Samson [PicProv #6]
A little Samson.
That was who Chris reminded him of, lying so still and vulnerable among the so-white sheets, and mounds of pillows. Justin remembered the story, where Samson was insanely in love with Delilah,who was oddly enough, more of a Jezebel than Jezebel, and she kept asking him the secret of his strength. A few times, Samson played her off, but she fell for it time and again, until finally pulling out the Pout to end all pouts, Samson had to confess that the secret to his superhuman strength was in his long, long locks. "If you cut my hair, then I will be as any other man,'" he'd finally admitted.
That was a sad end to Samson and Delilah's love, Justin always thought. She cut his beautiful hair while he was sleeping. Then the cold-hearted thing had called in Samson's enemies, who'd promptly pulled him up and blinded him. He later died in slavery, even though he managed to kill more in his last desperate act of strength than he had ever killed in his prime.
Just went to show you. You really needed to trust the people you slept with. Justin scooted closer to Chris on the bed, and pulled the cover up slightly, when he saw him shiver a little. He reached out, and felt a braid. Usually, Chris would knock his hand away whenever he, or any of the guys tried to play with his hair. "It's for lookin' at, stooge, not playin' with," he'd say. "It's my personal statement of independence."
Yeah. Chris was definitely independent. He didn't need anybody. No consoling hugs for him. Chris would *give* them, as many as you wanted, but receive them? Nope. Didn't need 'em. Just that simple. Strong enough to stand alone. Always.
He wouldn't even listen to you if you were trying to express something very deep and convoluted, and hard to feel, let alone say, because just maybe you were veering into "mushy" territory, and that would invevitably require him to be mushy back, and that was just never gonna happen. Chris didn't get mushy, like other mortals.
"If you cut my hair, then I will be as other men."
Approachable? Soft? Amenable to reason? Justin cocked his head, and looked at the multitude of braids spread out on the pillow. Hmm. What would Chris be like without his fierce independence and off-putting strength? Would he even still be himself? Maybe he wouldn't be as attractive, if he weren't such a little piss-ant. That was a possibility. Perhaps he should consider this a little more. After all, once he began, there was certainly no going back.
Justin raised the scissors, and let the light play off them, sending a Tinkerbell light dancing around the room. Did he dare? He narrowed his eyes, and tried to picture Chris without a plethora of braids sprouting every which way, or gathered in two pigtails, like a cute little black girl, or worn loose, hanging down like a somber curtain.
Justin bit his lip. He picked up a braid, curtly snipped it, and--and was startled when a tear sprang to his eye, as the coil of hair fell like a limp, dead thing on the pillow. Shit. One down, and dozens more to go. He swallowed over a lump in his throat, and silently began the massacre of the innocents. His terror rose as the pile of braids grew. Shit. Shit.
He was breathless by the time he was done. He scooted away from Chris, and found that the pile of hair-locks looked even worse from the foot of the bed. Chris himself still looked like Chris, but unfinished, somehow. Really, any decent stylist would be able to smooth things over, right? He could play the whole thing off as the best practical joke ever, right? Chris wouldn't really hate him, and distrust him forever, right?
Justin was frankly crying now, and sorrier over anything he had ever done. Part of him wished Chris would wake up right now, to get the firestorm over with, and part of him wished he would never wake up at all, just lay there forever, like a peacefully sleeping Prince Charming, harmless, and furious at nobody.
Prince Charming? A phrase his grandma used to say struck him. "In for a penny, in for a pound." Which meant, as far as he could tell, that if you're gonna get killed for something, it might as well be WORTH getting killed for.
Okay. All right, then. Prince Charming (or the little Samson, although Justin now knew for sure that cutting his hair would not lessen his strength one whit) would awaken to some shocking news about his hair, and also to some shocking news about his band-mate. In for a penny, in for a pound. He leaned in, and kissed Chris awake.