Chapter Text
Læraðr would have preferred to stay asleep. Swaddled in a blanket, wrapped in a towel, safe from the gift he’d promised his loving boyfriend. The long shower he took did nothing to ease his nerves. Mixing the soaks he adored the scents of and lathering up his hair for what may be the last time, for a long time, swelled up the trepidation coursing through his blood.
Even if he did end up genuinely enjoying being shaved, Læraðr knew the end result wouldn’t be worth it. Askr was the image of perfection. A perfectly sculpted face, an imposing frame that was well-proportioned, and a glorious head of cerulean wool could make anyone, even a villain lacking a heart, swoon like it was love at first sight. Læraðr did not possess this wonder. The Quieting Hand worked himself to near death trying to gain a physique that was still only half as admirable. He had a coolly stoic face that no true smile of his could ever warm. His thin head made styling a tricky topic, and a complete lack of hair would draw attention to the unfortunate shape.
Læraðr’s existing attractiveness did not come from luck or simple family secrets. He had to make a grand effort to attain beauty; despite his dedication, he could only accomplish a fraction of his goal. Læraðr knew what would happen post-buzz cut. No one would dare lay an admiring word at Læraðr’s feet. If Askr tried to reap compliments for his darling boyfriend, they would be sloppily manufactured, demeaning like artificial sweetener. And only Læraðr would be able to hear the insults behind their backs.
“He's much too skinny to pull off a bald head, don’t you think?”
“I'd never known Læraðr’s head was so narrow! He looks like a rolling pin now!
“What a shame Læraðr lost all that gorgeous hair! Maybe he was never as pretty as I thought…”
“Wouldn’t be the first time Askr hooked up with a freak. He’s way too good for that…what was his name? Læraðr? Yeah, him. Maybe if he kept the hair, but now? Yikes...”
Still, it was difficult to ignore the warm hand petting his long, pearly tresses. He kept himself turned and shut his eyes even harder. But this too was hampered by a pair of pushy lips sneaking kisses into the shrouded domain of his head.
“I can see you glimmering from the distance. You are so utterly pristine.” The tempting palm cupped Læraðr’s chin. The other half of Yggdrasil hesitantly opened his eyes, though the lean into a comforting set of strong, sculpted abs was anything but hesitant. “This is going to be wonderful. I am sure of it.” Askr crossed his arms. But even his comforting smile faltered. He plopped himself beside Læraðr, sighing into his lover's luxurious locks. “Something is wrong, isn’t there? Come now Læraðr. Tell me, and I shall help you!”
“Can you admit my physical shortcomings?” Læraðr’s gaze remained hidden while he uneasily fingered the ends of his white locks.
“What?” Askr cocked his head and frowned.
“I mean it. Tell me what features of mine are most disagreeable.” Læraðr flipped himself over for reasons unknown. The sight of his gleaming lover and the world’s most incredible eyes were good assumptions. He dug his hand into Askr’s locks, which greatly contrasted his own. A dark blue against his pale white. Thick fluff puffing out beside fine and smooth streams. Askr slicked back the strand dangling in front of his lover’s face. The bovine deity had to admit he would miss that little strand. Swatting at it like a ferocious kitten, twirling it around his finger. If he was to cut off all of Læraðr’s lovely hair, even that sweet little friend had to go as well.
“You are worried over your upcoming haircut, aren’t you?” Læraðr raised his eyebrow at the generous word choice. He very clearly remembered the exact wording. A buzz cut. He couldn’t even say it aloud. “I know you are going to look gorgeous. Dearest Læraðr…” The Quieting Hand lost control of his limbs whenever those two words dropped from Askr’s soft lips. It was enough to dispel his fears. Temporarily, of course. “You make any so-called imperfection beautiful just by it being yours.” They wormed their way into Læraðr’s mouth, bouncing up and down his tongue. Askr pressed his head deeper to explore more of his boyfriend’s oral chamber. Læraðr tried to moan, but the ambitions of the bovine deity’s small, pink appendage chipped away at the trapped voice.
