Break Time 4: Hair A Burnt!Te Production 9/98 Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, they'd probably be pretty fucking sore by now. Spoilers: Not a single one. Summary: Langly needs a haircut. Ratings Note: NC-17 for language and smut. Author's Note: Another happyfun night with Pretty Pretty Dawn Pares. Starts off weird... well, you know the drill. Acknowledgments: To Pretty Pretty for being such an inspirational-type hunnibunnibananaface. To Spike for her usual fine, fine beta. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Break Time 4: Hair by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Daddy793: I had 170 messages in that Inbox! SkaLab6066: Horror. I dare not count my mail. Daddy793: It's a skeery thing, Pretty Pretty. SkaLab6066: It's hard. Daddy793: What kind of story would you like to hear, if I could get the story motors working? SkaLab6066: Something light hearted. Tomfoolery. Langly getting a hair cut. Or giving one. To anyone at all. Daddy793: SkaLab6066: Helping that oxygen get to your brain. Daddy793: Daddy793: "Shit." Byers looked up from the latest issue of Architectural Digest to find Langly grimacing at the ragged ends of a hank of his own hair. "What's wrong?" SkaLab6066: Quiet night and quiet stars quiet chord from my guitar floating on the silence that surrounds us quiet thoughts and quiet dreams quiet walks by quiet streams and a window that looks out over Corcovado o how lovely SkaLab6066: I love you. SkaLab6066: < Daddy793: "I have to get a haircut." "You have to do *what*?" It was inane, but for the life of him John couldn't remember the other man *ever* getting that messy, shameless, soft and... well, he couldn't remember him going to get shorn. Langly just scowled until John felt a blush beginning to creep out from under his robe. "OK, OK, you need to get a haircut. What's the problem?" "The guys at the shop keep threatening to shave it off. It gets old." John's mouth tightened a bit. He knew Langly well enough to know the answer to the next, logical question -- why don't you find a new shop? -- was somewhere in the dark, nasty pit of Don't Ask. There were boundaries. He could respect boundaries, and he could suddenly see the scene very clearly: Beefy old men, dirty t-shirts, dirtier mirrors. The sort of testosterone - heavy ribbing Langly could trot out at a moment's notice, but probably wasn't quite... safe... from himself. //Hell.// "You know, Langly..." "What?" A little too sharp, but that was all right. Langly knew *him* well enough to make the run of John's thought bell-clear and infuriating. "I've got some clippers and scissors and stuff in my kit. Mostly for my beard but --" He was cut off by a firm, possessive palm cupping his cheek, rubbing just-this-short of maddeningly against the grain. It was easy to forget just how fast Langly could move when the mood struck him. "You wanna cut my hair, Princess?" John caught himself about to nuzzle mindlessly into the palm and resolutely looked up into the oddly shallow hazel eyes. Shallow was perhaps the wrong word, but that was the impression. Like a country swamp. Thick and ominous with grandpa's endless tales of escaped killers and pale, pale green... //This isn't helping me focus.// "Well, I mean, only if you'd like me to." "You've done it before?" "Cut hair?" //My, I'm an idiot this morning. Next time, he doesn't get to sleep without getting me off at *least* twice.// Langly snorted and ran a thumb over John's lower lip. Pressed hard, but not quite the pressure that meant "open up and suck." John wasn't sure whether to be confused or angry at the depth and scope of his training. "Yeah, John. Cut hair." John looked up into a smug little smirk and began to feel the familiar heat and heft below his beltline. "Would you..." He really couldn't stop himself from trailing off to run a fast tongue over his lip and the teasing thumb. Right one. Subtle callous from the space bar. Not salty enough. "Would you trust me to do it?" The hand immediately left his mouth and gripped his shoulder hard and he was being kissed exactly how he wanted to be. Langly was ruthless in his own need and it was a fine thing... a fine thing to be needed. Langly broke the kiss with a taunting, promising bite and crouched before him, squeezing his shoulder rhythmically. "Yeah. I trust you, Princess." John grinned as wickedly as he knew how. "You ought to watch those Princesses with the man who'll shortly be wielding scissors around your head." But he'd forgotten Langly's *other* hand which now had him -- quite firmly -- by the balls. Rolling a little. John moaned, slid down a little farther in the chair.... But all Langly did was look at him. "Like I said... I trust you." And that hand was gone. John forcibly shook off the stunned glaze of lust and made his way into the bathroom, fully aware that Langly was behind him, fully aware that his ass was being thoroughly scrutinized. "How do you want to do this?" "Hmmm..." John looked around the neat little bathroom. The operative word was little, though, and there was no way this would be anything but awkward. A goose