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curls

"this is a new look for you." chim clocks his curls on monday morning when he shows up to work. "did our prettyboy wake up late?"

buck smiles, sheepish. he'd taken a late shower saturday night and had woken up, hair all frizzy and curled, tommy's fingers running through them gentle, blunt nails lightly scratching his scalp. i like them, tommy had said. his morning voice was a low, chest-deep rumble, like the sound of coffee percolating. it's my favorite view to wake up to.

"nah," buck says. he almost put some pomade in his hair this morning, but tommy would have made a face at the tackiness between his fingers, would have messed it up anyway giving him a kiss out the door. grinned at the odd, slicked down angles of him drawn askew while buck fussed too much in the mirror again and made himself late. tommy liked him as-is. "just trying something different."