On the eighth day of Christmas my True Love gave to me…

Eight maids a milking.

"A courier service? Like a delivery service?"

"Yes."

"For milk."

"Expensive milk."

"To lords."

"Yep."

"And I have to wear… that?" Emil gestured blandly towards what Colette was wearing. It wasn't ugly by any means, if that is what you're wondering. Many would say it's beautiful. The uniform—for it was a uniform—was originally based on the palace's maid outfits. It's colors were changed to pink and black with far too many white ribbons, in Emil's opinion. The only other white was around the bust area and shaped in such a way to, ah… accentuate certain elements of the female physiology.

He tried not to think about Marta, his best friend, running around in that. And she was—or had been. She and seven other girls had started a small business in Meltokio that was now flourishing. Emil, had been studying in Sybak and had come to visit at what was of course the worst time. Marta had fallen ill and they needed a replacement, and fast. Colette, one of the girls, had mistaken Emil as a girl, and though she had apologized profusely, the investor of the company, Zelos the Chosen of all people, had pointed out that with the right alterations Emil could easily take over Marta's job.

Emil would have said no except that if they did not deliver their reputation would drastically change for the worse, and that meant loss of customers.

So here he was with Colette, trying to work up the nerve to go through with this.

Colette looked worried, but quickly left so he could change. Emil was left alone with the monstrosity of an outfit and slowly sucked up his pride and started changing.

A few minutes later found Colette fixing the maid headband before stepping back and clapping her hands delightedly. "Wow! You look so good like that! Maybe better than I do."

Emil tried to smile but knew it wavered. He didn't blame Colette for her enthusiasm though, it was just her nature.

She handed him a list of the places and purchases before taking him to his cart. It was a small thing but cute for that. It had an umbrella stand for bad weather even, though he likely wouldn't be using it. It was manned by a… dog looking thing that had huge ears and came up to his shoulder. The cart was obviously colored after the dog, white and light blue.

"This is Sial. Sial, this is Emil. Sial is the oldest of Noishe's cubs and the calmest. He'll follow you as long as you walk like this." She took Sial's head and put it on her right shoulder and raise her right arm to Sial's neck.

And thus, Emil, armed only with his cart, a Protozoan, some deranged boy's idea of a kinky semi-gothic Lolita maid outfit, and some very expensive milk, set out to brave the world as one of the 'Milk Maids'.

To say it had gone off without a hitch might have been an understatement. Emil had been leered at by many people, had been groped twice, had a customer talk to his impressive but faux chest, had an entire crowd of boys has age wolf-whistle as he passed, and had been hit on by at least four guys, three of them customers. He was incredibly glad he had grown up in Luin and not Meltokio. If his Uncle saw him now…

Worse, Richter, his friend and upperclassman who he was staying with, was in the city. If Richter saw him he didn't know what he'd do. He prayed to Martel that they wouldn't run into each other.

If someone had told him Martel was a sick little yaoi fangirl with a penchant for matchmaking that was only topped by the twisted man she was having tea with, well, he would think twice before drawing her attention to him. And probably find a new deity.

So, on his last house he had rung the doorbell and, of course, Richter answered the door.

There was a tiny active voice in his head that seemed to be the only thing working (besides his ability to blush) that was screaming 'flee! FLEE!' at him.

Richter looked him up once, then looked back down, and dragged him in milk and all.

"Emil," he ground out in a tone that Emil knew meant that some fast talking needed to happen or thinks might die, "Why are you wearing that?"

"M-marta, sick, re-replacement." He managed to stutter out.

"Richter, who was-ah!" The man who Emil assumed to be Lord of this house stopped in the entry way to the foyer and stared at them, brows raised. "I am not quite sure that what I am seeing is correct but I would appreciate it, Richter, if you would not take advantage of the milk maid in my foyer."

Emil wanted to die.

It wasn't enough that Richter had found him out, no, they had to be caught it what Emil now realized was a very compromising position, with Richter pinning his upper arms to the door and their faces not very far apart at all.

The moment Richter's grip loosened slightly Emil was out the door, package placed inside the door, and bolting away with Sial as fast as he could in a dress.

Unfortunately he had to go home—well, Richter's mansion, where he was staying—in the outfit as that's where his clothes were seeing as the company's building was for storage of the milk and Sial and his siblings.

As soon as he walked through the door it slammed behind him and he turned—still in the outfit—to face Richter.

"Explain."

He got out an explanation as fast as he could through the mortification and the stuttering, all the while staring blankly at the carpet.

The next thing he knew he was staring at Richter's boots which were very, very close.

"Alright. I understand now. Luckily Lord Raymond Desmont was easily convinced you were a childhood friend I had lost track of years back."

Emil slowly brought his gaze up to Richter's face. Richter was staring at him coolly and yet… something about that look made something curl in his stomach.

"Y-you're not mad?"

"Mad is… not the proper word." And Richter leaned forward.

Emil was immediately reminded earlier when one of the customers had that same expression on his face and he whispered 'you look delicious' while leaning towards Emil.

"R-richter… I'm a guy."

Richter's green eyes flashed.

"I know." Oh, well. That changed… some things.

And damn it, if Richter was going to kiss him already he should do it because this slowly leaning in thing was doing terrible things to Emil's nerves.

"Richter-" And his pleading voice was swallowed by the other.

One bedroom later and Emil was now naked, panting, and completely sated. Slowly he stood up, careful of any further damage.

"And just where are you going?" And oh Martel did that voice do things to him. Hell, Richter's damn-near-growl had sent shivers up his back, and not to mention the affect it had on other places.

"I'm hanging the outfit up, I can't have it get messy." He resolutely did not turn around as he said this, knowing that if he so much as glanced as Richter splayed naked on the bed and no doubt staring at him he'd be gone in second.

Of course, he hadn't counted on Richter's new love of pinning him to doors, because as soon as he had closed the closet he felt Richter press up against him and place his hands on either side of Emil's body.

As the undeniable proof that Richter had a very short recovery time ground into him he made a mental note to thank Marta for getting sick. In a convoluted way; it was the best thing to ever happen to him.