The Lord and His Locks by Armando94

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(Part 1)

"What are you doing?" the selfish, spoiled brat, Lord Malcom Pelvrington-Buffson, exclaimed at one of the staff. "Don’t just stand there."

And so, the young male servant behind him turned on the faucet and began to wash the Earl’s son’s hair. It was a usual treatment Malcom received at least once a week. This special treatment, that is. Having someone else wash and shampoo and condition his hair, as if the little lord was in the Victorian era and not the twenty-first century. None of his other siblings had ever acted this way, and the staff were thrilled he would not be the one to inherit the house one day. The servant soaked his head with cool water, gently massaging Malcom’s scalp with his fingers until it made the right scratching noise. Then it was followed by a dollop of shampoo in the servant’s hands. A heavy dollop. When the little Lord had his hair soaking wet, it went just passed his shoulder blades. But rarely did he appear like that. Usually it was tied back with a ribbon, and if not that, then with the waves and curls flowing all about. Thanks to staff, that was why Malcom had such healthy hair.

The servant gently massaged the shampoo in, more delicate than when stimulating the scalp with the initial rinse. Once the hair was all soaped up, the servant moved on to massaging the Lord’s shoulders from over the sink bowl, doing his best to not get any stray water on Malcom as he was glued to his phone. Once it felt like two minutes had passed, the servant washed out the shampoo before doing the same with the conditioner. When having to let that sit, he asked Malcom if he’d like for him to bring him some tea.

"Whatever," Malcom responded, which meant "Yes".

Malcom sat with his head back until the servant returned, placing his tea and treats on a table near the sofa on the other side of the room. Then the servant washed out Malcom’s hair until it was completely rinsed. Lifting his lord’s head up, placing a towel around Malcom’s shoulders, he guided Malcom over to the sofas so that they could let his hair stand dry a bit before the big finale. Malcom remained glued to his phone as he alternated between sips of his overly sweetened tea and a few biscuits. Eventually, the servant began blow drying and brushing out Malcom’s hair till it shown in all its glorious golden glory. The waves practically formed themselves like a Farrah Fawcett look (which Malcom had had cut like before, his father wasn’t too pleased). The servant combed his hair a bit more before adding just a touch of dry shampoo to set it all. Bringing over a mirror he said, "We’re finished, mi’lord".

Malcom looked at himself in the mirror, pawing at his locks with his perfectly manicured fingers. A small smile crept up his cheeks, that sort of smile one would pin on villains. As if he were the evil queen in Snow White, looking upon the mirror and asking if he was the fairest of them all. But Malcom would never ask that, because he had even more self-belief than that old hag that he indeed was. No, here stood a handsome man, beautiful even, with golden waves that were envious of ripened hay in autumn. From root to tip, they shone like the sun, gently cascading around Malcom’s shoulders as he took this moment in.

"That’s all," he murmured, and the servant bowed before heading out of the drawing room. Malcom continued to look upon himself in the mirror as he sat alone, whispering compliments to himself out loud that he thought no one could hear, but all the staff had heard it before.


A local boy by the name of Carl had just started working on the estate. He came from a large family with many brothers ahead of him who had also gone on elsewhere to find work. From them, as well as his father and many uncles, he’d picked up a number of trades. Ranging from cooking and butcher work, to fishing and sailing, to cleaning and farming, and even other trades like plumbing and barbering. One thing that Carl had also done in his time, ever since he was a little boy, was read. He was so well read that it felt like there wasn’t a book he hadn’t read, some in different languages. Self-made in more ways than one, he was capable of much more than a simple CV would show. But, he liked the simple things in life, and thus hadn’t strived for too high.

"The usual for you, Carl?" his uncle asked as he sat in the barber chair.

"Yessir," he bowed his head, in anticipation of being dressed in the cape.

"Feels like you could cut your own hair at this point, lad," they both laughed. "Say, think they need a barbers at that fancy farm you working at now?"

