Wesley runs his hand up the back of his head and the hair bristles against his palm. He's not used to having it so short; he doesn't dare look at himself in the mirror.
But he loves the way it feels, soft and sharp at the same time, smooth and rough against his palm. A thousand tiny pricks and he strokes up over and over, leaning into his own touch like a cat.
It was Gunn, of course, last night, after. Lying together in the sheets, Wesley's thumb marking the shape of Gunn's skull, catching on the evening stubble. Wesley can appreciate fine things and Gunn's bare head is a fine, even beautiful, thing. Wes names the bones to himself, occiptial, parietal, frontal, then back again, fingers dragging over warm skin.
Every morning, Gunn shaves his head smooth and rubs on aloe vera. "For the sting," he says, but Wesley knows he likes the shine. Wesley waits for this, pushes Gunn to sit so Wes can rub his cheek along the slick curves until Gunn either pushes him away or pulls him down.
Every evening, Wesley wraps his hand around the back of Gunn's neck and pulls him close, hand sliding higher as Gunn's mouth opens and higher still as Gunn's hand grabs Wesley's thigh. Occiptial, parietal, frontal, and then they fuck.
But last night, after. Wes remembers: Gunn reaches out and tugs on Wesley's hair. "You don't need that," he says.
"I think I do," Wesley says but somehow finds himself on a chair on the bathroom tile, back to the mirror, clippers buzzing in his ear. Gunn's fingers tip his head to one side, then the other. The clippers dig into Wesley's skin.
The buzzing stops. "Damn, English, but you're ugly," Gunn says and rubs his hand over the top of Wesley's head, hard against the eighth of an inch that's left there. Gunn's hand is warm. He strokes Wes again. And again. "Damn."
It's so good, a deep warm goodness that fans through Wesley's chest. Gunn's other hand slides down over Wesley's shoulder, and then they're in the shower, kissing under the water. Wes goes down on Gunn and Gunn's hands are on his head again, sliding against the wetness, the burr.
This is what Wesley remembers and remembering it makes him hard. But Gunn is out, out for hours, so Wes just sits and runs his hand up the back of his head, over and over.