Page 9 of Embers Glow After the Fire

The relieved target of the sunny twink’s fixation wastes no time scooping up his dirty dishes and following into the kitchen. “You don't have to do this. My hair can wait until I get back to Portland.”

Matthew chuckles. “I could see you needed rescuing—and I don’t mind.” He waves for Brendon to follow him. Catching sight of Phoenix scowling at the pair as they pass through the seating area to climb the stairs. Matthew winks.

Brendon’s long legs skip steps to catch up to Matthew’s stride. “Thank you.” His mossy eyes gleam in the golden light pouring through the picture window from the north side of the cabin.

“Lucky for you, I bring my tools along when I travel—there's always someone who needs a haircut and I can't help myself.” Matthew smiles. “Grab the chair in my room and take it into the bathroom?”

“Okay.” Brendon does as instructed.

He’s sitting in the chair facing the mirror, ankles crossed and staring down at his fingers weaving and fumbling on his lap.

Matthew gathers a towel from the linen closet and sets it on the counter, unrolling his leather satchel of shiny silver utensils and electric clippers. He whips out the black vinyl cape tucked under his arm and wraps it around Brendon’s shoulders, snug under his chin, securing three snaps at the back of his neck.

“What would you like to do?” He leans on the counter and smiles down at the lanky customer, reaching into his dark waves to assess the density and texture. He recognizes instantly that its natural coarseness has been kept polished by high-quality grooming products. The last shape cut into it was well crafted by someone who knew what they were doing.

“I haven't seen my stylist since before I left Texas eight months ago?” He pauses to calculate in thought. “I used to just get a monthly trim—but let's buzz it off.”

“Oh, someone’s looking for a fresh start?” Matthew can't help but analyze when he's in work mode. It's just part of the territory. He readies the motorized clipper in his palm, plugging it into the socket above the vanity. “Ready?” He gives Brendon a last chance to change his mind.

“Go for it.” There's a nervous energy in his response and excitement on his face.

The clippers hum and vibrate at the flick of a lever. He gently lays his free hand over Brendon’s scalp and directs him to tilt his neck to the side.

Brendon closes his eyes and the edges of his pink pouty lips turn up as he drifts away to some meditative place in his mind.

Thick straps of dark chocolate waves fall to his shoulders and slide down the cape to the floor. Matthew strokes the curve of his head over and over with the buzzing tool. Cupping his scalp and shifting his neck in various positions to get the perfect angle in the right light. Switching the clipper guides for a fade. Wiping his thumb across Brendon’s forehead to sweep away strands of hair sticking to his hot and damp skin.

Brendon fidgets in the chair.

“Everything okay?” Matthew checks in.

“Absolutely.” He speaks with eyes pinched shut, turning his face up in the direction of Matthew’s voice.

Matthew can feel the body heat radiating off Brendon like a furnace. Carrying his sweet scent through the small room. “Go ahead and lean over the sink. We’ll rinse away all the stray hair so you aren't itching the rest of the day.”

Brendon does as instructed, squeezing his face to keep hair out of his eyes and mouth. Back bent, propped on his elbows, he hovers over the basin. His shirt rises up his back and designer label underwear peeks out of his shorts.

Matthew chuckles, stretching over the lanky man, and reaches into the shower for shampoo. He twists the faucet on and dips his fingers into the stream until it feels warm enough to proceed. Laying over Brendon’s back, the warmth rising between them feels like fire. Matthew's full belly brushes against Brendon’s arm as he scoops warm water into his palms and pours it down over Brendon’s head, rubbing it around to wet every edge. He squeezes a dollop of creamy soap into one palm and smears it over Brendon’s fresh buzz cut. It lathers into silky suds and releases a pungent floral scent. His fingertips massage fuzzy scalp and he’s sure he hears a satisfying moan.

Matthew rinses the suds away with scoops of water and wraps the fluffy towel around Brendon’s head. “Feel better?”

Brendon falls back into the chair, scrubbing the towel over his head. His face and neck are bright red. “Feels great.” His voice is muffled under the fluffy fabric.

Matthew unsnaps the cape and pulls it away. “Tah dah!” He smiles at Brendon’s charming reflection in the mirror. “You're good to go.”

He doesn't move from the chair, bundling the damp towel on his lap. “It's perfect,” he beams.

“I know.” Matthew jokes. “Head on down with the others. I'll clean up.”

Brendon doesn't budge. “I’ll clean up the mess.” His face is strangely tense.

Matthew reaches for the towel on his lap, but Brendon’s knees shift away, guarding it to his thighs.

“I’ve got it,” he snaps with wild eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Oh—” Matthew jerks back, realizing the man can't stand up at the moment. “I’ll just—” He stumbles, gathering his tools in a huff, hugging them against his chest, and spinning on his heel. His feet shuffle up the hall toward his room. At a loss for words but floating on a wave of delight. Giving Brendon a moment to cool down. As the temperature of his own body hits a new high. He busies himself, packing away the case of utensils with a boastful grin plastering his face.

Brendon appears in the doorway. “Thank you—I love it.” He chews his lip with cheeks still pink.

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