Gareth shares his secret (part 2) by ConvincedBoyfriend

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This is part 2 of 5 in James and Gareth's story.

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The next morning, Gareth woke first, the unfamiliar rasp of stubble against the pillowcase dragging him from sleep. He reached up instinctively - three millimetres of soft stubble met his fingertips - and a lazy grin spread across his face.

Beside him, James lay on his front, one arm flung over Gareth’s waist, the darker shadow of his own buzz catching the light like velvet under frost.

Gareth rolled closer, nosing along the warm curve of James’s scalp. The texture was addictive - soft yet prickly, warm from sleep. James stirred, mumbling something, then cracked an eye open.

"Morning, baldy," Gareth whispered, thumb tracing the faint line where yesterday’s clipper track had faded.

James huffed a laugh, voice gravel-rough. "Cheeky git." He pushed up on an elbow, the sheet sliding to his hips, and captured Gareth’s mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tongues slid, teeth nipped, morning breath be damned. James’s hand found Gareth’s buzz, fingers splaying wide, and the scrape of palm on stubble sent a jolt straight to Gareth’s cock.

They rutted lazily at first - hips rolling, cocks trapped between sweat-damp stomachs - until James growled and flipped Gareth onto his back. He licked a stripe from collarbone to ear, then lower, mouthing over a nipple until Gareth arched. James wrapped a hand around both their cocks, stroking in tight, twisting pulls that had Gareth gasping into the pillow. When they came it was quiet but intense - thick pulses striping their abs, breath mingling in the cool air.

After, James pressed a kiss to Gareth’s buzzed crown. "Still can’t believe we did that."

"Still can’t believe you volunteered!" Gareth teased, nipping James’s shoulder. "Thought I’d be the only one rocking the skinhead look."

James smirked. "Wait till the wind hits it."

They each showered quickly and dressed in layers against the November chill. Glasgow greeted them with a brisk westerly wind that whipped down Sauchiehall Street, sneaking under hoods and scarves. Gareth tugged his beanie lower, then thought better of it and yanked it off. The cold air kissed his scalp like ice water; he shivered, delighted. James did the same, dark eyes sparkling as the breeze tried to ruffle what little hair remained.

They wandered for hours - a leisurely coffee, a slow browse through the record store, lunch at a steamy pho joint where the windows fogged. Every gust of wind was a reminder: exposed skin, heightened sensitivity. By the time they climbed the tenement stairs that evening, hands linked and cheeks pink from cold, the tension between them crackled.

The door had barely shut before James crowded Gareth against it, mouths crashing. Coats hit the floor. James’s palms slid up under Gareth’s jumper, thumbs brushing bare scalp at the nape. Gareth groaned into the kiss, cock already straining.

"Bathroom," James rasped. "Now."

They stripped in the doorway - shirts, jeans, socks, briefs - until only skin remained. The clippers waited on the counter like an old friend, guardless teeth gleaming. Gareth’s heart hammered.

James picked them up, thumbed the switch; the motor snarled to life, somehow louder, more menacing, without their plastic guard.

"Who first?" James asked, though his eyes said he already knew.

Gareth stepped forward, hands braced on the sink. "Me."

James started at the front this time - no gentle warm-up. The bare blades bit in just above Gareth’s forehead, carving a wide white path straight back. Clippings fell in tiny dark flecks, sticking to damp skin. The vibration was brutal, intimate; Gareth’s knees nearly buckled. James kept going - side to side, crown, nape - until Gareth’s scalp was reduced to the finest sandpaper, pale and perfect.

Gareth turned, breathing hard. "Your turn."

James bent willingly. Gareth mirrored the path - centre strip first, watching James’s reflection: eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cock jutting rigid against his stomach. Dark stubble rained down, dusting their feet.

When the clippers clicked off, silence thrummed. Two almost bald heads, two cocks leaking steadily.

James reached for the shower dial. Hot water roared, steam billowing. They stepped under the spray together, foreheads touching. Gareth grabbed the shaving foam, squirted a thick dollop into his palm, and worked it between both hands until it frothed white and creamy. He started on James - slow circles over the crown, down the sides, behind the ears - until James’s head was a snowy dome. James returned the favour, fingers massaging Gareth’s scalp until the foam dripped in warm rivulets down their spines.

Razor next. Gareth took it first - the five fresh blades gleaming in the soft light of the bathroom. He tilted James’s head gently, drew the razor with the grain from crown to hairline. The scrape was soft, almost silent under the water, but the result was electric: a stripe of pure, gleaming skin. James exhaled shakily. Gareth worked methodically - top, sides, back - rinsing the blade after every pass.

When he switched to shaving against the grain, James’s cock jerked against Gareth’s thigh, pre-cum mixing with the foam. Gareth ran his finger along the clean path left by the razor, feeling no resistance along his boyfriend's smooth scalp. James reached up to touch, but Gareth slapped his hand away. "No, not until we're done."

James took over for Gareth, hands steady despite the tremor in his thighs. The razor glided - warm water, cool steel, hot skin. Gareth closed his eyes, trusting completely. When the final stroke finished behind his ear, James rinsed them both clean under the spray.

They stared, water streaming over smooth scalps. No stubble. No shadow. Just sleek, sensitive skin that flushed pink under the heat. James ran both palms over Gareth’s head - the glide was obscene, frictionless. Gareth mirrored him, thumbs tracing the perfect curve from temple to nape. Their cocks slid together, slick with water and need.

James spun Gareth to face the tile, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades. He nudged Gareth’s feet apart, lined up, and pushed in with one slow thrust. Gareth cried out - the angle, the heat, the water pounding their joined bodies. James set a relentless pace, hips snapping, balls slapping wetly. His free hand never left Gareth’s scalp, rubbing in tight circles that made Gareth sob with overstimulation.

Gareth braced both palms on the wall, pushing back to meet every thrust. James reached around, fisted Gareth’s cock, stroking in time. The dual sensations - prostate hammered, scalp caressed - shattered Gareth first. He came with a strangled shout, clenching hard around James, stripes of white washing down the drain. James followed seconds later, buried deep, pulsing hot inside his sexy, bald boyfriend. They stayed locked together, water still falling around them, until James eased out and turned Gareth for a slow, tender kiss.

He grabbed the shower gel, worked it between his palms, and washed them both - gentle circles over smooth scalps, down necks, across chests - until the only scent left was citrus and steam.

Later, wrapped in towels on the bed, James traced a finger over Gareth’s gleaming crown.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," James said. "Matthew's coming up in a couple of weeks." Matthew was James's best friend from university and occasional third participant in their bedroom activities.

"Amazing, I can't wait!" Gareth replied. "What do you think he'll say about our transformations?"

James smiled, starting to feel a little nervous. "He'll think we've lost our minds! Though I wonder…"

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