Why The Caged Bird Sings
Pairing: Dark/Daisuke; side Krad/Satoshi
Summary: (DarkDaisuke KxS) Welcome to prison, where the convicts are men, the men are gay, and the gay are drop dead gorgeous. Enter Dark, who wants to bang his new, innocent cellmate. Now enter Daisuke – something Dark wholly plans to do. Ah, the wonders of the big house.
Disclaimer: NO OWN, NO SUE, I SO PWN, and YOU ARE A SHOE.
Beware of perversion. Period. And possible OOC-ness.
There were some sounds you only heard on television. Of these sounds included the chattering of talking mammals, the whirring hum of a black hole swallowing up your spaceship, the snowy crunch of grandma getting run over by a reindeer, and the sick collision of bullet on flesh. Of course, the clichéd sound of strong steel bars sliding shut right in front of your face – casting a striped, shadowed pattern over you and your cell, securing you in for eternity, and locking all traces of happiness out – was a top priority on this list of sounds.
But this sinister noise was not on Daisuke's list; he did not need a TV to hear this noise. It was reality.
With melancholy eyes, he gazed out from behind the prison's entrance, where his family and friends had assembled to bid him good luck and an exaggerated, "Oh, my baby is in jail! Don't you worry a bit, Dai-chan! We'll break you out soon!" from Emiko. A guard pressed a button, and their figures were sliced into little columns by rusty silver bars. The bars shed a sad, dark shadow over Daisuke's face, and he knew by the loud clang of steel on steel that the door had slid shut and all bouts of freedom were lost.
"Prisoner zero zero eight two four nine five?" another guard questioned, staring at Daisuke pointedly through tinted glasses. His eyes were pointed at the white number printed onto the pocket of the young man's baggy black slacks. Slung over his side was a rather long rifle. It glinted malevolently; it was shiny. But it wasn't the good shiny.
'Prisoner 0082495' nodded resolutely, jaw set in a frown. He didn't want to seem like a softie in front of all these strangers. He had watched enough TV to know that softies were abused by guards and made bitches by burly men named Bubba. Daisuke stifled a nervous titter as the guard – whom he had dubbed Rifle Man – led him out the rather clean-looking, lobby-like part of the prison where he had checked in. The redhead was brought to a door labeled 'Cellblock 6,' and Rifle Man stopped abruptly. He grasped his rifle with both hands, pulling it from its strap, and tapped the door with it. 'Go in,' was the wordless implication.
Daisuke, who had apprehensively thought Rifle Man was going to shoot him in the face, sighed silently in relief and nodded. He slowly shuffled through the open door (for the door had been opened by Rifle Man), and was greeted by a dimly lit cellblock that reeked of blood, urine, and…sex.
Daisuke swallowed. Uh-oh.
Daisuke jumped and turned. Beside him stood a guard with a cap on and his eyes shadowed. His voice was gruff and a cigarette poked out of the corner of his lips, spewing rivulets of smoke into the already dreary air. He leaned adjacent to the wall, arms akimbo and right leg bent against the stone idly, breathing his cigarette in calmly. "You new?"
Daisuke nodded wordlessly, eyes tracing over the guard's form. A police baton was strapped to his belt, along with a large ring of silver keys and a small black walkie-talkie; Daisuke looked past them and saw the brown handle of a handgun sticking out of a holster on the other end of his belt.
"Like my gun, do you?" the guard observed, having caught Daisuke's gaze on his belt. He unfolded his arms and pulled the gun from its holster, holding it out in front of his buckle. Running his thumb over the silver nose of the gun and rubbing circles above the trigger, he turned his head and watched the redhead intently. "It sure is hard, don't you think?" He grinned and slowly ran one hand along the gun's handle. "If you touch it just right, it goes boom." The grin grew lecherously, and the guard inched toward Daisuke until they were only a few inches away. "And then something just lovely comes out." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, putting Daisuke under the impression that he wasn't talking about his gun at all. In fact, it was something entirely different from his gun, if Daisuke's suspicions were correct.
"Ugh." Daisuke stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Get away from me, you sicko."
The guard glared at him evilly, still caressing his gun. "Humph. You don't mean that. You love me. You want to lick my gun with that tongue of yours." And the sick grin returned.
Daisuke stared at him incredulously. "No. I don't." He backed up a little, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. "Don't get near me, you pervert."
"Playing hard to get, are ya?"
Daisuke backed up a little more, beginning to get a little nervous. "Uh… Why don't you just show me to my cell?" This guy was seriously freaking him out…
"Your cell-" He inched closer. "-is my room." His smile grew. "You can bunk with me."
