Beard Burn
A soft hiss escapes you as you roll over in bed, barely conscious of the world in your half awake state. Your hand stretches out to reach for him, your Baron, but meets the cold of the pillow instead. Finally opening your eyes to the harsh sunlight of the bedroom you see the clock reads almost 10. He has undoubtedly been up for hours. As you sit up the blanket falls from you, revealing your bare skin to the empty chill of the room.
Shifting to stand, the chafed skin of your plush thighs rubs uncomfortably. Zemo had been rather zealous in his endeavors last night. His newly grown beard leaves remnants like a brand against you. A flash of memory hits; the rough scratch long your delicate skin as he made you come apart under his lips and tongue. Helmut was beyond generous in his affections for you. It wasn’t something you could have prepared for - just how demanding and yet just how giving he was. You knew he would ruin you. In fact, he already had.
Finding a cotton shirt on the floor, you pull it over your head. Searching through his things you find a pair of clean briefs. They are long enough to offer some protection against the further abuse to your poor skin, but comfortable enough that you don’t mind wearing them. Glancing in the bathroom mirror you notice how the material hugs your curves; god my ass looks fantastic in these. You figure he will appreciate the look of you in his clothes.
You find your way to the living room. Helmut sits on the leather loveseat, newspaper in one hand, tea cup in the other. He glances at you from above the cup. “Good morning, liebling. I was beginning to wonder if you would come join me soon.”
Crossing the room you perch on the arm of his chair. He folds the paper neatly before pressing a chaste kiss to the still exposed part of your thigh. “Did you sleep well?”
You shrug, grabbing the cup out of his fingers to take a swig. “Mostly.” He takes his tea sweeter than you prefer. But that’s the other thing you’ve learned in the month that you and the Baron have been hiding out - that man loves his sweets.
“Oh? Perhaps a complaint is in order?”
“Just one.”
“And what might that be, schatzi?” His tone is patronizing, but in jest. The way he peers at you from beneath his lashes is playful.
Instead of speaking, you reply by pulling up the inside of the shorts you wear, revealing the raw, reddened skin to his wandering gaze.
He smirks. “Ah. My apologies.” He’s not sorry.
You hum in response. Bringing the hand without his cup up, you scratch your nails through the coarse hair that lines his face. The beard is full and lush, not too long but just long enough to add a sort of rugged quality to him. It is so incredibly masculine that the sweet nothings he often whispers to you should feel out of place. “The things this does to me…” you mutter wistfully. Helmut practically purrs against your touch. “How long are you planning on keeping it?” You don’t admit it, but you hope he does.
“That depends on how long we are in hiding. But I rather think you enjoy it too much, schatz, so perhaps longer,” he teases. He leans towards the tea you hold. Carefully, you tip the cup between his waiting lips. A stray drop is caught in the edge of his beard. With a considerate swipe of your thumb you collect the beaded drop from his chin.
The air surrounding you is riddled with heat. Before either of you could make the final move to jump the other’s bones your stomach growls angrily. The tension is broken by the sound.
Helmut chuckles. “Seems I should make you breakfast before I receive another complaint.”
He stands and walks off to the kitchen, not before dropping a soft kiss to your forehead. Downing what’s left of his tea you chase behind him. “Crepes please!”