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Title: Of Smoke and Gold and Breathing
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: G for actual happenings, rather higher for implications
Summary: Alec washes his hair.
Notes: No spoilers. Written in a few hours. Short, fairly pointless, hopefully pretty. Title from Leonard Cohen's "Winter Lady". Lyrics here.
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Ellen Kushner.

***

Alec was washing his hair. It was too long for him to manage easily, and he had begun cursing halfway through the attempt, his volume now rising every time water splashed over the edge of his bowl and rattled against the floor. His shoulders and back shone with previous spills, and the water had run in streaks down his skin to soak a dark blotch into the waistband of his breeches. He flung down the comb he'd been using and yanked his fingers through a tangle, attempting to rinse away the last of the soap. "I think," he snarled, his voice barely maintaining a veneer of sarcasm over his frustration, "that I will cut my hair. All of it. And then I will shave my head; it will be the newest fashion." He tugged at the knot again, so roughly that Richard, watching, frowned. "Do you think people will stare?"

"Yes. If you did it. But you won't."

Alec twisted to look over his shoulder, one eye closed against the water that had dripped onto his face. "You sound very certain. Do grace me with your penetrating thoughts, Richard. Why won't I, exactly?"

Richard did not say that he suspected Alec was too vain to feign baldness; he also suspected Alec might well be stubborn enough to cut his hair simply to prove that he would, and Richard would rather he didn't. He held out his hand instead. "Let me help."

"I don't need your help. I can take care of myself." Alec turned away, drawing the ends of his hair forward to pick at the mat with his long fingers. "Besides, you'd pull it."

Richard folded his lips to stop a smile. "No, I won't. Come here."

Alec shrugged, sullenly irritated. "Do what you want." He scooped up the comb, deposited it in Richard's hand, and seated himself gracelessly on the floor in front of Richard's chair, hunching forward to throw his arms around his legs; over the long curve of his back, his spine protruded like a thick rope and his hair fell in a damp, disheveled mass. A few gossamer strands, short and downy, were plastered by water to his jaw, lying flat and dark against his skin as lines of ink or scars.

Richard started at the bottom, slowly moving up as he transformed each tangle to smooth strands. The teeth of the comb grew dark and dull as the wood absorbed the water that he pulled downward with each stroke; on the tips of Alec's hair drops beaded and fell. Alec's hair was heavier when wet, and darker, and cold where the air touched it, so that it felt different in his hands, like something slippery and strange. But when he reached the scalp, Alec's body heat had been trapped under the outside layer, and it was warm, there behind his ears and in the shallow hollow where his neck met his skull.

It felt strange to touch Alec for so long and so casually; outside of bed, they didn't often sit together or come close. Alec's shoulders were drawn high and he was shivering slightly, but he didn't speak. Richard didn't either, superstitiously cautious of breaking something between them. Alec's hair, sleek now, slipped smoothly through the comb, cool and silken when it ran over Richard's fingers. It was easier not to think during sex. Like this, he was too aware of Alec's breath, the goosebumps on his skin, the tiny, nervous movements on his hands on his knees. It was unsettling; Richard could hear the blood in his ears.

"There," Richard said, quieter than he'd meant to. He coughed. "What do you want me to do with it?"

Alec shook his head. "I don't care. Do whatever you want." His voice was rough, and his eyes were almost closed.

Richard gathered it at the nape of Alec's neck and leaned over his shoulder, reaching for the ribbon he'd left on the table earlier. For a moment, Alec's back pressed into his chest, and when Richard breathed, he could feel the long, straight lines of his bones. Then he leaned back, ribbon in hand, and tied Alec's hair into a neat tail. Alec sat motionless. His back was still wet in patches, and Richard thought of touching him now, without the excuse of the comb, to see if the water was warm or cool, to see if Alec turned.

Alec caught the edge of the table and pulled himself to his feet, taking a step away. He reached up with one distracted hand to touch his hair, staring down at Richard, and swallowed hard, so that Richard could see his throat move. Richard waited, feeling exposed. "I suppose I won't cut it just yet," Alec said lightly, looking away.

"That would be good," Richard said.

***

Current Mood: content
Current Music: "Greek Song" Rufus Wainwright