Malta

[peace_inthe_violence]

This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets
It is the story of three men and three women and a small island between Italy and Africa.
This is a story about tragedy and pain, about healing and hope, but mostly it is about
love.

Comments

[transfuge]

Booker sat in the chair and tilted his head back, eyeing Joe and eyeing the tools. "Looks like you found everything you needed."

Then he sat forward. He briefly combed his hair with his fingers then settled his hands in his lap. Joe knew what he was doing.

"You know how I like it," he teased with a little smirk. "Go ahead."

Maybe it wasn't smart to taunt the man who was about to cut his hair but Booker couldn't help himself. Half his relationship with Joe was teasing each other.

[nicely_tousled]

Joe laughed warmly at the tease, nodding at the first statement, because he'd definitely found everything.

His brow creased a little at the statement that followed, "Yeah I do. Same as it is now, only shorter." His tone was level, even puzzled, but there was amusement behind his eyes, "You're just lucky I actually know what I'm doing."

And he did, going for the 'shorter' part first, followed by making sure it was more or less the right shape before trimming down to the proper short length and then cleaning up the edges once that was done.

[transfuge]

"I'd just shave it off if you weren't around to handle it for me. Look like I did in Vietnam." Booker had adopted the military 'jar head' look then. Those steamy jungles hadn't been comfortable with long hair and it helped him blend in when they made their way through military units.

No one looked twice at a brawny guy with a shaved head and a stolen Marine uniform.

He watched the strands fall to the floor with a strange sense of... relief. Booker could see the proof he was looking after himself now. That was good. That was a step away from the darkness that threatened to drown him.

[nicely_tousled]

He snorted at that response, shaking his head, "That wasn't a good look for any of us." A pause, considering, head tilting a little as he made sure his lines were even as he added: "Andy maybe, but certainly not the rest of us."

Granted, being a good look was beside the point, it was a look that had done what it was supposed to in that they hadn't ever been questioned about their presence, and that was good enough for him.

He ruffled a hand through Booker's hair, shaking loose some of the shorn ends and making sure he hadn't taken anything down too short, nodding as he stepped back, "Think that's it."

[transfuge]

Booker caught Joe's hand as he pulled away from his hair and drew it back in. He pressed a kiss to the meaty part of his palm. When was the last time he showed Joe this kind of easy affection? He couldn't quite remember which meant it had probably been awhile.

"Perfect, like always." He released his hand and stood up. "Knew I could trust you."

Hopefully, Joe caught the undercurrent of meaning that was more than a haircut. Booker was coming back to himself, coming back to his family and their love for him. He would trust that going forward.

Or God help him, he'd just lose his fucking mind the whole way.

[nicely_tousled]

He just smiled at the kiss, some small fraction of lingering tension unwinding from the base of his spine at the apparently reflexive affection.

He nodded at the statement, letting that hand slide around to cradle the side of Booker's neck, thumb running along the line of his jaw, "Of course you can, albi, any time." There were layers to the answer the same way there were to the initial statement. Even if they didn't always agree -and they didn't- they could still trust each other.