Morning

Notes: Completely inspired by Van. ♥

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.

In the Morning

His face itched. Still half asleep, Chris shifted a little, just enough to scrub his cheek and two days growth of beard against his pillow. Guess I’ll have to visit the barber today, he thought, muzzy with slumber.

His pillow grumbled and twitched, nearly dislodging him. “Prickly,” Ezra muttered. “Better shave.” That apparently being his final word on the subject, he settled back into his pillow, breathing already evening out again.

But that movement had jostled Chris into wakefulness, and he pushed himself up on his elbow. He and Ezra lay together in Ezra’s bed, Ezra mostly on his stomach, Chris spooned up close behind him. His pillow had been the back of Ezra’s shoulders. The skin where his cheek had lain was tinged a bit redder than the rest of Ezra’s back.

He drew back the arm he’d draped over Ezra sometime in the night, brushed his side in a barely-there caress and dropped a teasing kiss against the reddened flesh of his shoulder blade.

His stubble apparently tickled Ezra again; with a groan, he tried to pull away, shoulders flexing in protest. “Chris…”

Grinning, Chris leaned in close, mouth just barely touching Ezra’s ear. “Morning,” he breathed, then nipped at Ezra’s lobe, a gentle bite, little more than a grazing of his teeth.

“It cannot possibly be a decent hour of the morning,” Ezra retorted, his words muffled into the pillow.

Chris glanced around. The room was still quite dim, but there was light growing outside the windows; it filtered through the filmy curtains and gradually lightened the room. “Early yet,” he allowed. It was still early enough that no one would be about, and if he was going to leave and return to his room at the boarding house, now was the time.

But Ezra’s bed was damn comfortable, and Ezra was a warm, welcome weight next to him, and that made it hard to muster the will to leave just yet. Won’t hurt to wait a few minutes, he thought, and lay back down, head on the down pillow this time. He curled his arm over Ezra once more as Ezra pressed back against him, and rubbed his thumb slowly back and forth over the sleek flesh of Ezra’s ribs. It wasn’t meant to get anything started between them; just satisfying a need of touch.

The room wasn’t noticeably brighter when Ezra stirred once more and brought him back to himself. Must’ve dozed off again, he thought and stifled a yawn as Ezra hitched himself over to face him. Sleep still clouded his expressive face, though not for long; his features sharpened as he considered Chris in the growing half-light, then he raised his hand and skimmed it over Chris’s stubble. The rough hair prickled and tugged at Chris’s skin as he stroked up his throat and under his chin, pausing as he reached Chris’s lips.

Chris grinned under the feather-light touch of Ezra’s fingers. “No good morning kiss?” he asked, eyebrows arched in question.

Ezra heaved a sigh, though his eyes glittered with amusement. “Those unseemly whiskers will simply have to go,” he said, his tone filled with mock dismay. With a meditative look, he brushed his fingers against Chris’s cheek, ghosting over the growth of his beard again, then he smiled, and Chris suddenly wondered what he was thinking.

Ezra’s hand stilled along the line of his jaw. “Get up,” he ordered, “an’ go sit down in the chair.” He slipped from underneath Chris’s arm and rose from the bed.

“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask. He turned onto his back, one arm tucked behind his head, admiring as Ezra moved about the room, unselfconscious of his nudity. He was a gleaming pale shape in the soft light, gathering things that Chris couldn’t quite see from the drawers of his dresser and positioning the single straight-backed chair by the windows.

“Because I’m goin’ to save you the two bits for the barber,” Ezra answered. He hung a thick leather and cloth strap to the back of the chair, then opened his razor and stropped it a couple of times against the leather before setting it down again.

Chris grinned. “Are you?”

Ezra glanced over at him, wearing a smug little smile of his own. “I will if you’ll bother to shift yourself, sir. I realize that the featherbed is outside your norm in terms of comfort, but really…”

Chuckling quietly, Chris rolled from the bed and stretched, aware of the appreciative gaze tracking his every movement. He rounded the foot of the bed, smirking as he met Ezra’s eyes.

Ezra just continued watching him, smile widening as he approached. He had turned the chair so it faced the windows, the stand with the mirror near to hand, and now covered with bits and pieces from Ezra’s shaving kit. Chris settled into the chair without comment.

As he watched, Ezra poured some water from the pitcher to the basin, then soaked a towel in the water. “I’m afraid this will be tepid rather than warm,” he said with an air of apology as he wrung out the cloth. “It certainly won’t be like the barber’s towel, but it is all that is available.” He turned, the towel dripping slightly in his hands.

Chris nodded and tilted his head back a little so Ezra could wrap it around his chin, just as the barber did. He shivered a little as cool trails of water trickled down his neck.

