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Mistaken Identity	By : TheKaytla Category: InuYasha > Yaoi - Male/Male > Sessh?maru/Miroku > Sessh?maru/Miroku Views: 3727 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the series Inuyasha, nor its characters. They are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 1
- 2
Chapter One

Head down and shoulders hunched defensively, hands shoved deep into his pockets, Miroku all but stomped along the street. He glared at anyone who looked happy, and purposely shunned anyone who looked coupley, privately wishing them all the misery in the world.

Taking a leaf out of his best friend's book, he decided today was a heaping pile of shit. Before he even left for work, his girlfriend had sent him a text message, breaking up with him. A text message! What kind of heartless, soulless woman dumped a man by text message?

And her reason? He looked around too much. Looking was fine! Everybody said so! It was touching that was the bad thing. It had taken it a while to really sink in, but he had that down now. No matter how tempting, he wasn't going to touch. But a man was allowed to look. It was like dangling a steak in front of a dog and expecting him not to look!

He hadn't sent a message back. He'd been too angry. He preferred to have that discussion when he was fully in control of himself and could fully unleash his ire to the best of his abilities. Instead, he'd left the house and climbed into his car... only to find that it wouldn't start.

Miroku was a man with a wide range of knowledge on a variety of subjects, but unfortunately, mechanics wasn't one of them. Who wanted to fiddle around with a dirty car and get covered in all that nasty grease? He knew the basics, as much as anyone else did, but after jiggling a few things, and poking a few others, he decided it wasn't a problem he could fix himself and resolved to find another way to get to work.

The public transport system was a nightmare. He was squashed in so tight he felt like a sardine must live in luxury, and someone too close for comfort probably hadn't seen a shower in weeks. By the time he scrambled off the bus, he felt decidedly hot, bothered, unclean, very, very unhappy and was twenty minutes late for work.

His mood was further worsened when his boss yelled at him, first for being late (although he had called in and explained why, but apparently that wasn't a good enough excuse for the cantankerous old bastard) and then again for losing a client because he'd been too distracted and pissed off to play nice properly on the phone.

By the time he left work, he was angry enough that he was seriously reconsidering his plan to wait until he was calm to call his ex-girlfriend. Dumping all his venom on her seemed like a good way to lift his downtrodden spirits. Clutching his phone inside his pocket, he was almost dialing her number when he suddenly heard it: singing.

Miroku paused and looked around, realising he'd unconsciously walked into his local club district. Evidently his subconscious had been trying to make him feel better, he thought, and cracked his first smile of the day; a few hours watching the pretty girls dance, dancing with any who were willing, always made him feel better. There was music, and singing, all around him, but that one voice was tugging at him like a siren's song, sending a tingle down his spine he usually only felt when he laid eyes on a particularly hot girl.

He started forward again, searching. He wasn't quite in deep enough to have reached the strip clubs and lapdance joints (his usual haunts when he needed a pick-me-up), but there were nightclubs and gentleman clubs (not the stripping kind, but for pursuits such as gambling) dotted here and there among the other commercial properties and the few, unfortunate residential buildings.

The voice remained indistinct, almost like a murmur, but he could still tell that it was slow and sensual - a romantic song, or intimate at the very least. The voice was a little deeper than he usually liked on a girl, but that somehow became part of what made it so intriguing. He walked further, and finally he was able to pick up the soft strumming guitars that entwined perfectly with the voice. He smiled again; getting closer to the prize.

But where was it? Besides the nightclubs, with the pulsing music that almost drowned out his siren, the buildings around him were fairly nondescript. No signs nearby boasted of showcasing such a fantastic and alluring voice.

Miroku kept hurrying forward until suddenly he realised the voice seemed to be coming from behind him. He stopped, turned back around, and frowned. None of the buildings nearby looked anything like a club. It was mainly shops, with one dark - hopefully soundproofed - house on his left. Where was his mystery voice coming from?

With his anger not far away, Miroku began to get frustrated. Determined not to lose it in the street, he closed his eyes, focusing on that one voice and trying to block out the rest of the noise pollution around him.

It didn't help him determine what, exactly, was being sung, but it did make it seem like the voice was coming from... below? His eyes popped open and he looked down instead of up at buildings. Sure enough, on the right side of the street, he noticed a lit window that had to be what he was looking for underneath, appropriately, a liquor store.

Miroku grinned, his frustration melting away. What a naughty girl his singer must be, performing in a secret, underground club. Wasting no time, Miroku hurried over, all but running down the stairs and thanking his lucky stars there wasn't even a single person in line to get in. He was stopped by a bouncer before he reached the door, but at that moment, Miroku didn't care.

