The Game
Summary: Early in their relationship, Helen decides that James needs to lose the beard. And James decides that he likes when Helen takes charge.
Author's Note: In my fic "Snowbound", James offers to shave off his beard after Helen protests that kissing him tickles. This fic is kind of a follow-up, but you don't have to read "Snowbound" to understand this. Takes place less than a few months into their relationship, with the obligatory warnings about my headcanon on James's relationship with John and his bisexuality also being mentioned in passing. (Also, this wasn't initially meant to be smut, but James and Helen insisted, thus the second part.)
Part 1
Helen was bent over her microscope, as she had been for hours, not even stopping for lunch, just eating as she'd worked. As always, her dedication to her work was endearing, but enough was enough. She was going to make herself blind, peering through that lens without a break for so long. She needed a break from the eye-straining work, and he was more than willing to provide that for her. Creeping up on her, he bent and nuzzled her cheek to distract her attention from her specimen.
Giggling, she leaned away, giving him a gentle shove. "Stop that, you insatiable man, I'm trying to work!" she 'chided' with a tolerant, loving smile.
"I'm not trying to woo you into bed, silly woman," he chuckled. "But you've been working for over nine hours without a break. Come away for a few minutes. You can return to work afterwards, if you care to, but working so long without even a few minutes of rest isn't good for you."
She bit her lip at that, frowning up at him for a moment before the expression melted again into a smile. "You're right, James, of course," she admitted, stretching and rubbing the back of her neck. "I could use a short intermission, I suppose."
"Sore?" he asked, pushing her hands away and gently massaging the sore muscles himself.
He'd known her long enough to know exactly where bending over a microscope for hours on end left her aching, and he gently attacked those muscles with deft fingertips until she groaned and melted under his knowing touches.
"James, that's lovely."
"I'm glad you think so. Now, what would you say to a spot of tea?"
She groaned at his words. "Now that sounds delightful."
"You shouldn't work until you're in physical pain," he tsked, offering his arm. "If you aren't careful, I may need to take you in hand, young lady."
She snorted at that, playfully punching his shoulder before demurely accepting the offered arm. "I'd like to see you try. If my own father couldn't control me as a child, I don't see you managing it as an adult." Smiling sweetly, she added, "Did I forget to mention that when we became lovers? I'm entirely unmanageable."
"It was strongly implied in a thousand ways beforehand," he assured her, smirking and shaking his head. "Besides, I'd be worried if you suddenly became demure on me."
"If such a thing happened, I hope you'd strongly consider the possibility that I'd been replaced by a shapeshifter," she murmured, leaning against him affectionately as they walked.
"Oh, of course. Or possibly mind-control," he assured her, nodding wisely. "Or a doppelgänger of some sort. But I certainly wouldn't trust such a change in any way, shape, or form."
"Good man," she laughed, leaning up and kissing his cheek.
She'd been in her lab all day, and was dressed accordingly: trousers, a loose shirt that he was relatively certain had once been his own, and slippers instead of her usual high-heeled boots. The overall effect was uncannily attractive, and not just because he'd always had an interest in more masculine subjects than her. She didn't look anything like a young man despite the men's clothes. Somehow the boyish outfit only accentuated her existing femininity, especially with her hair unbound. He wanted to run his fingers through those golden tresses, and take advantage of that thin fabric to caress flesh he seldom had access to in the light of day.
He restrained himself, no easy task where Helen Magnus was concerned. He could always take advantage of her later, or be taken advantage of by her. Their newfound relationship contained a great deal of both. She teased him with his insatiability, and she wasn't wrong that he enjoyed intimacy with her frequently and, sometimes, quite indiscreetly. But she was no shrinking violet herself. She was just as likely, if not a bit more so, to be the initiating party in their frequent encounters. In fact, she seemed to prioritize lovemaking as only slightly less important than work. And he was not complaining.
But all that hardly meant that sex was all their was to their relationship. Their mutual passion for their work with the Sanctuary, for making the world a better place, had always bound them, and that hadn't changed. They had a good deal in common, were best friends. It would have been odd, then, if they hadn't spent a lot of time together, enjoying each other's company in a platonic way when they weren't in a sexual one. Little moments like tea together in the evenings were as satisfying emotionally as their nights in bed together were physically.
So he was smiling as he led her into the sitting-room, where a thoughtful servant had already laid out their tea-things. "Ah, splendid."
"They know our habits too well," Helen chuckled, moving to test the temperature of the tea in the silver pot. "It's fresh. They must have made it up when they saw you walk into my lab."