“I am sorry Askr,” Læraðr mumbled, breaking free to nuzzle Askr’s breasts. “This is supposed to be your gift, and here I am moping over it.” The bovine deity smiled down and laid one more kiss on the pale tresses.
“This is going to be difficult. I know.” The bovine deity smiled down and laid one more kiss on the pale tresses. “Tell me your safe word.”
“Curtains.” Askr smiled. “Get it?”
“I do. Let us prepare ourselves. We must not waste the day.” They stood up at the same time. It wasn’t humorous enough to make them comment, although it did bring forth cheeky grins. “I know what will help soothe you, my love.” He walked with Læraðr to the styling chair. He was lucky Kiran was gracious enough to lend it to him. However, Kiran was perhaps a little too eager the minute Askr revealed his plan of subjecting Læraðr to…a close shave. Læraðr had encountered plenty of comfy chairs before, but this had to be the one closest to paradise. Askr allowed his hesitant client to absorb the first moments of comfort. Læraðr squeezed the handles as the creasing muscles of his back were massaged by the vinyl cushions. Each crevice was a gift of Ljósálfheimr. The soles of his uncovered feet kicked back upon the metal bar attached below. The chill slinked into his skin. Læraðr winced; steadily, however, he eased into the feeling. Beside the chair was a side table made from oak wood. There lived the grumpy clippers, still sleeping out the rest of its hibernation. Læraðr’s halo hovering his head was snatched away, facing him from its newfound seat on the vanity’s desk. Only one who had the blood of Yggdrasil could do such a thing. Only Askr had that privilege. To do what he pleased with the Quieting Heart. The source of his power, perhaps the power to prevent his shearing, was painfully just out of reach. Læraðr quieted his groaning discomfort. There was a silent weakening that pierced his body, his soul, his everything. But it was deafening.
The chair was equipped with a very useful modification. The bovine deity tenderly lined his lover’s arms carefully. Three straps dangled from the sides. Askr snapped each one over Læraðr’s arms. The restraints were like a bear hug. Full of love, but fierce in their determination. Askr paced himself back to get a better look at his bound lover. He circled him from all corners. Læraðr’s cock twinged with an amorous fright when he felt Askr wind his hand in his treasured tresses.
“All of this will be better on the floor,” Askr whispered, digging his fingers into Læraðr’s scalp. “Or perhaps on your lap.” Askr’s stare made his submissive thighs whimper. Læraðr, The Quieting Hand, never heard his boyfriend speak like this. Not ever. And still, the inability to decide if it was horrid or hot possessed him. The blue haired man stroked the lean cuts of Yggdrasil meat. The right portion was harder, its wooden origins becoming clear once more. But it was all adored in equal number. Læraðr yelped when Askr pulled his hair. Harder.
Askr picked up a nearby comb. The upright and infallible teeth fondled Læraðr’s radiant tresses. Askr’s hands gently ran through the sections the comb left to ensure no knots straggled behind. Læraðr winced as felt nervous bumps rushing the skin of his arms. Little did Askr know he was making the situation so much worse. Læraðr did not need a reminder of the joys he elicited from their usual hair brushing sessions. It was intimate and pleasurable in a way beyond even godly senses.
“Mmhm.” Askr’s nose delved into the garden of snow behind Læraðr’s head. He absorbed the iced berry fragrance with as much strength as his nostrils could muster. Læraðr let out a shaky breath as Askr continued to comb his hair. The Quieting Heart would absolutely miss this. His hair pooling into Askr’s gentle hands, the sweet fingers wading through his milky sea. “My goodness. I really do love your hair, Læraðr, please do not think otherwise,” the deity assured him, the cracks of his geniality shining through. Yet Askr instantly painted over those cracks, his eyes turning cold. “But the dream of cutting it off is something I won’t keep ignoring.” The bovine deity combed down any floating strands, forcing them into compliance. His hair was tamed into an even division of tresses.
Locked away in the realm of thought, Læraðr blindly adjusted to the lack of tugging on his locks. But he was awoken by a peculiar sound. Not the revving up of those dreaded clippers. No, those were to be expected. Eventually. What Læraðr didn’t expect was that strange little *click*. A little chunk of plastic shimmied on the wooden side table before collapsing. Læraðr squinted at the piece. It was a clipper guard. He suddenly felt a drop of sweat form across his forehead.