And just when the perverted freak of a prison guard made a move to grab Daisuke's arm, the door sprang open, smashing straight into his face.
"Eep," Daisuke eeped, jumping back from the stopped door and guard's fallen body. "I didn't do it."
"Glad to hear that. No one should do it with old Yayoi here. He's weird."
Daisuke looked up from the guard's twitching figure and raised his eyes to his savior. In the doorway stood a young man about his age – maybe a little older – with dark brown hair and cheerful chocolate eyes. He grinned at him, one small fang bared in Daisuke's direction, whilst giving the fallen guard a good kick in the thigh.
"But don't worry about him. He's harmless." The raven-haired man touched his hand to his head and grinned, friendly. "By the way, I'm Saehara. Guard Saehara Takeshi. I patrol Cellblock 6 – and I'm here to bring you to your cell, since sicko over here can't." He kicked the guard again.
Daisuke nodded slowly. "Okay."
Takeshi pulled a clipboard out from behind his back and scrolled his finger down a list Daisuke couldn't see. "Prisoner 0082495…" he murmured to himself, eyes following the descending digit as it moved down. "Zero zero eight two… Zero zero… Ah. Niwa Daisuke?" He glanced inquiringly at Daisuke, who nodded in affirmation. "Cell 608. Oh man… That can't be good…"
Daisuke's ears perked and his head swiveled madly to face Takeshi. "What can't be good? What's wrong?" His anxiety levels began to rise again in response to Takeshi's words. "What?"
Takeshi's eyes slowly trailed down Daisuke's body, making the redhead feel a trifle uncomfortable. He feared that this surprisingly nice man was another pervert, but to his relief, Takeshi quickly tore his eyes away and sighed. The guard made a clicking noise with his tongue and shook his head in pity. "Man, that sucks for you. So innocent-looking, too." He had murmured the last part to himself, but Daisuke had managed to hear it, if only barely.
"What?" Daisuke asked again, hoping to receive an answer.
"Nothing." Takeshi's voice had grown curt and business-like, the complete opposite of the lax, cheerful façade he had been showing Daisuke. "Nothing's wrong. Follow me, convict." He threw the last word out carelessly, not really meaning the bad denotation underlying the negative name.
But Daisuke quieted down at the word 'convict.' This was prison, he realized as he followed Takeshi down a stone path that ran adjacent to dozens of cells. He couldn't expect to be given answers he ignorantly asked for, from a guard of all people. He would need to shape up. The redhead lifted his chin and walked calmly after brunette, ignoring the many pairs of eyes that stalked him through the bars he had walked past.
Takeshi stopped and Daisuke followed suit. The shorter male stared up at the wall, where the sign "Cell 608" was painted. Below it was two pairs of numbers, each of them seven digits: 0183946, 0091637, 0027943, and Daisuke's number, 0082495. His own number's fresh coloring contrasted against the other three faded numbers, indicating that it was newly painted.
Takeshi's eyes darted between the wall and his clipboard until he nodded grimly. "This is your stop," he informed Daisuke with a precautious expression on his face. He detached a ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the dead bolt that secured the door to the wall, and slid the steel bars open. "Good luck," the guard stated with a tiny inkling of mirth in his eyes. He unceremoniously pushed Daisuke into the cell and locked it from behind, making the cheerful jingling of his keys ring through the air.
"Eh…" Daisuke stood rather stupidly in the middle of the seemingly empty cell, soaking in his surroundings.
His cell was a surprisingly comfortable place. Though the stone walls looked dank and depressing, it didn't rub off on the atmosphere, which seemed relaxed, and not at all forbidding. It was a fairly large cell, with the most basic of things scattered around its breadth. Pushed to the left and right sides of the room were two pairs of bunk beds, structured with some sort of silver metal and furnished with scratchy-looking sheets. Footlockers were positioned at the feet of the beds, two chests per bottom bunk, and situated against the far wall of the cell hung things that Daisuke was sure weren't supposed to be in a jail cell: a mirror, several hair brushes, a drawer, and a corkboard stabbed with thumbtack notes and adhesive post-its.
However, in the corner of the cell sat a toilet, a sight that made Daisuke blanch. He wasn't comfortable with his body as it was, and to have to…relieve himself in front of three other strangers – convicts of all people! – was a nightmare. Highly self-conscious of himself, he often used the stalls in public bathrooms, rather than the urinals.
