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Zechs' morning routine takes an interesting turn one day...
Sitting down in the chair, Zechs noted the strange absence of his aide who was usually ready and waiting on him. Then again, he had no right to complain about his aide's tardiness since with the almost daily turmoil caused by the Gundams made simple routines such as his morning shave almost something of an indulgent luxury. Yet it was little things like this that were important for keeping him centered. He leaned back and closed his eyes as the door opened.
The footsteps were quick and professional, going across to the table. Zechs could hear the faint rasp of a razor being stropped then a clink as the young aide prepared to begin.
“Aren't you going to say `good morning', Horace?” he asked quietly as the sheet was draped over him.
“Hn.” A faint breath trembled against the Lightning Baron's cheek. “Good morning, Zechs.”
Tensing, Zechs forced himself not to move or open his eyes while a hot towel was placed over his face. It was that boy, the pilot of Zero-One… But, how…?!
He froze, completely at a loss as to what course of action to take. Logically, he should cry out for help but what if the boy had killed the guards already? Or, worse, what if they were not able to respond fast enough to the alarm? And yet, he stayed still. Surely the boy wouldn't be cowardly enough to kill him like this. There were still rules that must be followed, even between enemies. There was nothing else to do but wait and trust that this young man—his enemy and rival pilot—was indeed both a worthy and an honorable foe.
His thoughts scattered as the towel was pulled away and lather brushed carefully over his face and neck, even a few light dabs from a finger to make sure his upper lip was properly covered.
The blade glided across his face, moving quickly and smoothly in the boy's hand like he had used straight razors in a more benign sense before…
And maybe he had. It was almost frightening how little Zechs knew about the young man he'd been fighting and who now had him in a position of vulnerability that even his closest colleagues had rarely been allowed to put him in. It was enough to both frighten and arouse him.
Maybe that's why, when the boy tipped his head back to shave his neck, he gave in so willingly. Zechs' pulse raced as the blade skimmed along his skin in deft strokes, dangerously close to exposed throat. Would the boy dare…?
In one last stroke, the boy withdrew. There was a soft rustle then Zechs inhaled sharply at the sting of aftershave being splashed over his skin. The fingers moved briskly, rubbing his jaw line up his face, massaging his temples and making Zechs sigh quietly. Finally, he felt light tamp of talc coated towel across his cheeks and neck, finishing the job.
It was only when a soft pair of lips just brushed against his own that Zechs came out of his odd stupor. His eyes shot open and he jerked out of the chair, but the boy had already made his escape. For a long time, he stood there with the sheet clutched tightly in his hand
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