“Askr…are you switching out the guard? For another one?” Askr stroked the ivory hair. He clutched it from behind, guiding Læraðr closer into the chair. The baby blues of Askr’s irises gave off an alluring glint.
“I’m taking the guard off, dear.” The bovine deity closed his eyes, falling in love with the image of clipped white hair falling over the metal jaws. Læraðr hated how goosebumps popped onto his arms when the grey cape settled over his chest. But he liked when Askr fanned his mid-chest length hair over his shoulders. Askr devoted all his attention to comforting the head of his boyfriend. Læraðr liked how he playfully spun the chair around. Yet he frowned as he remembered the primary goal. He twisted his expression until he could melt away the glare. It wasn’t Askr’s fault. His boyfriend was only trying to liven up the occasion. It wasn’t fair. Askr wanted so little, so of course he jumped at the chance to make any fantasy come true when Læraðr offered.
Askr’s cobalt blue instrument permeated Læraðr’s sights. He froze. His lips trembled. His arms went limp. Læraðr hated himself more than ever. He was allowing himself to be ruined, and letting an unknowing Askr take the blame. The Quieting Hand experienced a painful stir in his stomach.
“I understand you took off the guard,” Læraðr spoke, remembering the vagueness of Askr’s answer. His lover stroked his pointy chin, hopping off to brush down the snowy curtains hanging beside it. Askr wanted them to be as visible as possible during the electrifying act. “But are you going to replace them with a different guard?” Læraðr’s eyes twinkled as he cooked up a plan to save even more hair from their execution. “May I recommend a bigger size?”
“I decided I would like to make a small revision.” The bovine deity licked his lips, massaging the parched ones of Læraðr to spring them back to life. “No guard.”
“But…but Askr…darling Askr,” Læraðr responded, eyeing up his lover’s furry ears. “I thought you said you were going to give me only a buzz cut.”
“It’s so cute seeing you like this,” Askr softly laughed, unknowingly dragging his boyfriend’s spirits down. “Dearest Læraðr, you forget our terms. You simply allowed me any gift I desired. And as such, those terms are mine to control. Yes, I’d said I was going to only buzz your hair. But Kiran, well…they taught me about all the wonderful capabilities of clippers! It’s just a little change.” Læraðr decided he hated Kiran five times as much as he did. His eyebrows furrowed as the name sank into his mind. “Oh Læraðr, I don’t want to see that face. Cheer up.” Askr propped up Læraðr’s chin to calm the storm brewing in the green irises. The Quieting Hand’s expression started to soften, allowing himself to be cradled by his adoring boyfriend. “You will enjoy every second of it. I shall take very good care of you. Perhaps…you too will find yourself aroused by being stripped down to the skin. There won’t be a single thing left. That, I can promise.” Askr’s silky voice seldom slipped out a salacious phrase, or anything hinting to be such. So when this was it, Læraðr had no choice but to lose control over his body. Askr could do just about whatever he wanted now. Luckily, the bovine deity was as upright as could come, god or not. “I promise I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you so much. You are going to be as beautiful as you already are, my love. Trust me. You have your safe word as well. Do not be ashamed to use it.” Askr covered him like another cape, positioning himself gently so that Læraðr wouldn’t snap like a twig. Gods they were, but same weight they were not. Askr had a gloriously designed heft to him that accentuated the beauty that already existed. Læraðr’s muscles looked like skin and bones in comparison.
Læraðr was determined to keep himself from falling into the sin of vanity. When was Askr ever able to pleasure himself? Zenith forbid the good people discover that their deity had wanton thoughts. They could be salacious, they could expose him to the darkest dreams that Plumeria would be driven mad by. But he was to be the image of purity and chastity. It was completely unfair.
Læraðr would sacrifice his gorgeous tresses for Askr’s freedom. It was a fair price. He would do whatever he could to ignite the flames behind those powder blue eyes. Læraðr’s clammy hands clasped over the curl of the chair’s arms. They couldn’t do much, really. The blue haired man stroked his lover’s tresses one last time. His fingers sunk in as the finality of the impending action fell upon his conscience. Askr narrowed his eyes, gripping the sides of Læraðr’s firm cheekbones and pointing his head up.