Contemplating his problem at hand, the redhead barely heard the bars of his cell door slide open. It was the soft pace of graceful footsteps that alerted him of someone else's presence, and when the seemingly innocent sound reached his ears, he jumped in alarm. Slowly, he twisted his neck, his chest, his knees, and finally, the position of his feet until he was completely facing the intruder.
What his boob-tube-fueled mind expected was not what his large scarlet eyes saw. Instead of a large, scary man with scars and tattoos covering every inch of rough, misshapen skin, Daisuke stood before a tall, slender man about his age with pale, unblemished skin and iridescent hair the color of the sky. Stylish-looking glasses shielded his aquamarine eyes, giving him the intellectual look of a scholar, and his clothing, although an identical match to Daisuke's, were primly pressed and neat.
The man regarded Daisuke with blank eyes before turning away in disinterest. "Your bunk is that one," he informed him calmly, almost nicely, pointing at the bunk bed to his right. "You sleep on the top, and your footlocker is the one of the left. I expect the guards have put your belongings in it already; they've been swarming in and out of here all morning." The pale man strolled over to the set of beds across from Daisuke's and climbed into his own bottom bunk, setting his bottom onto it calmly and continuing his regard-this-stranger-in-my-cell game.
Daisuke nodded his thanks, wary of the now silent man sitting beside him. Did he have to keep staring at him like that? Oh no! What if he was 'checking him out – jailhouse style'?
Daisuke panicked, his inner self screaming and running circles in his head. What if the man with glasses wanted to…get close…to him? The redhead's eyes widened. What if he wanted to get…really close…to him? No, no, no! He did not want to become someone's bitch, just like in those movies and hit dramas. Sure, the blunette was a little handsome, and didn't look like he was able to inflict much pain or force on him…but Daisuke didn't want to engage in any…special relationships with him.
He didn't swing that way, thank you very much.
Daisuke escaped and righted his panicked fears, steadying himself resolutely and getting ready to glare at the slender man just in case he was still making eyes at him. He pulled his face into a scowl, baring is teeth and furrowing his eyebrows, fruitlessly trying to make himself seem less weak and vulnerable in front of his new cellmate. He directed this pathetic excuse of a protective mask toward the pale, slender man to his side, only to gasp, reel back in surprise, and drop it immediately.
The man was lying flat with his back pressed against the sheets of his mattress, his hands exploring freely and head cocking back in bliss. The thing was: there was another man on top of him, straddling his slim hips and sporting equally free, exploring hands. The two were all over each other – lips pressing against lips, tongue battling against tongue, uniform-clad body grinding against uniform-clad body – and it seemed as though they were connected by the mouth.
The tresses of a long, golden ponytail pooled over the dominant man's shoulders, dripping down his wife beater top and creating a thick river of gold atop the sheets. Daisuke also noticed that there was one lock of equally long hair – perhaps it was an overly-long bang, or perhaps it hadn't managed to be snared by the black hair tie that was holding up the rest of the plait – that flowed limply down the blonde man's forehead, dropping into the crook of the blunette's neck and melting into his cropped, crystalline hair.
Daisuke breathed out a sigh of relief. Okay. So Mr.-Stare-At-Daisuke-Creepily was taken. That was good. Neither he nor the blonde man would make any moves toward him (or at least he hoped so; the rules of fidelity had to be enforced in prison too, right?), and for that he was glad.
But then again… There were four numbers painted on the wall, four bunks, four footlockers, and a blackish-purple hairbrush sitting innocently on the surface of the bunk beneath Daisuke's. There was obviously a fourth person who belonged in this cell.
Daisuke gasped (within his head, so as to not interrupt his…busy…cellmates) and immediately went into panic mode once again. If the blue man and the yellow man were together, that meant only he and the fourth convict were left. Putting two and two together, Daisuke came up with one conclusion: he was doomed.
What if the last man was scary? Mean? Sex-crazed? What if he was forceful and abusive, and just plain insane (hey, he was in jail, after all)? Worst of all, what if the two mean making out beside him decided to feed him to this supposedly scary, mean, sex-crazed, forceful, abusive, and crazy man? Daisuke was too young to die! …And too straight to engage in sexual relationships with gay, horny criminals.
No! Daisuke could fight this! – would fight this. There was no way in hell he would ever let himself be lured into an illegitimate jailhouse romance. …And even if he did end up in one, at least he could say he had gone down fighting tooth and nail.
"Hey, new guy." A tap on the shoulder pulled Daisuke from his resolute musings, and he turned to face the speaker, cocking his head in bewilderment. It was the slim, bi-spectacled man again, though this time around, his hair was in a mild state of disarray and his formerly tidy uniform had been haphazardly rumpled and creased.
