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Brian makes one last pass over Dom’s scalp, a swath of shaving cream and short dark hairs clumping in front of the blade before he pulls it carefully away. He’s swiping the smooth curve of Dom’s skull with a damp towel when the other man speaks.
“What is this?” Dom asks, catching Brian at the wrist. The words are chest-deep but his cadence is temperate, mindful. “You’ve been wearing it for years.”
Brian stills then slips from his hold so that he can place the razor and towel down by the sink, returning his empty hand to cup Dom at the jaw. He’s got a soft smile on his face as Dom claims his wrist again, fingering the woven, khaki-colored bracelet.
Dom’s thighs are spread wide where he sits on the toilet lid, Brian slouching between them in nothing but his blue jeans, unbuttoned, loose around the waist. With sun-kissed curls and a golden tan, he’s the epitome of SoCal white boy, a page torn from an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. Dom isn’t immune to it, and his gaze travels southward, admiring the blond thatch happy trail that disappears into the low-slung denim. He hooks two fingers underneath the cord of the bracelet and tugs.
Brian huffs and runs a palm over Dom’s freshly-shaved head, admiring his handiwork. He shifts closer, enough so that Dom can nose at the taut skin of his abdomen. He smells like seawater and sunscreen, and sighs contentedly as Dom dips his tongue into his navel.
“Used to make them with my mom when I was little,” Brian answers eventually, once Dom has released the bracelet and moved his hands to the narrow cut of Brian’s hips.
Dom halts his ministrations and directs his eyes back up to Brian’s face. He doesn’t look sad, just distantly fond. Wistful. He doesn’t talk about her too often. Dom understands.
“Still do, every now and then. When one falls off I just make another. I made this one a few years ago.” He pauses. “About a year before—“
“Me,” Dom finishes.
Brian nods.
The tension there isn’t what it used to be. They can talk about it now like they’re discussing the weather. Or a muffler order.
This time, Dom tugs at Brian’s belt loops and Brian sways forward, laughing. A big smile splits his face, the one that’s all pearly-white movie star teeth. He slackens easily, lets Dom haul him down onto his lap.
“Any other mysteries I can solve?” Brian teases, nipping the round of Dom’s earlobe. He thumbs a bit of missed shaving cream just beneath.
Dom thinks about it for a moment.
“How’d you learn to surf in Barstow?”