Title: Fuel for the Fire
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.
Notes: Especially for Joey. I know it's probably fragmented and lacking in continuity and riddled with errors and inconsistencies, but it's Ken in uniform. Need I say more? This is merely an excuse to make him look hotter than ever.
Ken is a different person when he dons his uniform; he is no longer Ken Ichijouji, slightly self-centred genius extraordinaire, but Ken Ichijouji, fire-fighter and selfless lifesaver, constantly looking out for others. He can be at home with his wife or in bed with his lover and he won't think about anything outside those four walls. He's happy with his life and he won't allow anything to jeopardise it, because he knows that there's no time in life for regrets or looking back. He learned all that when he was young. Now he just takes what he can get and forgets about what he can't.
But then he'll be at work, dressed up in the uniform which is so commonly used as a theme for strippers and stag parties, and he won't even acknowledge anything else. The pretty, young girls in their short skirts and low-cut tops who walk past and wolf-whistle never catch his interest. His workmates might eye them up and make a few loud and lewd suggestions, but not him. All they ever get from him is a look of utter disdain. How dare they try to infiltrate themselves into his perfect life. He's saving people every day, leaping head first into danger without a second thought just so he can do his bit to help out, and there they are swaying around with their breasts hanging out like they're God's gift to the world. Ken has never seen eye to eye with people who cavort about, presenting themselves like prostitutes; with the exception of his particularly promiscuous lover. But his lover is also very male, so he doesn't count.
Ken knows he looks good in the uniform; his wife is always giving him that 'I want to jump your bones' eye when he comes home in the evening, and more than once his lover has asked him to wear it in bed. But he only sees it as a symbol of what he's giving to the community, a tool to tell everyone who sees him exactly how much good he does. He doesn't mind getting catcalls every now and then, as long as they're not from sluts; he just doesn't pay any attention to them. He's better than that.
The alarm sounds and he's on his feet in an instant, the girls outside no longer existent. He's got a job to do, and he'll be damned if he's going to let anyone stop him.