Perhaps it might explain the sleepy sort of way my head kept bouncing about. Such music cannot be good for the soul.
Why do I feel this intense need to watch The Monkees?
Disclaimer: Please. Whatever.
Authors note: Okay, first just a FYI for those of you who don’t know, Woosie!Ken does nothing for me. Rather, I prefer Cracked!Ken and so, as you might have already guessed, Cracked!Ken is who I write. Do not be too terribly frightened of him, he really is harmless if, perhaps, a tad too sarcastic. :)
Touch-ah, touch-ah whom?
“I was feeling done-in,
I’d only ever kissed befor-or-ore.”
Ken rolled his eyes as Daisuke continued to half-sing to himself in a variety of voices.
“You mean she—“ Daisuke questioned.
“Uh-huh,” he affected a slightly deeper voice before continuing in falsetto.
“I thought there’s no use getting
Into heavy petting.
It only leads to trouble, and
Ken rolled his eyes. There were few, if any, things in this world that could frighten small children like Daisuke attempting to sing acapella. He, however, had long since become desensitized to Daisuke’s banshee like wail and so found his insistence that he be thrilled, chilled and fulfilled merely... discomforting.
“And here I didn’t think you could teach screech owls to sing,” Ken announced his presence on the otherwise unawares Daisuke in his flattest monotone, nearly causing his spiky haired roommate to leap from his skin.
Daisuke frowned at the interloper, “Sarcasm is the tool of a weak mind, Ken,” he informed perversely.
But Ken did not seem very concerned, the near silent, “Hn,” as he began prowling about the room in search of some item or another being more than enough to convince Daisuke that he believed his mind to be far from weak.
“Whatever,” Daisuke eventually concluded on Ken’s behalf, far from satisfied, “I’ll have you know that that happens to be a very high part,” he answered with a displeased toss of his head.
Ken glanced up from the stack of papers he was pawing through just long enough to give Daisuke a knowing sort of look, “Would you believe, I've seen it?” he inquired blandly before returning to his task at hand.
Things were quickly getting out of hand. However, that was not to say that Miyako could be even somewhat convinced of the proximity of any such dire ends, going so far as to actually scoff at Ken’s worries, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Think about it,” Ken insisted, not nearly so self-assured as Miyako seemed to be, “Daisuke,” Ken emphasized the name like it’s very utterance held every answer, “is not talking to me.”
Miyako hmmed, considering the question for what had to be the fifteenth time, “I guess I can see what you mean,” she finally conceded, albeit grudgingly and obviously with the only intent of getting to whatever Ken’s next point happened to be. He graced her with a thin smile before getting up to answer the shrill whistle of the teapot, leaving Miyako to shake her head at his back with ill-disguised exasperation, “But I still don’t see the problem,” she muttered to his now empty chair.
“What?” Ken asked, returning with a pair of teacups, setting one in front of Miyako before settling back into the rail-backed chair with a discontent sigh.
“Huh?” Miyako slid the squat cup closer to the edge of the table before lifting the matching lid and giving its contents a quick sniff, “Oh,” she seemed to remember, “Nothing.” She recapped the mug and pushed it back away from herself.
“So?” Ken asked. His patience was beginning to wear just a tad thin.
“So.” Miyako answered back matter-of-factly, “I think you’ve embarrassed him.”
“And?” Ken prompted when she failed to continue.
“And.” Miyako wrinkled her nose as Ken took a sip of his tea, “What goes around comes around.”
Ken considered the age-old phrase for several moments before pressing for more details, “What, exactly, are you trying to say?” Something about the way the edges of Miyako’s mouth curved upward ever so slightly made Ken uneasy.
“Merely that Daisuke, like most humans, is petty and vindictive,” she began flippantly enough, “And as such would like to seen done unto you what was done unto him.”
“That’s not the way that saying goes,” Ken informed.
Miyako gave a short laugh at his naivety, “It is in the real world.”
“Note-to-self,” Ken thought gravely, “Never, ever, ever confide in Inoue Miyako again.” Ken glanced down at the outfit lying on the bed in front of him before tacking on yet another, “Ever,” just for good measure.
“Are you dressed yet?”
Ken frowned at the impatience in Miyako’s voice, “No. I’m not dressed yet. How could I possibly be dressed already?”
