Due to some unforeseen circumstances, Mira finds himself starring in one of his Papa's movies. As my little brother requested, he gets a PTKITD fic for his 18th birthday. Much love to ya, runt. (You may be taller then me but you will always be the runt I knew begging me to read Mom's comic books to you. -sticks out tongue-) Reviews are chock full of gooey nougat goodness.

Disclaimer: Noooo...Mira and Kyousuke aren't my creations...I guarantee you if that was the case there would have been more then two goddamn OVAS...




"We'll need a stand in—"

"We don't have the BLOODY time for a stand in! Someone needs to be "Florence li Ashware" or this movie doesn't go into production!"

Mira frowned noticeably, surveying from the front row of the gathering spectators as the director slapped a man with a headset on the noggin with a rolled up script. Wow. Did Kyousuke have to bother with pests like him all the time? He began to wonder how his Papa dealt with it. And how long would this thing go on? The fifteen-year-old pushed up his sleeve, frowning this time at his wristwatch.

"And it is IMPOSSIBLE to find a decent actress in THREE minutes time with the PERFECT tomboyish figure—!"

The dinner date would have to be delayed. The restaurant won't appreciate that call.

"You might as well RANDOMLY PICK a bloody someone from the crowd for these last scenes—!" As the livid director waved his megaphone out to the chattering mass ogling the fancy Hollywood lights and glamour of the set, his slate gray eyes behind his Armani-chic glasses zoned on the purple haired teen looking at his watch and digging in his pants pocket for his cell. "That one! GRAB THAT ONE! QUICKLY!"

It was at that moment— crying out surprised as one of the security men nearest his left side, the one with the kanji on his triceps, snatched Mira up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of lightweight vegetables— banging his fists weakly on the underside of the brute's upper thigh as he was hauled and tossed into a dressing trailer— that he realized the phone call was not happening any time soon.

Mira gulped as two overweight women circled him inside the trailer, feeling very much like a piece of packaging meat as they raked their eyes up and down his petite frame with a preciseness that caused his arms to break out into goose bumps. "I actually don't think the wig will look terrible with his complexion. We'll just darken his eyelashes so it'll be look feminine." The one with bottle dye red hair up in a single ponytail winked in his direction. She wiggled the elegant yellow wig in front of his face as he winced at the invasion, "You are quite the looker, toots. You got a name?"

The dressing trailer door shot open as the women managed to back him into a chair, pouring in sunshine and additional hot white fluorescent lighting.

"Stop flirting with the kid and get him on set PRONTO!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Toddy." The other woman— with what looked like a markered-in beauty mark over the crest of her upper lip— remarked with a devious smile at the director who huffed.

Mira jumped in place when the door slammed shut, squeaking. He was then forced into girl's clothing (a stylishly-cut burgundy dress with a thick button-up blouse to hide his observably flat chest, a wide brimmed white hat pinned to his corkscrew blonde wig to be exact) and shoved out of the leveled trailer.

"Okay, your role is very simple…!" The same security man with the tattoos caught him mid-air to hoist him back onto his shoulder. Mira gave up struggling and instead glanced around frantically for a glint of golden brown hair before his face was pinched by the very forceful and meaty fingers of the director, "…listen! You are "Florence li Ashware" a beautiful and helpless acquaintance to our main character "Ben Jowett". You are going to be tortured by the bad guys…given that Benny boy gets there in time…"


The teenager groaned when he impacted the plastic-like ground of the movie set unkindly, landing out with his legs crooked and adjusting the frilly hem of the dress over his momentarily exposed lap. His violet eyes bugged out as a ominous-looking stranger in a lab coat with a very sharp needle hovered over him.

"Let's see some torture! ACTION!"

"WHAT!" Mira screamed. He felt his heart hammer fearfully against his ribcage, every piece of him distorting with adrenaline. But, paralyzed, he stared at the needle's slow descent on him.

Are they…serious…?

He braced himself for a puncturing sensation, stinging, deep concentrating pain, anything to come. And got nothing. Mira cracked open an eye timidly.

In place of the ominous man with the needling stood a heavily panting Kyousuke. The stranger now laid on the floor confused, nursing a bruised cheek.

"Don't worry. I've got you now." He flashed a dazzling smile at the trembling boy. Kyousuke immediately gathered him into his arms, squeezing him once lightly. Mira pressed himself closer to his Papa's chest, hiding his face into the satin costume vest, and felt them go up into the air. His hands dug deeper, seeking purchase of stability.

When he felt solid ground again, Mira looked up. Calmly, Kyousuke undid the hidden straps of his harness, releasing the boy.

"The bad guys are OFF SET! Now it's time for the kiss scene! Let's make this FAST— We have a DEADLINE, everyone!"

"Are you ready?" Kyousuke asked, again flashing that exceedingly dazzling smile as he corrected Mira's tilting hat. Wordlessly, the boy stared.


The director waved wildly with one hand, shrieking into his megaphone, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAND…...ACTION!

His vision quadrupled to four suddenly very concerned Kyousukes. His world then went black.




Needless to say, the dinner date was delayed.

More accurately by three and a half hours.

When they could finally get reservations by with the unconvinced manager, and few drinks for the booth (for his nerves, Mira snuck a few gulps of Kyousuke's alcoholic beverage when he wasn't looking—or so he assumed he hadn't been caught— Kyousuke never brought it up later) for the booth, Mira's patience was nearing an ugly end.

It did not help the matter that after the teenager finally woke from his fainting fit that his appetite had shrank away— the opportunity to be alone with his father figure and lover seemed to be dulling bleakly as some lady fans of Kyousuke's films incidentally found their location in the building.

