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Description
It starts out as a gentle exploration when she thinks he is fast asleep. With his head on the pillow next to her, she reaches out and gently runs her fingernails over his scalp, enjoying the texture of his steel-colored hair running through her fingers, She tugs on his locks, ruffling them until his hair sticks out at odd angles. Then she leans back a little, enjoying the view. For he looks utterly delicious with his hair all over the place. Not that she'll ever tell him that.

She has seen how much care and time he puts into perfecting and taming his hair. She thinks it partially stems from the fact that his hair-line is slightly receding, which is not too uncommon for a man his age. Still, she observes him as he smooths his hair and after sighing to himself in the mirror, reaches for his chaperon, pressing it gently down over his hair.

She can't help herself. She sidles up to him and tugs on his chaperon, sliding it off-kilter, his hair in disarray again. Frollo scowls and sighs, reaching for the comb again. Starting over.

Oh, but it is one of his weaknesses. He is not a vain man otherwise, but his hair...

The barber stops by his chambers once every two weeks and he leans forward patiently in his chair, having the hairs on the back of his neck carefully clipped. Just as the barber finishes his tasks , she is beside Frollo again, teasing him and tugging on his just coiffed locks, creating chaos from the just forced order on top of his sneering head . This time he lunges for her. The barber beats a hasty retreat. Esmeralda doesn't get to leave their bed that night.

And so a little game begins. When the opportunity presents itself, she musses his hair. In the morning, before he leaves for Court. His longer locks fall over his forehead, lending him a rakish air. When they depart for Mass in their coach, she tugs on his hair before following him into the Notre Dame. This embarrasses him, because he doesn't get the chance to straighten his appearance and he has to sit through a long tedious service with a peculiar cowlick on the back of his head and a dark scowl marring his patrician features.

But somehow her teasing turns into an invitation, a sort of foreplay. Frollo begins to rub his head against her fingers, like a lazily calculating cat, knowing that she won't be able to resist running her fingers through his hair. A threatening sparkle awakens in the corner of his eye and his lips curl into a promising smile.

And the cycle begins anew.

Frollo. Because you're worth it.

Description
It starts out as a gentle exploration when she thinks he is fast asleep. With his head on the pillow next to her, she reaches out and gently runs her fingernails over his scalp, enjoying the texture of his steel-colored hair running through her fingers, She tugs on his locks, ruffling them until his hair sticks out at odd angles. Then she leans back a little, enjoying the view. For he looks utterly delicious with his hair all over the place. Not that she'll ever tell him that.

She has seen how much care and time he puts into perfecting and taming his hair. She thinks it partially stems from the fact that his hair-line is slightly receding, which is not too uncommon for a man his age. Still, she observes him as he smooths his hair and after sighing to himself in the mirror, reaches for his chaperon, pressing it gently down over his hair.

She can't help herself. She sidles up to him and tugs on his chaperon, sliding it off-kilter, his hair in disarray again. Frollo scowls and sighs, reaching for the comb again. Starting over.

Oh, but it is one of his weaknesses. He is not a vain man otherwise, but his hair...

The barber stops by his chambers once every two weeks and he leans forward patiently in his chair, having the hairs on the back of his neck carefully clipped. Just as the barber finishes his tasks , she is beside Frollo again, teasing him and tugging on his just coiffed locks, creating chaos from the just forced order on top of his sneering head . This time he lunges for her. The barber beats a hasty retreat. Esmeralda doesn't get to leave their bed that night.

And so a little game begins. When the opportunity presents itself, she musses his hair. In the morning, before he leaves for Court. His longer locks fall over his forehead, lending him a rakish air. When they depart for Mass in their coach, she tugs on his hair before following him into the Notre Dame. This embarrasses him, because he doesn't get the chance to straighten his appearance and he has to sit through a long tedious service with a peculiar cowlick on the back of his head and a dark scowl marring his patrician features.

But somehow her teasing turns into an invitation, a sort of foreplay. Frollo begins to rub his head against her fingers, like a lazily calculating cat, knowing that she won't be able to resist running her fingers through his hair. A threatening sparkle awakens in the corner of his eye and his lips curl into a promising smile.

And the cycle begins anew.

Frollo. Because you're worth it.