made him yelp. "Well...?" "Do you hit on *all* your barbers?" Langly sidled up behind John and pulled him close. "Nah, just the ones with..." Clever fingers digging lightly into his hipbones, pulling him closer still. "Cute..." A slow, deliberate grind that made John start looking around for something to brace himself against. "... little..." Sharp little bites at his nape. "... noses." "What?" And then Langly was pulling off again and settling himself on the edge of the tub. "Noses, Princess. I like your nose. I think it would be best if I sat here while you did your thing, don't you?" John had a brief moment to weigh the pros and cons of homicide, but settled for nodding curtly at his lover and plucking the kit from the third shelf -- second item from the left -- of the cabinet and rummaging busily. Scissors. More scissors. A lot of scissors. He quirked a speculative eye at Langly, but since he had no real clue what he was speculating about he didn't wait for a reaction. //Focus.// "Right. About an inch and a half off all around?" Langly looked briefly unhappy, fingered a hank again. "I guess..." "You know, we really should wash it first..." The distraction worked, and earned him another cock- twitching grin. "Do you *really* think we'd make it through the process and still have the... attention... to cut hair?" John gave an ostentatious glance to the flesh currently peeking out from the folds of his robe. "You just may have a point." He took the step and a half necessary to get within snipping distance and did his best to ignore the hungry little "Mmm" coming from the vicinity of his groin. "Ready for me?" "Always." The first, highly unnecessary step was to run his hands over the familiar head, trace the receding hairline as surreptitiously as possible... Low chuckle and hot puffs of air... it seemed impossible they weren't molding the silk around his cock... "Focus, Princess, focus." "Hmmm...?" Brief lap through the fabric and he shuddered. "*Focus*." "You are *not* helping." "I have an ulterior motive." "This is supposed to be a shock?" Another chuckle and Langly visibly pulled himself back a little. "C'mon, baby... cut that hair." He restrained his hips from following and dug out the brush. Slow, even strokes and another "Mmm" and the bone deep certainty that his hips were in motion *anyway*. When he was done Langly's hair had it's own little shine... Not quite burnished gold but still extremely distracting... "Princess..." "What, what, *what*?" Massive grin. "Nothing, just checking." "Asshole." "Heh. Later." "You and your promises..." Easy to slip into these little rhythms, to wonder how they'd compare to the ones that inevitably followed... but it was time for the scissors. Sometime in the distant past, when he'd been coherent, John had set the kit just to the side of Langly's hip. The jut of bone was clearly visible under the tight jeans, and John had a moment to wonder just when *he'd* become the lazy one of the relationship. Indolent. Luxurious.... Langly blew another puff of air at him, ridiculously cool on the damp silk of his robe. John jumped, bit back the eep that tried to struggle past the seal of his lips. "So *impatient*. Sit back and let me do my job, hmm?" A snicker. "You expect me to pay you for this?" He leaned in a little closer than was strictly necessary, not coincidentally blocking Langly's view of his bescissored hand. "Well, my *other* services seem to be going unappreciated..." "Unapp-- So you wanna play rentboy and john, John?" A snip. "Mmm... sounds interesting..." Another snip. "Tell me more..." Langly went off at a fast clip, harsh tenor growling out a steady stream of promises "... you'd look so good in leather, Princess..." so innately terrifying John felt his knees start to weaken. Or maybe it was the deep-seated belief he could feel the other man's words "... dress you up nice and turn you out..." and see them far too clearly and it was hard to pay attention he was hard and more than halfway done and he'd be finished so quickly if Langly would just "... take you into an alley..." get a little closer, a little closer and take him deep and one last snip and he hoped Langly "... fuck you so hard, baby..." wouldn't mind if he was a *little* uneven but he was done and the only logical thing to do was yank the other man up by his not-much-shorter-at-all hair and into the shower... The water was cold but John was more than hot enough and he'd forgotten his robe but Langly tore the drenched fabric off with the sort of brutal efficiency he'd come to //love// appreciate and it was skin on skin and the short little hairs tickled on the way down and off and he really couldn't bring himself to care about the drain when that clever hand took him by the root and stroked him like it was Langly's own... And it was. Closer still and that voice at his ear... "C'mon, baby... come for me..." And John pulled back just far enough to get himself a kiss to scream into and followed orders. John shivered with the force of it and let himself be led into the bedroom. He sincerely hoped Langly needed a manicure. ~~~~ End. ~~~~