“I will begin your headshave now.” Askr stroked his hairline. “You do not need to be scared.” As horrible as his fate would be, he was somewhat comforted. His hands loosened their claim to the chair’s arms. “I love you.” Askr lifted up the comb again and sailed it over the sides of his hairline. The waltz had ended as quickly as it began. Læraðr was left with a perfect parting. Waiting to be crossed by a bladed enigma.
“I love you too,” Læraðr answered, never to doubt this no matter what hair length he possessed. The clippers rose into the new season. Askr bit his lip as he gathered the first of the shorn locks into his starved palm. Merciless blades picked up white blossoms and pruned them away. Down they traveled from the tip of Læraðr’s scalp, perfectly aligned with the middle path they desired to dance upon. Askr shaved off Læraðr’s spoiled ivory tresses, whose beautiful deaths were further accentuated by the sadistic, lustful moonlight dripping through the window. The first group of locks descended like an avalanche of snow over a slate grey mountain. Uneasiness blossomed onto his cheeks. Askr moved the electric monster to the very end of Læraðr’s nape. The machine sadistically waved goodbye to the corpses of their victims.
Askr pushed Læraðr’s face down, cradling it in his well-endowed chest. The Quieting Heart’s cheeks turned even redder. His deep green eyes widened. The combined forces of his elegant skirt and the long cape failed to obscure his…heap of wood. It seemed Askr was too occupied to notice, however. The clippers made their re-entry from the back, on the left side of the first skinned road. What Læraðr once dreamed about on a few blue moons was mixed with one of his worst fears. Pleasure and horror created a sickening, almost vomit-inducing concoction.
“How do you feel? Excited yet?” The blue haired man stroked the full length of his vulnerable hair. Læraðr’s scalp ached, and the clippers’ second conclusion upon his head did little to render them an acquaintance. The fallen hair brushed against Askr’s breast, lodged between that and Læraðr’s bowed head. The bovine deity smirked. He angled Læraðr’s head a few degrees upwards in order to shove the locks down into his open palm. Askr’s lips laid a trail of kisses over the stark white thicket. “Oh…it feels so nice. Thank you for this, my love.” But the engagement was forgotten as soon as they were discarded from Askr’s grasp. This was a nightmare. A travesty. And yet…what kind of nightmare or travesty tipped his conscience into pleading for more? So much so that a certain organ could repel the paralyzing poison?
“…Yes,” Læraðr replied, just when the third pass arrived. Here, the clippers were at the top again, on the right to the first path. The Quieting Heart had a collection of hair that was fine overall. Thus, reducing him to a complete shearing was easy. There was no stubble to speak of. Had the guard been applied, perhaps this would have been the case. Askr nipped Læraðr’s ear. The recoil was instinctive, but Askr kept his head steady. He nursed the innocent cartilage. A selfish gleam was reflected off his teeth. Only one pass for each path was needed. No visible hairs withstood the might of the electric razor. So much hair was already gone, and it had only been two minutes. His calm and collected tone was a difficult disguise. Within, the storm of conflicting emotions razed his senses and soul. Askr relocated the fallen tresses over Læraðr’s shoulders to the glittering tribute strewn over his lap. “Mhhm!” he whimpered, parts of his voice blocked by Askr’s bust. Læraðr blushed as his boyfriend put a knee between his submissive, caped thighs. While his spirit was thrown into turmoil, the Quieting Heart was hard like never before. He blinked away tears. His reflection was still less than ideal. No amount of euphoria could mask that. The discoloration teetered between unfavorable and acceptable.
