Berlin and Mansfield by Lianvis

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Anton gazed into the mirror, running his fingers through his thigh-length mane of heavy cocoa brown waves. It gave him a wild look, rock n' roll, and almost macho in a way in spite of eyeliner and stiletto heels. He used to think Ivan, his boyfriend, had loved his hair. He'd loved washing and brushing the glorious waterfall of glossy tresses and running his fingers through it when they made love, but lately he'd been hinting that it was time for a change.

Though what precisely Ivan had in mind, Anton couldn't be sure.

"You really could do with a new look," suggested Ivan, tossing back his own raven black locks as he played with Anton's ends.

"You've been saying stuff like that a lot, babe, what did you have in mind?"

"Lighter... shorter, maybe something a little more feminine," hummed Ivan, vaguely indicating a length that might have been Anton’s shoulder blades.

"Something feminine?"

"Yeah, it's a bit metalhead 2015. Let's do something with your hair. Besides, I know you love all those old Hollywood starlets, maybe something like that," suggested Ivan.

Anton froze for a moment, thinking of Marlene Dietrich and Marilyn Monroe. They wore pageboy cuts at the longest.

"Nothing short-short," he said firmly and Ivan shook his head, "I don't think I'd suit an Elizabeth Taylor poodle cut for example."

"No! Of course not!" replied Ivan, fingers caressing Anton's heavy mane.

Anton sighed in relief that Ivan didn’t have anything too ridiculous in mind. "So are you actually thinking, babe?"

"Jayne Mansfield."

"That blond?" Anton said, shocked. Apparently he’d been wrong on the ridiculous bit.

"Mhm, and pin curled to perfection."

"I'll look Absurd! I know I'm not the most masculine guy but that's a bridge too far," Anton said shaking his head and laughing "you've got to be kidding."

"I'm serious, dollface, serious as cancer. Besides, you know good you look in a dress, and you've got the face for it."

Anton examined his features in the mirror, full lips and high cheekbones, eyes upturned, almost feline and a vivid blue.

"What'll we do if I hate it?" he asked warily.

"If you don't style it that way it'll look sort of glam metal, like Michael Monroe from Hanoi Rocks."

"Well Michael's better than Marilyn," said Anton with a rueful smile. He had to admit the idea intrigued him.

"Please!" said Ivan, clasping his hands and giving Anton his best puppy dog eyes.

"Okay," sighed Anton rolling his eyes. "If I look awful I'm telling everyone it's your fault."

Ivan, whose day job had been hairdressing before their band hit, was like a kid at Christmas going to get his tools.

Anton wondered just what it was he'd gotten himself into. He folded his hair over to get an idea of how it might look at that length, before remembering it would look even shorter styled as Ivan suggested. Ivan was right about some things though, femininity did suit him, even if people treating him as less of a man sometimes wrankled. It was strange how a style so much shorter could be so much more obviously feminine than his current rapunzel locks.

Ivan returned with scissors, gloves, bleach, olaplex, toner, pincurl clips, setting lotion, and innumerable other odds and ends, setting them down before ordering Anton to go get a chair from the kitchen. Anton did as he was told, reminding himself there was still time to call the whole thing off, but he'd said yes and now he was committed... and curious... and maybe a little excited. It had been years since his last haircut with only minuscule trims between.

Anton returned with the chair and Ivan faced it away from the mirror, much to his lover's chagrin. An improvised cape later and Ivan was brushing out Anton's gleaming chocolate-coloured locks for the last time. They were nearly to the floor when he sat down, thick and healthy and undeniably beautiful, and yet... as lovely as Anton's hair was, it didn't set him off the way it should have. He was a jewel deserving of a frame that really accentuated his beauty in the way it deserved and Ivan was determined to make that happen.