He grinned, shaking his head. "They knew I'd lure you away when nothing else could. I feel proud of myself. It must take a special sort of man to tempt Helen Magnus to give up her work, even just for long enough to enjoy a nice spot of tea."
"Don't let it make you arrogant," she warned, shaking her head. "I can't abide arrogance, James Watson."
"I know. But your presence will always be enough to humble me, so you needn't worry," he assured her, winking.
"That's a responsibility I plan to take seriously," she assured him with a mock-prim expression, handing him a cup of tea. "Not that you've ever been one for modesty, but someone has to keep your ego in check."
"No person better for the job!" he laughed, accepting his tea and kissing her cheek. "Thank you, my darling."
"Humph," she answered, pouring herself a cup of tea. "Stop flattering me. Shut up and eat a biscuit."
"At your insistence," he promised, picking one up and nibbling cheerfully on the sweet confection, beaming at her the whole time.
She looked easy enough at first but, as he continued smiling, her expression slowly turned wary. "Why are you smirking at me like that?" she asked finally, shaking her head.
"Just wondering if I can convince you to leave your lab and head to bed at a reasonable hour tonight," he assured her, reaching for another biscuit.
"Planning on joining me?" she asked, smiling again.
"I had thought I might. If you didn't mind, of course."
"You can't join me in my bed. I won't be there. I plan to spend the night in the bed of a certain gentleman I know instead..."
He chuckled at that, could feel himself colouring. "I'm sure he'll be very pleasantly surprised when you show up."
"Good," Helen answered, sipping her tea with a grin.
They drank in comfortable silence after that, merely enjoying the simple intimacy of a quiet moment together. She rested a hand on his arm as they sat together, and he smiled warmly over at her, feeling peaceful, and content, and full of hope for the future. Their future. Together.
"Will you be returning to your lab when we finish?" he asked, nodding towards his nearly-empty teacup.
"Not tonight, I think," she answered, shaking her head faintly. "Something else seems more important."
He made a soft, surprised noise at that answer, studying her face. She didn't look randy, or not yet, but time with him was clearly on her mind, and that was gratifying in the extreme. To sacrifice precious hours of work, to spend time with him, when they might spend time together any other day or night...
"Thank you, Helen," he whispered, meaning it. He kissed her cheek, then bent and kissed her neck, where it met her shoulder, inhaling her warm scent and nuzzling the soft skin.
She gasped, then giggled, squirming away. "James, stop it!"
"Stop it?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Your beard tickles!"
"You always say that," he pointed out, grinning and continuing to nuzzle her.
"Well, this time I mean it. It has to go..."
He snorted indelicately, shaking his head and pointing out, "You always say that, too. But somehow it never stops you from coming back to me again the next time around."
"You did promise to shave it off once," she pointed out. "The first time we made love."
"Huh, so I did," he remembered, biting his lip.
He had made that promise. His beard hadn't seemed important at the time, and it really wasn't, when he thoughts about it. He'd only ever kept it as a matter of convention, after all, and he was defying more than one of those just by being in the sort of relationship he suddenly shared with Helen. Compared to all the other taboos they were violating together, scraping off a little facial hair was nothing at all.
"Well, all right. If you think you'd prefer it, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to get rid of my whiskers."
She smiled in surprise, but bit her lip. "Are you sure you don't mind? I know I've been resistant to changing for you. It's probably not fair of me to ask you to change for me."
"It's only a little facial hair. I shave every morning as it is. It's not as if I'd be losing anything important. If my beard makes our lovemaking less enjoyable for you than it might otherwise be, of course, I'll happily remove it."
She bit her lip harder, looking down. "It's up to you, James, of course. I won't insist. I'm sure I'll get used to being regularly tickled by your facial hair."
"You're too ticklish for your own good," he answered, smiling at having knowledge of her that almost no one else in the world would ever know. "I can go shave it off now, if you like. I can always grow it back, if we change our minds, or if you suddenly decide you like being tickled," he teased.
"Don't count on that," she laughed, swatting his shoulder. "You'll never get me to enjoy being tickled."
"We'll see about that," he chuckled, climbing to his feet.
"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning in surprise.
"I'm going to go have a shave."
She swallowed hard at that, rising. "Oh, James, are you sure? I was mostly teasing. You really don't have to."
"I don't mind," he assured her. "People will think I've gone mad, but you know me. I never mind offending out-dated sensibilities."
"No, I suppose you never do," she laughed, smiling warmly and shaking her head. "I won't object, should you ever decide to grow it back."
