Late Kinktober 2024/early Kinktober 2025 entry! Based on prompt lists from @josiebelladonna / @feverinfeveroutfic
Prompt(s):
Paradise Day 3: Hair kink
Fire Land Day 12: Blow jobs
Pairing: Charles Greywolf/Roel van Helden (Powerwolf)
AO3 link
Started working on this back in October, though the idea came to me slightly earlier than that. Inspired by a couple pages from the webcomic Questionable Content, part of an Iron Maiden fanfic I read in Rockfic.com's early days, and a few of my own hair issues throughout the years.
Roel sighs as he enters his and Charles’ hotel room after an early morning walk; the air conditioning provides a welcome relief to his sweat-soaked skin. He starts to call out for Charles, but changes his mind when he hears water running. Figuring out that Charles is in the shower, Roel decides to take a quick nap while waiting for his turn. He takes off his bandana, strips to his boxers, climbs into bed, and closes his eyes.
A while later, a loud “FUCK!!” jolts Roel out of his slumber. He sits up and sees Charles standing by the bathroom door, clothes in hand, also clad only in underwear. His long hair is held back in a ponytail. A scowl paints his face.
Roel greets the guitarist with an ear-to-ear grin.
“Good morning, liefje!”
Silence.
Charles trudges over, drops his clothes on the floor, and joins Roel in the queen-sized bed, curling into a ball, back to him.
This, along with the earlier outburst, alerts Roel that something is amiss. Charles may not be much of a morning person, but he usually gives a grunt or nod in return; some kind of signal. Roel’s hunch is confirmed when he hears Charles grumble under his breath.
Roel knows what these grumbles mean by now. They mean, “Something is bothering me, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.” They mean, “I know it’s not healthy, but let me stew for a bit.” They mean, “I’ll talk about it when I’m ready.”
He knows not to push. He knows his boyfriend; the reason will come in time.
“I hate my hair.”
And there it is.
“What?! Why?” Roel asks.
“So many reasons,” Charles answers. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe not,” Roel concedes. “But you know you can always come to me if there’s a problem.”
Charles takes a deep breath, then exhales.
“First of all,” he begins, “My hair gets so tangled. It takes me forever in the shower and afterwards to get it all out. I leave it for a day, or even for a few hours, and it’s all tangled again. Even if I don’t move or do anything that could tangle it. I’m not even supposed to wash it every day because of the oils or some shit. Yeah, it’s tied back most of the time, but I still want it to look nice. It probably annoys you guys that I take so long in the morning.”
As much as he wants to tell him otherwise, Roel knows the best thing to do is to let Charles get whatever he wants to say off his chest and out in the open.
“My hair doesn’t stay put, especially when it’s hot outside. It’s like it has a mind of its own. It gets caught on everything, too: my guitar strap, my guitar, seatbelts, door hinges, the tape on your fingers that one time…”
Roel remembers That One Time pretty well.
It was in the early days of their relationship. Roel and Charles were sitting on a couch in Powerwolf’s dressing room, relaxing before their pre-show huddle and howl. Charles had untied his hair, letting his mane unfurl like the feathers of a peacock. He ran his hands up through his hair and scratched at his scalp, but Roel soon took over. Charles smiled and purred in delight. When it was time to hit the stage, however, the tape on Roel’s fingers kept getting snagged on a few tough knots. Yelps of pain, apologies, and commands to hold still sounded throughout the room. What did not help was when Attila, unaware of the trouble his bandmates were in, commented, “You guys are so cute. Now hurry up,” as he walked by.
The only thing Roel doesn’t remember is how the problem was ultimately solved.
“I mean, you see how much I pack on tour for my hair.”
Roel has seen that bag: something resembling a small beer cooler. Hair ties galore, at least two shampoos, conditioner and gel for both in and out of the shower, brushes and combs. It’s like a mini-hair salon in itself.
“And how much I shed.”
He is not wrong in that respect, either. Roel has found hair ties and hair left everywhere - and in the most random places - over the years, both at home and on the road. Even after weeks or months on tour, he would find hair that he swore wasn’t there when they left.
