(Billy and Teddy are asleep. An alarm goes off and both grumble, stretch and yawn; eventually, Billy gets up, goes over to the small sink in the corner. He starts putting on shaving foam. Teddy watches him with interest.)
TEDDY:
Can I shave you?
BILLY:
What?
TEDDY:
Can I shave your face?
(Pause.)
BILLY:
That's a strange request.
TEDDY:
Is that a 'no'?
BILLY:
Yes, that's a 'no'.
TEDDY:
I've never had to shave.
BILLY:
Well, you shouldn't envy the bother.
(He has just about finished applying the lather.)
TEDDY:
Please- I want to know what it's like.
BILLY:
Then cut up your own face, I'm not having you scar me.
TEDDY:
I won't cut you, I promise.
BILLY:
You've never used a razor before?
(Teddy shakes his head.)
Trust me, you'll cut something.
TEDDY:
I won't!
BILLY:
Come look.
(Teddy gets out of bed and walks over. Billy holds up the razor for him to see.)
See that blade?
TEDDY:
Doesn't look so sharp.
(Billy makes a motion with the blade and Teddy flinches. Billy raises an eyebrow sardonically and Teddy smiles meekly.)
BILLY:
People have used less than that to slit throats. One time, when my father was drunk, he came home and suddenly found his beard unbearable. His chin was on fire, he knew then and there he couldn't stand it anymore. He went to the bathroom sink, grumbling and swearing, knocking over chairs and tables, and- quite fortunately, it would turn out- waking up everyone in the house. My mother came downstairs, full of chiding for coming home drunk and spooking the children; she found him face up on the tile floor, a flower of his own blood blossoming beneath him, its roots in his neck. He'd picked up the straight razor, you see- the one he'd inherited from my grandfather, the one I should've received from him, had my mother not tossed it out the window that very evening. He'd used that razor before, you know, dozens of times, just fine but that time, his hands had been just a little too thick. The pressure just a little too much and
(He holds the razor about an inch from his neck and pretends to drag it across, making a tearing noise. Teddy winces.)
TEDDY:
Don't.
BILLY:
And that, my boy, is why I won't let you shave me.
(He finally starts actually shaving himself. Teddy watches him again.)
TEDDY:
So what happened?
BILLY:
Hmm?
TEDDY:
To your father?
BILLY:
The doctor lived next door, very thin walls. Mum just hammered on the living room wall until he came around to complain about the noise. Thankfully he had some thread in his pocket. Dad was okay after a few months- but he never sang tenor again.
TEDDY:
You just made that last bit up.
BILLY:
I most certainly did not.
TEDDY:
(Playfully)
You're such a liar.
BILLY:
I am as true as the sun in the-
(He nicks his skin with the razor.)
Ow.
TEDDY:
Are you alright?
BILLY:
Yes.
(He put his finger to the nick and sees a drop of his own blood.)
But I'll never be able to sing Danny boy again. See? Even dab hands can get it wrong.
(He tears off some tissue paper and sticks it on the blood spot. Teddy suddenly gets an idea.)
TEDDY:
Will you shave me?
BILLY:
Really?
TEDDY:
Yes. I think it'd be so...intimate.
BILLY:
Alright then. Lather up.
(He finishes his own shaving as Teddy applies to shaving foam to his face. Billy smiles because he uses way too much, and then cleans some of it off with a towel. He then takes the razor and holds it to his lover's face.)
Hold still.
(Teddy nods. Billy begins to shave him- it starts off intimate and then gets slowly more intense; when Billy is holding the razor just over Teddy's throat, he pauses and Teddy looks briefly worried. But then in a few more strokes he is done, he kisses Teddy on the lips and puts the razor away.)
Beautiful.
(He runs his hand over Teddy's chin.)
Smooth as silk.
TEDDY:
It was like that before.
BILLY:
Give it time- all good things must end.