Of Kid 'n Play
Of Kid 'n Play
1100 words; PG
Boats 'n Hoes timestamp for keyweegirlie from the holiday timestamp post.
It didn't seem to be a problem for all of their Christmas visit. J-Boozie was somehow keeping his ... J-Boozie-ness to a slight minimum, though Jensen’s siblings, cousins, and nephews were eating it all up anyway, loving the presence of a celebrity in the house and appearing to be amused with J-Boozie’s overall demeanor, rather than horrified. His parents and grandparents were the ones giving them strange looks, and it was a bit odd to listen to his young nephews’ natural speech fitting in so well with J-Boozie’s, but he figures it could be worse.
And then it gets worse. Much worse.
He’d been wearing a beanie for days now, just praying his head would soon look normal and well-shaped, instead of what’s going on right now. Not that he wants to admit to any of it. And especially not to his family. On Christmas Eve. But when it’s time to say grace and chow down, his oldest nephew, the little six-year-old pudge of adorableness named Logan sitting to Jensen’s left, becomes his mortal enemy when he snatches the hat off and whines, “No hats at the table! Nana’s rules!”
Jensen can’t cover his head fast enough; everyone at the table gasps in horror. Well, everyone but J-Boozie, because he is happily humming and then rubbing his wide palm over the back of Jensen’s head.
“Mah boo look good, am I right?”
“Oh, Jensen,” his mother sighs sadly.
“Son, what’re you-” his father asks with a deep drawl.
Then his sister takes the cake with a sharp, “I thought people grew out their hair for the holidays, not wax themselves bald.”
“I didn’t wax - it’s not - shut up!” Jensen so eloquently snaps back.
Logan stands up on his chair and leans in close to Jensen’s head, as if he’s reading an ancient map or something. “What is it?”
“Yo, Li’l Lo, dat’s a fade,” J-Boozie replies with a proud grin. He’s nodding so deeply, his whole upper body is now swaying back and forth. “Jen-boy looks good, right?”
When J-Boozie tries to palm the back of Jensen’s head, tightly-shaved scruff creating an odd noise when J-Boozie’s fingers swipe over it, Jensen flinches away and scowls down at his plate. “Can we just … not make this a thing and say Grace?”
It takes a few minutes, but the family settles down and, per tradition, Jensen’s father says a typical holiday prayer, thankful for all that they have: each other, food on the table, clothes on their backs, and roofs over their heads. He even goes on to ask for guidance and watchful eyes for those sick and in trouble.
It’s then that Jensen’s sister pipes up, “And Lord, please take great care of our dear brother, Jen-boy, who is now suffering from early baldness.”
“I am not,” he mumbles while glaring at her across the table.
“Alopecia?” she asks with mock curiosity.
Jensen’s father quickly says Amen and the family gets to passing plates around the table and munching on the fabulous Christmas dinner his mother has prepared. Jensen is thankful for the distraction of eating, because then he can pretend he doesn’t feel the side-eye glances or catch the shaking heads from the corner of his eye.
When his brother and sister break into giggles while gawking at him, Jensen puts his silverware down and angles the sharpest glare he can manage at them.
J-Boozie sweeps his hand over the side of Jensen’s head, across his neck, and then leans in and kisses right above his ear. “My boo look sexy like dis,” he murmurs. “Look even sexier when he let me do dis.”
Jensen wants to flinch away again, shove J-Boozie across the room, and bitch him out for ever suggesting they do such a thing, but when J-Boozie’s fingers run down the back of his neck, he’s reminded of how exactly it came to be.
There had been liquor - of course there was liquor - and a House Party marathon on the TV, which had sprung J-Boozie off the couch to tick through all the classic dance moves: the running man, the sprinkler, popping-and-locking. They mocked the clothing and the hair and the dancing, and for the first time in … well, ever, it seemed like Jensen and J-Boozie were on the same level and laughing and smiling together.
It was the liquor - of course it was the liquor - that gave Jensen the ease to let J-Boozie slide into his lap and runs his hands over his hair while murmuring low with seduction that Jensen would look good with a fade.
Even if mah boo hate it, it’ll grow back, baby. Let J-Boozie take cares o’ his mens.
And Jensen had let it happen, all warm with drink and J-Boozie slowly gliding in his lap as he slid the electric razor across the angles of Jensen’s head and gave him a full-on fade. It had been worth it at the time with J-Boozie continuing the slow roll of his hips with Jensen’s and they languidly enjoyed each other’s mouths, all while J-Boozie left feather-soft touches to Jensen’s newly sensitive scalp.
Here, right now, though, Jensen’s pretty sure it’s not worth it so much, given the way his family keeps looking at him then purposely avoiding his gaze when he glances around the table.
After dinner, his sister can’t help but tease with a flick of her hand over Jensen’s head, fingers tickling across the slim lines that J-Boozie had cut so they taper down into a curly cue behind his ear.
“Hey, silver lining!” she cackles. “This goes great with the Zubba pants I bought you.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles and lightly pushes her out of his way.
J-Boozie comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around Jensen’s waist, and chuckling in his ear. “Dose pants are cray-zay comfortable, boo. And they’s all thin and shit, too,” he adds with a bump of his hips to Jensen’s ass, making his point.
“Can you not,” Jensen sighs, “Do that … in my mom’s home?”
“Boo gon’ let me do it when we’s get home?”
When J-Boozie’s hands creep up Jensen’s chest, fingers and palms hot like a brand through his sweater, Jensen curses himself, J-Boozie, Christmas dinner, the stupid fade, his sister, and everything to do with the moment right here because he can only feel the hard, muscular press of J-Boozie across his back and the soft, tender touch of his hands on his chest. “Yeah, of course,” Jensen murmured.