“It makes me wish I was bald like you; shorter showers, low maintenance. All you need is a hat or bandana and you’re ready to go. It’s way better in this heat. And like I said, I probably annoy you with my long showers and morning routines. And-”
Roel decides he can no longer keep quiet.
“Okay, stop right there,” Roel interrupts. He puts a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Please don’t get down on yourself like this. You don’t annoy me. Not at all. I wouldn’t be playing in a band with you, laying in this bed with you, doing what we do if you did.”
Roel wraps his arms around Charles from behind, enveloping him in a warm embrace.
“Being bald isn’t all it’s made out to be, either. Why do you think I wear hats or bandanas so often? It’s because my head either gets too cold or too hot. When it’s hot, my head would get sunburned if I don’t wear anything. If we’re on stage, sweat would get in my eyes. Or, it’s autumn or winter, and my head would get cold; or it’s spring or summer, and there’s air conditioning inside, and my head would get cold.”
As if on cue, a chilly blast of air from the vent prompts Roel to shiver. He gets out of bed to dig through his suitcase for one of his gray beanies. He dons one, then rejoins Charles under the covers, spooning him again.
“You wouldn’t guess it, but my head itches a lot,” Roel adds. “And I always have to get more makeup on my head for video and photo shoots. I may have been bald longer than not, but it’s something you never quite get used to. To be honest, there are times when I wish I could grow my hair out again.”
“But being bald suits you,” Charles counters.
“And your hair suits you. I love your hair so much. It’s so soft. Shit, I often want to bury my face in it and stay there forever.”
Roel nuzzles his face into the back of Charles’ head. He inhales deeply through his nose, taking in the scent of Charles’ shampoo and body wash.
“It’s so majestic, so wild, so…metal,” he continues. “It’s quite the sight to see on stage, along with…”
Roel casts a fleeting glimpse down to Charles’ ass.
“…other parts of you.”
A blush creeps onto Charles’ face.
“It’s unique, it’s beautiful, and it’s yours. And I will support whatever you want to do with it. Because it’s the man with the hair that matters most to me.”
Silence.
When Charles doesn’t acknowledge him right away, Roel worries that he may have said the wrong thing or overwhelmed him with too much to consider at once. His fears are quelled, though, when Charles loosens up, uncurls from his fetal position, and rolls over to face him.
“Thanks for listening,” Charles murmurs.
Their foreheads press together.
“Anytime,” Roel replies.
Not long after, their lips do the same.
The men go slow, enjoying each other’s company on this lazy morning. Soft sighs slip out between tender kisses. Roel escalates things first by poking his tongue out and swiping it across Charles’ lips. He gets the hint and opens his mouth, letting Roel deepen the kiss. Their tongues twist and tangle. Hands roam over and claw at bare backs. Each man feels the other harden in their underwear.
When they part to catch their breath, Roel asks Charles a question, a mischievous gleam in his eye:
“You know what else I love about your hair?”
Charles raises one eyebrow.
“What?”
In response, Roel grabs Charles’ left leg, hikes it around his waist, and flips them over so that Charles is now on top, straddling his thighs. Charles lets out a “Whoa!” as he topples forward, but catches himself on his forearms. No matter how many times he has experienced Roel’s strength in bed, it never fails to take him by surprise.
Roel reaches one arm up to free Charles’ hair from its restraint. He tosses the elastic aside. He weaves his fingers in Charles’ luscious locks, then pulls him closer, their faces now inches apart.
Roel answers, his voice husky:
“It’s great to hold on to when we fuck.”
Roel yanks Charles down the rest of the way, smashing their lips together. Their bodies move on their own; their hips rock against each other. The men moan into each other’s mouths from the contact.
When the heated kiss breaks, Charles pushes himself up onto his hands and knees above Roel, who lies flat on his back on the mattress. His long curls surround them like a protective curtain, turning their nondescript hotel room bed into their own private canopy. Charles positions Roel’s hands beside his head, then puts his own hands on top and links their fingers before diving back in for more. He moves away from Roel’s lips to kiss along his jawline, up to his right ear. He nibbles on Roel’s earlobe, which elicits a gasp.
