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Harry unfolded himself and got out of Murph's car. Mouse bounded up and greeted him by nearly bowling him over. He stood his ground through sheer determination of will and practice. "Hey, boy," Harry said as he scratched Mouse behind the ears. Mouse jumped up to get a sniff of the slime that Harry was dripping everywhere. The damn troll just had to be in the deepest slime pit in Chicago. Grumbling, he pushed Mouse down and shooed him away, then shook himself off, trying to get the worst of the slime off.
"You know, Dresden, I've heard about owners and pets looking alike, but you and Mouse are taking it a bit too far."
"Ha funny ha, Murph."
"I'm just stating a fact. You need a haircut."
"Well, when the department gets their act together and sends me a check, I will, but until then..." Harry grabbed the trash bag he'd been sitting on in deference to Murph's new car. "Besides, it doesn't look that bad."
"Believe me, it does."
Harry rolled his eyes and brushed her comment off. "Thanks for the ride." He folded up the trash bag. "I promise the Blue Bug will be back in working order when we go after the next troll."
Murph laughed. "Night, Dresden."
"Murph," Harry said with a nod.
He two-timed it down the stairs to his basement apartment. He really wanted to get out of these slimy clothes; not only did they stink, but the slime was starting to harden. He shucked off his clothes, careful to make sure they all went in the trash bag. Bob always yelled when he wasted anything that might make a good spell component. Turning the shower knob, he grumbled as it screeched and clanked. It
was summer, for crying out loud, there was no need for the hot water heater to kick up a fuss. A few seconds later, the water began to spurt out and settle into a normal stream. Sighing, he stepped in and set about getting rid of the gunk and grime that had seeped through his clothes.
Successfully getting the worst of it off, he turned to his hair, which took several washings before the water ran clean. It didn't feel that bad. Toweling himself off was done briskly, as even during the summer, his apartment stayed on the cool side. He glanced in the mirror as he did so, and grimaced at the sight of his hair. Murph was right, he was beginning to look like Mouse, shaggy hair all over the place. He really did need to get it cut, but he really couldn't afford it. Money was in short supply at the best of times and this wasn't the best of times; training an apprentice was much more expensive than he had thought it would be.
He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make it look slightly presentable. It was too bad that he didn't know.... He stopped. He did know someone that cut hair.
Grinning to himself, he poked a few more times at his hair and made plans to go see his wayward brother about getting himself a haircut.
Harry stood in front of the salon for a while, watching people go in and out. He watched as another clearly satisfied customer exited the salon, self-consciously patting her new 'do. This one looked like she was headed out to some fancy party, and he was beginning to think that this wasn't such a good idea. All he needed, after all, was a quick cut. A little clippers to the back of the head, a bit off the top, that was all he needed. The barber shop he'd been going to for years had him in and out in ten minutes; he didn't think he could get seated in the salon in that time, let alone gets his hair cut.
Harry peered into the shop, and saw Thomas flitting back and forth, talking to clients. It would be good to see Thomas - they both had been so busy lately - and this had the added bonus of getting one over on him, because how could he say no to his own brother? And hadn't Thomas been bullying him for ages to "let me do something with that mop you call hair?"
He stood up straighter and pushed the door open. With his head held high, he approached the receptionist's desk. "I'd like to make an appointment with 'Toe-mass'," he said quietly as he leaned over the desk, pouring on the charm.
The receptionist looked up from the nails she had been filing and grimaced slightly, in a way that might have been intended to be a smile. "I'm so sorry, Thomas is completely booked for weeks," she said loudly. Maybe you should check with the salon in the Mall?" She looked him over dismissively. "That might be more your speed."
He looked around uncertainly, and smiled faintly at the stylists and other waiting customers who were now all looking at him. "Thomas said I could drop in anytime."
The receptionist rolled her eyes. "Sugar, he says that to everyone."
"I'm not everyone," Harry said, feeling even more flustered.
"Oh, sure you're not," she said, disbelief in every word, "but that doesn't alleviate the problem of Thomas being fully booked, does it? You'll just have to wait for whoever has an opening," She nodded towards the waiting chairs and turned back to her nails, effectively dismissing him.
Feeling like a cat with his tail between his legs, he slunk towards the door, only to have a voice stop him. "Mr. Dresden?"
Harry turned in surprise to see a group of hair stylists clustered in front of the stations. A tall blonde was standing in front, and going by the way the rest of them were acting, she was the one that had spoken. He nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes?"
The blonde stepped forward a bit more. "We were wondering if it was you. We haven't seen you in a while."