"We'll call it an experiment, then. If it doesn't work out properly, there's no need to attempt a repeat. Hair, after all, grows back. I'll see you in a few minutes, love," he told her, kissing her cheek and turning to go.
"Wait," she protested, grabbing his hand.
He stopped, turning back in surprise. "Yes, darling?"
"Let me."
He raised a brow at the request, staring at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Would you let me do it?" she asked, looking shy, but also eager.
"Uh..." He hesitated, clearing his throat and studying her face. "You want to shave me? Have you even handled a razor before?"
She shook her head, admitting, "I offered to shave John a few times, but he never allowed it."
"No, he wouldn't have done. He always was a bit... less than trusting," he agreed quietly. "Do you require instruction, then?" he added to change the subject away from what could easily have become a painful topic if they'd lingered on it.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I've handled a scalpel. I can't see the two being terribly different."
He swallowed hard at the comparison, trying not to imagine her accidentally slashing his throat. His imagination was vivid and those were pictures he did not need taking up residence in his mind. It probably did not help that the only lover he'd taken before her had done rather unspeakable things with a straight razor. But, again, neither of them must be allowed to linger on thoughts of John. He banished all such considerations firmly from his mind.
Besides, this was Helen. He was safe in her hands; always had been, always would be. She had precise, steady hands, and an almost preternaturally delicate touch when she chose to. If he let her shave him, she would be deft and skilful, as she was in all her undertakings. It might well prove to be the cleanest shave he'd ever received.
And why not, after all? Plenty of women shaved their men. One didn't have to be a barber to have an adroit touch with the blade. She was made for knife-work and, as many of her patients could attest, few had such a subtle, precise approach. He'd surely come out of the experience quite unscathed, and the trust it evinced between them could only enhance their burgeoning relationship.
She looked shy, eager, and he'd never been much good at denying her things she wanted. This would be a visible symbol of the faith he had in her. Smiling, he nodded.
"Come to my room, then. I have my shaving things there."
"I'll be careful, I promise," she told him, voice almost a whisper and expression charmingly shy. Clearly she, too, saw the significance in his allowing this to happen.
Smiling, he offered his hand instead of his arm, sliding his fingers through hers and walking with her towards his bedroom. She looked as nervous as if they were walking to his bedroom to do something else entirely for the first time, but she smiled when she saw him looking at her, leaning up to kiss his bearded cheek.
"You know, there aren't many I would let put me under the blade," he teased as they walked, "but it will be good practice if I ever need surgery from you."
"James!" she gasped, thumping him on the arm again. "Don't even joke!"
"Of course not. Forgive me. Fortunately, it seems unlikely ever to be necessary. Although, of course, if it were, I would have absolute faith in your skills. Just as I do now."
She smiled at that, squeezing his hand and sliding into his bedroom. She'd been here before, of course, but she lingered shyly at the threshold for a moment before heading over to the table where he kept his mirror and shaving kit. Never one to hesitate over a new task, she started going through his things.
"Razor, shaving cream, water, towels... Do I need anything else?"
"Hot water. We need to apply a hot towel first, to soften the bristles."
She nodded, ringing for a servant. They waited in comfortable silence until the girl came, and laughed together after she left, at her obvious confusion over him wanting to shave at the end of the day instead of waiting until morning. The poor girl was used to unusual requests from them, but she acted as if this evening shave was the strangest yet.
He applied the hot towel once they had the water and stropped the razor as they waited for the heat to work, describing the proper strokes to her as he worked. She nodded and was obviously making mental notes as he spoke, intent on doing a good job. He appreciated it. A clumsy shave could be quite unpleasant, after all.
"Anything else?"
"This lotion," he told her, laying aside the hot towel and indicating a small tub of lotion. "Applied afterwards, it soothes away any irritation caused by the blade. And, of course, we have plasters here in case I get cut."
"I won't cut you," she promised, voice firm despite her slightly nervous expression.
"I believe you. Shall I just get ready?" he offered, sitting down and reaching for a fresh towel.
"No, let me," she directed, smiling shyly as she wrapped the towel around his neck, tucking it into his collar. "I used to watch my father shave when I was a little girl," she told him.
"Then I'm sure you know all you need to," he answered with a smile, sliding a bit forward in the chair and leaning back, assuming a position similar to that he would have for a barber.
"Comfortable?" she asked, mixing water in with the shaving powder to form the cream.
"Well, I'd be more comfortable in a proper barber's chair, but this will do. This shouldn't take long enough that I'll have a chance to grow uncomfortable. I have a brush," he added as she scooped up some of the cream with her fingertips.
