Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

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Shampoo Boy, chapter 2

by Animom


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Joey flipped the deadbolt and yanked the salon door open.

"What the hell do you want?"

Kaiba glanced sourly at Joey's tight white t-shirt and black pants, then pushed past him into the salon. "I'm here to pick this up," he said, handing a slip of paper to Joey, which read 6 each thessaloniki sea shampoo and cdtnr.

"You gotta be kidding me," Joey said, locking the front door. He snatched a shopping bag from under the counter and walked into the darkness toward the salon's supply room. "Since when do you do errands?" Not expecting a reply, he snapped on the supply-room light and took down the box, then booted the computer.

"You need a computer to help you count?" Kaiba scoffed from the doorway.

"No, I need the computer to see how much money to charge you for this," he said as he transferred bottles from the box to the bag. He was determined not to let Kaiba get the upper hand, which meant staying calm.

Kaiba strolled over to the computer as Joey was putting the half-empty box of Thessaloniki Sea back on the shelf. "You call this a computer? It belongs in an antiques shop. Or a scrap heap."

"Well, Kaiba, not everyone needs top-of-the-line equipment to do their job. For what we do, it works." He elbowed Kaiba out of the way to check the price on the shampoo, then shut the computer down, picked up the shopping bag, and left the supply room, flicking the lights off with the small satisfaction of leaving Kaiba in the dark.

"So," Kaiba asked with his customary contemptuous half-laugh as he followed, "What is it that you do here? Clean the toilets?"

"Yep." Joey sat at the reception desk and started to write up a bill.

"Must be a relief that you found something you have the skills for."

Joey punched the adding machine, ignoring the goad. "One million, two hundred and forty-eight thousand yen." He shook his head as Kaiba took out a checkbook and began writing the check. It would take him months and months of being groped by customers – hell, maybe even a year – to get that much money, and yet Kaiba was dropping it on shampoo without blinking an eye.

As he took the check he saw Willoughby's copperplate handwriting on a faded piece of paper taped out of sight of customers: Si travay te bon bagay, moun rich ta prann l lontan. – If work were a good thing, the rich would've grabbed it a long time ago. "House painter, carpenter, cell phone salesman, cook, cleaner, landscaper, lifeguard, newspaper delivery, security guard, software tester ... and shampoo boy."

"What?"

"Just some of the things I've done besides clean toilets." Of course, no way in hell was he going to mention to Kaiba that, at his lowest point, he'd also spent two nights dancing in a loincloth at the GrapeVine, which led to a really really weird weekend as a spare flogger in a low-budget porn movie. He was pretty sure that desperation wasn't a concept that Kaiba could ever understand.

Kaiba seemed taken aback for a second, then clicked his pen, and put it and his checkbook back into his jacket. "Obviously you did none of those well, or you'd still be doing them."

"Most of them were helping friends out, or lucking into short-term gigs."

Kaiba turned to go.

"Don't forget Mokuba's shampoo," Joey said, holding up the shopping bag.

"Carry it to my car," Kaiba said, his back to Joey.

"Like hell," Joey said. "I'm not your slave."

"I'm a customer."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to kiss your ass."

Kaiba turned, disdainful, "But you would if I paid you to, is that it?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Kaiba smiled in a very unpleasant way. "Shampoo boy, eh?"

Joey grabbed the shopping bag and stormed around the counter. "Where's your car?" He knew damn well that it was parked in front of the salon, but he'd needed to say something.

"Out front." Kaiba put his hand over the deadbolt, seemingly daring Joey to tussle with him if he wanted to unlock the door. "I hope your shampooing is better than your dueling."

"Even better. Now quit screwing around and move your hand."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Lather me up, shampoo boy," Kaiba said with a sneer.

"No way in hell." Joey tugged at Kaiba's arm, but he was immovable.

"Afraid to?"

"Afraid? What a – " Joey dropped the shopping bag. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just finish this stupid head-game so that I can go home." He strode to the sinks, started running the water, and grabbed a towel. He heard Kaiba walk towards him, cloth rustling as he took off his jacket and tie and shirt and set them on a chair.

He ground his teeth as Kaiba sat down. He wasn't sure if he was more angry or nervous to have Kaiba sitting there, taunting him in his undershirt, but either way if he lost it then Kaiba would win. All he needed to do was pretend that Kaiba was just like any other customer, and do his job. At least he didn't have to worry about being groped.

He folded the towel and slid it around Kaiba's neck and under his hair. "Lean back." Nope, there was no Kaiba here, there was just a head of hair that needed to be wetted. Medium coarseness, medium thickness. Completely and totally average, really, which struck Joey as funny.

'What?" Kaiba asked sharply.

"Nothing. You have a favorite brand of shampoo?"

"No." Kaiba frowned, as if the question was distasteful, and then said, "Nothing scented."

"Alright." Joey poured the salon's hypoallergenic house brand into his palm, rubbed his hands together to coat his fingers, and then began to work the shampoo into a lather.

Once he'd got past his initial embarrassment, he'd found that he looked forward doing shampoos. The feel and squelchy sound of the sudsy hair, the soft hiss of the running water, the thin skin of the scalp such a delicate protection for the hard skull beneath – it always took him out of himself, like meditation. He'd done it enough that he now had his routine perfected, alternating scalp massage with combing the lather through the hair with his fingers, mixing it up here and there by rubbing light circles on the customer's temples with his thumbs.

And then Kaiba shifted impatiently and cleared his throat, and Joey realized that he was getting carried away.

He quickly rinsed the hair, applied minimal conditioner, worked it though, then took a second towel and began to dry Kaiba's hair. After a few seconds Kaiba sat up, his back ramrod straight. Joey took a wide tooth comb, and, feeling mischievous now, stood in front of him to comb the brown bangs straight back, away from Kaiba's face. "Wow, you look like a whole different person."

"Done?" was all the brunet said. When Joey nodded Kaiba stood, put his shirt and tie and jacket back on, walked to the front, picked up the shopping bag, flipped the deadbolt, and left.

He didn't touch his hair the entire time.

Joey developed a slow grin as he wiped out the sink, and laughed out loud as he tossed the damp towels into the hamper. He got it. He'd treated Kaiba like any other customer, and Kaiba hadn't resisted because it seemed that, for all his arrogance and bluster, underneath it all he was like a lot of them. Hell, maybe he even understood desperation. What had Willoughby said? "Most of them are so lonely, you know. They just need a little touch, now and again. A little chance to be a little naughty."

As he locked up the salon and started the walk home, he pulled out his cell phone and, still grinning from his victory, pressed Willoughby's number. He wasn't surprised to get voicemail – Willoughby had said something about taking Randolph out clubbing – so after the beep he said simply, "This is Joey. I thank you now."

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~ The end ~

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Author's Notes

¥ 1,248,000 comes to about $100 USD per bottle.

There are shampoo videos on YouTube. Just closeups. Of shampooing. With descriptions of "lots of close-up hair action" and notes about when various shampoo phases happen (e.g., "creme rinse at 5:47"). I find this fetish oddly charming for some reason. Surprising what happens when you google "shampoo boy" and then follow the free links from that site.

The GrapeVine existed in Chicago in the mid-70s.

P.S. I happen to like this chapter "as is", but for those "unsatisfied" with this ending, there is an expanded version on AFF with an additional scene.

A thank-you to my beta Rroselavy.

Idea: 21 July 2010
(05) 19 Feb 2011