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Peter tilts his head to the side, watching Kurt with the intensity of someone looking at fine art. It makes Kurt go a little purple in the face when he notices.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t get why you gotta gel your hair,” Peter says.
Kurt pushes his bangs to the side. “It looks good, ja?”
“Yeah, everything looks good on you, but, like… what does it look like without that stuff in?”
Kurt looks at the ground. “Not as nice.”
“Does it?” Peter knows his voice is taking on that edge when he has a spectacularly awful idea (awful, that is, for anyone who isn’t in on it) when Kurt stiffens and looks at him suspiciously.
“Are you planning something?”
“Nah.” Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“You are!”
“I don’t plan anything.”
Kurt bites his lip. “Peter, I-”
“Your hair,” Peter says. “I gotta know. This’s been eating me since, like, yesterday, and that’s forever ago, and I gotta know what it looks like.”
Kurt pushes his bangs further back. “I’ve hold you, it is not as nice as this.”
“Still wanna see it,” Peter says. “C’mon! I’m your boyfriend, and I’m not allowed to see your hair?”
“You are seeing it-”
“Without gunk.”
Kurt sighs and brushes his fingers against Peter’s cheek. “And what about when we go into the Danger Room? Does my hair not look… not nice there?”
“It’s not natural. You still got stuff in there.” Peter uses his best puppy eyes, or at least the ones that make Wanda give him the tv remote.
“Not even when I sweat?”
“Then it’s just wet, and all hair’s the same wet.”
Kurt sighs. “You are being particularly difficult today.”
“That’s the point. C’mon, please?”
Kurt pauses, a moment that makes Peter hold his breath childishly. G-d, you’d think he’d’ve grown out of this a long time ago, holding his breath whenever people are thinking hard, but here he is, his head on his boyfriend’s lap (boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend, his brain repeats, catching on that one word).
“If you want to see it that badly, then I-”
“Awesome!” Peter finally breathes out and springs onto the balls of his feet. It makes Kurt smile, soft and small, and that is the true victory.
“Are you done yet?” Peter’s almost ready to bang his head against the door, except it’s solid wood, and that shit would hurt. Despite him asking Kurt every five seconds (five, four, one, what does it matter?), the shower is still running.
“Nein. It takes a while to get it all out.”
“It wouldn’t if you didn’t put it in there,” Peter says, trying desperately not to think about how his boyfriend’s in the shower and he’s stuck outside the bathroom instead of in there with him. He slumps against the wall and puts his headphones on while he waits, volume low enough he can hear the shower turn off when Kurt’s finally done.
“That took forever,” Peter whines.
Kurt opens the door, and Peter’s mouth goes dry.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen Kurt in disarray, because they train together, but damn, Kurt fresh out of the shower might be one of Peter’s new favorite things. His hair’s still damp, dripping onto what’s definitely one of Peter’s Rush t-shirts, and Peter can’t be bothered to care, because Kurt makes Peter’s worn-out band t-shirts look really fucking good. He looks almost naked without his jacket, and Peter really didn’t need that mental image, but he can at least appreciate it.
“It has not been five minutes yet,” Kurt says, breaking Peter’s rushing thoughts.
“I’m impatient!”
Kurt looks at him, damp bangs falling in front of an eye. “I know.”
Peter grins at him and grabs his hand. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”
“I cannot make it dry any faster, Peter.” Kurt allows Peter to drag him to their room. Peter doesn’t run for the sole purpose of not messing up Kurt’s hair, even if the walk there is torturously long. He wants to see the real thing, not some quick-dry version.
Peter brings Kurt to his side of their room, a paradise he’s made for himself with stuff from his mom’s basement, and sits Kurt down on the bed.
“How long do we gotta wait?” Peter eyes Kurt’s hair. It looks drier than when Kurt emerged from the shower, but still not fully done.
“Have you ever been told patience is a virtue?”
Peter shrugs. “Guess I’m not a virtuous dude.”
Kurt folds his hands and looks around the room. He has to do that wherever he goes. Peter’s sure it’s part of his adorable curiosity.
Peter’s aware his side of the room is the messy one. He’s always been sloppy in everything he does in this signature Quicksilver way. It’s something his mother and Wanda moaned about constantly before he moved. That never made him change his mind, and nothing Kurt says will, either. Kurt’s side of the room is always clean because he lives like a monk. Peter doesn’t get that at all.
Kurt looks back at Peter and tilts his head to the side. “You are staring.”
“Hard not to.”
“Ah, well, it is not normal to see blue people.” Kurt cracks a small smile.
Peter smiles back. “Can’t look at my own boyfriend?”
“You mean my hair,” Kurt says.
“All of you,” Peter says. “All the time.”
Kurt glances out the window. “I still do not understand your fascination with-”
“You just don’t know your own hotness, ‘cuz you-” Peter whistles. “Damn.”
Kurt lets out the smallest of all laughs, nothing more than a childish giggle, and it makes Peter grin wider. Kurt’s laugh is another one of peter’s favorite things.
“Okay, hair,” Peter says, forcing himself back on track.
“Hair,” Kurt agrees.
Peter looks at Kurt- really looks, moves their faces close and everything- and appreciates what he sees a little more. Kurt’s hair has a little curl to it, now that it’s dry, and the streaks of blue that run through his hair twists along with it. It’s soft and gentle, and Peter has to touch it. He’s not good at denying himself the pleasures of life (Kurt, shoplifting, Kurt, pranks, Kurt, junk food, Kurt, video games- did he mention Kurt yet?) so he reaches out to run a hand through Kurt’s hair, which has no need to be this soft.
Kurt leans into the touch. “You like it?”
“Love it,” Peter says. “You never told me it was curly!”
“Not really.” Kurt pauses. “It is… not-straight. What is the word?”
“Wavy?”
“Ja.”
“Don’t care what the word is. I love it.” Peter smiles as he plays with Kurt’s hair. ‘Put your head in my lap.”
“Why?”
“‘Cuz I wanna pet your hair.”
“But you already are.”
“C’mon. It’s comfier.”
Kurt lays with his head in Peter’s lap, and now both of Peter’s hands are in his hair. “You gotta keep it like this forever.”
“That is… a very long time.”
“Yup,” Peter says.
“And there is nothing that can change your mind?”
“Unless you don’t wanna.”
Kurt closes his eyes. “If you do this often, I might not be too upset.”
Peter beams down at him.