How we got together by Anders and Xavier

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I was 23 when I was still rooming with two of my friends. Anders(we called him that, it was just easier) was one of them, and he attended the same college that I did, and so did Christian. The only difference between me and them? They cut and styled their own hair(which they were pretty good at). Christian had been suggesting that I learn to do so too(and to get the obnoxiously large pompadour he had, and still has). Anders had offered to cut my hair for me as well, but I had declined both offers. Why?

I had a haircut fetish, plus I liked Anders. I knew that Anders was Bi, but I still wasn't comfortable with cutting my own hair with him, with the both of us shirtless. I had nearly been convinced to do it, but I decided to get out of the chair before they could fasten a cape to me. So, I simply had magazines, and they featured men in spiked or military haircuts particularly.

And that was how it started.

I had came home a bit later than usual, Anders and Christian were both in the bathroom, shirtless. From where I was, I could see Christian shaping his pompadour, the black hair that he cut off in the trash with Anders's blond hair.

"Welcome back, Xavier," Anders called out, I thanked him and laid down my bag and hoodie.

"It's way too hot outside," I replied, shifting my long black bangs to the side of my face. I looked to grab a glass of water, but there was no water in the jugs, and the kettle had only just begun to boil.

"You think this looks good?" Anders called out to me, to which I came in to take a look. All I needed to do was pop in, compliment him, then get me and my red face out of there.

But, hot damn.

He had cut his hair into a quiff, and I noticed that he had been working out a lot more recently (geez, I feel small now). His muscles gleamed in the mirror, and woah, those abs looked strong. The sides and back were down to a stubble but the top was a long quiff that added a good six inches to his height. He glanced at me through the mirror, the clipper still buzzing in his hands.

"Uh-m, yeah," I replied, stammering, "It looks great, wow!" I could feel the heat rising up beneath my collar, and I knew it was burning my cheeks.

"Well if you like it a lot, we can always cut your hair for you," Christian commented, walking past me to get to the kettle which was boiling now.

"I'm up for that," Anders smiled, turning around. Well what the heck.

"Sure," I murmured, "Do I have to take off my shirt?" I pointed at the blue buttoned shirt I had on.

"You can take off your clothes if you want," Anders shrugged, "It's too hot, so it doesn't matter to me." I took off my shirt just as I felt my pants drop behind me, revealing my white boxers. I felt Christian hurry me to a chair which he just brought in. It was a leather armchair, and it didn't have any wheels to move.

I sat down in the chair, thinking about how awfully convenient they were making this, when the sound of duct tape ripped the silence. Christian was taping me to the chair, to which he winked.

"Just in case you run like last time," After a couple minutes of futile resistance, my hands, torso, and ankles were taped down to the chair.

"Well, what kind of a haircut do you want?" Anders asked, changing the guard on the clipper.

"Do I even get a say in this?" I answered, attempting to shrug in the bindings.

"Not really, but I was hoping you'd pick one from those magazines you have," I froze. Oh no. I could feel my face burning up as Anders tied a fuzzy towel around my neck, a smug look on his face.

"Well, if you stay nicely and quietly caped up in the chair," Christian replied, playfully tussling with the hair that I was going to lose, "I can guarantee that you will keep some of your hair."

"Well, watcha say?" Anders placed his arm on my shoulder, pressing the fuzzy cape into my neck, "Yes or no?"

Oh these bastards.

"Yes," I mumbled, bending my head forward, hoping to hide it in the white towel.

"That'll be 'yes, sir'," Anders smirked, "just like in those stories you read. And you might want to face the mirror straight."

"Yes, sir" I stammered quickly, my head immediately cocking upwards. It was humiliating, subdued with my hair at the mercy of the two towering figures behind me.

They sprayed my hair with water, combing it, before Anders suddenly gripped my head and razed a clipper up the left side. Christian was to the right, parting a large section of hair on the top of my head from the sides. The hungry, monotonous buzzing of the clipper echoed into my ear, and my raging erecting jerked upwards each time he buzzed up the side of my head. Going deliberately slowly, he went over my head, shearing down my long hair. Press, buzz, lift. Press, buzz, lift.

"Do you think this is short enough?" Anders asked Christian as he neared my right sideburns, nearly done. Christian, who had placed down his comb down to pick something up from the counter, turned around for a glance, holding a camera.

"No, I think you can taper it up tighter," Christian replied, taking a picture.

"Maybe we can, I don't know, avoid taking pictures?" I glared at Christian. Being in the middle of a haircut under a fuzzy white towel, whilst being taped down to a chair, I already knew that I was nowhere near intimidating.

"Nah, memories," Christian took another photo, to which I sighed, my head dipping down.

"Head up, I have to shave more off," Anders hand gently lifted my chin up, bringing me to my reflection at eye-level. I watched for an eternity as he sheared off more hair, reducing my sides to a fading stubble, before he grabbed a large amount of wax and warmed them in his rubbing hands. Kneading my hair, I could feel his hands rub over my scalp, which was not helping my erection.

"You have a lot of hair, but it's rather thin," He commented, "It will stand up, but this will take a bit." He picked up a comb and hairdryer, before he worked on my hair for a few minutes, pulling it up. Grabbing the canister of wax again, he massaged even more product than before into my hair, before blow drying it again, with a different brush. It felt as if he was trying to yank out the hairs on the top of my head, but after several minutes of it, my hair finally stood up. With my hair, my copious mohawk stood up, rounding slightly like a quiff.

"Are we done yet?" I asked, staring into my reflection. This was a new look, and a suprisingly good one.

"Oh, nowhere close," Anders picked up a large comb which I had seen online before, and I could feel the panic inside growing.

"A flat top? Really?" I whined, but Anders covered my mouth, preventing any further protest. Quietly accepting it, I simply murmured, "Yes, sir."

The flat comb entered my long mohawk quiff, Anders's hand carefully positioning it near the top, before flattening it down with his clippers, layer by layer. Tiny black hairs fell on my face, but as I tried to shake them off, Anders grabbed both sides of my head and warned.

"Don't move, you'll make this harder for yourself," I immediately sat ramrod straight, just like junior below the cape, "Good boy." He patted my head, before continuing to flatten it layer by layer, each shearing pass bringing my boner to full attention. After an eternity of flattening and rounding the flat top's sides, he finally stopped leaving a good five inches on the top, and brushed off the hairs on the flat top before he placed his hands on his hip.

"Do you have all the pictures?" He asked, inspecting the flat top.

"Sure do, got plenty," Christian placed the camera down, before he winked at Anders and left the washroom, grabbing his shirt. Anders came up to my front before squatting to be eye-level with me.

"So, do you like it?" He placed a hand in my flat top, gently caressing the plush, long top before shifting to the fuzzy, stubbled sides, while I sat submissively in the chair, blushing madly under the cape, "Just like your magazines."

"Yes, sir," I replied, glancing up at the flat top before returning to the spot on the caoe which, behind, I knew, was my boner, which the hand caressing my hair was not helping to calm. Anders's free hand reached out under the cape and a finger ran up my white boxer, a gasp escaping me before he chuckled, "Was it that obvious?" I looked up at him.

"Well, the crush, more so than than the boner," He removed his hand, "You're too cute, even when you're flustered."

"Thanks, sir," I could feel my red cheeks grow redder, in stark contrast with the white cape.

"You don't have to call me sir anymore, ys know?" He smirked, leaning in, "Unless you like it like I do." His hand unfastened his pants to reveal the boner he had too.

"Well, sir," I smiled, the embarrassment going away as he swiped the hairs on my nose off, despite how close he was to my face, "I do."

You can let your imagination decide how we took the night from there.

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