It was only a couple of moments before Ezra turned back to him again, shaving brush thickly lathered. He removed the wet towel, and began to apply the soap instead, coating Chris’s growth of beard with a pleasant-smelling foam. Chris recognized the scent; it was something he’d noticed faintly clinging to Ezra from time to time. He hummed in his throat at the tickle of the bristles and soap, and slumped a little further into the chair as Ezra turned away.

Ezra had the razor in hand this time, the damp towel draped over his shoulder. The fleeting touch to Chris’s brow asked him to tilt back a little, then Ezra’s fingers slid through his hair to cup the back of his head, the strength in his arm and hand supporting Chris as firmly as the barber’s chair would.

Then the only sounds were the quiet rasp of the razor scraping away his stubble and the muted slosh of water as Ezra dipped the blade in the basin to rinse away the soap. The water was cool, but Ezra’s hand was warm where it cradled his head.

Chris fought the urge to close his eyes as he relaxed into that gentle touch, because now he had the chance to see something he rarely could – Ezra without his masks. It was simply breathtaking to see. The clear green eyes were without calculation, though he frowned slightly. Just means he’s concentratin’, Chris thought, tryin’ not to nick me with the blade. Somehow, thinking that made his chest ache.

He paid no attention to Ezra’s hands or what they were doing; he watched Ezra’s face instead. He had only a few stolen moments, however – not nearly long enough, he thought, trying not to frown – before Ezra felt his gaze and glanced up. Whatever was in his face made Ezra’s mouth curve in a smile that wasn’t faked or sarcastic or deprecating. The sight swept away his momentary discontent, and Chris smiled back, little more than a crinkling of his eyes as Ezra drew the razor in another careful arc over his jaw.

As Ezra worked, the morning light grew gradually brighter, passing through the material of the curtains to make dust motes dance in the air. It outlined Ezra in a soft glow that shaded his skin gold, and Chris drank him in; his broad forehead with a spill of short, disheveled curls, his long fingers deftly handling the razor, the span of his shoulders, the solid muscles always hidden beneath his layers.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch, but he forced himself not to move, not to distract Ezra.

All too soon, it seemed to Chris, Ezra straightened, releasing his hold on the back of his head. The towel had soaked up some of the heat from his body; it was warmer and not as wet when Ezra swiped it over his cheek and chin, clearing away the traces of soap that the razor had left. Ezra’s hand followed the towel, the tips of his fingers skating over skin scraped smooth and bringing soothing and coolness in their wake, accompanied by a swirl of bay rum. He didn’t say anything, but the way his lips curved in a satisfied smile said more than words.

Chris leaned a little into Ezra’s hand, enjoying the closeness and the touch, not quite ready for it to end.

“Your hair is gettin’ long,” Ezra murmured, combing his hand lightly through the sleep-tangled strands. “I have somethin’ to help keep it out of your face…” He pivoted, and Chris heard the pop of a bottle being uncorked. When Ezra turned around again, he had his hairbrush in hand, the bristles gleaming. Another scent wafted through the air, something stronger and more exotic.

Chris took Ezra’s hand – not to keep him from what he was going to do, but finally indulging that need to touch. And Ezra seemed to understand that; he didn’t try to pull away, didn’t get huffy and offended, stayed relaxed and easy in his grip. Chris let his fingers slide over Ezra’s wrist and stroke the back of his hand, warm soft skin hiding surprising strength, felt Ezra’s free hand trail across his cheek, not checking his work this time, not answering touch for touch but just because he wanted to.

He let go of Ezra’s hand to follow the arch of his ribs and explore the hollow of his hip, down the solid length of his thigh to come to rest behind his knee. His thumb scribed tiny circles on the outside of Ezra’s leg, and he felt a shiver run through that sturdy frame.

At the first pass of the brush through his hair, Chris closed his eyes, tipping his head into the stroke. His scalp tingled a little with the rasp of the bristles.

Ezra gave him only a few strokes before laying the brush down again and Chris felt a twinge of something like loss.

“A little oil of Macassar,” Ezra said softly, his fingers dancing over the back of Chris’s neck and shoulders, “to keep your hair out of your eyes.” He lowered his voice even more, so that it barely carried. “I… very much enjoyed playing your barber. Perhaps…?”

Chris nodded, throat too full of feeling to get any words out. Suits me just fine, he thought, ‘cause I’m not sure I’m ever gonna want to go to a real barber again.

***
You have spawned the most incredibly clear mental image of Chris sitting patiently and letting Ezra groom him. Ezra's room, dark woods, pale morning light coming through gauzy curtains, shaving cream, Chris' soft eyes riveted on Ezra's open face which would be very near while he runs that straight razor over Chris' jaw and throat... just a lot of silence and trust. I'll have you know this is making my heart bubble up into my throat. Sometimes it's the little things that make me so happy so thank you for this. ♥