“You look so wonderful like this. Covered up, at my mercy,” Askr purred, his euphoria blinding him to the misery written on Læraðr’s face. “Why haven’t I ever asked you for this before?” Askr yanked up a lock of white hair with such force it almost ripped a scream from the Quieting Heart. “Oh…how long I’ve wanted to do this, my dearest Læraðr. Such long, beautiful hair! The fantasies I conjured up, with you giving me control of your tresses!” Askr clipped away more hair as he relayed his tale, tossing it into Læraðr’s lap. The Quieting Heart wanted to recoil from the awful centerpiece. “I couldn’t bear to go to sleep…waking up to find it all a lie…” It was jarring to hear such words come from the lips of the God of Openness. He was completely mesmerized by this long repressed fetish. How long had Askr wanted to shave Læraðr’s ethereal locks? A loud slicing of the blades, and another clipped cluster of hair dashed his cheek.
Out of desperation, bitter curiosity, whatever he could call it, Læraðr began to wonder what the final result would be. He tried to retain hope there was some beauty in his other features, even if small, but the piling hair and screams of the machine scrambled his thoughts. His throbbing erection further complicated what little sense he’d hoped to retain.
Askr momentarily stopped the clippers. His fingers played with Læraðr’s bare crown, jumping up and down like a game of hop-scotch. Læraðr’s body quaked in response, painfully evident with the long hair adorning his lap having quickly shuffled to the floor. Askr raised an eyebrow. He let his fingers trace down to remove the nettlesome locks hooked onto the Quieting Heart’s long nose. Finally, cupping his face, Askr whispered,
“Ah…Læraðr? Are you sure you’re ok? Please, I need you to tell me.” Without his hair, from the top to the nape, Læraðr was at a loss trying to hide his emotions.
“Yes.” Several tears escaped the guards in his eyes. The Quieting Heart was foolish enough to believe Askr would ignore it. His horny horror worked wonders in maddening his mind. “I am ok.” Læraðr only had a few seconds to turn in a believable lie. And this was all he could do. His gaze met the mirror. He just sat there in disbelieving silence. Only the left and right sides held untouched waterfalls of hair. The top of his head was as bald as one could get. A few sections had some miraculous fuzz, still denying their inescapable sentence. The bovine deity caressed the tresses, who mourned their fallen brethren, too distracted from their own upcoming demise.
“You are not ok.” Askr was already lifting his hand up to undo the restraints. He was a far cry from the man who freely expelled his pleasure over the situation. Nothing about his lover’s misery brought joy to him. Læraðr forced his fingers to break from Askr’s grasp, preferring to remain loyal to the arm of the chair.
“It is nothing. Please continue.” The Quieting Heart truly believed this worked. But the confusion of gravity made him rethink this. “Askr! What are you-“ Læraðr was caught in Askr’s embrace, away from the chair. His long legs dangled over the bovine deity’s left arm. “Just…just let us go on with it! I didn’t say curtains!” His upper torso was supported by the right. Even the upward wood Læraðr embarrassingly sported did not distract his solemn eyed lover.
“You did now.” Askr’s normally occurring smirk was nowhere to be seen. Whatever hair remained asleep on Læraðr’s lap had jumped away following the unexpected elevation. Askr carried him away and sat down on the bed, refusing to let an impatient Læraðr squirm away. The Quieting Heart considered using his divinely powered hands, but feared using force to hurt his beloved Askr. It wouldn’t be right. No matter how stubborn Læraðr wanted to be. So he continued to struggle with as much natural strength he had. “This is too much! Dearest Læraðr, I urge you!” Askr made the capture look effortless. Læraðr fought for his dignity and couldn’t even put a dent in Askr’s grip. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“Why must you have this strength?!” Læraðr cried out, ignorant to the tears that escaped his watch. “Why…why will I always be so inferior?!” Læraðr mindlessly threw a glance at the mirror. He regretted it greatly. He saw a pathetic, stringy clown fighting the love of a gorgeous strongman who surpassed him in every way. “All I ever wanted was to be good enough for you! It’s what you deserve!” And then, all the strength he’d summoned disappeared. Nothing could stop his mournful weeping. Nothing could calm his shaking body. The only thing that could come close to soothing him was nothing he possessed. No, Askr had to be his savior. Drying his tears. Kneading the most anguished points of his miserable frame. “W-what a miserable gift I’ve given you. I’m so sorry…for ruining e-everything!”
“Miserable? Please, don’t say that! It’s ok, it’s ok.”