"I'm going to take off the bulk now to get it out of the way for colour, so last chance to back out without a big chop," teased Ivan. Anton considered calling it all off, but something held him there, some heat pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He saw the flash of the scissors and for a moment thought he might just get up and flee the room, but he didn't, he sat transfixed as he felt the quick tension and release of hair being cut in concert with the sharp silvery sound as the blades sliced away perhaps 27 inches of hair in a single cut. Ivan was efficient working his way across Anton's thick mane.

"I'm glad I didn't gather it into a ponytail, we would have been here all night trying to cut through it," Ivan said with a laugh. Anton was in a state of shock as he tried to process the serpentine coils of hair on the floor. There was more length on the floor than was left attached he realized in horror and fascination. His head felt absurdly light.

"Relax and enjoy," Ivan told him, running his fingers through his lover's drastically shortened hair, before sectioning it neatly and turning to mix the bleach. The feeling of the tail-comb running over his scalp as Ivan divided what was left of Anton's hair to make it easier to bleach was strangely erotic, sending another shiver through him, as did the strange sharp smell of the bleach.

"He's going to make me blond," thought Anton still shell-shocked from the speed and scale of what had just happened to him. He could feel the way his hair now just... ended as it lay heavy against his back. It wasn't actually short but it had been so long since he'd had his hair anywhere near this length that it felt unimaginable.

Ivan with the bleach/olaplex cocktail in hand, began to carefully paint the section of Anton's hair and wrap them neatly in foils. The sheer thickness of Anton's tresses meant that even with the reduced length this was a time-consuming task. Eventually, Ivan was done and he left Anton under the heat lamp to process. Anton sneaked a peek while Ivan went to grab them coffee but with his hair wrapped in the foils he couldn't tell a thing about how it might look beneath.

With Ivan back they sipped their coffees together, Ivan grinning all the while like the cat that got the canary.

"You're going to look incredible, I can't believe you're actually letting me do this," said Ivan delightedly, sauntering over to tilt up his boyfriend's chin with the hair cutting shears, before sliding their closed blades over the soon-to-be-blond's cheek, "honestly..." Ivan paused looking a bit abashed, "I have to admit this whole thing has me kind of excited."

Anton arched a brow. So that was it, this was something that turned Ivan on.

"Does it now?" Anton asked, a smirk curving his shapely lips. Ivan actually blushed a little and nodded, as if he'd been caught by a teacher misbehaving.

"Yeah, I mean you know I've always loved playing with your hair, and I have this thing about blonds, and about like... makeovers I guess," Ivan admitted. Anton filed that away for future use. With a head full of foils he didn't feel particularly sexy, but had to admit something about the sensation of the scissors earlier had sent a wave of heat straight to his groin.

He was considering the implications of that in combinations with Ivan's admission when the timer beeped, and Ivan got up to check on Anton's hair. Ivan declared the color perfect and turned on the shower, stripping down himself to join Anton as he washed the bleach from his hair. Both men were tall and slender, Anton was slightly more fine boned and gracile than Ivan, who was the more muscular of the two, but the differences between them were slight, and naked and wet their lean bodies made an appealing picture as Ivan took care not to get the caustic chemicals anywhere they didn't belong as he shampooed away the last traces of bleach from Anton's tresses. Feeling the fresh cut ends wet and clinging to his back so far above where his hair had formerly ended sent a shiver through him. From his shoulder blades all the way down to the tops of his thighs he felt naked. He was so used to his hair clinging like a veil to his body in the shower that this felt shockingly exposed.

Ivan couldn't help but be delighted at the color. A little toner and it would be the icy white blond he'd dreamed of seeing on his lover for ages, and the toner was right there. He worked it through, nimble fingers massaging Anton's scalp as he went. Anton practically purred.

"If I'd known it was going to get me a scalp massage like that I would have let you do this ages ago," said Anton. Both men were politely ignoring the effect this process was having on both of them for the moment. Anton too curious, and Ivan too eager for the final result to give in to the lust they were both clearly feeling by then.