"Not that I know of," Carl answered, as his uncle took the clippers to the side of his head and began to sheer the two weeks’ growth. Carl kept his sides and back super tight, to the skin, with a faint hint of stubble creeping up halfway to the top of his head, which was scissored down real short with just enough in the front to style up, but no more than half an inch. Carl always found getting a haircut therapeutic, ever since he was a little boy. His parents rarely let him or his brothers keep their hair long. They were always outside, playing sports or in nature, could easily get dirty that way. So short it was, and always having to wear a hat in the summer when their parents were around and were nervous they’d burn their ears off.

The sharp "bzzzt!" sounds in front of his ears and behind settled Carl to relax in the barber chair. He could almost sigh of relief, the pesky little hairs along his sides being done away with. His uncle and him chatted away about their rival clubs, teasing one another, as his uncle made headway with the haircut. Once Carl had been initially sheered along the sides and back, his uncle took out a pair of clippers that always reminded Carl of bumble bees, as they buzzed even louder than the previous clippers. The foil shaver, he believed it was called, and his uncle did not hesitate to go up and around his ears and along his neckline, up to the occipital bone to reduce what little hair was left down to skin. Carl was always fascinated that the shaver almost gave off a different "scent" when being used, and he loved it.

Eventually, his uncle moved on to blending in the rest of the sides and back up to the top that needed minimal work. Just a quick spray of the bottle on top, and then a trim here and there. "Don’t skimp on the top now will ya," Carl exclaimed. His uncle practically ferociously hacked away at the top till it was all uniformly cut down, shorter from the crown to gradually longer up front. Then he took the dryer out to dry the top, then going over his work one more time, especially connecting the sides to the top, before adding a bit of matte pomade to Carl’s hair. Styling it just effortlessly up in a flip that didn’t say "juvenile" but actually "professional". Then his uncle gave him the real treatment of the hot later all around his neckline and ears, carefully and delicately shaving that down with the straight razor. If Carl wasn’t already in a trance, this certainly put him into one. Finally, he was done and dusted down and out of the chair.

"Hope ‘m not makin ya late for work, Carl," his uncle said as he walked him to the front.

"Nah, I did not need to be there early today, tha’s why I stopped in."

"Good lad, see ya Sunday for tea," his uncle slapped him on the back, and on his way he went.

The drive from town to the estate was only another five or so minutes for Carl. He pulled into his usual spot and made his way over to the barn. He approached it, strapping on is wellies and switching into a different coat so that he wouldn’t get his nicer things a mess. Several colleagues were already there, working away at some of the animals. They were sheering the sheep for wool, as it was that time of year. One of the men who worked with him said, "Fancied yourself a trip to the barbers on your morning off, eh?"

"Not a morning off, Charlie," Carl replied as he got into the thick of it all. But before doing that, he couldn’t resist rubbing his hand along his shorn nape. Oh did he love that feeling! Who wouldn’t? "Just a delay now, I’m here."

"Well good, seems like the boss will be wantin to see ya."

"Says who?"

"Says the boss himself," Charlie leaned in, "THE boss, ya know" he emphasized. Carl just nodded his head and got on with the work until they had a break a couple hours later. While everyone was taking some drink in, Carl sat off to the side, looking at his phone, checking his latest Grindr messages. Right on schedule, he saw one from the mysterious profile named MPB with a message of good morning, including a certain sort of picture. Carl had been wondering if this was one of his coworkers, since the distance was always so close when he looked at his phone at work. But in a month of Sundays, he never would have imagined any of these men were even the slightest bit queer, or used the app just for a bit of game.

Carl had taken a selfie on his way out of the barbers, face slightly to the side to show his bald fade. He sent that along with a message back of "Morning yourself" and the barber pole emoji. It only took a couple of minutes to get a response back from the mysterious MPB.

