Fic: The Bare Necessities
Title: The Bare Necessities
Summary: Shaving has always been a necessary evil. Until now.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 1190
Rating/Contents: R, shaving, established relationship
Pairing: Phil/Steve
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (shaving/depilation)! I accidentally a story, but now I has a line! \o/ PS: "Necessities" no longer looks like a word.
It's been several weeks since Steve shaved, what with one thing and another, and it's really starting to bother him now. He's started noticing it at odd times, the way it itches when it rubs against his clothing, scratching against the bedsheets when he's trying to relax. He's sure there's some way he could keep up with it better, make the whole process faster, but quite frankly, anything called Nair must be a terrible idea.
But he's had enough, and he's fairly certain the world won't be ending today, so he gathers his supplies, laying them out in the bathroom of the apartment he shares with Phil. Basin and washcloth are first, sitting on the counter so he won't knock it over; he arranges the rest of his supplies on the edge of the bathtub, sitting down on the toilet and making himself at least moderately comfortable.
He changes out his razor first, since his hair has a tendency to dull the blades pretty quickly. These safety razors with the little cartridges are so much more convenient than the ones he used to use; he always used to screw up the old ones, dropping the blades on the floor half a dozen times before he managed to get them in, forgetting to dry them so that they'd accidentally rust, whereupon he'd have to start the whole process over again. Now, he just clicks a new one in, and there it is, a brand new razor ready to go.
Sometimes, it's the little things about living in the future that help him keep it together.
He sets the razor aside, picking up his soap and brush. This part he has no interest in updating; it was a little old-fashioned even in his time, but it's just so soothing, the clink of the brush against the mug, the way the bristles feel on his skin. He swirls the brush against the soap, working up enough lather to cover one of his calves. When that's done, he leans down and smooths the brush over his skin, covering his leg up to his knee.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and Steve freezes, his hand halfway between his leg and the mug, still gripping the brush. Phil is standing there, looking at him wide-eyed, and Steve suddenly realizes, much to his chagrin, that he never locked the door.
Phil says nothing, just stares at him, and Steve really doesn't have any idea what to do. "It gets really uncomfortable in the suit if I have hair on my legs," Steve says apologetically. "I've done it ever since I've worn one. The girls taught me how." Phil is still staring at him, dumbstruck, and Steve doesn't know what the look on his face means. "If it bothers you, you don't have to-"
"I want to help," Phil says, quickly but firmly, like he's trying to use up his nerve before it runs out. "Can I?"
Steve frowns, confused. "Sure," he says slowly, not sure why Phil should care about it. "You can give me a hand if you want."
Phil rolls up his sleeves, sinking to his knees in front of Steve. "Can I have the razor?" he says, holding out his hand, and Steve hands it to him, still unsure where this is going. Phil puts Steve's foot up on his thigh, bracing his leg, and he begins to run the razor over Steve's skin, sure strokes against the grain of his hair, even where it grows in kind of funny and sideways. Phil's definitely done this before, and Steve gets the impression that he wasn't doing it to himself.
It's no time before Steve's calf is cleared of hair, and Phil runs the washcloth over it, cleaning off nonexistent traces of soap. Steve never noticed how sensitive his skin was afterwards until he had Phil's hands on him, caressing him gently, almost reverently. Phil traces his muscles, all the way from his ankle up to his knee, and by the time he pulls away, Steve doesn't want him to.
He's not sure if Phil knows how to use shaving soap, but he doesn't seem to have any problem with it at all; he works up more lather, spreading it carefully over Steve's other calf, and Steve swears the brush never felt like that before, so sensuous, bordering on erotic. Shaving has always been a utilitarian thing, a necessary evil, but Phil is making it into something completely different.
Steve doesn't think he wants to go back.
Phil picks up the razor again, repeating what he's just done on the other leg, and it's just as foreign and alluring as it was the last time. They're done now, and Steve's sort of upset about that, actually. Except that Phil picks up the mug again and starts making more lather. "Um, I don't usually do my thighs," Steve tells him, even though he doesn't really want Phil to stop.
