Clive unlaces and shucks off his vest. Underneath, his white undershirt clings damply to his skin, and he sticks a thumb in his shirt laces to loosen them, too.
“Good,” he says, pleased. “He went to bed, did he?”
She can see the line of his muscles through his shirt. It's great. As much as she misses him while he hunts, he needs to get out and burn off his energy... and at least it often means she gets to see this.
“Perfect,” he says, and he pulls his shirt off over his head, back stretching out and abs flexing as he does. “Thank you for always taking such good care of him.”
“I’m grateful just the same,” he says, and he unlaces himself out of his trousers. That always takes a minute, the loops parting bit by bit to reveal his braies and his sweaty thighs.
He beams at her, stepping out of his trousers and dropping them aside with the rest, nude save for his socks and braies, the latter of which sits so sloppily on his hips that they reveal dark hair trailing upwards. He smiles.
“I’ll shower quickly, then, so I can be with you sooner.”
The fact that his hair is a happy mess on a good day is why Jill feels comfortable to give it a trim at all. Unless she takes out a good chunk, it's nearly impossible to mess it up.
She takes his hand to lead him to the bathroom.
"Just a trim," she promises. "It's getting long. I like seeing your face and it's been getting in my way."
He follows, his gaze drifting down her arm to settle on his hand in hers, and he curls his fingers around hers in turn. His heart swells.
“Just as long as you keep the ugly part hidden,” he says, mildly joking. “And if you are to look at me, I’d sooner have a trim than start tying it back…”
"No part of your face is ugly," she tells him, having him stand with his back towards the sink and mirror. She cups that scarred cheek with a smile. "I'd cut your hair shorter if you'd let me."
He makes an amused sound under his breath, resting his weight against the counter’s edge and letting his head fall forward, sinking the weight of his cheek into her hand.
“Perhaps someday,” he says. “And as long as it grows out before we go home.”
“It still gets looks,” he remarks. This house is the only place it doesn’t, and his eyes droop closed lazily just so he can focus on the sensation of her skin on his — where it passes over living nerve and drifts into dead space and back. “Fortunately your opinion is the only one that matters, at the end of the day.”
"And I'm of the opinion that you are the most handsome man there ever was," she says, to the surprise of none. "I thought so even when this wound was fresh."
Jill steps closer to press a kiss to his cheek, right upon the scar. Being that close reminds her that he needs to bathe, and before that, she needs to tame that mop of hair. She pulls back just enough to reach around him for the scissors.
"I'll trim the front just a little shorter," she tells him, running her fingers through the hair that falls on his forehead. "You'll hardly notice the difference."
"I know. Don't worry. Close your eyes, Clive." So she doesn't cut his long lashes or get bits of hair in his eyes. She pulls his hair forward, lining up the scissors and slowly cutting across. She does a second pass with the tips of the blades, thinning his hair out more around his eyes.
She hums in approval before running her fingers through another section so she can trim the entire length.
Clive does as he's told, closing his eyes, or at least lowering them enough that he can still look down, eyes settling on her chest as she works. It's relaxing, feeling the gentle tug on his scalp as she moves his hair around between her fingers, watching little tufts of dark hair fall between them, some making it all the way to the floor.
"I wore it shorn short for a while," he murmurs. "I never liked it that way."
"Good to keep lice away, but I think longer hair suits you best. But not too long," she teases, snipping here and there. A shower will clean him of the bits of hair and she'll sweep the floor.
Now that's an interesting thought. He'd felt himself settling into a mood too sentimental and tender to manage fucking her roughly, but that gives him pause.
"She would be furious," he says, daring to look up a little bit more, to her face.
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“Good,” he says, pleased. “He went to bed, did he?”
He could be out with Dante.
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"He did. I made sure he had a big dinner."
A little food coma in their favor.
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Boots next.
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"You don't need to thank me, Clive. He's family. Having the opportunity to take care of him is truly my pleasure."
And looking after him in Clive's absence is a very important job.
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And letting her watch him undress whenever she pleases. Truly, a gift.
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“I’ll shower quickly, then, so I can be with you sooner.”
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"Let me trim your hair before you wash it." Less shedding in their bed.
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“Where do you want me, then?”
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She takes his hand to lead him to the bathroom.
"Just a trim," she promises. "It's getting long. I like seeing your face and it's been getting in my way."
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“Just as long as you keep the ugly part hidden,” he says, mildly joking. “And if you are to look at me, I’d sooner have a trim than start tying it back…”
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“Perhaps someday,” he says. “And as long as it grows out before we go home.”
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"I hardly see this when I look at you, you know," she tells him, full of fondness. "I'm glad to live in a place where you don't need to hide."
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“To think I could end up with such a beauty, who could see so much at me even at my lowest,” he murmurs.
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"I'll trim the front just a little shorter," she tells him, running her fingers through the hair that falls on his forehead. "You'll hardly notice the difference."
But she will.
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"Only as much as you need to," he says, and he holds his head straight just so it doesn't end up weird.
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She hums in approval before running her fingers through another section so she can trim the entire length.
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"I wore it shorn short for a while," he murmurs. "I never liked it that way."
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"Short enough to not displease you, and long enough to displease my mother," he agrees, wryly. "A worthwhile balance."
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She clicks her tongue softly as she continues to cut. And now Anabella doesn't breathe at all.
"I wonder what she'd think of the noises you get out of me."
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"She would be furious," he says, daring to look up a little bit more, to her face.
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