“Noted,” you murmur. Honestly, why have you never gotten this close to Kai’s face before? At such a near distance, his lashes are long and thick, and there’s a gradient to his caramel eyes, which go almost amber towards the whites. Between his lips, which are slightly parted, his teeth are a sharp, white contrast to his brown skin. There is the barest hint of freckles across his nose, splotches a shade darker than his complexion. How, all this time, has he been even more gorgeous than you realized?
“You’re staring at me,” he says. “‘S a little intense.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say. Having shaved one cheek, you do the other. These are the easy parts, you reckon. You line up his sideburns and pull the razor no lower than his jawline. You can feel your tongue poking out between your teeth as you lean in, deep in concentration. Between passes, you rinse the razor in the basin.
Kai tilts his head back accommodatingly with the prompting of your palm as you angle his jaw to shave it. The razor glidesthrough the slick of gel along the crest of bone, as well as under his chin. Here, you are exquisitely careful. If you so much as blink, the mental image of Tamatoa’s helmet spearing Kai under the chin is going to sprawl across your mind’s eye and turn your stomach. There’s no visible signs of injury, but you run your fingers behind the blade to feel the tender, smooth skin it leaves behind. To prove to yourself that he is whole and safe. You shave his chin and neck with exquisite care. There’s more hair here, the remains of his beard thicker. It takes shorter strokes, and more rinsing of the razor. When you denude his face, the skin underneath is very, very soft. You can’t help but kiss the side of his mouth, tasting the astringent, bitter note of the shaving gel.
Shaving his upper lip requires one of your fingers on his Cupid’s bow to press it down, because his lips are so full. You are carefully angling the razor to skirt his nostril when his tongue dips out of his mouth, pink and wet, and touches your finger.
“Stop that,” you murmur severely.
Kai chuckles just a little. His eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t move a muscle. It does your heart good to hear him laugh and see him be a little foolish. Like, against all odds, you’ve discovered proof positive that he is, in fact, okay.
When you’re satisfied that his face is clean-shaven—it takes no end of checking and double-checking to make sure you didn’t miss any spots, feeling with your fingers and peering at his face—you take the wash cloth and dip it in the hot water, delicately cleaning him off. Sans facial hair, Kai looks younger. Turns out that, under his manicured beard, there was a serious baby face. It charms you.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks. His eyes are still closed, so you have no idea how he sees your expression, but he’s also not wrong.
“You,” you answer honestly.
In response, he pulls you down atop him, embracing you amidst the bubbly water. Your skin is pressed to his skin. Your head finds his shoulder, and you bask in the moment. You wish you could frame it like a postcard and just live in it: the slip of his body against yours, the warmth of the water, the darkness of the candlelit room. It’s deeply sensual, but not sexual, despite the fact that you are half-hard against his belly.
You both linger until the water starts to cool, and then you shuffle off to bed, where you spoon Kai until you are both sound asleep.
***
Late the next afternoon, you two are back in bed, resting, when his housekeeper comes in.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims.
It isn’t until she speaks that you even realize she’s there; you were pretty out of it and didn’t hear the door open. Kai is dead to the world, rolled over on his side. He requires what feels like endless amounts of sleep, and the fatigue is contagious. You raise your bleary head. She’s a young woman in rubber gloves, a Swiffer duster in her hand.
She does a double-take when she sees you, but doesn’t comment, which endears her to you immediately. You are grateful that both you and Kai are fully clothed.
“Hi,” you say, gingerly climbing out of bed. “I’m Sterling. You must be…” You rack your brain and, for once, it doesn’t let you down. “Marissa, right?”
She looks surprised. “Umm, yes?”
You nod, pleased that you got that right. “Kai mentioned that you come on Thursdays. You do such a great job; the place always looks amazing. I’m sorry that we’re here and in your way. What can I do to make your job easier?”
Marissa is blushing. She gestures with the duster. “I usually change the sheets, clean the bathroom, and wash the floors,” she says. “That’s every week, but I was going to dust the baseboards.”
“Okay,” you say. “His mom just changed the sheets, but I will clear out so you can do the rest.” You see her eyes track over to Kai on the bed. “Don’t worry about him. He hurt his head and could sleep through a train running through the middle of the house right now. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
She looks relieved at you leaving, which you fully understand.
Down in the kitchen, you check in with some phone calls and purposely avoid your news alerts. It’s maybe 45 minutes later that Marissa comes downstairs.
“It’s all done,” she says. “You were right. He didn’t wake up. Actually, that’s kind of strange. Will he be okay?”
“Eventually,” you tell her, touched by her concern. “Have you worked for Kai for very long?”
“A few years, now,” she says. “He’s great.”
“Yup. He definitely is.”
Marissa lingers a moment at the bottom of the stairs. “I, umm. This is really awkward. Please feel free to tell me off…”
“I won’t tell you off,” you promise, having an idea what is coming.