"I've...uh...been busy." He winced. He should've known that someone here would recognize him. And from their grins and the looks he was getting, he should have had Thomas come up with some sort of story to explain away the little ruse they'd used, because clearly these girls believed that he and Thomas were..."romantically" involved.
"Too busy to get your hair cut?"
"Among other things." Harry smiled ruefully, wondering where Thomas had disappeared to.
The girls giggled, and many of the clients joined in.
The blonde stylist forged ahead. "I'll take Mrs. Rodgers, and Krissy will take my appointment," she said, glancing over at another stylist for approval and receiving it. "That way Thomas can do Mr. Dresden."
That set off another round of twittering.
"She's not going to like that," the receptionist piped up.
"She will when she finds out that Mr. Dresden is Thomas's special friend."
The girl wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He's a special friend?"
The stylist glared at the receptionist. She smiled ruefully at Harry. "I'm sorry."
"It's not like..." He trailed off when he realized that the two women weren't paying any attention to him.
"They say opposites attract," the blonde said a bit too forcefully.
"They sure do," the receptionist muttered grumpily, and returned to her nails.
Harry opened his mouth to protest again but firmly shut it when he saw Thomas finally approach.
"'Arry?" Thomas asked in surprise, with his exaggerated French accent.
"Thomas," Harry said helplessly. "It's about time!" He almost mouthed "help me" at him, but everyone would have seen, and Thomas looked far too amused already.
The stylist interrupted. "It's all worked out, Thomas, I'm going to take Mrs. Rodgers so that you can do Mr. Dresden."
The salon erupted again.
"Ahh, merci, merci. I've been waiting to get my hands on...your hair, Harry." Thomas grinned. His eyes sparkled and dared Harry to say something.
Harry glared.
"Come along, Harry, there is nothing to be frightened of." Thomas took Harry's hand and gently guided him past the giggling stylists to the far back station.
Thomas brushed off the seat, even though there was nothing on it that Harry could see, and motioned from him to sit. Harry sat. Thomas ran his hands over Harry's shoulders. "Relax." He squeezed Harry's shoulders and began to knead them.
"You can drop the act now, Toe-mass," Harry hissed.
Thomas' voice dropped so that the rest of the salon couldn't hear. "No, I can't. Mrs. Rodgers is my best customer, I can't afford to offend her." He leaned into Harry. "And she wouldn't take being stood up for anyone less than a... what did Cherie call you? A special friend -- definitely not an American
half-brother."
"Fine, then just get on with it." Harry said with a growl.
"So, what do you want done?" He turned Harry's chair so that he could look at him from multiple angles. "I can-"
"Just a cut."
"Are you sure?" His fingers brushed lightly through Harry's hair, lifting sections up and moving them around. "A bit of styling would do you a world of good."
Harry laughed. "Do people really believe that?"
"Some do."
Harry looked at him skeptically.
"If you look good, you feel good."
"And that's all you do?" Harry asked softly.
"Well, no." Thomas leaned in closer to Harry, glancing significantly at Mrs. Rodgers. "But for you it would be."
"Just a cut," Harry said loudly and firmly.
"You wound me, Harry."
"You'll get--" He glanced over at the station where Mrs. Rodgers was watching them intently. "--exactly what you deserve," he gritted out, smiling brightly at Mrs. Rodgers.
Thomas beamed at him and kissed his cheek. "Just a cut it is, then." He pulled a set of towels out of a cupboard and tucked one around the back of Harry's collar. "Too bad, you would have enjoyed the shampoo." He winked at Harry in the mirror, and Harry heard another round of giggles.
Thomas shook out a frock and snapped it around Harry's neck. With some amusement, Harry watched as Thomas pulled out a tray of clippers and spent a few moments carefully choosing the right one. Then Thomas got down to business, and with an economy of movement that some would find graceful, he began his work. Harry stared into the glass, unable to take his eyes off of Thomas. Fortunately for him, Thomas was concentrating and didn't notice, save for an abstracted smile now and then, and a comment or two murmured in a low voice that didn't seem to require a response from Harry, but that made the women trying not to obviously watch them very happy.
Harry had thought that hairdressing was just a means to an end for Thomas -- an easy supply of women (and men) to feed off of -- but watching him work made him realize that maybe that wasn't all of it. Thomas was very focused, and seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in his work. Harry's eyebrow rose. It seemed hard to reconcile this Thomas with the same one who had helped Harry track down killers and work against the White Court.
"Mmm, okay, looks good." He patted Harry on the shoulder. "Up you get. Time to wash that hair."
Harry frowned. "I washed it earlier."