MPG: Ooooh, so handsome even if you’re a baldy lol

Carl: Not a baldy. I love it this way. Wouldn’t change it

MPG: Oh god, I can’t imagine such a drastic look on anyone, least of all me

Carl: Would love to actually see what you look like. Pics?

Instead, Carl was sent the usual sort of pictures he’d been accustomed to. "Such a tease" he mumbled under his breath. Carl didn’t get what some men had against other guys with short hair. It was the norm these days to have it tight to the skin, and some even cropped shorter on top than Carl wore his. This chatroom friend was probably one of those sissy boys that never grew out of his plain boyhood look. Maybe he ought to upgrade that simply boy to a disciplined one. Instead of just the side part, sheer the sides, white walls! The works! He laughed to himself and then went to chat with the other gents before they had to get back to work. When it came time to break for lunch, Carl was indeed pulled to the side and asked to wash up a bit. He was quite confused.

Carl stepped into the big house, having never been in here before, not even when interviewing, and was asked to wait in one of the front drawing rooms. He took in the sight around him, all the fancy paintings and art. He looked at the spines of the books from where he sat on a chair that had to be two hundred years old. He recognized pretty much all the books. Before he got lost in the trance of all these worldly goods, a middle-aged woman stepped into the room, and he stood at attention and bowed, "Your Grace."

She laughed out loud, and he could tell she was no posh aristo from the cackle. "Please, I’m not the Countess, do sit down though," and so they sat across from each other. "If anything, your now passing with flying colors on the test."

"On what test?" Carl asked.

The woman introduced herself as Esme, the private secretary to Their Graces. She said how note of Carl’s assistance, not just on his farm duties alone, had taken a big notice. And they were curious if he’d be open to the idea of a promotion. "It would be sort of like a butler or valet you could say," Esme continued. "Of course, these roles usually require a certain kind of schooling, but you have proven yourself capable in more ways than one. And even if you are not the most educated, you could fool any person who walks these halls and corridors."

So then it was set, Carl would be looking at a promotion, within the household, with a better salary. Never did he think this was in his fortune. He was given the rest of the afternoon off and would report tomorrow. Still early, like usual, except for a new kind of job. When he came back the next day, dressed up in his best suit, even if it probably had seen better days, he was pleased to hear that they would provide him with some new clothes once he’d had his measurements taken in. So he started the morning…very different from all the other mornings since working on the estate. He enjoyed a light breakfast while strangers took in his measurements for his feet, his body, and asked his preferences on other specifics, to which Carl was at a complete loss for. He was given a tour of the house and showed some of the ropes. Then after lunch, he was told he’d be assisting one of His Grace’s sons, accompanying him on a horse ride.


Malcolm was glued to his phone, as usual, when he was interrupted by one of the many staff that he didn’t have the name for, like all the others. "Sir, today you will be accompanied by one of our newest staff members, please meet Carl." Malcolm raised his right eyebrow up, and peeked that eye around his phone to catch a quick glance. But he was stunned by who stood before him, and quickly dropped his phone to the ground, giving them all his attention.

It was him, he couldn’t believe it. The guy he’d been chatting up on Grindr for months now. In the flesh, much taller and broader than he imagined, or was it the suit. And with that…haircut. Oh, was it short, shorter than even in the picture he remembered. Like one of those footballers or rugby players cuts. Malcolm stuck a hand through his own locks, that had been blown dry not even an hour ago. The sheer difference between him and this…this man. Because he was certainly more of a man than Malcolm was. This Carl bowed his head at him, having no idea who he was dealing with. Malcolm nodded back, and swallowed down a huge audible gulp, croaking out, "Welcome."

