The Battle

"Give it to me!"

I stare back at him impassively. He can huff and puff all he likes, I ain't giving him what he wants. "No."

He scowls malevolently. "I said, give it to me!"

"And I said no... Deal with it." I'm trained to stand my ground and I'm not folding.

"Are you always this obtuse?" he sighs tetchily.

I smile. "You should know, you bring it out in me."

Chris pouts. "Fine. So long as you realise that you now have to entertain me, keep the damn remote control."

I grin triumphantly, having achieved exactly what I wanted.

The Patient

"You know, there's words for people like you," Sam moans miserably from his sick bed, peering at me balefully.

I smile beatifically. "Mmm?"

"*Mmm* nothing! I can hardly move, everything hurts like hell, and you're... *you're*..." Whatever else Sam had been going to say is replaced by a coughing fit.

"I'm *what*?" I query innocently, pulling my jumper off and throwing it on the floor. "I'm merely going through my wardrobe, where's the harm in that?"

"Cock tease!"

"Charming!" I laugh, refraining from adding that it's merely pay back for eyeing off the bartender the other night in the pub.

Domestic Bliss

As hard as I try to ignore it, I just can't.

"It was your turn to do the dishes, wasn't it?"

My lover's grunted response can be described as non-committal at best.

"Chris?"

Rolling his eyes, Chris shrugs. "Yeah, yeah. I stacked the dishwasher."

Eyeing the offending mark on my cereal bowl, I sigh resignedly. "And you turned it on?"

Chris mulls over my question before shaking his head and smiling brightly. "Nope. But it's your fault, remember?"

Oh.

That's right.

I *do* remember and, well, some things are more *fulfilling* than clean bowls. Smirking, I return to my cereal.