"Stop thinking to yourself. By the look on your face as you attempt to, it seems as though you're having a very hard time. Also, you space out completely. If you don't watch out and stay alert, someone might just come up and decide to rape you," the blunette warned rather bluntly, his eyes blank and emotionless.
The blonde man embraced his other from behind, nodding helpfully. Now that Daisuke got a good look at his face, he noticed that this man, too, was quite attractive. His face was angular, his features sharp, and his eyes narrowed like a feline's, their iris color matching that of his hair. "If I didn't have my Satoshi-sama, I would have jumped you myself." He nuzzled the shorter man's neck, as though demonstrating the point of his 'joke,' but the convincing tone of his voice and the unholy sparkle in his eyes made the hairs of Daisuke' neck stand on end.
"Al-alright then," Daisuke replied as he stuffed his hands into his pockets (for there was nothing else to do with them).
"Don't stutter," the blunette advised.
"Ah – yes. Thank you," Daisuke stated uncertainly, a flustered look flashing across his face.
"Don't say thanks or express gratitude of any sort, either – unless it's a sexy moan or giving head in the middle of sex," the blonde stately seriously, smirking devilishly as the smaller man within his arms rolled his aquamarine eyes.
"…M'kay…" Daisuke trailed off, tentative of what to say.
"Don't hesitate before talking."
"Don't put your hands in your pockets."
"Don't provoke the people bigger than you (which is everyone)."
This went on for what seemed like forever. Daisuke crossed his arms (he had taken his hands out of his pockets when the blonde man had warned him not to stick them in there) and resisted the urge to yell at them. Sure, they were more acquainted with the prison life, they were more experienced, and they seemed nice enough (for criminals, anyway), but all the advice they were spewing was boring.
When the most ridiculous thing humanly possible was said ("Don't eat yellow snow."), Daisuke growled lowly, having finally snapped. He uncrossed his arms irately, eye twitching and gentle face contorting with a mild scowl. "Listen here, you," he interrupted, referring to the both of them. "You've been helpful, but now you're just being stupid. I'd rather you not continue."
The blonde one fixed Daisuke with a smoldering stare, regarding him with narrow, bullion eyes. Then, a rather cheesy smile broke out on his sharp face, and he nodded energetically, his mood taking a complete 360-degree turn. "That was right what I was getting to. Don't be a wuss. Stand up for yourself." He reached out over the blunette's shoulder, patted Daisuke on the head, and rewrapped his arm around his boyfriend. "I hope you've learned your lesson," he stated not unkindly, like a teacher – something he was not – who actually had a lesson to teach – something he did not.
The blunette arched his neck up and placed a chaste kiss in the crook of the blonde's neck. However, the blonde had other ideas (none of them even remotely chaste), and once the embraced man pulled away from his neck, he swooped down and instigated yet another make out session. The pale man gladly obliged.
Blushing slightly at the spectacle before him, Daisuke politely turned his gaze, staring rather interestedly at an off-white stone amongst the rest of its gray brothers. It wasn't until a good-natured catcall rang through the air did he decide to look up.
"There's sex in the cell! Quick, quick, I must join!"
Daisuke ducked his head and barely glanced at the newest intruder before quickly averting his gaze. However, he managed to get a good look at his fourth cellmate despite his scant glimpse. Standing leisurely against the open bars of the cell door with his bare arms crossed stood a man about the blonde man's age, his striking face pulled into a derisive smirk. His slanted amethyst eyes glittered with an unspoken laughter, giving him a calm but cocky look. His hair, which stuck out in all directions but still managed to look kept, shone brightly with a mauve glint against his tousled sea of royal purple. Dressed casually in only a white wife beater and black slacks branded with his prison number, he was the epitome of charisma.
"Eh?" The purple-haired man arched an inquiring eyebrow and uncrossed his arms. "What's this?" His smirk grew wider. "New meat?"
The suspense hung suspended midair, thick enough to cut with a knife, and enthralling music filled the cell, enshrouding the already shady atmosphere with drama.
Oh yeah, Daisuke mused anxiously as the forbidding melody rang louder within his head. I've been watching too much TV.
Killah: And thus, the first chapter of my second DNAngel fic is complete. It be DarkxDai! Ahhhh/runs around in circles drooling/ Yaaaaayyyy! XDDD And yesh, yesh, I know: this chapter was pretty pointless – but fear not! This is merely a prologue! Introductions, infatuations, and bouts of insane pervertedness are yet to come! Yaaayy for pervertedness! Hee hee hee hee. xD
Don't forget to review!