"Would you let me?" Phil asks.
"If you want to," Steve replies, because he has no interest at all in saying no.
Phil covers him with soap, all the way up to the edge of his shorts, one leg and then the other. He's more careful this time, slower, shaving delicately around Steve's knees; Steve shivers when Phil runs the razor over his inner thighs, very close to his rapidly hardening cock. Even though Phil can't do more than nick him, he still feels vulnerable, exposed, like he's giving something away to Phil, probably because he is.
And then, just like that, Phil's finished, swiping the washcloth over his skin one last time. At least, that's what Steve thinks; he's just about to say something, he has no idea what, when Phil kisses the inside of his knee. It's not a quick kiss, slow and lingering instead, and Phil doesn't stop, kissing a line up Steve's leg, his hands sliding over Steve's calves. When he's had his fill of that, he rubs his whole cheek against Steve's thigh, his five o'clock shadow scratching lightly over Steve's smooth skin. Steve just runs a hand through Phil's hair, petting him gently as he lovingly caresses Steve's legs.
Phil pulls very reluctantly away, and Steve kind of wants to tell him not to stop. "Got any lotion?" Phil asks, sounding a little hopeful. "You need to moisturize."
"I was going to hop in the shower and rinse off first," Steve says. "You should come with me," he adds, feeling bold.
Phil raises an eyebrow at him, looking more like himself than he has this entire time. "Well, if you insist," he says playfully.
"Oh, I do," Steve replies, standing and offering Phil a hand up. It's a shameless ploy to get Phil into his arms, and Phil doesn't hesitate to pull him down for a kiss. "Come on, your clothes are all wet."
"You don't have to convince me to take them off," Phil says, unbuttoning his shirt. "You can have that for free."
"And much, much more," Steve says, kissing him on the forehead.
"Always," Phil says, smiling, and he lets Steve lead him to the shower.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/426398.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Shaving has always been a necessary evil. Until now.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 1190
Rating/Contents: R, shaving, established relationship
Pairing: Phil/Steve
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (shaving/depilation)! I accidentally a story, but now I has a line! \o/ PS: "Necessities" no longer looks like a word.
It's been several weeks since Steve shaved, what with one thing and another, and it's really starting to bother him now. He's started noticing it at odd times, the way it itches when it rubs against his clothing, scratching against the bedsheets when he's trying to relax. He's sure there's some way he could keep up with it better, make the whole process faster, but quite frankly, anything called Nair must be a terrible idea.
But he's had enough, and he's fairly certain the world won't be ending today, so he gathers his supplies, laying them out in the bathroom of the apartment he shares with Phil. Basin and washcloth are first, sitting on the counter so he won't knock it over; he arranges the rest of his supplies on the edge of the bathtub, sitting down on the toilet and making himself at least moderately comfortable.
He changes out his razor first, since his hair has a tendency to dull the blades pretty quickly. These safety razors with the little cartridges are so much more convenient than the ones he used to use; he always used to screw up the old ones, dropping the blades on the floor half a dozen times before he managed to get them in, forgetting to dry them so that they'd accidentally rust, whereupon he'd have to start the whole process over again. Now, he just clicks a new one in, and there it is, a brand new razor ready to go.
Sometimes, it's the little things about living in the future that help him keep it together.
He sets the razor aside, picking up his soap and brush. This part he has no interest in updating; it was a little old-fashioned even in his time, but it's just so soothing, the clink of the brush against the mug, the way the bristles feel on his skin. He swirls the brush against the soap, working up enough lather to cover one of his calves. When that's done, he leans down and smooths the brush over his skin, covering his leg up to his knee.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and Steve freezes, his hand halfway between his leg and the mug, still gripping the brush. Phil is standing there, looking at him wide-eyed, and Steve suddenly realizes, much to his chagrin, that he never locked the door.
