Fic: Just a Shave
I'm going to skip the introduction, if you don't mind, and get right to the fic.
Title: Just a Shave
Pairing: Sweeney/Anthony
Rating: Soft R
Warning/s: Knife kink, slash
Wordcount: 1,153
Just a Shave
Every time Anthony visited Mr. Todd in his barber shop, the older man's razor blades caught his eye. They were beautiful things, and the dexterity with which Sweeney practiced his art was a glorious sight to behold. Anthony found himself wishing for a chance to be in the chair, and under the blade, himself. However, he had not the money to pay for a shave.
With such a boyish and youthful face, Anthony had never let his facial hair grow out. But, the pros of experiencing Sweeney's talented blade first hand outweighed the cons of neglecting his grooming. Despite how odd he looked with even the beginnings of a beard, he left himself unattended for a week. By Friday, scruff graced his cheeks, chin, and upper lip.
Whistling a merry tune, and jingling ten pence in his pocket, Anthony made his descent up the steps leading to Mr. Todd's barber shop. Never mind that the money was stolen. Its previous owner was a scrooge and a scoundrel-a man unfit to occupy the good earth. All it had taken was a little flick of the wrist and the money had been his. The old curmudgeon was putty in his hands- no man had ever been immune to Anthony's 'whore' routine.
As soon as he had reached the top of the stairs, Anthony lost not a moment in opening the door.
Sweeney was alone in the drab room. From the way he stood by his chair, and with one arm embraced it, it looked like Sweeney was waiting for a customer.
"Mr. Todd?" Anthony inquired.
Sweeney turned his face to the other man. It looked like Anthony had interrupted him from a deep thought, and intruded upon a private and tender moment.
"Yes, Anthony? Have you another girl to stow away?"
Anthony hoped the bitterness in Sweeney's voice wasn't a fault of his own.
"No, sir," Anthony retorted. Watching for Sweeney's reaction, he said: "I've come for a shave."
At this, Sweeny's eyebrows raised. It was a welcome expression. He had looked so morose just moments before. Anthony patiently waited for Sweeney to inspect his scruffy face with his scrutinizing gaze. He knew he looked perfectly foolish.
"Sit," Sweeney ordered.
Anthony lowered himself into the great big chair, his excitement mounting. This was it; he was finally in what he called 'The' chair. He could hear Sweeney behind him, preparing the instruments of his craft. Waiting with his heart in his throat, Anthony explored the hard and unforgiving wooden texture of chair's armrests. He gripped them and steadied himself. Why was he so nervous? It was just a shave.
There's no 'just' about what Mr. Todd does with a blade, Anthony thought in admiration.
Out of curiosity, Anthony's gaze wandered to the ceiling. Something glinted in the light of the window; Sweeney's razor blade was poised above his head.
Anthony jumped in alarm. The blade had taken him by surprise.
Sweeney's frown, and his funny little smile, was enough to settle Anthony back in his seat. He felt a queer wetness upon his cheeks. Sweeney lathered his face in shaving cream, and Anthony closed his eyes, content to merely feel without the aid of sight.
Finally, Sweeney's blade made contact. It traveled up the road of his neck to his chin. Its rough caress sensitized his skin, and Anthony was awash in a pleasant tingling sensation that shot throughout his entire body. It was magic, and Sweeney was the magician. He wondered in awe how a blade, something so akin to a weapon, could bring such pleasure.
Suddenly, Sweeney's hand stilled.
"What is it?" Anthony asked. His face felt cold and lonely in the absence of Sweeney's ministrations.
"You-you were..." Sweeney's eyes were round, and his voice was disbelieving.
"What? I was what?" Anthony was at a loss. Why had the other man stopped? And, what would it take to get him to start again?
Seemingly aghast, Sweeney stared down at something Anthony could not see. He followed the other man's gaze to his own lap. No wonder Sweeney had stopped; Anthony had his hand down his trousers.
Shame filled him until he was a geyser of the stuff. And yet, as if out of pure dumb shock, Anthony kept his hand between his legs. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed. Perhaps his hand had taken control of his body, and played him like a puppeteer.
"I...I..." No words could save him, now.
Expecting to meet condemning eyes, Anthony looked up at Sweeney. He felt obligated to apologize for his perversion. The eyes he met were ones of unadulterated concentration; Sweeney stared at Anthony's lap with intent.