“No, it isn’t ok!” For the first time, Læraðr loathed the caress of his boyfriend’s hand over his head. Where a gorgeous waterfall once existed, the middle had dried up. Læraðr’s body was suddenly possessed by more than depression. No, there was an anger now, and it was not completely directed at himself. “I look so horrible. I’m going to look horrible when you’re finished.” The middle was now an inhabitable desert, with dying streams on its sides, knowing full well they would not survive the day. It made him want to vomit. “Y-you said I was just getting a buzz cut! Nothing more! But then you had to change it! I never thought you were g-going to shave me completely bald!”
“Læraðr…I…I never meant to hurt you! Is that…did I hurt you?” Læraðr couldn’t fairly answer that, no matter how upset he was. The answer would be ‘No’, because Læraðr could never accuse the love of his life of such a wicked crime. The Quieting Hand simply pursed his lips and folded his arms. But he knew he had to answer.
“No, no it is…it is me that’s the problem. I’m sorry for getting mad at you. I’m awful. Awful and hideous and…and…” Læraðr desperately wanted to finish that sentence and spill out every hate-fueled statement of shame he could muster. Yet Askr’s concerned stare made him freeze up.
“That isn’t true. How could you ever say that about yourself?” Askr traced the puffed up lines of Læraðr’s jaw. “Oh Læraðr…I wish you could see what I see.” The Quieting Hand could barely look Askr in the eyes. Especially after that humiliating display. Yet Askr gently pointed his gaze over, light blue eyes wishing peace upon the cracked emeralds. “You’ve always doubted yourself. Ever since we were children. You’ve been imagining awful scenarios for yourself, haven’t you? Already assuming the worst of others.” It was humiliating just how accurate Askr was.
“You would too if it happened before,” Læraðr tearfully scoffed. Askr tilted his head. “I’d lost my hair once, before. It was an accident. My lovely children wanted to style it.” Læraðr’s misery wasn’t enough to kill the smile brimming on his lips. His children were an enduring cure. Whether in memory or life. “Hræsvelgr, my second youngest, had not known that we were using our imaginations for the more…permanent items. She’d found a pair of scissors from who knows where…and had been cutting my hair off. Hræsvelgr was such a young, curious girl.” The Quieting Hand could hear Heidrún’s scream ring forth, shocked by her sister’s fatal error. “By the time I’d realized what had been done, it was much too late. The back of my head was hairless. Bits of strands poking out at best.” The next part made the frown come back, and ordered a new set of tears. “S-so…I had gone to get my hair fixed. But…but the stylist shaved everything off! The people were m-merciless and cruel! They would say awful things.” Læraðr rubbed his eyes. “B-but the worst…the worst of it…w-was what the younger people would say.” Læraðr hid his face from the solemn anticipation of his lover. “They would call me five head! Don’t you know how horrible that is?!” Askr had no idea, but his concerned nod was great at pretending. It had been a very new word in the lexicon of Zenith. But it didn’t matter what Askr knew or thought about that. Everything he had was dedicated to Læraðr’s renewed peace. The tender, built arms. The soft eyes. The endless kisses.
“Anyone can be wicked, I admit. Læraðr, please, you mustn’t take their cruel words so seriously. You are so beautiful! You are certainly not a…a five head?” Askr’s confusion nearly made him drift away. “You only have one head and it is immaculate! I adore everything about you, especially your radiant head. Your shape is glorious, my love!” Askr trusted Læraðr enough to set him free. “But I would like to apologize as well. Deeply so. I should have recognized sooner that this was too much. And here I flaunted so obviously, taking control of everything without considering your feelings. You did nothing wrong. It is I who failed you.” Læraðr positioned himself as close to Askr as possible. “I can’t reverse the process. You will be bald once again. I can only say you will always be lovely to anyone with wonderful taste.” Askr sighed, combing his fingers through the remaining hair.