"I want to use my fingers. Shall I leave your sideburns?" she asked as she rubbed the foamy substance onto his face and massaged it into his beard.
He considered, then smiled and shook his head. If he was going to defy convention, there was no reason not to go all the way. "Take it all. I think it might feel good not to have all that hair on my face."
"You'll look so different," she laughed, lathering those up as well. "I'll hardly recognize you."
"Then won't you feel naughty when we climb into bed together tonight?" he countered, grinning up at her.
She blushed at that, shaking her head. "James, be serious..."
"Why?" he laughed, beaming. "This is hardly a great undertaking, Helen. It's just a game."
"I know. But it still feels... significant. For some reason," she added, shrugging.
"Delilah cutting Sampson's hair?" he suggested, closing his eyes.
She snorted at that. "I certainly hope you don't lose your virility after this. It would rather ruin our plans for this evening."
"Can't have that," he agreed gravely, shaking his head as she picked up the razor. "Not yet. Let the lather dry a bit first. It won't take long."
"All right," she agreed, continuing to hold the razor in her hand and just staring down at it as she, presumably, got used to its feel and weight.
"It's not so intimidating, is it?" he asked gently. "It's just a tool."
"Just a tool," she repeated dutifully, nodding. "You use it every day, and no harm done."
"None at all. It'll probably almost be easier this way, shaving my whole face, I mean, instead of having to carefully shave around my beard. To say nothing of the trouble saved in not having to trim it to an acceptable length on a regular basis."
She smiled at that. "Less time spent on grooming means more time we can spend together..."
He was surprised she didn't suggest he spend that time at work, and smiled warmly in answer. "So it does. I'll look forward to stealing a few extra minutes with you every morning..."
"You'll have to sneak in so the servants don't see. But it'll be quite nice," she agreed. "The foam looks dry now. Shall we?"
He smiled and nodded. "Hold the skin and keep the razor at a thirty degree angle and use even strokes. Go in the direction the hair grows, and don't apply much pressure. Just a gentle touch is enough with a blade this sharp," he reminded her, even though he'd already told her all this before.
She nodded, smiling nervously and beginning. Her initial strokes were slow and cautious, but she did a good job despite her obvious misgivings. After just a minute or two, she was confidently making longer strokes, and taking the hair off faster, stopping only to rinse her blade.
It was almost unnerving, having a hand other than his own controlling an implement that could conceivably kill him before he even realized he'd been cut by it, but he trusted her. And that trust felt good. He was safe in her hands, and it felt like an affirmation of the relationship, allowing her this liberty. One mistake, and he could have been severely injured, but Helen would never make a mistake. He trusted her never to put him in danger with a careless misstep.
There was a certain sensual enjoyment to be had in the experience, too, he realized with pleased surprise. The blade, just barely touching his skin, was somehow almost ticklish when wielded by a hand other than his own. The blade scraped lightly against his flesh, just whispering its presence there. Perhaps she had a lighter touch. Perhaps it was the lack of control, the little thrill of danger. A perverse, daring corner of his mind wondered how the blade might feel elsewhere. Nowhere too delicate, of course, although he did fleetingly wonder what it would be like for the blade to tickle him in locations very delicate indeed. Not that he would ever dream of actually doing such a thing. He directed his mind to more reasonable and immediate considerations. If the blade felt this good on his face, how would it feel on his already rather-sensitive throat?
A soft sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes.
"Are you all right?" she asked gently, the blade stilling against his cheek.
"Fine," he assured her, opening his eyes again. "I just didn't realize it could be so enjoyable, having another see to your personal grooming. It's a very peaceful feeling."
"I'm glad you think so. I'm almost done with your face. Do you want to do your neck yourself?"
"No, lass. You do it," he directed, closing his eyes again and smiling up at her. "I want you to do it."
"All right," she whispered, slowly finishing his face and hesitating, not starting on his throat.
She must have known the danger or, just perhaps, she was thinking of John. He immediately opened his eyes, peering carefully up into her face.
"Are you all right, darling?"
She swallowed hard at that question, clearing her throat and nodding firmly. "It's only a shave, after all."
"Only a shave," he agreed, nodding. "But you don't have to do it."
"I think doing this might be good for me," she admitted, biting her lip.
"Then, by all means, proceed. But stop if you must. I won't think less of you for it, not after what you've been through."
"Stop talking," she directed a little shortly. "I don't want to accidentally slit your throat."
