Alasdair’s Hair

One of Edgar’s favorite things to do is help Alasdair with his hair, to rework his braid. This is such a time–

“Alasdair, I think it’s time for your rainwater wash again the next time I do your braid.  Maybe you can take a cleanse in the waterfall.”

“Maybe we can take one in there together, my dear.”

Edgar gave a wide grin.

“That sounds wonderful.”

When he had finished, Edgar then took up the comb that Mayra had made for Alasdair, whittled from the bones of a large fish.  The patina was very like ivory from the constant usage over the long millennia.  Edgar felt privileged to hold it.

As Edgar parted and divided the heavy mass of hair, weaving it back and forth, he had to bend further until he was forced to kneel. Alasdair closed his eyes.  He reveled in the intense feeling.  It brought him back to the mornings when Mayra used to do this very thing for him.

Edgar had finally finished, and tied the red silk cord around the end, fastening it.  He raised himself, then kissed Alasdair’s neck as he stroked his crown and the sides of his head, smoothing the hair back, making it sleek and shiny from the fragrant oil on his hands.  “Thank you sir,” Edgar told Alasdair. “Every time is just as pleasurable as the first.”



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