Through the single, slightly hazy window, he could see her. She stood alone onstage but for the presence of a drummer and a single guitarist, the three of them working together to create a slow, sensual number with a heady beat made for having sex to. An outfit of uniform black hid her body and, most importantly, her figure from him, but Miroku didn't mind much. He'd enjoy discovering what treasures she had underneath another time. She was tall enough that he was certain she must be wearing incredible heels, though he couldn't quite tell.

Her skin was too perfectly pale and clear to be compared to alabaster; too perfect, perhaps, to be attributed to any cosmetics. The slender hand that gripped the microphone, with its long, perfectly manicured nails, gave weight to that assumption, for it was not a shade different from and just as perfect as the skin of her face. That hand held particular fascination for Miroku, curled around the mic as it was; the lecherous part of him imagined it curled around a specific part of him instead, and said part instantly sat up and took notice.

He quickly tore his eyes away and adjusted himself carefully before it became a problem, shifting his attention to other portions of the feast before him.

A long sheet of silver flowed down to her thighs, spilling over the shoulder closest to him, practically glittering in the low light and obscuring most of her face. Of what he could see, there was fine bone structure evident in the high, sweeping cheekbones and perfectly proportioned nose, and even in the delicately pointed ears. A bold slash of magenta covered the one eyelid not hidden, the only make-up he could see, and when that eye opened, he saw it was a startling amber-gold.

Just as he began to start undressing his sexy siren in his mind, the bouncer put a hand on his shoulder and snapped him out of it.

"Sir?" the man inquired, and from his tone and expression, Miroku guessed it wasn't the first time he'd tried speaking to him. He had enough grace to flush a little.

"Ah... sorry. I was a little distracted. I'm sure you can understand." He gave his most winning smile, but when the bouncer seemed unimpressed, he let it falter. "Uh... so... I'd like to get in..."

"Thirty," the bouncer replied stonily.

"What?! That's daylight robbery!"

"That's how much it costs," he said unsympathetically.

Muttering to himself about blatant theft, Miroku fished for his wallet and opened it up, his stomach sinking. Damn, not enough. He looked up to smile weakly at the bouncer, mouth opening to start spinning what Inuyasha called his Grade A Bullshit, but he was cut off immediately.

"No money, no entry."

"Oh, come on... Surely you can make an allowance...?" The steely glare he received was answer enough, and Miroku sighed. "All right. Well, then, can you at least tell me the singer's name?"

The bouncer considered him in silence, until Miroku began to wonder if the unpleasant man was going to say no just to spite him. But finally, he relented. "That's Se."

"Se?" Miroku murmured to himself. How mysterious. It only intrigued him more. "Does Se sing here often?"

"Yeah."

Not very talkative, Miroku thought. "Any set days...?"

"No."

Miroku sighed. "Well, thanks, I guess..."

The bouncer gave a barely perceptible nod, the only friendly gesture so far, and Miroku headed back onto the street after one last, longing look through the window at Se.

He could come back another time, he reasoned, trying to keep his mood buoyant. And maybe he'd bring Inuyasha next time. It was obvious Se was a youkai, with those ears and her exotic colouring, and they did give her a resemblance to Inuyasha. It was highly probable, then, that she was inuyoukai, too, and thus his friend might now her, or at least of her.

With his spirits picking up again, Miroku began whistling as he walked. It was just a shame it was too late to call Inuyasha now; he wanted the hanyou's help, not to piss him off and make him belligerent. He'd probably also have to promise to pay Inuyasha's entry fee to get him to agree, but Miroku decided it would be worth it for a shot at getting closer to Se.

As he flagged down a bus, Miroku could barely contain his excitement over the potential chase and inevitable capture of his beautiful singer. The poor girl, youkai or not, wouldn't even know what hit her, he thought, grinning.

Settling into his seat and stretching out his legs, he decided today wasn't so shitty after all.

____________________

A/N: Yeah, so, once again, this is Demitria Miriam's fault. We were talking about something - I don't even remember what, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't in regards to any of the Inuyasha characters in drag/female/mistaken for female - and I swear, she has some kind of voodoo she uses on me in secret, because this idea popped up.

Regardless of how completely random it is, and how random it was that I thought of it, I'm enjoying it and it's coming along nicely. I'm probably at least halfway through the third chapter, and I'll put the second up next Friday.

This story will have its serious moments, but generally is just a bit of fun for me.
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Mistaken Identity