Fic: Just a Trim (Kiri/Kanako, R)
Aug. 1st, 2011 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silverfoxflowerTitle: Just a Trim
Fandom: Beauty Pop
Genre: Femslash
Word Count: ~600
Pairing: Kanako -> Kiri
Rating: R
Warnings: Highschool-aged girls, budding sexuality
Notes: Fills the 'Blades' square of my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kink_bingo .
Summary: Kanako gets a haircut and fantasizes about Kiri's scissors slipping just a bit.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Kiri had given her a haircut only once before. Now, on a late summer day, when the air rolled slow and sticky, Kanako breathed the smoke from Kiri’s father’s cigarette and let her sweat-slicked hair down from their braids.
“Just a trim, right?” Kiri asked, in a husky, bored voice that Kanako took no offence at. Briskly, Kanako was swept into a salon chair and a thin plastic poncho was swung over her shoulders. In the heat, the poncho felt unbearable where it stuck to Kanako’s skin, but she swallowed and did not complain.
She had watched Kiri cut hair so many times, and the ritual felt almost comfortingly familiar even though her heart was beating a hot flush all over her body. First, a light touch at her temple, and her glasses were slid off. The world became a vibrant blur, accented by late cricket songs, the low hum of the TV, a taste of smoke on her tongue.
A soft, cool mist, and water beaded at Kanako’s temple, slid down the back of her neck. Kiri was brisk but gentle as she finished misting and began combing through Kanako’s wet hair. Kanako closed her eyes and breathed in time to the light tugs on her scalp.
“It’s grown out a bit.” Kiri murmured, matter-of-factly, and Kanako almost apologized that her hair had carelessly sprang out of the carefully constructed layers and sharp lines of Kiri’s design. But, truly, how else could she find an excuse to sit here, in the quiet peace of the barber shop, receiving the full attention of Kiri’s glorious hands?
Humidity was starting to seep in, made Kanako’s hair hang heavy and limp, sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes were still closed, so she felt rather than saw Kiri pull away, reaching for her scissors with a graceful stretch.
A quiet snick. It wasn’t anywhere near her hair, but Kanako jumped anyways.
“Calm down.” Kiri said with quiet amusement, misreading the source of Kanako’s apprehension.
“I’m not scared.” Kanako replied too fast.
Of course not. How many times had she seen Kiri perform miracles, on hair too greasy, too thick, too long, too snarled? The flashing silver in her fingers, too fast to follow. Her scissors were light, tossed from hand to hand with an unpresumptuous ease.
Not once had Kanako ever seen Kiri’s scissors slip and cut.
But when she felt the cold blade at her ear, Kanako still bit her lip. Yes, she could just barely imagine the twitch of the silver, the easy slice it would take to make her bleed. Kanako pressed her sweaty thighs together, exhaling slowly as a spiraling heat built under the flimsy plastic poncho and the rain of sliced black hair.
The whisper of ice along her neck. The smooth edge pressing against her cheek. Each small touch grabbed nerve endings and twisted them together, until Kanako was wet and throbbing, struggling not to rub herself into completion on Kiri’s father’s leather salon chair.
Kanako knew that if she made a sudden, precise, movement, not even Kiri could avoid it. At the very least, a scratch, bleeding clean. Kiri would apologize and offer bandages without any change to her tone. Kanako would insist rubbing alcohol on it just to feel it sting.
Then she would go home and take off the bandage and pinch it until it bled, masturbating furiously in the damp August night.
“All done.” Kiri tugged Kanako’s poncho off with a distinct lack of flourish and wandered off to find a broom.
“Thank you.” Kanako whispered, a rainfall of hair at her feet.
Fandom: Beauty Pop
Genre: Femslash
Word Count: ~600
Pairing: Kanako -> Kiri
Rating: R
Warnings: Highschool-aged girls, budding sexuality
Notes: Fills the 'Blades' square of my
kink_bingo . Summary: Kanako gets a haircut and fantasizes about Kiri's scissors slipping just a bit.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Kiri had given her a haircut only once before. Now, on a late summer day, when the air rolled slow and sticky, Kanako breathed the smoke from Kiri’s father’s cigarette and let her sweat-slicked hair down from their braids.
“Just a trim, right?” Kiri asked, in a husky, bored voice that Kanako took no offence at. Briskly, Kanako was swept into a salon chair and a thin plastic poncho was swung over her shoulders. In the heat, the poncho felt unbearable where it stuck to Kanako’s skin, but she swallowed and did not complain.
She had watched Kiri cut hair so many times, and the ritual felt almost comfortingly familiar even though her heart was beating a hot flush all over her body. First, a light touch at her temple, and her glasses were slid off. The world became a vibrant blur, accented by late cricket songs, the low hum of the TV, a taste of smoke on her tongue.
A soft, cool mist, and water beaded at Kanako’s temple, slid down the back of her neck. Kiri was brisk but gentle as she finished misting and began combing through Kanako’s wet hair. Kanako closed her eyes and breathed in time to the light tugs on her scalp.
“It’s grown out a bit.” Kiri murmured, matter-of-factly, and Kanako almost apologized that her hair had carelessly sprang out of the carefully constructed layers and sharp lines of Kiri’s design. But, truly, how else could she find an excuse to sit here, in the quiet peace of the barber shop, receiving the full attention of Kiri’s glorious hands?
Humidity was starting to seep in, made Kanako’s hair hang heavy and limp, sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes were still closed, so she felt rather than saw Kiri pull away, reaching for her scissors with a graceful stretch.
A quiet snick. It wasn’t anywhere near her hair, but Kanako jumped anyways.
“Calm down.” Kiri said with quiet amusement, misreading the source of Kanako’s apprehension.
“I’m not scared.” Kanako replied too fast.
Of course not. How many times had she seen Kiri perform miracles, on hair too greasy, too thick, too long, too snarled? The flashing silver in her fingers, too fast to follow. Her scissors were light, tossed from hand to hand with an unpresumptuous ease.
Not once had Kanako ever seen Kiri’s scissors slip and cut.
But when she felt the cold blade at her ear, Kanako still bit her lip. Yes, she could just barely imagine the twitch of the silver, the easy slice it would take to make her bleed. Kanako pressed her sweaty thighs together, exhaling slowly as a spiraling heat built under the flimsy plastic poncho and the rain of sliced black hair.
The whisper of ice along her neck. The smooth edge pressing against her cheek. Each small touch grabbed nerve endings and twisted them together, until Kanako was wet and throbbing, struggling not to rub herself into completion on Kiri’s father’s leather salon chair.
Kanako knew that if she made a sudden, precise, movement, not even Kiri could avoid it. At the very least, a scratch, bleeding clean. Kiri would apologize and offer bandages without any change to her tone. Kanako would insist rubbing alcohol on it just to feel it sting.
Then she would go home and take off the bandage and pinch it until it bled, masturbating furiously in the damp August night.
“All done.” Kiri tugged Kanako’s poncho off with a distinct lack of flourish and wandered off to find a broom.
“Thank you.” Kanako whispered, a rainfall of hair at her feet.
