose DVDs Lisa recommended. Given our hectic schedules, it seemed the better alternative to taking classes. Besides, we'd have to schedule private lessons, for obvious reasons, and while we can afford it, it's not worth the hassle.
For all the fun I'm making of Lisa – and it's not even half the fun Eiri makes of her; after all, full-breasted perky West Coast blonde girls who are a cross between a head cheerleader, the most popular girl at school, and the meanest dominatrix ever are great, wet, sloppy targets – she seems to be right about the exercises. I do feel more energetic, I have more stamina, and it's even improved my love life. Eiri says that my sphincter muscles are tighter and better controlled than before. He doesn't need to slap me around so much when he's fucked me so senseless that I'm too loose; he just tells me to tighten those butt muscles. If only he could do that in Mari Winsor's voice!
I've even gotten him to do the routine with me sometimes. Of course, afterward he usually wants to jump me, which means we're both good and sore later on from the double workout.
Why is it everything I say comes out dirtier than I meant it to? Eiri's therapist would probably tell me that it's some kind of Freudian slip, that I really do mean it. Maybe she's right. Since Eiri initiated me so many years ago, it seems like we've changed places.
Oh, he's still as kinky as ever; I still blush and he likes to embarrass me, but I initiate sex more often than him now and I'm the insatiable one.
Eiri Yuki, you have a lot to answer for. You've tainted me for life.
Eiri likes his sleep. Hell, he needs his sleep. After all, he's, what – three and a half years older than me? No, really, while he's strong and physically tough, and still way more prone to violence than I am, he's always needed a lot of rest after long bouts of writing or whatever.
Oh yeah – I didn't mean "everything I say" figuratively. I'm dictating this into my iPod. (Why the heck does the word "dictation" sound so dirty? Maybe because it's got a "dick" in it.) Eiri's promised to transcribe it. Learning how to play keyboards is about as far as I ever got with keyboards of any type. I can navigate my way around computer software, program it even, but I never got beyond typing with one finger while looking at the keys.
Besides, unlike Eiri, I can express myself more easily with my tongue than with a pen. (Okay, I made that deliberately dirty, just for my transcriber's enjoyment.) I know I have a lot of practice; after all, he's always telling me how much I babble on nonsensically.
As you probably know if you're reading this, he is a terrible talker. Meaning he says terrible things when he talks which he half-means, or mostly means, but aren't anywhere near the whole of what he feels. Insert joke here about me being the hole he fills. Yes, he's actually said that, and worse. Much worse.
He's promised to transcribe this rant without changing anything except errors in grammar. Well, what he actually said was "I can't fucking stand to type something ungrammatical or that doesn't make sense, so don't make any mistakes like that, or I'll stop typing. Or fix it, if I can figure out what you meant. I might even rewrite it to my own satisfaction..." That was when I told him to stop talking, that I got the point.
It'll be interesting to see if he keeps his promise or if he gives in to the temptation to add editorial comments. He said he'll leave the typescript for me to proofread when I get home.
(The following is in Eiri's handwriting.)
Typing's done. I don't know why you dictated this, or what you intend to do with it, but it doesn't completely suck. You, on the other hand, do. Come in the bedroom when you're finished and prove it to me again.
(The following is in Shuichi's handwriting.)
Damn if he didn't keep his promise. I love you, Eiri Uesugi.