Thomas picked up a clump of hair and wrinkled his noise. "With some cheap shampoo, no doubt. Besides, you have not lived until you've had one of my sensual scalp massages."
"He is the best, hon," Mrs. Rodgers added. "You won't regret it," she said, with more than a tone of envy in her voice.
Sighing, Harry nodded. It didn't look like he was going to get out of it. He stood up and followed Thomas to the sink, then lowered himself into the chair and leaned back without waiting for Thomas to help. He yelped when the back of his head caught the edge of the sink.
Thomas tsked. "Let me help you." He pulled the chair out a bit, and then lowered Harry back down, cupping his head so that it fell just right. Casually, he let his fingers stroke through Harry's hair. He leaned down to softly whisper, "Just close your eyes and go with it. It will feel good, I promise you."
"No funny business, Thomas."
Thomas grinned. "No funny business. It will feel good even without my special touch."
Harry closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply and slowly let it out, willing himself to relax. He didn't know why he was so edgy, but he tensed up when he felt Thomas' fingers brush against his scalp. They kept brushing soothingly over his head, and soon he was relaxing once more. Thomas's fingers carded slowly through his hair, almost hypnotically. At first he didn't understand why Mrs. Rodgers praised it so, it was just Thomas running his fingers through his hair.
But then something changed.
Thomas' fingers began to push a little harder, making Harry's scalp tingle in new and interesting ways. It began to feel more like a massage, a massage that was releasing tension that he hadn't even been aware of. He sighed in appreciation as the knot at the base of his skull that he hadn't even realized was there loosened up and let go. Warm water was added to the mix, and the massage turned even more sensual. Fingers, water, and shampoo worked in tandem to reduce him to a pile of goo. Never in a million years would he have thought that the simple act of someone else washing his hair could feel so good. Maybe this is why women spent so much time at the salon. He wanted it to go on forever, relaxing him, coaxing the tension out of his body. A part of him even wondered what else those talented fingers could do. Harry groaned in appreciation. He started when he heard Thomas's acknowledging chuckle. His eyes flew open, and he looked up at his brother. God, he was being turned on by his brother. The lights flickered overhead.
"Harry," Thomas whispered warningly.
Harry closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. The lights stopped flickering and remained on. He opened his eyes and stared into Thomas' concerned eyes. Swallowing, he looked away.
"Are you okay?"
Harry tried to speak, but couldn't. He didn't know what to say. Sorry for getting turned on? Not bloody likely. If Thomas hadn't noticed, Harry wasn't going to admit it. The only option was to pretend it hadn't happened. He wet his lips. "Yeah," he croaked.
"Why don't I rinse you out, and we can continue this later tonight, yes?" Thomas said seductively.
Harry looked up at him in confusion. Continue this later? Had Thomas noticed? Then he saw Thomas glance at Mrs. Rodgers and the rest of the salon, and he remembered his part. He swallowed. Right, they still had to play this out. "Tonight," he agreed.
The water snapped back on, and his hair was rinsed quickly and proficiently, with nary a stray caress in sight. His hair was patted dry, and the next thing he knew he was back up in the chair and he was watching Thomas cut the hair on top of his head. He looked at the other man, really looked at him. Thomas's dark curly hair, his pale, pale skin, his deep, enigmatic eyes. He looked like a Greek God;
Harry had said as much before. But while he thought Thomas was attractive, he wasn't attracted to him.
No matter how much he wondered how it would feel if Thomas fed off of him.
It had to be good, or Mrs. Rodgers and all the rest of Thomas's clients wouldn't be coming back time after time, not with the rate he charged. Well, maybe they would. He looked at himself in the mirror. Thomas was pretty good at cutting hair.
But that's all it was: Thomas was good at his job. And his body had been reacting normally to stimuli, sensual stimuli, after having gone without any type of contact for a long time.
"So what do you think, Harry?" Thomas asked, almost nervously.
Harry grinned. "I think you outdid yourself, and that it was more than just a cut."
"Ah, I could not help myself, Harry. You are not angry?"
For a minute, he thought he almost heard a strange undercurrent to Thomas's question, that he was missing something, but he pushed it aside. "No, of course not."
Thomas leaned down and brushed a light kiss over his mouth, almost not there at all. Harry tried not to jerk away. "Good, good. I will see you tonight, then," he stage whispered. He straightened up and patted Harry on the back. "Now go! I have paying customers to take care of! Ladies, who's next!"
Harry walked out of the salon feeling good. He was glad that Thomas was enjoying his work, and he'd gotten a free haircut, to boot. If there was any niggling doubt about what had just happened, he pushed it firmly to the back of his mind.