He obediently fell silent at that warning, watching her face as she worked. Her expression was grim at first, and determined, but slowly relaxed into something calmer and less as if she were undergoing some self-imposed penance. It felt good to have his throat shaved by her, amazing, but that was outweighed by the fact that she clearly wasn't enjoying herself any more.
As she dipped her blade into the water for the final time, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his lap, cradling her close.
"Are you all right?"
"I think so," she answered quietly, pressing her face into his fresh-shaved throat. "It was hard at first, but it wasn't so bad by the end. You're still stubbly," she added, frowning up at him.
"Yes, since I wasn't clean-shaven before, I'll have to shave again before all of the skin is truly smooth, against the grain this time. I'll do it," he told her.
"No, I want to," she answered quickly, shaking her head.
"Are you sure?" he asked, frowning in concern. "You don't have to do this, darling."
"I don't mind. I've gotten through it once. It won't be unnerving a second time." Biting her lip, she leaned up to kiss him, murmuring against his lips, "Besides, you clearly enjoyed it. I saw the look on your face."
"I did enjoy it. It felt good. Wonderful, in fact. Oddly sensual."
"Then I want to do it again," she answered with a shy smile. "I like doing things that make you feel good. You know that."
"I like doing things that make you feel good, too," he answered, nuzzling her face.
"Lord, that's worse!" she laughed, leaning back a bit and smiling at him. "Now you're scratchy instead of ticklish!"
"There's no winning with you, is there, woman?" he chuckled in answer, shaking his head. "Best shave me again and make my skin acceptable to you, then."
She smiled at that. "Would you do anything to 'make yourself acceptable' to me?"
"I'd dye myself blue, if I thought it was the only way to get you into bed," he teased, winking. "Why? Is there something else about me you'd like to change?" he asked, grinning. "Perhaps more hair you'd like to remove?"
She snorted at that. "I'd hardly take a razor to any other part of you!"
"No, of course not. But there are always scissors, if you find all my hair too unappealing."
"It's only the hair on your face that tickles me. Why? Do you find body hair unattractive? I've read that some men do."
"Not at all," he assured her, shaking his head. "I adore your golden curls, wherever they may be."
"Good, because I'm not shaving any of them off," she teased, climbing to her feet and scooping up more lather into her hand. "Ready for round two?"
"Oh, more than," he assured her, leaning back and closing his eyes again. "That feels so good," he added quietly as she smoothed the lather onto his skin again.
"It reminds me of the times you brush my hair," she murmured, gently plying the razor against his face again, this time in the opposite direction. "That always feels so good. I can't even describe the pleasure it brings. It's physical, but it's more than merely physical, too."
"Mmm," he agreed, not speaking since she was working around his mouth.
"Perhaps we should groom each other more often," she suggested.
He opened his eyes at that, giving a faint nod and a look of agreement. She was giving him a warm smile, loving and almost nurturing, but still somehow sensual as if she, too, was enjoying this on a level beyond the merely emotional. He felt his breath coming a bit faster as she moved the razor to his throat, and saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.
He was so vulnerable, sitting here and letting her slide a sharp razor up and down his throat, and he'd never enjoyed a feeling of powerlessness so much in his life. She was in total control, and that left him feeling strangely liberated. He didn't really understand it, but he quite enjoyed the sensation, and the impression of power that she carried with her as she wielded the blade. He'd always appreciated how strong she could be, and this just made her seem more so. He liked it when Helen Magnus took charge and, for some reason, being under her power now made him want to experience her being powerful in another context entirely.
By the time she set about rinsing his face, his breathing was too rapid for her to mistake. She rinsed the razor without taking her eyes off of his face, expression confused, but not displeased with his reaction. Swallowing hard and never taking her eyes off of his face, she dipped her fingers into the lotion and started massaging it into his face and throat.
"You... obviously liked that," she whispered as she worked, wetting her lips again.
"More than I expected to," he admitted, nodding faintly and smiling up at her. "I was completely under your power..."
Her eyes widened at that, and she swallowed hard, suddenly sounding a bit breathless as she asked, "And you... I mean, that... You liked it that much?"
"I... I did," he agreed quietly, nodding slowly and studying her face. "I think we might... experiment a bit tonight?"
She didn't answer with words, but she didn't have to, either. The almost hungry look on her face made her feelings clear enough. She nodded faintly, clearing her throat.
"Yes. Yes, I think so. I'm going to go get ready for bed. You change, and pour me a drink. I'll be back shortly."
She was not requesting it of him and it was the first time in their many years of friendship that he could remember her giving him an order outside of their work with the Sanctuary. Nodding eagerly, he hurried to his feet and started getting ready for bed as she regally swept from the room.