Soon he was on his feet and following the other two out of the house towards the stables. He had nearly forgotten that he mentioned, the day before, that he’d like to go for a ride. He supposed Carl was going to be the one accompanying him. Malcolm felt himself profusely begin to sweat under his clothes, and his hands shake a bit. Catching glances from the corner of his eyes as he witnessed this Carl masterfully dress and saddle up the steed he’d be riding on this afternoon. Malcolm tried to focus on his, but he was blatantly distracted, constantly taking in looks of the shorn nape only a few feet away. Until that nape and its owner made its way over to him. Offering in a slightly husky voice, "Need a hand, sir?"

Malcolm simply nodded his head and stepped back to let the professional handle it. After that was done, they were off and riding, Malcolm finding himself being the one having to lead, but Carl was not far behind. Once they were a great distance from the house, out in the countryside, Carl saddled up next to him and they rode in step with each other, dropping down to a simply gallop. He called out to him, "Do you ride much, sir?"

"N-no," Malcolm quivered back, his voice sounding rather high-pitched, more than usual. Suddenly away from home, knowing who this other man was, Malcolm was ready to do some unthinkable things. But in the presence of Carl, he felt like for the first time in his life, Malcolm might not necessarily get his way. Not with the way those hands gripped onto the reigns.

"Could fool me, you seem to ride well," Carl shouted back, then laughed to himself, "or it could just be these horses think you are one of them," letting go of the reigns from one hand, and tapping his helmet. You couldn’t see a single hair of Carl’s, but Malcolm’s tied back ponytail was truly similar to that of a pony’s tail. Then, Carl’s face changed, to one with concern, as he called, "Look out!"

Malcolm found himself airborne, lifted off his horse by a low-hanging stray branch, as his horse galloped away without him. Carl went after the horse as Malcolm hung there, dangling from the tree. Looking down, he saw a messy mud pile, and wished that Carl would come back soon. But by the time Carl was turning back around with both horses, it was too late. The branch snapped and Malcolm flopped onto his backside. Thank goodness for the helmet, as that saved his head, and the rest of the padding he had on. Clearly the mud pile was much deeper than he thought, about a foot deep, which also helped break his fall. But he was covered now, disgusting. Including his golden mane that had hung on his back, now a new color. Carl still charged towards him, and launched off his horse, dashing over to the spot only to slip and fall in the mud himself. Crashing right into Carl, bracing his hands against Malcolm’s shoulders. Carl found it amusing, and laughed out loud.

"This isn’t funny," Malcolm said through tight lips. Carl continued to laugh, and took his thumb, drawing some mud on both of Malcolm’s cheeks like he was some ridiculous American baseball player. "We need to go back," Malcolm argued.

"Oh, why ruin such a good afternoon already?" Carl poked him, figuratively and literally. Then he spotted behind him a small lake. "Why not wash off there?"

"You have to be joking," Malcolm uttered. But before he knew it, Carl was up and out of the mud, trailing ahead to the water, stripping off articles of clothing until he was at the edge with nothing on but his birthday suit, and boy was it a sight for Malcolm. Perhaps this boy did have a good point, not ruin the afternoon, especially as it had just gotten slightly better from where Malcolm sat.

Carl rinsed his belongings off on the water’s edge, before dipping in himself. Turning around to face Malcolm, revealing his impressive physique with a nice sprinkling of body hair. Calling to him, "Come on now, sir, the water is warm."

Some possessive power overcame Malcolm as he found himself stepping out of the mud and making his way to the water’s edge. Stripping down till he was completely naked as well, he stepped a toe in, feeling the warm water pool around his skin, before he placed both feet in, and looked out at Carl who was waist deep, with enough of that "V" poking out from his torso. But his facial expression had changed, to one of shock, and then vicious glee. Malcolm looked down at himself and realized he had given the game away, based on how excited he appeared to be.

"Well, well," Carl said to himself, wading over to Malcolm, who had suddenly felt himself go cold all over. "I suppose the pictures don’t do it justice," Carl stroked his own member, grasping out for Malcolm’s as well. Malcolm let out a sharp sudden intake of breath. After a few passes, Carl let go of Malcolm, and placed that hand through Malcolm’s hair. "That is also, the pictures you never sent me too. What were you so shy about?"