“Well hurry up,” Miyako sighed, “Daisuke’ll be home any minute.” There was a short pause, just long enough for Ken to hope that she might have actually left, before she spoke back up, “Do you need help?”
Ken kicked a house slipper at the closed door, but it landed with such a dull thud that he doubted she even noticed. “No,” he spoke up before she took matters into her own hands and just walked in to his and Daisuke’s bedroom, “I think I can figure this out all on my lonesome,” he answered sarcastically.
“Alright,” she agreed, chuckling, “Just remember pantyhose first.”
“Yes,” he was looking about for something heavier than a slipper to throw against the door, “I’ll remember,” Ken promised, “Now go away!”
He pulled what appeared to be little more than a pile of netting from the bed with pursed lips, frowning as it unfurled into twin cylinders. They were slipped on as quickly and as painlessly as possible before Ken turned to the black bodice. Miyako was right. Not even his tightest tighty whiteys would work. He jerked the hose back off again.
Daisuke had better damned well love him forever.
“Well, the hair’s all wrong…” Miyako trailed off hopefully. Ken had finally given up on actually getting the bodice to fit by himself. It was time to call in back up.
“No.” Ken pushed past her, presenting her with his back and motioning for her to do what ever it was that she was supposed to do, “You are not touching my hair.” As if to emphasize his point, he gathered as much of said hair as was humanly possible, holding it in a clump at the top of his head.
“Fine. Fine,” Miyako conceded, pulling the excess fabric of the bodice tight around Ken’s middle and safety-pining it in the back, mumbling something or other about where naturally thin people should go shove themselves the entire time. Ken pretended he could not hear her, but, felt somewhat safer nonetheless when she was done and allowed him to step away a good distance.
Ken flinched at his self in the dresser mirror; patting his hair straight once more before turning to face Miyako, “Is Daisuke here?”
“Please let me fix your hair?” Miyako ignored his question, “It just looks wrong.”
Ken pinned her with his best glare, “I don’t care. Answer my question.”
Miyako’s hand made it almost halfway to Ken’s face before she dropped it back to her side with a sigh, “Yeah, yeah. I told him you were at the library.”
“What did he say?” Ken tried to tell himself that his heart was racing because he was about to make a total ass of himself, not because he hated Daisuke being mad at him.
“Shrugged,” Miyako answered shortly, giving a soft smile to Ken in the hopes that it might soften what she had not intended to be such a hard blow but which, by the look in Ken’s eyes anyway, most certainly was, “Come on now,” she cooed, hoping to at least annoy him into a more Ken-like frame of mind, “Who’s my sweet transvestite?”
Ken slapped away the hand that was once more reaching up to realign his hair, “Did he ask why you were here?”
“Dude knows better than to question me,” Miyako scoffed. Ken rolled his eyes at Miyako’s profound use of slang.
“Where is he?” he sighed.
Daisuke glanced up from his desk at the first heavy beat, frowning. It was never a good idea to leave Miyako alone for too long. Trouble always ensued, and the last thing Daisuke needed was to give Ken a reason to be angry with him.
At least, not when he had just managed to get Ken all but eating out of his hand.
But there was no human experience on this earth that could have possibly prepared Daisuke for the eyeful he received not three second later as he spun from his chair, intent only on stopping whatever trouble Miyako was currently bringing down upon his and Ken’s apartment.
“How’d you do. I,” Ken mouthed the words with the ease borne only of hours of practice, “see you’ve met my faithful handyman.
He’s a little brought down,
Because when you knocked,
He thought you were the candy-man.”
Ken scissor walked his way across the room to where Daisuke now leaned against the edge of his desk, fingers curled over his mouth.
”Don’t get strung out by the way I look,
Don’t judge a book by it’s co-uh-ver,
I’m not much of a man by the light of day,
But by night I’m one hell of a lover.” Ken blew a kiss in Daisuke’s direction.
“I'm just a sweet transvestite,
From transsexual, Transylvania.”
“Let me show you around,
Maybe play you a sound,
You look like you’re both pretty groovy,
Or if you like something visual,
That’s not too abysmal,
We could take you in an old Steve Reeves movie.”
Ken allowed the other voices to speak their lines, the entire time performing a formidable impersonation of actually listening, and still managing to hit his cue with undue prowess.
“You got caught with a flat,
Well how about that,
Well babies don’t you panic,
By the light of the night,
It’ll all seem alright,
I’ll get you a satanic mechanic.”
