Unending Fanfiction
Warnings: uhh..nothing that I know of.. slash maybe????
Disclaimer: Don't own'em. Never have, never plan to. Nope. Noooooooooooot me!
AN: This little waste of words is an expression of frustration.. Of the type that I usually seem to suffer from... T_T
Trowa sat at the laptop. The bluish glow the only source of light in the dark room.
His eyebrows where drawn together in concentration, or confusion. His back was ruler straight and a small bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face ignored.
His fingers flew with almost terrifying speed on the keyboard. Battering the plastic in an organic hail.
Suddenly, he stopped, scanned the page and froze. His eyes widened then narrowed to angry slits.
Selecting an entire paragraph of writing he deleted it. He paused, rereading. Then, pressed two keys on the keyboard and the paragraph reappeared. He selected and deleted a few words, typing others to take their place, then continued.
Once again his fingers flew. His heart beat faster, rabbiting against his ribcage. Sweat once again worked it's way down his face.
A rhythm formed. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, drip. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. His staring eyes began to water. Blurring his vision. He paused. Rubbing the water from his eyes he brought his hands back to the keyboard.
They stood poised over the keys for a long time. Then Trowa frowned. Slowly he brought his hands away from the keyboard and into his lap. He stared at the screen. Reading and rereading what he had written.
"No good." his calm voice alarmingly loud in the silence of the room. Going through he randomly deleted words and sentences.
"No." another paragraph gone.
"No." three words deleted.
"No!" his raised voice seemed to echo in the nearly empty room. His eyes narrowed. Annoyed that the room seemed to echo. Then he slumped in defeat. Glancing at the clock. It's digital dials reading 11:42.
"Angry at an echo. What next?" he lifted from his chair. Stretching, he twisted with catlike grace towards the ceiling. Though the cracking as his spinal cord repositioned itself was most assuredly un- catlike.
Leaving the room with that damnable computer Trowa walked down the hall way of the house and down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom he took a sharp right. Bypassing the stairs to the basement-turned-bedroom he found himself in the kitchen.
Going towards the refrigerator he looked at the contents.
Milk, eggs, butter, orange soda, take-out Korean, three cans of Mountain Dew and some celery and broccoli in the crisper. He frowned, staring into the bowels of white and metal he willed the refrigerator to change it's victuals to a variety more of his liking.
Again he slumped in defeat and reached for the orange soda. Setting the bottle on the kitchen island he bent to retrieve a cup from a cupboard by the sink. He set the clear plastic glass by the bottle. A few moments went by as he just stared at the cup. He sighed and returned both the cup and bottle back to their proper places.
Walking through another door way he sat on the livingroom couch. He lifted the remote and stared at the TV. He shook his head. Setting the control device down he reached to the side stand and picked up a slightly worn book.
Opening up to the third bookmark he let his eyes wander the page. For about a quarter of an hour his emerald gaze caressed the two word covered leaves. After making no progress his eyes closed in frustration. Then quickly snapped back open. The bookmark was slipped smoothly back into place and the book set back onto the side stand.
He walked calmly back into the room where the computer sat. As innocently as ever. Slipping back into his seat he attacked the keyboard with a vengance.
After a few minutes he froze and read what he had written.
An unwelcome voice at the back of his mind reared it's ugly head from the dust.
"You know," it said in a sly tone "at the rate you're going you would think you've never written a slash lemon before."
He smirked. Then calmly squashed the voice with a hammer.
Disclaimer: Don't own'em. Never have, never plan to. Nope. Noooooooooooot me!
AN: This little waste of words is an expression of frustration.. Of the type that I usually seem to suffer from... T_T
Trowa sat at the laptop. The bluish glow the only source of light in the dark room.
His eyebrows where drawn together in concentration, or confusion. His back was ruler straight and a small bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face ignored.
His fingers flew with almost terrifying speed on the keyboard. Battering the plastic in an organic hail.
Suddenly, he stopped, scanned the page and froze. His eyes widened then narrowed to angry slits.
Selecting an entire paragraph of writing he deleted it. He paused, rereading. Then, pressed two keys on the keyboard and the paragraph reappeared. He selected and deleted a few words, typing others to take their place, then continued.
Once again his fingers flew. His heart beat faster, rabbiting against his ribcage. Sweat once again worked it's way down his face.
A rhythm formed. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. Tatta, tatta, drip. Tatta, tatta, heart beat. His staring eyes began to water. Blurring his vision. He paused. Rubbing the water from his eyes he brought his hands back to the keyboard.
They stood poised over the keys for a long time. Then Trowa frowned. Slowly he brought his hands away from the keyboard and into his lap. He stared at the screen. Reading and rereading what he had written.
"No good." his calm voice alarmingly loud in the silence of the room. Going through he randomly deleted words and sentences.
"No." another paragraph gone.
"No." three words deleted.
"No!" his raised voice seemed to echo in the nearly empty room. His eyes narrowed. Annoyed that the room seemed to echo. Then he slumped in defeat. Glancing at the clock. It's digital dials reading 11:42.
"Angry at an echo. What next?" he lifted from his chair. Stretching, he twisted with catlike grace towards the ceiling. Though the cracking as his spinal cord repositioned itself was most assuredly un- catlike.
Leaving the room with that damnable computer Trowa walked down the hall way of the house and down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom he took a sharp right. Bypassing the stairs to the basement-turned-bedroom he found himself in the kitchen.
Going towards the refrigerator he looked at the contents.
Milk, eggs, butter, orange soda, take-out Korean, three cans of Mountain Dew and some celery and broccoli in the crisper. He frowned, staring into the bowels of white and metal he willed the refrigerator to change it's victuals to a variety more of his liking.
Again he slumped in defeat and reached for the orange soda. Setting the bottle on the kitchen island he bent to retrieve a cup from a cupboard by the sink. He set the clear plastic glass by the bottle. A few moments went by as he just stared at the cup. He sighed and returned both the cup and bottle back to their proper places.
Walking through another door way he sat on the livingroom couch. He lifted the remote and stared at the TV. He shook his head. Setting the control device down he reached to the side stand and picked up a slightly worn book.
Opening up to the third bookmark he let his eyes wander the page. For about a quarter of an hour his emerald gaze caressed the two word covered leaves. After making no progress his eyes closed in frustration. Then quickly snapped back open. The bookmark was slipped smoothly back into place and the book set back onto the side stand.
He walked calmly back into the room where the computer sat. As innocently as ever. Slipping back into his seat he attacked the keyboard with a vengance.
After a few minutes he froze and read what he had written.
An unwelcome voice at the back of his mind reared it's ugly head from the dust.
"You know," it said in a sly tone "at the rate you're going you would think you've never written a slash lemon before."
He smirked. Then calmly squashed the voice with a hammer.