Ok, I'm pimping out my original slash fic over at LiveJournal... Comments make my world go round, so if you read, please let me know! Criticism very welcome. Here's a brief (that word looks weird, I think I may have written it too many times trying to spell it right) excerpt:

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I gave the washing machine a good thump with the heel of my shoe, and it settled down. No matter how high or low class an apartment complex was, if it had communal washers and dryers, they were crap. At least that was my observation. At least in this new place, I didn’t have to worry about my clothes being chewed apart, like I had in the past. The big problem here was theft. So I brought a book and headphones and read, sitting on top of the washer or dryer I was using. No chance of getting distracted and having my clothes swiped in front of me without realizing it, if I was sitting on the lid. I’d learned from experience. Not that my clothes were fancy, or expensive, or irreplaceable, but replacing clothes costs money, money that I really don’t have. As evidenced by my current living situation. Not that my apartment was bad, or anything. It just wasn’t nice.

The washer stopped rumbling. Either my clothes were done, or the washer had died. I was hoping for the former. Fortunately, I was in luck. I tossed my no-longer-filthy clothes into a dryer, fed it its customary meal of time-and-a-half the asking price, and jumped on top of that machine to continue reading. My music was turned up loud enough that tinny overspill was echoing from my fancy noise-cancelling earbuds, enough so I felt alone in the bustling laundry room. It’s not that I mind interacting with people, precisely, but there’s just something weird and creepy about acknowledging people or talking to them while one or the other of you is handling underwear. Especially women. After that granny-folding-a-thong incident, I keep my eyes firmly fixed on whatever’s in my own hands, and don’t look up. Ever. I’ve never really wanted to know what women were hiding under their clothes in the first place, and that incident pretty much scarred me for life.

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Please go read, comment, whatever. Just don't flame me for having a gay main character - not cool. If you must flame, flame for poor writing or improper punctuation. My page is [link] and the story's title is Laundry Hell.