Charles takes a second to register Roel’s words, then nods and hums an affirmative. He lets go of Roel’s hands and shuffles backwards on his knees to give himself more room. After getting on all fours, Charles resumes at Roel’s neck, then slides over to his collarbone and across to the hollow of his throat, peppering each with kisses.
“Lower,” Roel repeats.
Charles continues his journey down Roel’s body, taking his time throughout. He stops at Roel’s buff chest, kissing all over each pectoral muscle. Roel bites his lip and lets out needy little whimpers when Charles prods, licks, and sucks on each nipple on the way. After that, Charles snakes further down towards Roel’s toned stomach. Every kiss from Charles’ lips is followed elsewhere by one from his hair; his tresses tickle Roel’s skin with every sidle and sway of his body. Roel shudders as Charles’ lips and tongue follow his treasure trail, glide along the waistband of his underwear, and approach the erection within.
Roel rolls his head back onto the pillows. His face is flushed. His mouth hangs open. His chest heaves slightly as he pants. He cranes his neck up and gazes at Charles with hooded eyes that are near dark with lust.
“Suck me, liefje.”
Charles would be out of his mind to refuse that.
“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “Okay.”
Charles hooks his fingers in the waistband of Roel’s shorts and pulls them off, then casts them aside to join his discarded hair tie. He wraps one hand around Roel’s dick and slowly rubs up and down the shaft. Beads of precum emerge from the tip and trickle towards Charles’ fingers. He twists his wrist every few up-strokes, drawing out groans.
Charles then kisses and mouths up Roel’s length at a snail’s pace. Once he reaches the top, he flutters his tongue over and around the head and slit, licking away each drop of precum that appears. He uses his tongue to trace along each vein, all the way back to the base.
“Come on…”
After what feels like a lifetime, Charles draws Roel into his mouth. He takes Roel down to just below the tip, hollows his cheeks, and gently sucks. Roel’s hips buck; Charles drapes one arm over his stomach to keep him still. Charles repeats the pattern at a steady clip; each subsequent bob of his head takes him lower than the last.
“Yes, that’s it, just like that. Don’t stop,” Roel moans.
Charles soon reintroduces his tongue, flattening it against Roel’s dick as he rises. Every so often, he pauses to swirl it around the head and dip it into the slit. Low, soft groans echo all the while.
Suddenly, Charles is startled by a rough tug on the side of his head. Roel’s dick hits the back of his throat, making him gag. Charles grabs Roel’s wrist to get him to stop, then pulls off to cough and regain his composure.
“Hey, asshole, that hurt! What the fu-” he gripes, but when he looks up, he is left speechless. Roel’s apology fades into the background as Charles takes in what he sees.
One of Roel’s hands is buried in the blankets, knuckles white but regaining their color. His other hand is on his dick, fingers encircling where Charles’ mouth couldn’t reach. A bundle of Charles’ hair sticks out from his fist.
Charles’ own dick stirs at the sight.
“…should have asked first, but an idea just came to me. Your hair felt so nice on my skin earlier, I wanted to try–”
“Wait,” Charles orders, cutting off Roel’s rambling. His voice drops to a growl. “Let me.”
Roel nods and releases Charles’ hair.
Charles takes some strands in one hand and spools them around the base of Roel’s dick. He covers them with his thumb and two fingers, then resumes his earlier ministrations. Using his other hand, he ghosts his fingertips back and forth along Roel’s inner thigh. The latter’s breath hitches when the fingers get closer to his balls with each upward pass.
“You ready?” Charles asks.
Roel shivers again, this time in anticipation. Roel rests one hand on top of Charles’ head, but lets him lead the way.
“Please…”
Charles grips Roel’s thigh to brace himself, then takes him halfway down in one go. Roel throws his head back and utters a drawn-out curse as Charles’ mouth engulfs him. The guitarist picks up where he left off; his lips meet his hand with every bob of his head. He occasionally glances up at Roel to gauge his reaction.
