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Saša Lošić has a recurring habit of letting his hair grow out way too long before he bothers to get it cut.
Pava has noticed this ever since they became best friends in high school, but as of late, Saša has been growing his hair out longer than ever before and it’s clearly getting a tad bit annoying for him to manage. During their past few concerts, Pava has noticed him brushing his bangs out of his face over and over, pulling an irritated face when he can’t get them to stay. On one hand, Pava thinks it’s cute, but on the other, he knows Saša’s bangs must be bothering him.
“I’m trimming your bangs for you,” Pava announces out of the blue one day while they’re hanging out, just the two of them. “I can tell they’re annoying you.”
Saša glances up from the lyrics he’s working on, brushes his bangs out of his face, and says, “What? They’re not that long.”
“Saša, you can hardly see,” Pava points out softly, but there’s an unmistakable tilt of amusement to his voice. “Please. Just let me help you. I won’t make you any less cute than you already are.”
Saša flushes red at the compliment, rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “Fine.”
He soon finds himself in a chair, a tablecloth draped over his shoulders as a makeshift haircutting cape. A faint rosy flush of embarrassment still lingers on his cheeks, ashamed to have put off getting a trim for so long. Pava’s fingers run gently through his hair, brushing through it and gauging how he should approach this. Saša doesn’t want to admit that he kind of likes getting his hair played with like this.
“Just trust me,” Pava says, brushing Saša’s hair aside in order to press his lips gently against his neck. “You’re so tense. I know what I’m doing, don’t worry. How else do you think I get my hair to look so cool?”
Saša shivers at the kiss, a jolt of heat travelling right to his cock. “I trust you,” he says weakly, leaning into Pava’s touches. “Just get it over with.”
Pava laughs softly and obliges, pulling back to take a good look at Saša’s hair. He takes about an inch of the ends between his fingers, pulls it taut, and gently snips the ends off with his pair of scissors.
“See? Not so bad,” Pava says, taking another small section of Saša’s hair between his fingers.
The back of Saša’s hair is fairly easy to shape—Pava cuts small sections at a time, forming delicate layers—but once he gets to the sides, Pava pauses a moment to think about how he’ll blend Saša’s bangs into the rest of his hair.
“You didn’t mess up, did you?” Saša asks, clearly still wary about trusting someone to cut his hair for him.
Pava smiles, tucking a section of Saša’s bangs behind his ear for him. “No, definitely not. I’m just thinking about how pretty you are.”
Saša turns away, blushing madly. Only recently have he and Pava decided to take their relationship beyond being “just friends”, and he is very much not used to all of Pava’s flattery just yet. He doubts he ever will be.
Biting his lower lip in concentration, Pava circles around to Saša’s front and begins trimming his bangs. He takes great care to shape them into perfect curtain bangs, something soft and delicate that frame Saša’s face perfectly. “You can see again,” he points out with a teasing smile. “How’s it feel?”
“Better,” Saša replies, shyly smiling up at Pava. God, just the way Pava looks at him sometimes—Saša has been finding he’s a lot more easily aroused lately, even with a subtle fleeting touch from Pava or even just having his complete undivided attention. He tugs his shirt over the hard-on forming in his pants. Having Pava touching him, teasing him, calling him cute—Saša doesn’t know how much more he can take of this.
Pava finally begins trimming the last section, blending Saša’s bangs into the rest of his hair. This part is easy—he just does what feels right, and by the time he’s done, Saša’s hair is prettier than ever, and his bangs are finally out of his face. He looks delighted to be able to see his reflection in the mirror when Pava shows him.
But Saša has been awfully quiet otherwise.
“You okay?” Pava asks, wrapping his arms around Saša from behind and kissing his neck again. “You’re real quiet.”
Another wash of heat floods to Saša’s cock at the touches. His cheeks burn and he gathers enough voice to shakily say, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Pava finally notices what Saša’s been hiding.
“Oh,” Pava says, slipping into that teasing tone like it’s just natural for him. “I see what’s going on. I don’t think you quite deserve that until you do something for me first, hmm? Doesn’t that seem fair?”
Saša’s breath catches in his throat. Pava is always so easily dominant over him, putting him in his place so effortlessly. He nods meekly, getting up from the chair to follow Pava into the living room.
“On your knees, baby,” murmurs Pava, gently pushing at Saša’s shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right. Right in front of the window, so everyone sees how much of a little whore you are.”
Fuck, Saša hates how much he loves this. He wants everyone to know he’s Pava’s—not anyone else’s. He’s tired of acting like the playboy, pretending he has copious amounts of girls plastered to his side. Saša sinks to his knees right in front of the window, fumbling for the zipper on Pava’s jeans and not caring what anyone might think.
Saša works Pava’s cock free in no time and obediently takes the head of it between his lips, enveloping the first inch of Pava’s length in the wet heat of his mouth. Pava makes a pleasured sound that only spurs Saša on further, shifting forward on his knees to take more of Pava’s cock into his mouth.
“So good, sweetheart,” Pava praises softly, one of his hands finding Saša’s hair.
Saša moans at the praise, the vibrations making Pava twitch. His fingers tighten in Saša’s hair, unintentionally tugging at it, and Saša moans again, reaching under the waistband of his pants to touch himself a little as he bobs his head along the length of Pava’s cock.
He’s practically a mess, being used by Pava like this, and he fucking loves it . . . until Pava uses the grip on his hair to tilt his head back, pulling his cock from his mouth. Saša’s lips are red and his chin glistens with drool, a pathetic mess for his guitarist to ruin.
“What are you doing there?” Pava asks, pointedly looking between Saša’s thighs, where he’s unabashedly stroking himself in his pants. “I don’t remember saying you could touch yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Saša says, his voice small and guilty and wrecked. He takes his hand out of his pants and plants both of them firmly behind his back as if his hands are tied with invisible rope. “I’m so sorry. Please, just let me—” He’s cut off by Pava loosening the grip on his hair. Saša smiles, leaning forward to take Pava’s cock into his mouth again, determined to make him come.
It isn’t much longer before Pava says something about coming and then does just that. He pulls back quickly and proceeds to spurt ropes of cum all over Saša’s cheeks, hair, and awaiting tongue. Saša looks fucking ruined, and Pava loves it.
After tucking himself back into his boxers and pulling his jeans back on, Pava looks down at Saša’s pretty face and says, “All right, sweetheart. You know I like to keep a promise. Get up.”
Saša is on his feet in a flash. He can feel Pava’s cum drying sticky on his face, but he doesn’t care. He wants to be Pava’s, in every way, shape, and form, and he wants everyone to know it. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice Pava circling around to wrap his arms around him from behind once more, but this time one of Pava’s hands sneaks under the waistband of his pants, moving to jerk him off quick and dry right then and there.
Weakly, Saša whimpers, his body shaking like a leaf as he tries and fails to keep standing while Pava jerks him off. It hurts with no lube, of course, but the pain mixes with his pleasure and soon he’s moaning like the little whore he is, begging Pava to let him come.
And he does.
Saša comes fast, hot and sticky right in his pants and all over Pava’s fist. He practically sees stars as he arches his back against his guitarist’s chest and rides out what might be the best, guiltiest orgasm he’s ever had.
The orgasm leaves him panting and trembling in Pava’s hold. He feels weak and used, and he couldn’t be happier about it.
“Well, that’s one way to finish off a haircut,” Pava says cheerfully, kissing Saša’s neck, and Saša can only smile tiredly, realising that he will definitely be asking Pava to cut his hair again.