Phil says nothing, just stares at him, and Steve really doesn't have any idea what to do. "It gets really uncomfortable in the suit if I have hair on my legs," Steve says apologetically. "I've done it ever since I've worn one. The girls taught me how." Phil is still staring at him, dumbstruck, and Steve doesn't know what the look on his face means. "If it bothers you, you don't have to-"
"I want to help," Phil says, quickly but firmly, like he's trying to use up his nerve before it runs out. "Can I?"
Steve frowns, confused. "Sure," he says slowly, not sure why Phil should care about it. "You can give me a hand if you want."
Phil rolls up his sleeves, sinking to his knees in front of Steve. "Can I have the razor?" he says, holding out his hand, and Steve hands it to him, still unsure where this is going. Phil puts Steve's foot up on his thigh, bracing his leg, and he begins to run the razor over Steve's skin, sure strokes against the grain of his hair, even where it grows in kind of funny and sideways. Phil's definitely done this before, and Steve gets the impression that he wasn't doing it to himself.
It's no time before Steve's calf is cleared of hair, and Phil runs the washcloth over it, cleaning off nonexistent traces of soap. Steve never noticed how sensitive his skin was afterwards until he had Phil's hands on him, caressing him gently, almost reverently. Phil traces his muscles, all the way from his ankle up to his knee, and by the time he pulls away, Steve doesn't want him to.
He's not sure if Phil knows how to use shaving soap, but he doesn't seem to have any problem with it at all; he works up more lather, spreading it carefully over Steve's other calf, and Steve swears the brush never felt like that before, so sensuous, bordering on erotic. Shaving has always been a utilitarian thing, a necessary evil, but Phil is making it into something completely different.
Steve doesn't think he wants to go back.
Phil picks up the razor again, repeating what he's just done on the other leg, and it's just as foreign and alluring as it was the last time. They're done now, and Steve's sort of upset about that, actually. Except that Phil picks up the mug again and starts making more lather. "Um, I don't usually do my thighs," Steve tells him, even though he doesn't really want Phil to stop.
"Would you let me?" Phil asks.
"If you want to," Steve replies, because he has no interest at all in saying no.
Phil covers him with soap, all the way up to the edge of his shorts, one leg and then the other. He's more careful this time, slower, shaving delicately around Steve's knees; Steve shivers when Phil runs the razor over his inner thighs, very close to his rapidly hardening cock. Even though Phil can't do more than nick him, he still feels vulnerable, exposed, like he's giving something away to Phil, probably because he is.
And then, just like that, Phil's finished, swiping the washcloth over his skin one last time. At least, that's what Steve thinks; he's just about to say something, he has no idea what, when Phil kisses the inside of his knee. It's not a quick kiss, slow and lingering instead, and Phil doesn't stop, kissing a line up Steve's leg, his hands sliding over Steve's calves. When he's had his fill of that, he rubs his whole cheek against Steve's thigh, his five o'clock shadow scratching lightly over Steve's smooth skin. Steve just runs a hand through Phil's hair, petting him gently as he lovingly caresses Steve's legs.
Phil pulls very reluctantly away, and Steve kind of wants to tell him not to stop. "Got any lotion?" Phil asks, sounding a little hopeful. "You need to moisturize."
"I was going to hop in the shower and rinse off first," Steve says. "You should come with me," he adds, feeling bold.
Phil raises an eyebrow at him, looking more like himself than he has this entire time. "Well, if you insist," he says playfully.
"Oh, I do," Steve replies, standing and offering Phil a hand up. It's a shameless ploy to get Phil into his arms, and Phil doesn't hesitate to pull him down for a kiss. "Come on, your clothes are all wet."
"You don't have to convince me to take them off," Phil says, unbuttoning his shirt. "You can have that for free."
"And much, much more," Steve says, kissing him on the forehead.
"Always," Phil says, smiling, and he lets Steve lead him to the shower.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/426398.html.
comments over there.