Even though Charles doesn’t go down as far, the different sensations – the wet heat of Charles’ mouth and the silky texture of his freshly-washed hair – still work together to drive Roel wild. The hand not in Charles’ hair clutches the sheets for dear life.
“Yes, so soft, so good! Oh, God!” Roel moans, but the words come out in barely-audible breaths.
Hearing Roel’s desperate cries, seeing his face twisted in bliss, knowing he is the one responsible, turns Charles on even more. Before he knows it, he spreads his legs, lowers his hips, and ruts against the mattress. The resulting hum sends vibrations through Roel’s dick, making him moan in return. This spurs Charles on to do it again.
The vicious cycle continues until Charles hears Roel’s moans get closer together. He feels the grip on his hair get progressively tighter – almost painful – by the second. He sees Roel's eyes squeeze shut and his hips buck.
He is close.
Charles approaches the edge as well. The motions of his hand, hips, and head go out of sync. He lifts his mouth off of Roel’s dick and picks up the speed of his strokes. He moves his other hand from Roel’s thigh down to his briefs and palms himself, chasing his own impending high.
“Oh, fuck…oh, fuck…”
With a shout of Charles’ name, Roel reaches his peak. He arches his back, then falls onto the pillows, almost hitting his head on the bedframe. Charles follows shortly after, releasing into his underwear. His limbs give way, and he collapses stomach-down onto the mattress.
After taking several minutes to recover, Roel speaks up first.
“That was…wow.”
He sits up, leaning back against the headboard.
“Mm-hmm,” Charles responds.
He crawls over to join his boyfriend. He pushes his hair out of his face, but stops when he notices something sticky on his hand. The post-orgasm clarity sets in.
“Scheiβe…”
This snaps Roel out of his own haze. He looks over at Charles to see a couple of white streaks sticking out from the forest of dark brown curls.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! I meant…I didn’t…I thought I just got your face,” he sputters.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Charles assures, his voice raw. “Ugh, now I have to wash this out,” he mutters. Charles springs to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom. Roel follows close behind.
“Would you mind if I joined you?” Roel asks as Charles peels off his underwear and turns on the water. “I should probably wash up anyway.”
Charles hesitates for a bit before answering.
“I think I need some space right now. Maybe another time.”
“Fair enough. But at least let me make this…” Roel thumbs at the mess in his boyfriend’s hair. “…up to you.”
“How?”
Roel looks around the bathroom while he thinks. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hairbrush on the floor. He picks it up and notices that some of its bristles are missing or damaged. A comb on the vanity is similarly mangled.
“How do you brush your hair with this?” Roel questions. “It’s falling apart.”
“See, that’s another thing: my brushes and combs break so easily because my hair is so thick,” Charles complains. “I haven’t had a chance to get a new one yet because of how busy we’ve been preparing for the tour.”
“Then, that’s what I can do!”
“Huh?”
“If I remember correctly, we passed some shops on the way over here. I could see if one of them has hairbrushes. If so, we could go back there together and you could pick one out. And we can take our time with it; today is a day off, after all.”
Roel hugs Charles from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder.
“What do you say?”
Charles’ lips curve awkwardly into a smile.
“That would be nice, actually,” he replies. “That means a lot.”
“You’re welcome, liefje. And later, if you want…”
He whispers in Charles’ ear:
“…I’ll let you cum on my head this time.”
Silence.
All Charles can do is blush and put his face in his palm. He tries, but fails, to suppress a noise that lands somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan.
“You okay?” Roel asks.
Charles composes himself, wrests himself free from Roel's hold, and plants a quick peck on the latter's lips.
“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Charles teases. He steps into the shower and flings the curtain closed.
Roel can't help but chuckle. He knows that snark; Charles will be just fine.
“Love you, too, Charlie,” Roel calls back as he exits the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
i know nobody asked for it but i'm super hung up on my cooking show au and because the episode of the great british menu im watching has a super cute surprise veteran judge i am Changing the whole concept to Roel being the veteran judge and Charles seeing him and going 😍 and he's super flustered and distracted all the way through (and when he wins the contest Roel asks him out so idk double win???)