"Mr. Todd?" Anthony squeaked.
"Hmmm," Sweeney hummed. It was a throaty, contemplative sound, as if he was wondering what to do with the younger man.
Something sharp pressed against Anthony; Sweeney held his razor blade to the other man's throat. He looked relatively good-natured for someone exacting such a violent promise.
"Mr. Todd?"
As Anthony spoke, his Adams apple bobbed against the edge of the blade. The biting pain it caused shot straight to his groin. Sweeney shushed him, and the sound was a resonating hiss in Anthony's ear.
Another, unfamiliar, hand ventured into his trousers. The pleasure was immediate.
Muttering an obscenity, graphic enough to make a priest blush, Anthony rocked into Sweeney's clammy palm. As the other man's harsh breathing assaulted his ears, he covered Sweeney’s hand with his own and thanked whatever god had gifted him with this opportunity.
"Mr. Todd. Coming..." Anthony warned disjointedly.
He jerked his hips one last time, and came with a piteous cry of Sweeney's name. The man behind him expelled a string of curses and, several minutes later, pressed a sweet kiss to his hair. Although he could not see the other man's body, Anthony imagined Sweeney had brought himself to climax, as well.
Sweeney's pulled his hand from between Anthony's legs. That hand, so slender and elegant, looked positively obscene covered in the gooey results of Anthony's quick orgasm.
"I'll leave," Anthony said. He didn't want to be around when Sweeney's bad temper settled in and he realized what the hand job really meant-that Anthony wished they were more than just friends. It must have been apparent in the way he had moaned Sweeney’s name.
Perhaps he knew all along, Anthony thought hopefully.
Picking up the towel by the chair, Anthony wiped away the last of the shaving cream. With a sad sigh, he realized how strange he must have looked with only half of his face clean-shaven. However, he felt it inappropriate to ask Sweeney for much of anything at the moment.
Just as he was halfway out the door, Sweeney yelled: "Wait-I haven't finished."
A look of relaxation graced his usually downcast face.
"You look like a right idiot," he said.
Glancing at his face in the mirror, Anthony had to agree.
Title: Just a Shave
Pairing: Sweeney/Anthony
Rating: Soft R
Warning/s: Knife kink, slash
Wordcount: 1,153
Just a Shave
Every time Anthony visited Mr. Todd in his barber shop, the older man's razor blades caught his eye. They were beautiful things, and the dexterity with which Sweeney practiced his art was a glorious sight to behold. Anthony found himself wishing for a chance to be in the chair, and under the blade, himself. However, he had not the money to pay for a shave.
With such a boyish and youthful face, Anthony had never let his facial hair grow out. But, the pros of experiencing Sweeney's talented blade first hand outweighed the cons of neglecting his grooming. Despite how odd he looked with even the beginnings of a beard, he left himself unattended for a week. By Friday, scruff graced his cheeks, chin, and upper lip.
Whistling a merry tune, and jingling ten pence in his pocket, Anthony made his descent up the steps leading to Mr. Todd's barber shop. Never mind that the money was stolen. Its previous owner was a scrooge and a scoundrel-a man unfit to occupy the good earth. All it had taken was a little flick of the wrist and the money had been his. The old curmudgeon was putty in his hands- no man had ever been immune to Anthony's 'whore' routine.
As soon as he had reached the top of the stairs, Anthony lost not a moment in opening the door.
Sweeney was alone in the drab room. From the way he stood by his chair, and with one arm embraced it, it looked like Sweeney was waiting for a customer.
"Mr. Todd?" Anthony inquired.
Sweeney turned his face to the other man. It looked like Anthony had interrupted him from a deep thought, and intruded upon a private and tender moment.
"Yes, Anthony? Have you another girl to stow away?"
Anthony hoped the bitterness in Sweeney's voice wasn't a fault of his own.
"No, sir," Anthony retorted. Watching for Sweeney's reaction, he said: "I've come for a shave."
At this, Sweeny's eyebrows raised. It was a welcome expression. He had looked so morose just moments before. Anthony patiently waited for Sweeney to inspect his scruffy face with his scrutinizing gaze. He knew he looked perfectly foolish.
"Sit," Sweeney ordered.