Malcolm was at a loss for words to say. No, he couldn’t even think of any words in fact! He stood there, stuttering like a fool, until Carl had that devilish grin again, and grabbed Malcolm from around his waist, and burying his face into Malcolm’s neck, whispered, "I won’t bite." And off he dragged him to the water, as they face planted in together. When Malcolm gasped up for air, thinking perhaps Carl was about to drown him, he flailed and flapped all over the place, just as Carl slipped the ribbon from out of his hair, letting all his tendrils fall across his shoulders and into the water. Malcolm caught his breath and stared back at Carl, mere inches away, flashing a grin. Malcolm took in his look, especially the super short (and sharp!) haircut that was in full effect now. Then Carl extended his hands and began to wash out Malcolm’s long locks. "Such nice hair," he moaned, which made Malcolm moan. Pulling Malcolm to him, turning him around so his back was to Carl’s front, Carl continued to wash out Malcolm’s hair. Stroking and stimulating his scalp, better than any of the other staff ever had before. Malcolm was ignoring the fact they were in a lake right now because this was the greatest treatment ever.

"You must take care of your hair, sorry it got all dirty," Carl sympathized.

"Its fine," Malcolm moaned, as he felt Carl grip him closer to him, his man hands still digging into his scalp as he washed the mud away. "I’ll just have to have it washed and dry again." Then, Malcolm had an idea. Well, an idea that could be risky. He thought about this, pondered it, as he watched the sight before him. Carl stroked the length of his hair out for the two of them to see. The golden locks coming back to their natural hue, shining bright in the sun’s reflection now. He did have gorgeous hair, he was proud of it. Even after that mess with the mud, it still looked as beautiful as ever. Perhaps even more beautiful now, with it in the hands of Carl. Oh, Malcolm resisted the urge to moan out loud once more, but on the inside he was shrieking with awe at the thought he’d come up with.

"Would you…" Malcolm began to say. Carl stopped his stroking, coming to attention, gripping onto the extended locks he held. It did suddenly hurt a bit, but Malcolm put that out of his mind. "Would you…would you be interested in washing my hair? Usual some other servant handles it, I can never remember their names. Not that it matters, they don’t really matter," Malcolm laughed to himself, but he didn’t hear Carl join in, so he stopped short. "But if you wouldn’t mind…and…you do need to shower off as well, so…"

Carl flipped Malcolm around, and stared at him seriously now. "Is the Lord commanding me to shower off?"

"I—" Malcolm was confused, but then shook his head, catching onto the game. "Yes, yes I am."

Carl nodded his head, "And will the Lord need to bathe as well?" his hands slowly creeping up the back of Malcom’s skull, scratching around at the nape full of locks, versus the sharp contrast from the scratcher’s own nape. "And would he need assistance in this endeavor?"

Oh, Malcolm was so thrilled he brought this up now. He hadn’t even thought about it in this way! "Yes, I do believe I will."

"Then as my duty," Carl gripped Malcolm closer, "I must follow these orders," and then slightly leaned in, and gently placed a kiss on Malcolm, until that simple kiss consumed them both into an intense, fiery passion of snogging. Uncontrollably, not coming up for air for minutes at a time. All the while, Carl was stroking and washing out Malcolm’s hair in the water, feeling its length. Malcolm even found himself gripping at the back of Carl’s head, the skin and short bristles that covered it. Oh what a sensation, Malcolm had never felt something like it before! It thrilled him yet also unnerved him too. What felt like mere minutes turned into an hour, when Carl guided them back to the water’s edge, their clothes having dried up. They got themselves and their horses ready, Malcolm flickering looks at Carl who kept glaring back at him with temptation. Before they both hopped on their steeds, Carl traced Malcolm’s face, and ran his hands through his hair once more, and said, "Let’s get you home, m’lord. Time you were taken care of…"

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