“Nonsense. I don’t deserve you.” Askr shook his head. “Please let me finish. Askr, I…” Læraðr let his forehead fall into his lover’s for comfort. There was nothing to run from, nowhere to hide. “I will do everything in my power to make myself as close as possible to deserving you. I want to make it up to you. Right now. I ask you not to refuse out of pity. Please don’t pity me, Askr.” The bovine deity could sense Læraðr’s fragility. He hurriedly nodded, smoothing the veins popping out of his wrists.
“Ok. Ok. I promise.” Læraðr twirled one of his remaining locks.
“Ask me if I’m ok.” The bovine deity didn’t dare express confusion. Whether in a feature or a spoken thought.
“Are you ok, Læraðr?” The Quieting Hand remembered the shame he felt towards his duality. Læraðr was thankful for the cover of the cape. He massaged the sinful area as subtly as possible. But in a way, he supposed, his excitement was a blessing. Would he rather force Askr to comfort him and ruin the surprise? Or expel his own pleasure, no matter how blatant? And…Læraðr almost slapped his head.
They were dating. They were in love.
Why on Zenith was he afraid of his own damned intimacy? But now, what he felt was nothing he no longer wished to hide. His answer was written on his hungry lips, which decided to sate their appetite. Askr nearly gasped into the kiss. However, it was only a few seconds that he stood stunned. The bovine deity was able to be melted down into the brewing ecstasy. They shot up together, almost tripping over their entangled bodies as they made their way back to the chair. The restraints returned, gripping the Quieting Heart harder than before. Læraðr was pushed back in, the grip on his leftover hair almost as hard as his cock. The Quieting Hand moaned, the last of his self-hatred spiraling into nothingness. He had Askr to thank for reminding him of his worth.
Askr’s hand curved with a flourish. The clippers glided over the spots of licked up sugar that were still visible atop Læraðr’s crown. Askr tipped Læraðr into a closer embrace. He whipped out the comb again, which rode down the moonlight rivers like a runaway raft. It ran delicately through every lock on the right side of Læraðr’s head. This softness was highlighted by the nurturing strokes of his lips over Læraðr’s beaming face. The Quieting Hand allowed himself to be held dearly by Askr, never wanting to be apart ever again. The machine slipped underneath his hair, chewing it away once the comb escaped. The strands wiggled off after the comb was flipped over. His lap where the shorn tresses lounged swayed with the music borne from the clippers.
“You look perfect like this,” Askr cooed, fondling the pale tresses he planned for the next shearing. Læraðr’s flushed face could have had a thousand meanings, but both he and his lover recognized the right one. The Quieting Hand was reclined back. His body twitched from the surge of submissiveness. Here he was to lie down and take it from his enthralled lover. The electric teeth gnawed at the hair surrounding Læraðr’s ear with precision and grace. Askr held the safety of his lover in high importance. Gleaming white locks tripped over his folded ear, distracted by their shock to notice where they were going. The machine was whisked away to the left corridor upon completion.
“Don’t…let go…” Læraðr mumbled. He could feel a dribble of drool sliding out of his slack jaw. Askr wiped it away with a shaved off cluster of hair. “You beast.”
“I love you.” Askr’s mouth was now a famous visitor to the newly designated desert. Læraðr wanted to tug on those lovely horns. For now, he just has to imagine it.
“I love…you too.” Læraðr lost count by now. How much hair he sacrificed. What parts of his head were stripped naked for all to see. How many times the machine returned to take more and more. Gluttonous. Aroused. It all began to feel the same. And it was…magical. Askr’s gentle lips caressed Læraðr’s cheek, a breathy chuckle trickling down.
“Oh, your spirits have been lifted?”
“Hmm…I am not quite sure.” Askr was busy snogging half of Læraðr’s face. His lips jumped away. The bovine deity forced the clippers down again, clutching the fallen hair, slowly letting go of each little strand into his lover’s lap.
“Oh come now! Surely you must be! You are glowing!” Askr collected the orphaned hair as he swept the clippers across the last remnants of Læraðr’s crowning glory. And then, they went everywhere. Damning any piece of fuzz to a downward hell. Much to Læraðr’s shock, they were turned off. He was free from the chair’s traps. Askr’s palm massaged the enveloping baldness. The electric razor’s skill was impeccable. Quite so.
