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xxxHolic for beckymarie

MK

Oh god, this sucks, doesn't it?

His mother used to say that any employment was good employment, but Watanuki had decided that his kids could be picky. The way things were going, he might never get the chance to propagate the species, and even then he'd have to be sure he wouldn't pass on his family curse.

Yuuko, he was sure, wasn't what his mother would typically categorize as an employer. She was more like a slave-driver. Sure, he got paid, but the work he did was like prostitution – selling his body into humiliation for a few bucks.

The housework was fine. Cooking? No problem. It was a little weird, but if he said so himself, he really was very good at it. No, the real humiliation was in the field.

On a regular basis, Watanuki had to cross-dress, don cutesy hats, kiss people (Ew, ew, ew, don't think of that and Doumeki ever again!) and nearly die. Sometimes he even had to chase cute girls ( but none as cute as Himawari-chan, of course!) and then be violently, horribly shot down.

Today was the worst. It was like Yuuko had spent a week thinking up the most horrible things to do to him and then combined them in weird ways and packed them all into one day.

First, she'd put him into a small, cramped room with a dress and the demon twins. Alone. As soon as the door had closed, they had pounced, pulling at the collar and buttons of his school uniform and making comments like "He's a fetish doll! Fetish doll Fetish doll". Every terrible, dirty, terrifying phrase turned to sing-song and eventually rhymed so they'd be sure to stick in his head for a week. By the time he'd built up a resistance, it was too late. They had already accomplished their mission.

Watanuki was dressed like a girl. And not even so people wouldn't recognize him or anything. No, he was just incredibly uncomfortable and wearing what Yuuko told him was "An excellent reproduction French Maid uniform a friend made me! You'd better be good, because it was hell to get your measurements. Oh, and the cost will come out of your pay."

Watanuki sometimes wanted to get fired.

And then that bastard Doumeki was there with a new expression to add to his repertoire of one, and it did not make Watanuki happy. The bastard was smirking at him! Worse still, he had given him a kind of lazy, slow once over, nodded to Yuuko and said, "Yes, he really does make a very cute maid."

Watanuki sometimes wanted to scream.

If they were looking for ways to make him commit suicide, they were getting closer.

"What do you mean I have to wear this in public!"

"Hardly anyone will be there. You're over-reacting."

"Hardly! What counts as 'hardly'!"

"You, Doumeki, Himawari-chan and of course, Mokona."

Ah, he had died. He had died right in the middle of Yuuko's shop. Death was kind.

"Oi, next time, I want extra daikon in my lunch as a fainting-fee."

"I didn't faint!" Watanuki ground out. He was completely red, partly thanks to walking somewhere dressed like—"Fetish doll, Fetish doll!" his mind chimed in – like… a prostitute. He tugged at the skirt in an attempt to cover more skin, but it just bounced back up. No thanks to Doumeki for any help, either, before or after he had passed out. Bastard had some kind of cross-dressing kink.

Oh god, ew. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think-

"Fetish doll, Fetish doll!"

One day, Watanuki would kill someone.

He loved Himawari-chan. He really did, but even he could see that her judgement was sometimes flawed. Like her admiration of Doumeki. Or right now.

"Watanuki-kun, you look so cute! I'll have to ask Yuuko-san who made that dress for you!"

How do you reply to a comment like that from the girl you're interested in?

"He's probably the best model they'll ever have."

"Shut up! I'm not modeling! Shut up!"

Mokona opened his big mouth and out popped, in a miniature sphere hovering mid-air maybe a meter across, another universe. Or something. Watanuki was sketchy on the details and wanted it to stay that way.

"So what do we do, Himawari-chan?"

"Yuuko-san said—" She paused, smiled at him, and for the first time, Watanuki felt some fear of her. She looked just as sweet and cute and wonderful as always, but… "Doumeki-san should stand on the other side, yes…"

One moment he was facing Doumeki (disgustingly normal looking in his casual clothes compared to this itchy, poufy, scanty… 'dress') across the mini-universe, and the next he was falling through it and landing face first, mouth-to-mouth with his rival.

The universe was gone. "Agh! Ew! Agh! What the hell was that!"

But Doumeki was already on his feet, scooping up that alcohol-chugging black thing and walking away, chatting with Himawari-chan.

"Hey!"

"Extra pay?" Yuuko's look was pain and death, sharp-edged and dangerous. "For what?"

"For having to kiss Doumeki!"

"No one said you had to kiss him," Yuuko's slow smile arched into a creepy grin. "You just had to touch through the universe." She paused, thinking for a moment and nodding seriously to herself. "Yes, the spirit energies there were imbalanced, so we needed the two of you to moderate them… This may really have been the best way. I'll have to send Himawari a thank-you present."

"She wanted one of those maid costumes," Doumeki spoke up. He was lounging around like he owned the place. Bastard. Twice now he'd had a nasty experience with that creepy, monotone asshole and twice Himawari-chan had seemed to support it.

"I may have you do that again—"

"HELL NO!"

"I'm fine with that."

"You're so helpful, Doumeki."

"Help yourself off a cliff!"

"Watanuki, we need to celebrate! Lobster with clarified butter and—champagne!"

"THERE'S NOTHING TO CELEBRATE!"