Freddy adjusts his grip on the razor. He runs his thumb cautiously over the edge of the blade, testing it. His head tilts as he tries to work out the right angle. Finally, he hoists himself up to sit on the vanity.
His toes twitch in his sneakers as White steps closer and puts his hands on the counter. One curls around the edge of the sink. The other settles square between Freddy's knees.
The air goes out of the room. Freddy has to kick-start his chest to draw breath. Be cool, he thinks. Just be cool.
There's not enough room between them to brace an elbow on his knee. So he has to balance himself with a hand on White's shoulder. Warm cotton. Hot skin. White holds steady as a rock.
Freddy bites his lip, then leans in and places the edge of the blade against White's throat. It makes a sharp line in the lather. He draws the blade up. White breathes out softly.
All of a sudden, he does remember being little—four, maybe five—and watching his dad shave in the bathroom of their old apartment. He remembers only being about as tall as the pedestal sink, craning his neck up to watch. He remembers thinking the shaving lather looked like whipped cream. He was probably stupid enough to try it when no one was looking.
The razor stops just under White's jawbone. Then he draws a careful stripe down White's cheek, closing the line. His gaze steals up. White's eyes are closed, and he's breathing slow and heavy. Freddy's mouth runs dry.
Fuck. He's getting a hard-on.
He thinks cold thoughts as he rinses the blade. Broken noses. Severed fingers. It doesn't help. All he can feel is the places where bare skin's touching bare skin. He clears another line along White's throat, and then another. Two downward strokes along White's cheek. A long sweep across his jaw. His hand tightens around White's shoulder as he maneuvers the blade over the tricky Adam's apple curve.
That's when White opens his eyes. Warm and dark. Heavy eyelids.
Freddy was real slow to get the memo as a kid on what straight guys do and don't do with their buddies, but a couple beat-downs in middle school mostly sorted him out. This definitely goes in that box of things that two straight guys wouldn't be doing. Not even if one of them was trying to see if the other one's a pussy.
White's looking at him like...
Like he doesn't even know what.
There's one last dab of shaving cream left under White's right ear. Freddy wipes it away with his thumb. They're just staring at each other. Freddy, desperately searching for some sort of clue. White, solid as anything. Like he's going to stand there forever until Freddy either fucks off or does something stupid.
So Freddy goes with it. He closes his eyes and leans in.
This is what he's supposed to be doing, isn't it? His orders are to cozy up to these guys. Be whatever they want him to be. This is their plan, their crime, and he's not allowed to give them any ideas, but he's not allowed to stop them either. Whatever it takes—that's the watchword of the day—and Tommy Wright, Mr. Orange, is just as turned on as Freddy Newandyke, with no good reason to say no.
His mouth touches White's, and that's about the point where he loses all control of the situation.
Re: Orange/White, shaving kink - FILL: "Cut My Throat" 4/10
His toes twitch in his sneakers as White steps closer and puts his hands on the counter. One curls around the edge of the sink. The other settles square between Freddy's knees.
The air goes out of the room. Freddy has to kick-start his chest to draw breath. Be cool, he thinks. Just be cool.
There's not enough room between them to brace an elbow on his knee. So he has to balance himself with a hand on White's shoulder. Warm cotton. Hot skin. White holds steady as a rock.
Freddy bites his lip, then leans in and places the edge of the blade against White's throat. It makes a sharp line in the lather. He draws the blade up. White breathes out softly.
All of a sudden, he does remember being little—four, maybe five—and watching his dad shave in the bathroom of their old apartment. He remembers only being about as tall as the pedestal sink, craning his neck up to watch. He remembers thinking the shaving lather looked like whipped cream. He was probably stupid enough to try it when no one was looking.
The razor stops just under White's jawbone. Then he draws a careful stripe down White's cheek, closing the line. His gaze steals up. White's eyes are closed, and he's breathing slow and heavy. Freddy's mouth runs dry.
Fuck. He's getting a hard-on.
He thinks cold thoughts as he rinses the blade. Broken noses. Severed fingers. It doesn't help. All he can feel is the places where bare skin's touching bare skin. He clears another line along White's throat, and then another. Two downward strokes along White's cheek. A long sweep across his jaw. His hand tightens around White's shoulder as he maneuvers the blade over the tricky Adam's apple curve.
That's when White opens his eyes. Warm and dark. Heavy eyelids.
Freddy was real slow to get the memo as a kid on what straight guys do and don't do with their buddies, but a couple beat-downs in middle school mostly sorted him out. This definitely goes in that box of things that two straight guys wouldn't be doing. Not even if one of them was trying to see if the other one's a pussy.
White's looking at him like...
Like he doesn't even know what.
There's one last dab of shaving cream left under White's right ear. Freddy wipes it away with his thumb. They're just staring at each other. Freddy, desperately searching for some sort of clue. White, solid as anything. Like he's going to stand there forever until Freddy either fucks off or does something stupid.
So Freddy goes with it. He closes his eyes and leans in.
This is what he's supposed to be doing, isn't it? His orders are to cozy up to these guys. Be whatever they want him to be. This is their plan, their crime, and he's not allowed to give them any ideas, but he's not allowed to stop them either. Whatever it takes—that's the watchword of the day—and Tommy Wright, Mr. Orange, is just as turned on as Freddy Newandyke, with no good reason to say no.
His mouth touches White's, and that's about the point where he loses all control of the situation.