“I’m just a sweet transvestite,
From transsexual Transylvania-ha-ha!”
“Why don’t ‘cha stay for the night?
Or maybe a bite,” Ken snapped his teeth at Daisuke,
“I could show you my favorite obsession,
I’ve been making a man, with blond hair and a tan,
And he’s good for reliving my,” Ken turned so that he could toss the last word over his shoulder, “tension.”
“I’m just a sweet transvestite,” Ken cocked his hands on his hips, shaking his rear,
”From trans-hmm-sexual Transylvania.”
“Heh! Heh!” he pumped his arms, “I’m just a sweet transvestite,
From transsexual Transylvania-ah-ah.”
Ken turned so that he faced Daisuke once more, begging him forward by curling his index finger.
”So come up to the lab,
And see what’s on the slab,” Ken ran both hands down his front,
”I see you shiver with antici—“ he paused, “—pation,”
”But maybe the rain isn’t really to blame,
So I’ll remove the cause,” another pause for a deep chuckle,
“But not the symptom!”
A short brass fanfare and the room descended in to absolute silence, Ken watching Daisuke closely and Daisuke desperately fighting the urge to laugh. He failed when, barely two seconds later, the room was once more flooded with music, this time I Can Make You a Man, and with an aggravated, “Crap!” a be-ringed hand reached around the corner of the door frame to slap the CD player off.
Ken quickly shoved the offending player out of the room, sliding the door shut. He cleared his throat; leaning back against the door in what he hoped was a casual stance. Casual as a man could be anyway with his face redder than the drunkest drunk, nonchalantly crossed legs covered in fishnet stockings.
Daisuke shook his head slightly, covering his smile with a hand, “Ken? What do you think you’re doing?”
Ken’s mouth opened to reply then snapped back shut, Ken pushing himself away from the door and cocking his head to one side for a second, “Frank N. Furter?” he half stated, half questioned.
Daisuke shook his head as if he did not quite understand. Ken took a few steps in his direction before pausing again.
“Rocky Horror Picture Show,” he stated matter-of-factly. Daisuke continued to eye him strangely, making Ken’s face burn even more hotly, “You know what I’m talking about, Daisuke,” he half encouraged, “You were singing Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me just the other day.”
“Ken…” Daisuke began carefully, still shaking his head as if he were unsure as to what it was that Ken was talking about.
“Touch-a, touch-a, touch me, I want to be dir-ir-tee,” Ken sang the short line quickly, ducking his head in embarrassment.
“Oh!” The answer finally seemed to dawn on Daisuke, “That!”
“That?” Ken seemed dangerously close to panicking.
Daisuke, however, just shrugged, “I’ve never really seen the movie. In fact, I only really know that one song.” He offered Ken an apologetic smile, “But that was still…” he trailed off, motioning vaguely in the air.
“Great,” Ken concluded for himself when Daisuke failed to come to any further conclusion, “Just great.” He marched, backbone ramrod straight, to the door, “Now if you excuse me,” he begged forgiveness for his rudeness, “I have to go kill myself.” After a seconds thought he tacked on, “And possibly Miyako.”
“Now, now,” Daisuke comforted, stepping over to pull Ken into a tight hug, if anything causing Ken’s back to stiffen more, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he turned the taller man in his arms, giving him a quick kiss and a smile, “You’re actually pretty good, you know.” The smile seemed more of a smirk now. Ken tried he best to shrug out of Daisuke’s embrace, to no avail.
“There’s no need to worry. You’re secret’s safe with me,” Daisuke assured him, making a zipper motion at his mouth.
That news seemed to relax Ken somewhat. He actually allowed himself to slump in Daisuke’s arms, “Just promise me one thing,” he insisted, “Promise me that you’ll never bring this up, ever again. Because I—“
“Don’t worry,” Daisuke repeated with a wink and a soft smile. After all, he was feeling gracious. There were few people in this world or any other who could say that they had seen Ichijouji Ken in anything other than perfect form. But Daisuke had, and thanks to Miyako, he had the proof on tape.
“Yes,” Daisuke thought with a sly grin as he continued to rub Ken’s back in an all too comforting gesture, “All on cheep, easily reproducible, digitally transferable tape.”
Revenge was sweet.
Jamalyn: Yes. This is how wars start.