Kiete: Me here. Like always.

5. I'm tired. So tired. After this fucking APUSH project is over with, I'll be free a lot more, so I'll try to get more updates in. I don't know if it's gonna be possible, since I have three AP exams to study for and all this crap happening like the SAT, but I'll try my hardest! In the meantime, ya'll have to settle with this drabble! C:

6. I'm hungry too... maybe I should go eat a snack?

7. Someday I'll get around to responding to all of ya'll's wonderful reviews. You know I love you for it, but I'm just so busy! DD: But remember, if you request it, I usually get them done faster, so if you want to see sommat... -wiggles eyebrows-

Disclaimer: I don't own DGM. Still. Never will. No big deal, really.

Hairbrush

Every night he asked Kanda if he could brush his hair. And every night he got the same answer.

"I'm not a fucking woman. Go brush your own hair."

…or something like that.

Tyki sighed heavily to himself, lounging on the bed easily. His long limbs were spread out haphazardly, and he was splayed out on the bed wearing only a pair of plaid pajama pants. His shirt had been tossed aside, along with the dress pants he had been wearing with it, and he yawned widely, turning his head on the pillow and reaching up to scratch his nose as a sudden itch sprang up. The older man's golden eyes swept the room, merely waiting for the long-haired man to get out of the shower so he could ask – as he did every night – for a chance to brush the younger man's luxuriously long locks.

The running water in the adjoined bathroom slowed to a trickle, and he ran a hand through his mussed curls, smirking to himself. This time, he had a plan to, for lack of better terms, force Kanda into allowing him to brush his hair. The hairbrush he had pilfered from the other's desk drawer – though why Kanda would keep a hairbrush there was beyond him – was blue, handle slightly squishy under his fingers, and stiff. He had to wonder if Kanda even brushed his hair to begin with; the bristles of the comb looked as though they had hardly ever seen a hair to begin with, and if it weren't for the stray long, glossy black hairs that remained on it, he would have been content to think that Kanda's hair was constantly perfect.

Kanda himself walked out from the bathroom, hands firmly holding up the towel around his waist. It was a nice look for him; water dripped from his pale skin, given a healthy pink glow from the hot water, and his cheeks flushed from the steam. His long, dripping hair was pulled over one shoulder, leaving it to trail rivulets down his well-defined chest. Tyki found his eyes drifting lower, admiring the indents of his hips and tapping his long fingers on the brush in his hand. The long-haired man merely gave him an odd look, one almost bordering on frustration.

"I told you no," he said finally, voice flat. It was lacking the usual anger he spoke with, and it was a testament to how tired he was — right? The younger man marched over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of pajamas and gave the other a measured look before Tyki was overtaken with a yawn. When he had re-opened his eyes, the long-haired man was finger-combing through his wet hair, long strands sticking to his fingers like honey.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Tyki had pushed the younger man into a chair and covered one of his eyes with his hand, grinning over his shoulder. "Kanda, your hair is so pretty..."

"Che. Not 'pretty.'"

Kanda scowled at him over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowed but not exactly struggling. The Portuguese man dragged the brush through his long locks, easing his head into the snarls and tangles and admiring the way the wet hair glinted in the light.

"You're beautiful," Tyki acknowledged, running a hand through the bangs that covered the younger man's pale forehead. "Beautiful in a manly way," he corrected himself, smiling.

"And you make no fuckin' sense..." Kanda muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. The older man watched as his shoulders relaxed, muscles turning to liquid under the brush carefully combing across his scalp. It had to have felt good — before he knew it, the Japanese man was leaning into the strokes of the brush almost unconsciously. "Dammit... Told you... I didn't want you to brush my hair..." His voice was erring on half-asleep, and the other swept down and planted a chaste kiss on his smooth cheek.

"No, it makes perfect sense," he insisted. "If I was fucking you with the hairbrush it would make no sense." Oops. Maybe those had been the wrong words to say. Kanda's shoulders tensed again, and he whipped his head around to give the older man an incredulous look. "Not that I would! Your hair is just so... nice..."

"It's just hair."

"And you're just beautiful."

"Che. What is it with you and picking out one word...?"

"You mean like 'delicious?'"

"You are so strange."

Almost a sequel for Delicious? Maybe.

Review. C: