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It started off innocently enough.
It was a humid but not unbearably hot autumn afternoon in Stormwind as he, Taelia, and Cyrus sat amongst themselves at a round stone table overlooking the harbor and shared a light lunch. Technically they shouldn’t be eating at all seeing as the End of the War ceremony was only a few hours away and they would most definitely be fed with a myriad of Stormwind’s finest delicacies throughout the evening, but still. He and the other Kul Tiran notables had more or less the same idea and Flynn could see even more Kul Tirans further down having an indulgent lunch of Grilled Catfish and Ravenberry Tarts laid out in front of them. Taelia in particular was excited at the prospect of eating mainlander food and Flynn was definitely curious to try some during his brief Stormwind interlude but nothing was more effective at staving off homesickness than a Spiced Stormsong Valley Snapper. That, and he was ravenously hungry.
They all decided for the most part to leave their extra fancy layers of clothes in their temporary lodgings to retrieve only just before they left to partake in the evening’s festivities and so that’s how Flynn found himself that afternoon in a fancy ruffled blouse with the topmost portion of the buttons undone in order to feel the blessed flutter of a cool breeze against his chest. He was dressed much fancier than he was ever used to and he couldn’t rid himself of that nagging thought in the back of his head that someone would call him out on it and tell him that he didn’t belong here.
And that’s how Shaw finds him, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders drawn straight across, dressed in all black and looking every inch the nobility that Flynn knew he wasn’t. He wondered how long it took for Shaw to get used to all this pomp and circumstance and blend in as effortlessly as he did. It was probably second nature to him at this point.
Flanked by two taller SI:7 agents who offered them nothing, Shaw exchanged pleasantries with everyone in the group but his glance kept landing on Flynn’s face at odd intervals, a curious thing. The nagging feeling returned with a vengeance as he witnessed Shaw wordlessly scrutinizing him and his appearance, more than likely finding himself unimpressed with the way Flynn played at aristocracy.
“What?” He eventually asks with an anxious sharpness when the silence lulls uncomfortably between them and Shaw’s gaze lingers for too long once they’re out of earshot of anyone else.
Shaw, of all things, looks surprised at being caught. It’s masked within half a heartbeat and he simply shakes his head and taps along his own clean shaven jawline. “I can see that you’re not fully dressed for the occasion as of yet, but I assume you were going to shave beforehand.”
Flynn blinks, momentarily wrong-footed as he mindlessly brings his fingers up to run them along the rough stubble and scruff of his facial hair.
Scruffy. Unkempt. Looking more and more like the pirate everyone knew him to be. He frowns and swallows down the tightness in his throat at being seen in this way. He hadn’t even stopped to consider what his goatee might look like to other people.
Shaw, sharp-eyed and quick-witted as he was, doesn’t miss the way Flynn’s brows draw together. “I don’t mean anything by it,” He says in honest reassurance. “I just think you might be better off if you did.”
“Apologies, Master Shaw,” Flynn huffs out as they walk further inland towards Flynn’s apartments that were so gloriously provided by the Alliance. “I suppose I don’t know how proper nobility trims their whiskers.”
At that, Shaw fixes him with a piercing look. “Luckily for you, I do.”
And that’s how Flynn finds himself in this position, arms crossed nervously against his chest and apologizing for the mess as Shaw rolls up his sleeves and prepares a straight razor and a bucket of water before sitting across from him on the edge of his bed for lack of anywhere else to work. His bed, for tide’s sake.
“I don’t want to leave here looking like you,” Flynn says on the edge of a forced laugh just for something to say in the unbearable silence, suddenly feeling shyer than he’s ever known himself to be at the prospect of being marked like this. “I mean, could you imagine?”
“You won’t,” Shaw says, looking bored as he lays his hand on Flynn’s clavicle and begins to lather up his neck and jaw with soap. Flynn crosses his arms even tighter across his chest and looks anywhere else but at Shaw’s face.
Oh, he’d imagined how his hands might have felt on him perhaps once or twice, but now that it was actually happening he has no idea what to do with it. Truthfully, when he’d envisioned the Spymaster’s hands on his skin, this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. It’s those illicit thoughts he desperately tries to tamp down now as the first swipe of the razor pares across his jaw, a closer shave than he’s ever thought to give himself.
“I’m not shaving it off,” Shaw tells him, perhaps noticing his apprehension but not understanding the full of it. “I’m just cleaning it up a bit to make you look a little more—“
“—presentable,” Flynn finishes for him, already feeling the bitterness on his tongue.
“Distinguished,” Shaw corrects him with a precise lift of his brow. He waits until Flynn makes eye contact with him again before continuing.
Shaw takes his time as he tilts his head this way and that and tells him which way to shift every once in a while with a hushed word and by now, Flynn can feel his cheeks burning from much more than the sting of the razor. His eyes had settled on a far more neutral territory on Shaw’s chest in front of him instead of the focused set of Shaw’s eyes on his face, entranced by the gentle rise and fall of each measured breath he took and when he realized that wasn’t going to solve his little problem that was steadily becoming a big problem, he fixed his gaze instead on the wall opposite of him.
Shaw has to notice by now but since he says nothing, Flynn figures it’s in his best interest to also say nothing. “So, um,” he says anyway, “Do you do this often?”
“My moustache hardly does this on its own.” Shaw is so close that he can feel his warm breath as he speaks and Flynn can’t help but feel that it’s somewhat unnecessary. It’s not what he meant by that question and he’s quite certain that Shaw knows it as well and, for whatever reason, is being deliberately evasive about it. It’s probably a hint for him to drop it.
“I mean,” he continues on, “Do you usually concern yourself with other people’s facial hair?”
In a gut-wrenching move, Shaw halts his movements with the razor completely. “If you want me to stop—“
“Ah, I didn’t say that.” Flynn feels his face breaking out into a nervous grin, knowing now that he’s onto something. “If you stop now I’ll look even more mad than I usually do.”
The other man huffs in annoyance and pauses to, presumably, roll his eyes before tipping Flynn’s head to the side to bring the razor down over the precariously sensitive skin just under his jaw and swipes along it with utmost precision. It’s a difficult spot and if Shaw’s intent had been to get him to shut up, it definitely worked.
“I don’t actively concern myself with other men’s beards, no.” Shaw sounds completely unaffected by whatever this is and Flynn finds himself envious of him. “For a time, though, people made it my problem.”
The razor glides down the side of his neck before making its way up the other side and Flynn holds his breath in both anticipation from the path of the blade and from whatever Shaw was currently sharing with him.
“I take it you know by this point what happened on the Broken Isles.” Flynn hums in affirmation even though really, he doesn’t know anything at all besides the hushed rumors most people seem to have some sort of recollection of. Nothing he’s heard about the incident has been very good. His answer contents Shaw enough to continue, at least. “I was in… a state, afterwards. One of the first things I did for myself was to give myself a nice shave. It helped.” Shaw shrugs his shoulders casually and in this close proximity he can practically hear his muscles and joints working as he does it. “People liked it, from what I gathered. A few of them asked me to do the same for them and I didn’t have much else to do. Said I was good with a blade.”
Shaw stays silent for long enough afterwards that Flynn had deduced that story time was over. He can hear the other man inhale and exhale through his nose evenly, swallowing as he draws the razor over his other cheek. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to say any of that. There’s a significance to this story that Flynn isn’t quite capable of grasping with the limited amount of information he has to go on but he knows it means something.
To make the air more bearable and to break the tension that had strung itself taut as a wire between them, he opts for levity. “So I’m not the first bloke you’ve mauled with a razor, then.”
“No,” Shaw says, more of a fact than an admission. “You are, however, the first one that’s gotten hard from it.”
Oh. Oh, fuck.
If his ears weren’t burning before, they sure were now. Flynn tries to speak, trips over his words inelegantly, and tries again. “You have nice hands.”
Shaw makes a sound that’s practically a laugh, warm and genuine and not at all mocking, and Flynn’s positive that his flush is blotchy on his overheated skin. If he were able to bring himself to look at Shaw’s face at that moment, he has no doubt that his smile would be absolutely devastating.
Insanely enough, it doesn’t stop Shaw from finishing the job and when he’s done he wipes the soap from his face with a wet rag that leaves his skin tingling. When Shaw finally sits back he’s aware immediately of how close they actually were and the humid air that hits him in its absence feels practically frigid compared to the heat that Shaw had been gracing him with.
He’s not entirely sure if he’s ready to let that go.
Shaw’s eyes on him come with almost a physical weight, enough so that it would be strange for him not to look back at him at this point. When he does, he’s met with Shaw’s green eyes sweeping over his face, no doubt to admire his handiwork, but also contemplating. Calculating.
Then finally, he speaks. “The way I see it, this can go one of two ways.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Either I leave, or—“
Flynn’s body reacts before his brain can fully process it and he tugs the Spymaster to sit astride his thighs, knees bracketing him on both sides, and by the surprised gasp that’s pulled from the other man’s lips as he automatically loops his arms around his shoulders to steady them both from toppling over, his body had done the right thing.
“Or?” Flynn asks, actually curious now as to where Shaw could possibly have been heading with that.
“Or,” Shaw says as he situates himself more comfortably across his lap, “Or this, yes.”
Flynn guffaws and takes the opportunity to knock his hips upwards into Shaw’s, stealing yet another breathless little sound from the man’s mouth. “Is that really what you were going to say?”
“Oh, shut up.” And then, a moment later, he shuts him up with his tongue and teeth.
The time for gentle kisses had long since passed them by whenever they’d started this and Flynn moans unabashedly into the other man’s mouth, grabbing a fistful of that infuriating red hair to pull him into a more agreeable angle. Shaw makes an indignant sound against him and pushes him backwards and Flynn relents, removing his hands from his hair and drawing back far enough to admire his own handiwork.
And oh, what a sight he was. The flush across the Spymaster’s cheeks was nearly the same as the color of his hair, brilliant and fiery as it set every single one of his freckles aflame. It’s strange that he hadn’t noticed them before. He’s breathing heavily, lips slick with spit and hair sticking up at odd angles and— ok, he sees what the problem is now.
“If you make a mess of me I’ll be forced to call this off early.” Flynn groans at the prospect of making a mess of Spymaster Shaw and bucks his hips up once again to have Shaw feel how hard he is for this and he’s delighted with the fact that Shaw, for once, is not unaffected. “I’m serious. I have to meet with the king—“
“Can we just skip the whole damned thing?” Flynn interrupts, unable to stop himself from kissing those soft lips again and rests his hands on his neck instead.
“I can’t, no.” Shaw breathes between insistent wet kisses, apparently incapable of keeping his own hands off of Flynn’s freshly shaved face. “I can’t be late, either.”
“Fuck, fine, how much time do we—“
“I’ve got about twenty minutes.” At the incredulous look Flynn throws in his direction, he tacks on a half-hearted “sorry.”
Presented with the face of a new challenge, Flynn’s mind races. It’s not as if he hasn’t done this type of frenzied rutting before and with even less time than this but he doesn’t want that with Shaw. He wants— needs— hours with him to learn about everything that makes him tick, to map out every last one of those stupidly lovely freckles on his body and to—
“I can suck you off,” Shaw says during their next kiss, and Flynn’s brain decides to power down.
Pushing his thighs apart and on his knees before him, he can tell it’s killing Shaw not to be able to linger. He practically trembles as he frees Flynn’s cock from his breeches, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he gets a feel for him in his palm.
Flynn bites off a groan as Shaw gets a better read on him and strokes him more confidently, squeezing his eyes shut before snapping them open again because he doesn’t want to miss even a second of this. “If you, uh, you’d rather not rush, we can just revisit this—”
“No,” Shaw cuts him off with a shake of his head, seemingly enthralled with the sight of the head of Flynn’s cock fucking into his fist. “I like it when it’s,” He pauses as he takes a shuddering breath and wets his lips with his tongue before he makes himself continue, “When it’s like this.”
Flynn doesn’t get a chance to respond to that as Shaw moves in closer to take the tip into his mouth and test the weight of him on his tongue and Flynn almost forgets that he’s not allowed to touch his hair. He leans back on his elbows to dissuade himself from reaching out and Shaw moves with him brilliantly, taking a few more inches into that glorious mouth and Flynn feels like he’s been punched in the solar plexus.
Shaw sucks cock like he was born for it, making absolutely obscene noises as he draws him in further and further until his head is teasing the opening of his throat and Flynn nearly sobs at the sensation of it. When he tumbles too far over the edge of it Shaw slows his pace, running his tongue languorously along the underside of his shaft before withdrawing completely and letting Flynn’s dick pop out his mouth, looking more than a little self-satisfied as he presses the hot flesh of his length against his cheek.
“Sensitive?” Shaw asks innocently and Flynn laughs breathlessly at the gall of him.
“We don’t have a lot of time so I’m… I’m helping,” he lies. Shaw shoves at his thigh and positions himself over his cock once more, fist curled around the base to keep him steady.
“Ready?” Shaw asks with a raised brow as he waits for Flynn to make eye contact with him similarly to how he had when he was shaving his jaw only minutes or perhaps a lifetime ago and Flynn nods at him wordlessly.