Cream and the knife. Læraðr simply closed his eyes. Waiting for it to be done. He didn’t fear it…or at least as much. The thin, fluffy solution cooled down the heat rising from his scalp. The knife met it as soon as the cream was evenly applied all over. Askr’s scrapes were firm and quick. He knew Læraðr wouldn’t want this to last longer than needed. The bovine deity still sensed a secret misery even in those yearning, hot lips. This would be done shortly. The knife shaved away even smaller bits of hair. Licking them up and tossing them away. The floor was becoming quite a mess. Askr had been too careless with the shaving, and he’d forgotten this was his home, not a salon he’d taken hostage.
“Ah…” Læraðr sighed. He was so comfortable, but vulnerable as well. The taller man prioritized Askr’s soft touch more than anything else. He couldn’t take any more pain. Though it seemed physical pain always hurt less. For the most part, it went away.
But the pain of the past? Fears for tomorrow? Troubles in the present? The mental, the emotional, the spiritual, anything that couldn’t be hurt by sticks and stones, but by words and conflicts. Askr caught himself drawing in the cream. Half of it was left on his lover’s head. The other half was perfectly smooth. The drawings were of abstract images, clinging to things long ago, long before he’d ever met. His first love, his first family that he himself protected and provided for. The white haired man rubbed his eyes. He shook his head and continued to shave off Læraðr’s stubble.
”Perhaps this can be a good look,” the other half of Yggdrasil admitted. He nearly reached to touch his head, but remembered that dangerous tools lay above. “Should I change my fashion to better suit a bald head?” The bovine deity scratched his chin. He sliced away another section of cream and stubble. And another section, a few sections more. The closer he got to finishing, the easier it became. The quicker.
” I don’t think we need to be extreme about it. Simply wear what makes you feel happy. Whether it’s to accentuate your beauty or make you feel comfortable.” Læraðr breathed out in relief. The last patch. The razor flicked it away surprisingly fast. A bit anticlimactic, but whatever. Askr wanted his husband in his arms. No haircutting, no chair to make them struggle.
Læraðr was completely and utterly bald. The Quieting Heart admittedly appreciated Askr’s work. His head wasn’t so narrow after all. No, he looked…refined. Scholarly, but still sexy. Askr grinned. “Oh you are stunning, Læraðr! Just as I thought you would be! Now…” his fingers tiptoed up Læraaðr’s arm. “Come on. Admit it.” Askr sheepishly twiddled his fingers. “Please?” Læraðr playfully rolled his eyebrows.
“I’m happy now.” Askr’s sigh of relief had been mixed with a moan. He quietly stood up. So quietly it made Askr’s smile twitch in wonder. Læraðr kissed it back to normalcy. The two men stayed like this for quite some time. Their mouths honoring their sacred pact, their hands touching everything the other had to offer. Oh, the anticipation of taking Læraðr outdoors, making the world see his radiant and amazing boyfriend. Putting that hairless scalp out on display like the most expensive jewel. Endlessly ogled, but unable to be bought. And only he would be the one to fondle that shiny head. However, Askr noticed that Læraðr’s smile in between the lip-locked love quivered. Deep breaths. Baby steps.
“Let us stay in for the night. You need time to adjust, I’m sure.” Læraðr tilted his head.
“Askr…are you sure? I know how much you want to go to the festival…” The bovine deity gently nodded, stroking Læraðr’s shaved head.
“I got what I wanted for today,” Askr whispered, breathing in the scent of Læraðr’s natural floral fragrance. “But now, what I want even more than going to the festival…is to relax with you.” Læraðr gripped the back of Askr’s head, laying upon his face as many kisses as he could before his lover could fight back with his own. Læraðr couldn’t object any further. Askr removed the cape around him, leaving it around the chair. The two men admittedly had no idea what to do next. So, they did what they knew best. They held each other, basking in the glow of the moon brimming from their eyes. At some point, it felt like they lost recognition of reality, and perhaps they were dreaming. Perhaps time stood as still as they did. Night’s darkness and light had hushed whatever sounds or songs may creep in. But it was only now that they finally closed their eyes. And they saw so much more than whatever their eyes could make them believe.