Ivan laughed. "As if I wouldn't have given you one just for asking," he replied, as they sat in the tub waiting for the toner to finish processing. Anton had been studiously avoiding looking at his hair or checking the length.

Once the toner was done they dried off and it was back to the chair for Anton. The color was gorgeous, but the simple blunt cut was simply *not* what Ivan had in mind, and so again Anton felt the comb sectioning his damp locks, again the clips to hold it in place, but this time rather than bleach it was time for comb and scissors. He watched in fascination as much shorter lengths of white blonde hair fell to the floor as the sound of scissors filled the air. The color was night and day with what it had been before.

Then the length of the clippings was getting longer again as Ivan worked towards the face. Anton knew that Ivan was extremely skilled at what he did, and yet the sight of those six inch long tresses sent a peculiar and piquant mixture of excitement and fear rolling through him.

Ivan eventually finished the cut, and turned to get pincurl clips and setting lotion as Anton bent to pick some of his hair up off the floor, one almost endless lock of rich black coffee brunet and another much shorter lock of silvery blond.

He waited patiently as Ivan wound his hair efficiently into pin curls, and set him under a portable bonnet dryer. Anton considered everything that had happened as his hair dried. Something about seeing how this all effected Ivan made him feel... smug? Languid? Seductive? He wanted long red nails and a cigarette holder, and a gown with a slit up to his hip and a neckline down to his navel, and his highest pair of heels. He considered this development. Maybe Ivan had had a point. Could he still swagger around in boots when he felt like it? Well only time would tell.

Eventually, that was done, and then Ivan had a brush and teasing comb, and more clips and pomade to turn the head of ringlets into graceful waves that framed his high cheekboned face perfectly, and fell in soft u-shape about his shoulders with the ends bouncy and perfectly turned under. Anton stared. It was perfect, the color set off his skin tone so he looked almost luminous and made the blue of his eyes seem almost preternaturally intense. The cut also worked perfectly, making him look somehow more masculine and more feminine at once, bringing out his cheekbones, and the way the perfectly coiffed waves kissed his face drew the eye inevitably to the sensuous fullness of those pouting lips.

Ivan looked nervous as Anton took in his changed reflection, seemingly impassive for the moment. "What do you think?" he asked almost nervously. He would have been heartbroken if Anton hated it. What would he do if Anton were heart broken? Hated him for what he’d done? But Anton turned and gave him a vulpine smile.

"Oh, I love it," he purred, something wicked in those siamese cat blue eyes now, "but if I’m going to do this look, I absolutely have to do my face."

Ivan returned the carnivorous smirk, and let his own green gaze trail slowly along his lover’s lanky tattooed form as he cocked a hip like some silver screen siren and turned to sashay off into the bedroom, leaving Ivan with the impression that Anton had somehow gained the ability to make the world go slow motion and summon some kind of sultry soundtrack as he walked by. Anton was enjoying himself now. The look brought something out in him and he intended to indulge it fully, so on went the makeup, deep red lipstick and black cateye liner with a beauty mark, the stockings and garter belt and stiletto heels, the spritz of spicy seductive perfume. Lean and toned and impressively erect, he was obviously male and yet possessed along with that masculine potency, all the feminine allure of any blond bombshell Hollywood had ever produced. When he was through he retrieved Ivan who’d been collecting the mass of hair from off the floor of the bathroom, and braiding it as a memento. When he heard Anton, he turned and let out a low whistle.

"Okay, I knew it was a good idea, but I didn’t know it was that good an idea," he said, slowly taking in every inch of the vision standing before him. Without the mass of heavy dark hair, the sheer perfection of Anton’s graceful, leggy form was utterly on display, trim waist and slim hips, broad through the shoulders but slender, fine boned, and quite beautiful.

Ivan went to him, fingers running carefully through still silky white blond hair so as not to muss it, his own cock aching as he slid an arm around the new-minted blond’s waist.

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