Shaw is relentless with this the way he is with everything, honing in on an advantage and pressing into it without giving him even a second to breathe and, somehow impossibly, keeps pushing him even further and Flynn is overwhelmed with every single part of it. The way Shaw holds him down by his hips makes it so he can’t do anything except take it and he’s only somewhat aware of the sounds that are being knocked out of him as his world his focused down onto nothing but the feel of Shaw’s mouth on him and then finally he’s being swallowed down into his throat and it’s— It’s too much. If he wasn’t resting his weight partly on his elbows and if his mind were properly functioning he would reach out towards Shaw’s neck to feel himself embedded so deeply inside of him but since he can’t he simply cums with a strangled shout. Shaw still has him in his throat as he swallows around his softening length and milks his release for all it’s worth.
When Flynn is certain he’s come back to the mortal plane of existence he blinks the stars out of his eyes and feels the tickle of Shaw’s moustache quivering against the juncture between his hip and thigh as he fists his own cock to completion and even as fucked-out as he is right now, he decides that’s not good enough.
Shaw yelps as he’s hauled bodily onto Flynn’s bed, looking up at him from the mattress with wide eyes. Flynn smiles at him as he slides down Shaw’s body with intent and it’s obvious when Shaw gets it when he squeezes his eyes shut and parts his thighs for him just enough to give him some room.
“You told me you didn’t want a mess,” Flynn says in a way of explanation as he replaces Shaw’s fist around his cock with his own and swiftly descends upon him. He has nowhere near the amount of skill that Shaw had bestowed upon him but he has enthusiasm in spades and with how close Shaw is it’s enough. Unlike Flynn, Shaw is far quieter when he cums and he hastens to swallow as much of it as he can. He’s not as successful as Shaw in this endeavour either as he coughs and sputters around it, most of it dripping down into his fingers and once Shaw is completely spent he releases him from his mouth and licks the cum from in between his fingers.
Flynn lets Shaw bask in the afterglow for a moment as he assesses the damage and oh, maybe he wasn’t careful enough in his quest to not make a mess. He grabs the wet rag from the bucket and wipes the worst of it off of Shaw before taking care of himself.
“That was—”
“Good,” Shaw finishes for him as he reluctantly rises from the bed to tuck himself back into his trousers and makes himself mostly presentable in record time. “Very good, actually,” he says as he checks his reflection in the murky mirror in the bathroom, smoothes a hand over his moustache, and decides that he’s happy enough with it.
“Wait,” Flynn stops him before he can stride towards the door with a hand around his wrist.
“I really can’t—”
“Quick question, are we ever gonna do this again?”
It’s hard to say which of them is more surprised by the raw honesty of it. Shaw narrows his eyes as he considers the question, sweeping his gaze across Flynn’s face in an attempt to judge the seriousness of it.
“I wouldn’t be against it,” Shaw says neutrally. Flynn offers him an unimpressed lift of his brows and he sighs and tries again. “I would like to, yes. If you’re amenable, that is.”
Feeling like a great weight had been lifted from his chest, Flynn beams at him. “Yeah, I am.” And then, “Can I shave you next time?”
“No,” Shaw answers immediately with a horrified wince and Flynn can’t do anything but laugh, using the leverage gained by his grip on Shaw’s wrist to pull him in for another kiss. It’s a quick and chaste thing, comfortable enough as if they’d been doing this for years. The knowledge of how well they already seem to fit together fills his heart to the brim and it’s almost more intimate than how Shaw had skillfully deepthroated him not even ten minutes ago. Alright, maybe not, but it was close.
“You know where to find me,” Flynn tells him when he finally lets him go and Shaw is at the door. Shaw nods at him and then he’s gone.
—
“Sorry sir, this seat is reserved for Captain Flynn Fairwind. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Flynn sits and shoves at Taelia’s shoulder playfully. “Oh, come off it.” A flicker of doubt washes over him as he runs his knuckles over his jaw again, wondering if Shaw truly had made a mess of him. “Is it bad?”
“Not at all. It’s just a lot more posh than I’m used to seeing you.” She squints at him, suddenly mischievous. “Someone you’re trying to impress, then?”
He shrugs with a wide grin and evades her question as best he can. “What time was the buffet supposed to start?”
“A few more minutes, I think.” She studies him a little more carefully, then. “Seriously, did you do that yourself? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“No,” he answers honestly. “It turns out I know a guy who’s good with a blade.” On his next scan of the tables set up within the keep he chances a look towards where the king is sat with his most trusted advisors, catches sight of that familiar red hair, and his grin can suddenly no longer be contained.