Anthony lowered himself into the great big chair, his excitement mounting. This was it; he was finally in what he called 'The' chair. He could hear Sweeney behind him, preparing the instruments of his craft. Waiting with his heart in his throat, Anthony explored the hard and unforgiving wooden texture of chair's armrests. He gripped them and steadied himself. Why was he so nervous? It was just a shave.
There's no 'just' about what Mr. Todd does with a blade, Anthony thought in admiration.
Out of curiosity, Anthony's gaze wandered to the ceiling. Something glinted in the light of the window; Sweeney's razor blade was poised above his head.
Anthony jumped in alarm. The blade had taken him by surprise.
Sweeney's frown, and his funny little smile, was enough to settle Anthony back in his seat. He felt a queer wetness upon his cheeks. Sweeney lathered his face in shaving cream, and Anthony closed his eyes, content to merely feel without the aid of sight.
Finally, Sweeney's blade made contact. It traveled up the road of his neck to his chin. Its rough caress sensitized his skin, and Anthony was awash in a pleasant tingling sensation that shot throughout his entire body. It was magic, and Sweeney was the magician. He wondered in awe how a blade, something so akin to a weapon, could bring such pleasure.
Suddenly, Sweeney's hand stilled.
"What is it?" Anthony asked. His face felt cold and lonely in the absence of Sweeney's ministrations.
"You-you were..." Sweeney's eyes were round, and his voice was disbelieving.
"What? I was what?" Anthony was at a loss. Why had the other man stopped? And, what would it take to get him to start again?
Seemingly aghast, Sweeney stared down at something Anthony could not see. He followed the other man's gaze to his own lap. No wonder Sweeney had stopped; Anthony had his hand down his trousers.
Shame filled him until he was a geyser of the stuff. And yet, as if out of pure dumb shock, Anthony kept his hand between his legs. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed. Perhaps his hand had taken control of his body, and played him like a puppeteer.
"I...I..." No words could save him, now.
Expecting to meet condemning eyes, Anthony looked up at Sweeney. He felt obligated to apologize for his perversion. The eyes he met were ones of unadulterated concentration; Sweeney stared at Anthony's lap with intent.
"Mr. Todd?" Anthony squeaked.
"Hmmm," Sweeney hummed. It was a throaty, contemplative sound, as if he was wondering what to do with the younger man.
Something sharp pressed against Anthony; Sweeney held his razor blade to the other man's throat. He looked relatively good-natured for someone exacting such a violent promise.
"Mr. Todd?"
As Anthony spoke, his Adams apple bobbed against the edge of the blade. The biting pain it caused shot straight to his groin. Sweeney shushed him, and the sound was a resonating hiss in Anthony's ear.
Another, unfamiliar, hand ventured into his trousers. The pleasure was immediate.
Muttering an obscenity, graphic enough to make a priest blush, Anthony rocked into Sweeney's clammy palm. As the other man's harsh breathing assaulted his ears, he covered Sweeney’s hand with his own and thanked whatever god had gifted him with this opportunity.
"Mr. Todd. Coming..." Anthony warned disjointedly.
He jerked his hips one last time, and came with a piteous cry of Sweeney's name. The man behind him expelled a string of curses and, several minutes later, pressed a sweet kiss to his hair. Although he could not see the other man's body, Anthony imagined Sweeney had brought himself to climax, as well.
Sweeney's pulled his hand from between Anthony's legs. That hand, so slender and elegant, looked positively obscene covered in the gooey results of Anthony's quick orgasm.
"I'll leave," Anthony said. He didn't want to be around when Sweeney's bad temper settled in and he realized what the hand job really meant-that Anthony wished they were more than just friends. It must have been apparent in the way he had moaned Sweeney’s name.
Perhaps he knew all along, Anthony thought hopefully.
Picking up the towel by the chair, Anthony wiped away the last of the shaving cream. With a sad sigh, he realized how strange he must have looked with only half of his face clean-shaven. However, he felt it inappropriate to ask Sweeney for much of anything at the moment.
Just as he was halfway out the door, Sweeney yelled: "Wait-I haven't finished."
A look of relaxation graced his usually downcast face.
"You look like a right idiot," he said.
Glancing at his face in the mirror, Anthony had to agree.