"Aww…who is this with you, Kyousuke-sama?" One of fans giggled behind her hands. She glanced sideways at a stone faced Mira.

"My dinner date."

He added to Kyousuke's declaration with an extremely hateful glare, aiming at the flock of women swarming nearer and appearing unaffected by his attitude, "He's my Papa." Mira sneered, threading his fingers through his plum-colored hair at a chorus of "SO sweeeet!" and "How cuuuute!"

And why the HELL was Kyousuke smiling at their drooling, money-hungry faces and not telling them to get lost…!

The woman with the tacky cherry print purse who had previously acquired about Mira's presence at the table turned back to him. The upset boy decided right then and there he hated her and her tackiness. She would never look good with Kyousuke. At all. Her and her tacky red lipstick smeared upper teeth. Her and her tacky cherry red scarf.

"It must be so interesting to have been adopted by such a handsome and young Daddy. What do you want to be when you grow up, sweetie, an actor too?"

And he was really hating the pet names. The sneer returned on Mira full force.

"I am going to be Papa's bride when I grow up."

Mira flung his unfolded napkin onto the booth-top, storming for the men's bathroom as a chilly, off silence drifted behind him. Alone, he let out an angry howl that echoed, bouncing off tacky polished silver sinks that weren't really silver at all. Tacky onyx stone stall walls. Tacky fake gold border mirrors. Tacky. Tacky. TACKY!

He ended up locking himself into the second-to-the-last stall. Mira leaned against the cool stones for a few minutes of silence.

"Mira?" The black painted metal door jiggled a moment. "Mira?"

"Did they leave?" Mira whispered.

Kyousuke's voice answered him, "You accomplished what you wanted. If you aren't going to leave the stall, can I at least come in there to talk to you?"

"No. I'm using it," he lied.

"I can wait."

Kyousuke waited for the flush and the sound of the door unhinging. He stepped in, taking up the last bit of space available and closed the stall door himself.

"Why didn't you get rid of those girls when they showed up in the first place? Do you LIKE the attention or something!" His son accused.

"That wouldn't have been very polite, even if they weren't welcome," Kyousuke traced his fingertips softly across his clenched jaw, sighing sadly, "They didn't know any better."

"And that excuses them? NO! This was MY night with you…!" The boy knew he sounded childish, and fought back those childish feelings as well as tears as his Papa shushed him, hugging them together. Their bodies formed a single, complex line against the stone wall. The man placed a dry lingering kiss on his son's wrinkling forehead.

"I'm sorry this evening didn't go as smoothly as we planned…I promise to make it up to you…" The golden brown haired man chuckled as Mira tightened the hug fiercely.

Kyousuke murmured with his lips to Mira's skin, "…hey…" His lips slide down to Mira's eager ones. The teenager moaned, pleading for more as Kyousuke coaxed his tongue to dance along his. His Papa slipped a free hand underneath Mira's dress shirt to grope along the warm, ticklish flesh of his stomach.

"Ahhh…" Against skillful fingers getting steadily lower, Mira jerked his hips forward. "ah…Kyousuuuke…"


The stranger coming into the men's bathroom called out with a nervous tone, footsteps backing away, "didn't mean to intrude…sorry…"

Mira growled, thwarted, banging the back of his skull against the stall wall, both embarrassed—and to the cruelest irony— strongly aroused.

"Maybe it is about time we head home."




His little boy had a certain pattern to him. Especially when it came to what he was cooking in the moment.

Cooking noodles meant Mira was content.

Omelets meant the exact opposite.

On the sixth brown chicken egg, cracked open with a violent hand gesture against the rim of the robin blue kitchen bowl, Kyousuke decided that it was time for his son to call it quits. Grunting, he unhooked his green tie from his shirt collar, walking up behind the distracted teenager, and thrust an arm around him to switch off the stove.

"Hey!" Mira protested as the older collected him up awkwardly, carrying him away, "Kyousuke, they'll spoil!"

"We won't eat all of them anyway." Kyousuke pointed out, seating the purple haired boy on the low countertop. "Still angry, my little Mira?" He wanted to smile at how cute it was when the fine dusting of pink surfaced across Mira's cheeks. "Want to talk about with your Papa?"

"I…" Violet eyes lowered shamefully. "I feel sometimes…that I'm only second in your life. Just an extra burden to your career…you are so busy…and…" Mira hesitated as golden brown eyebrows arched up shocked, and his Papa embraced him. "Kyousuke?"

"You've never been second in my eyes." He held his son so tensely that the boy squirmed but he did not complain at the weight, or sudden show of affection. "Oh my Mira, you will always be the first thing on my mind when a new day starts. Have you always felt this way? Why wouldn't you say something to be about how you were feeling?"

Mira mumbled sullenly, "I don't want you to stop acting…I know you like it…I just…want you to myself…more…"

"You have me now." Kyousuke pulled away from him. With a straight face, he edged his hands up Mira's opened thighs covered only by thin green shorts, as the teenager inhaled sharply at the inviting desire in gold-brown eyes. "As a matter of fact…to make everything up, you have me all of me for the rest of the night."

"…do I?" As his Papa leaned to lick a line of sweat traveling down the column of his throat, Mira hummed in his stupor, "…that's good news then."

"What would you like me to do for you then?"

The teen gulped a golf-ball sized lump down in his throat. "F…f…"

"What was that?"

Kyousuke revealed his grin he had been holding back when his blushing son fidgeted and struggled to form coherent words, and exhaled pleased when Mira pushed away that shyness by pushing his body forcefully against his. "Please fuck me," he groaned.

His loving Papa, of course, obliged.