âThatâs not how you hold a blade.â
Vergilâs voice comes out as sharp as the razor in your hand, but he doesnât move from his position at all, and as you cluck your tongue at him, you can see his arms shift slightly from their position crossed over his chest and shrouded by the old bedsheet youâve tied around his neck like heâs in a real barber shop. But he doesnât move, bare feet firmly planted on the ground even though youâre approaching quickly, a far too sure expression on your face.
âThis isnât a sword, calm down.â
âI am calm,â he replies.
He is, if it really comes down to it, but heâs shaking his head at you, a small frown on his face. You ignore it.
With the two of you in here, and Vergil sitting on a dining chair youâve dragged in from the living room, the bathroom space is a little cramped, but youâve already decided on the best position for this daunting task of shaving your loverâs face, and thatâs straddling his lap, to his surprise.
âYou canât be serious,â he says, despite letting you sit, and despite hooking an arm around your waist as you settle atop him to make sure you donât slide off.Â
Your hand grips his chin, a seductive graze of his jaw, and the second his eyes soften, slides upwards to grip his cheeks playfully.
âIf you donât talk, this will be safer for you.â
Muffled, he rebuts, âReassuring that you have some consideration for my safety, after all.â
You squeeze harder in response, stifling a giggle as his eyebrows furrow even with his lips jutting out in your grip.
He rolls his eyes, but you let go, now reaching over to the adjacent countertop set the razor down, exchanging it for a soft brush coated in shaving cream. You dab lightly at first, and expect him to wince at the cold, but he doesnât react, blue eyes focused on yours. Held for just a second, you then avert your gaze, focusing on spreading the cream all over the lower half of his face, then you pause, giggling again.
Like a statue, his eyes have never moved away from you.
âYou look like some kind of weird snowman.â
âI look like Iâm being treated like a plaything.â
You raise your eyebrows, feigning innocence.
âIâm giving you a premium treatment here, arenât I? People pay dearly for such a service.â
He chuckles, his other arm settling around your waist, before he pulls you snug against his lap once more.
âIncluding this part?â
This warms you in a way that makes your nostrils flare just once.
You grab the blade quickly.
âStay still. Donât do anything sudden-â you pause, bringing the blade carefully and gently against his cheek. â-or silly.â
Vergilâs eyes crinkle again, and itâs one of the things that gives you too much joy, that you gave him the kind of smile that would reach his eyes.
âI thought I was being pampered. Now Iâm being threatened.â
âItâs all based on your own behavior,â you quip. âDo what I tell you to, and weâll both enjoy this experience.â
He raises his eyebrows once, but then stills, and you decide to begin, scraping gently at the surface of his skin methodically, carefully, getting so intense in your focus that itâs only after youâve gotten the last edge of his jaw, even that very vulnerable area at the front of his neck that you feel criminal getting close to (but suppress an urge to bite), you notice a warmth that isnât coming from you, growing between your thighs.
âDo you honestly blame me?â he replies. Itâs meant to sound flippant, but it comes out too breathily. You suck your teeth again, about to murmur something about calling him pathetic but the second you set down the razor and reach for the aftershave, youâre being whisked away and quickly so, out of the bathroom.
âWait, thereâs still another step to this-â
And thatâs the end of that.