A/N: Alternate Universe, Digimon. Myao. Okay, I don't own Digimon, Crayola, or the nasty music they play in those bars. -_- Bow down to me, Dotz-N-Necco, for I sprout fanfictions like a mutt does fleas. Wee, doggies. ^_^ Daikeru, folks. To those closed-minded to yaoi: escape now while you have the chance, for my muses were born from the flames, and are therefore eternally immune to their power. On the right hand, she wore a glove: Reviews would be very nice, though. Please?
Random notes: Multi-chaptered fic. And, yes, I know Takeru is under-aged to work in a bar. Pretend you didn't notice that little tidbit, okay? I'll also try my hardest not to use the nickname TK...but it's so very hard! I use it too often in normal speech; Takeru, Takaishi, TAKAO! TK, TK, TK! *prances around like Ayame*
Summary: Daisuke Motomiya: exotic dancer; redhead tease; and teacher to underlings, finds that playing a little game of libido, can leave the little blond member of the bar floundering helplessly at his very will. With every piece moved, Takeru Takaishi finds himself hopelessly wanting Daisuke just that much more. He knows how he's being played, but can he ever really free himself from this sexual grasp?
Oh, boy, me and my badly-written bad-fics. Enjoy, for what little that's worth. I love you all.
Crayola
~*~
"Ne, ne," The bright red-haired boy was amidst a conversation with a cheerful appearing girl, both of them behind a bar-counter, catching up on fifteen minutes worth of missed gossip, of which he hadn't been present for. Missed subjects; such as, their many arrayed friends: the other sequenced boys and women, with the perfect sets of tanned skins, and innocent, yet telling smirks. The smirks that were now gleefully chatting along, in-between shows, as well as being hit on less than just occasionally. For which they didn't mind, of course.
"Oh, my, babe at twelve O'clock." Her lips twitched like the easy faucet they were.
He tilted his head carefully to the side to look at his companions outstretched finger, slightly registering the fact that he, himself, was directly in front of the young woman. After a moment of realizing his confusion, she grinned and leaned forward to playfully flick his forehead. "The other twelve O'clock."
"Ah," He slowly bent his body backwards, so that his head lulled to the nape of his neck, allowing himself to see behind without turning or twisting any which way.
Besides the obvious.
A seemingly frail blond was aimlessly floundering around in the small crowd away from the bar, squeaks escaping his own lips, every so often. Just as well, the oddly-positioned boy finally caught the blonde's attention. Seeing that the redhead actually noticed him, he was almost certain he would have to ask him for his assistance, as he didn't stand out much to others amongst the leather-clad patrons or skimpily-clad dancers. At this conclusion, he made it over to the countertop with few complications, and alike mishaps.
"Um, Ahem," He cleared his throat, doing his best to swallow down any creeping nervousness, and going with the need to be as polite as one could possibly be.
"Hello, Lovely, can I help you?" The redhead didn't even make the slightest effort to sit up, his expression only shifted to softly amused.
Which made the blond pretty damn uncomfortable.
"Well, I was wondering if you happen to have a job open. I'm Takeru Takaishi, I recently graduated from-" The stripper swung himself to sit on the top of the bar, his legs swinging schoolboy-esque, while he left the other a bit startled. The girl decided to join, resting her chin in her hands, and likewise her elbows to the table.
"Really, now? 'Takaishi'. Well, Takaishi, Pretty, how old are you exactly?" He continued kicking his legs, smiling wickedly, but wrinkled his nose and continued, "I'm kidding, Pretty. Now, about that job? You are a lovely one, though, aren't you...?" He took his time to inspect closer, reaching his arm over to ghost over the blonde's shoulder. Takeru noticeably jerked back, his embarrassment apparent by the newly acquired warm color of his cheeks at the other's suggestion.
The girl smiled over to him in understanding. "Hun, the kid just wants a job at the bar. Sweets, I think that'll be fine, I'll just go back in a second an' check some stats out a bit, 'kay?" She nodded her leave, and scuttled over to someone with an order.
"You sure, Pretty? Ah, I think you'd make one hell of a dancer. But, hey, it's your call." He slid off of the wooden surface, his black platform high-heels audibly hitting the tiled floor, as he adjusted his short, plastic-leather red shorts, a shade duller than his hair, almost that of ruby, and winked his farewell, before leaving Takeru as well.
"I'm Daisuke, by the way," He added casually, his back turned and walking toward the stage. The blond only blinked and took a seat a few stools away from the next person. He might as well have just waited, what was the point of wandering off to do something else? What else could he possibly do there, anyway?
Glancing his blue eyes around, he didn't notice anything oddly out of place there. For what the establishment was, it was vaguely normal, save a few people dressed like they were about to hop a rave--pacifiers, and all.
This was one of his last shots. Definitely not his idea of a welcoming place for his...'sort'.
This being defined as a boy who had the perfect marks in all classes he had attempted, was always on his best behavior, never did anything out of line-and perhaps he was being just a bit over skeptical-but he highly doubted these were his kind of people.
Why he hadn't acquired a job was beyond him, his education was fair enough--good, even--But he admitted to himself his lack of experience, and real-world naivety. That in itself was plenty to be jobless,
And so he had brought with him the last of his young, frayed wits, and gathered himself a chance at some money. Which was good. Very good.
So he found himself there, muttering under his breath about some 'oppressed way of society' as he strummed his fingers against a bar surface. Which was bad. Very bad.
