Platinum Stubble
"What are you doing?" She asked, blue eyes wide as she made her way into his private bathing room.
"Shaving." Their eyes met in the looking glass and he looked away first, slightly intimidated by the intensity reflected back at him.
"Why?"
"Do men not do this where you come from?"
She thought to herself, about her former lovers and the intimate moments they had shared. Suddenly, they faded away like the foamy bubbles in the basin before him.
"No. They are all," she struggled to find the correct word in his language, "smooth."
"Which do you prefer?"
She looked at him again, at the hard edges of his jaw, at the prickly silver bits that remained to be trimmed. She inhaled deeply, smelling the arousing musky smell of his soap, and blushed, remembering the delicious sensation of his scratchy shadow earlier in the morning and how it had felt against her inner thighs. "Yours."