But heck, everything was fine and dandy when Takeru Takaishi took it into consideration.
~*~
A/N: The first chapter is short, I know. Review please. *puppy eyes* It's my birthday tomorrow, and a review from you would make my day. ^^
Random notes: Multi-chaptered fic. And, yes, I know Takeru is under-aged to work in a bar. Pretend you didn't notice that little tidbit, okay? I'll also try my hardest not to use the nickname TK...but it's so very hard! I use it too often in normal speech; Takeru, Takaishi, TAKAO! TK, TK, TK! *prances around like Ayame*
Summary: Daisuke Motomiya: exotic dancer; redhead tease; and teacher to underlings, finds that playing a little game of libido, can leave the little blond member of the bar floundering helplessly at his very will. With every piece moved, Takeru Takaishi finds himself hopelessly wanting Daisuke just that much more. He knows how he's being played, but can he ever really free himself from this sexual grasp?
Oh, boy, me and my badly-written bad-fics. Enjoy, for what little that's worth. I love you all.
Crayola
~*~
"Ne, ne," The bright red-haired boy was amidst a conversation with a cheerful appearing girl, both of them behind a bar-counter, catching up on fifteen minutes worth of missed gossip, of which he hadn't been present for. Missed subjects; such as, their many arrayed friends: the other sequenced boys and women, with the perfect sets of tanned skins, and innocent, yet telling smirks. The smirks that were now gleefully chatting along, in-between shows, as well as being hit on less than just occasionally. For which they didn't mind, of course.
"Oh, my, babe at twelve O'clock." Her lips twitched like the easy faucet they were.
He tilted his head carefully to the side to look at his companions outstretched finger, slightly registering the fact that he, himself, was directly in front of the young woman. After a moment of realizing his confusion, she grinned and leaned forward to playfully flick his forehead. "The other twelve O'clock."
"Ah," He slowly bent his body backwards, so that his head lulled to the nape of his neck, allowing himself to see behind without turning or twisting any which way.
Besides the obvious.
A seemingly frail blond was aimlessly floundering around in the small crowd away from the bar, squeaks escaping his own lips, every so often. Just as well, the oddly-positioned boy finally caught the blonde's attention. Seeing that the redhead actually noticed him, he was almost certain he would have to ask him for his assistance, as he didn't stand out much to others amongst the leather-clad patrons or skimpily-clad dancers. At this conclusion, he made it over to the countertop with few complications, and alike mishaps.
"Um, Ahem," He cleared his throat, doing his best to swallow down any creeping nervousness, and going with the need to be as polite as one could possibly be.
"Hello, Lovely, can I help you?" The redhead didn't even make the slightest effort to sit up, his expression only shifted to softly amused.
Which made the blond pretty damn uncomfortable.
"Well, I was wondering if you happen to have a job open. I'm Takeru Takaishi, I recently graduated from-" The stripper swung himself to sit on the top of the bar, his legs swinging schoolboy-esque, while he left the other a bit startled. The girl decided to join, resting her chin in her hands, and likewise her elbows to the table.
"Really, now? 'Takaishi'. Well, Takaishi, Pretty, how old are you exactly?" He continued kicking his legs, smiling wickedly, but wrinkled his nose and continued, "I'm kidding, Pretty. Now, about that job? You are a lovely one, though, aren't you...?" He took his time to inspect closer, reaching his arm over to ghost over the blonde's shoulder. Takeru noticeably jerked back, his embarrassment apparent by the newly acquired warm color of his cheeks at the other's suggestion.
The girl smiled over to him in understanding. "Hun, the kid just wants a job at the bar. Sweets, I think that'll be fine, I'll just go back in a second an' check some stats out a bit, 'kay?" She nodded her leave, and scuttled over to someone with an order.
"You sure, Pretty? Ah, I think you'd make one hell of a dancer. But, hey, it's your call." He slid off of the wooden surface, his black platform high-heels audibly hitting the tiled floor, as he adjusted his short, plastic-leather red shorts, a shade duller than his hair, almost that of ruby, and winked his farewell, before leaving Takeru as well.
"I'm Daisuke, by the way," He added casually, his back turned and walking toward the stage. The blond only blinked and took a seat a few stools away from the next person. He might as well have just waited, what was the point of wandering off to do something else? What else could he possibly do there, anyway?
Glancing his blue eyes around, he didn't notice anything oddly out of place there. For what the establishment was, it was vaguely normal, save a few people dressed like they were about to hop a rave--pacifiers, and all.
This was one of his last shots. Definitely not his idea of a welcoming place for his...'sort'.
This being defined as a boy who had the perfect marks in all classes he had attempted, was always on his best behavior, never did anything out of line-and perhaps he was being just a bit over skeptical-but he highly doubted these were his kind of people.
Why he hadn't acquired a job was beyond him, his education was fair enough--good, even--But he admitted to himself his lack of experience, and real-world naivety. That in itself was plenty to be jobless,
And so he had brought with him the last of his young, frayed wits, and gathered himself a chance at some money. Which was good. Very good.
So he found himself there, muttering under his breath about some 'oppressed way of society' as he strummed his fingers against a bar surface. Which was bad. Very bad.
But heck, everything was fine and dandy when Takeru Takaishi took it into consideration.
~*~
A/N: The first chapter is short, I know. Review please. *puppy eyes* It's my birthday tomorrow, and a review from you would make my day. ^^