J-Boozie kissed the back of his neck with a loud smack then ran back down the hallway with a cheerful, “You’s da best, boo!”
1100 words; PG
Boats 'n Hoes timestamp for keyweegirlie from the holiday timestamp post.
It didn't seem to be a problem for all of their Christmas visit. J-Boozie was somehow keeping his ... J-Boozie-ness to a slight minimum, though Jensen’s siblings, cousins, and nephews were eating it all up anyway, loving the presence of a celebrity in the house and appearing to be amused with J-Boozie’s overall demeanor, rather than horrified. His parents and grandparents were the ones giving them strange looks, and it was a bit odd to listen to his young nephews’ natural speech fitting in so well with J-Boozie’s, but he figures it could be worse.
And then it gets worse. Much worse.
He’d been wearing a beanie for days now, just praying his head would soon look normal and well-shaped, instead of what’s going on right now. Not that he wants to admit to any of it. And especially not to his family. On Christmas Eve. But when it’s time to say grace and chow down, his oldest nephew, the little six-year-old pudge of adorableness named Logan sitting to Jensen’s left, becomes his mortal enemy when he snatches the hat off and whines, “No hats at the table! Nana’s rules!”
Jensen can’t cover his head fast enough; everyone at the table gasps in horror. Well, everyone but J-Boozie, because he is happily humming and then rubbing his wide palm over the back of Jensen’s head.
“Mah boo look good, am I right?”
“Oh, Jensen,” his mother sighs sadly.
“Son, what’re you-” his father asks with a deep drawl.
Then his sister takes the cake with a sharp, “I thought people grew out their hair for the holidays, not wax themselves bald.”
“I didn’t wax - it’s not - shut up!” Jensen so eloquently snaps back.
Logan stands up on his chair and leans in close to Jensen’s head, as if he’s reading an ancient map or something. “What is it?”
“Yo, Li’l Lo, dat’s a fade,” J-Boozie replies with a proud grin. He’s nodding so deeply, his whole upper body is now swaying back and forth. “Jen-boy looks good, right?”
When J-Boozie tries to palm the back of Jensen’s head, tightly-shaved scruff creating an odd noise when J-Boozie’s fingers swipe over it, Jensen flinches away and scowls down at his plate. “Can we just … not make this a thing and say Grace?”
It takes a few minutes, but the family settles down and, per tradition, Jensen’s father says a typical holiday prayer, thankful for all that they have: each other, food on the table, clothes on their backs, and roofs over their heads. He even goes on to ask for guidance and watchful eyes for those sick and in trouble.
It’s then that Jensen’s sister pipes up, “And Lord, please take great care of our dear brother, Jen-boy, who is now suffering from early baldness.”
“I am not,” he mumbles while glaring at her across the table.
“Alopecia?” she asks with mock curiosity.
Jensen’s father quickly says Amen and the family gets to passing plates around the table and munching on the fabulous Christmas dinner his mother has prepared. Jensen is thankful for the distraction of eating, because then he can pretend he doesn’t feel the side-eye glances or catch the shaking heads from the corner of his eye.
When his brother and sister break into giggles while gawking at him, Jensen puts his silverware down and angles the sharpest glare he can manage at them.
J-Boozie sweeps his hand over the side of Jensen’s head, across his neck, and then leans in and kisses right above his ear. “My boo look sexy like dis,” he murmurs. “Look even sexier when he let me do dis.”
Jensen wants to flinch away again, shove J-Boozie across the room, and bitch him out for ever suggesting they do such a thing, but when J-Boozie’s fingers run down the back of his neck, he’s reminded of how exactly it came to be.
There had been liquor - of course there was liquor - and a House Party marathon on the TV, which had sprung J-Boozie off the couch to tick through all the classic dance moves: the running man, the sprinkler, popping-and-locking. They mocked the clothing and the hair and the dancing, and for the first time in … well, ever, it seemed like Jensen and J-Boozie were on the same level and laughing and smiling together.
It was the liquor - of course it was the liquor - that gave Jensen the ease to let J-Boozie slide into his lap and runs his hands over his hair while murmuring low with seduction that Jensen would look good with a fade.
Even if mah boo hate it, it’ll grow back, baby. Let J-Boozie take cares o’ his mens.
And Jensen had let it happen, all warm with drink and J-Boozie slowly gliding in his lap as he slid the electric razor across the angles of Jensen’s head and gave him a full-on fade. It had been worth it at the time with J-Boozie continuing the slow roll of his hips with Jensen’s and they languidly enjoyed each other’s mouths, all while J-Boozie left feather-soft touches to Jensen’s newly sensitive scalp.
Here, right now, though, Jensen’s pretty sure it’s not worth it so much, given the way his family keeps looking at him then purposely avoiding his gaze when he glances around the table.
After dinner, his sister can’t help but tease with a flick of her hand over Jensen’s head, fingers tickling across the slim lines that J-Boozie had cut so they taper down into a curly cue behind his ear.
“Hey, silver lining!” she cackles. “This goes great with the Zubba pants I bought you.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles and lightly pushes her out of his way.
J-Boozie comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around Jensen’s waist, and chuckling in his ear. “Dose pants are cray-zay comfortable, boo. And they’s all thin and shit, too,” he adds with a bump of his hips to Jensen’s ass, making his point.
“Can you not,” Jensen sighs, “Do that … in my mom’s home?”
“Boo gon’ let me do it when we’s get home?”
When J-Boozie’s hands creep up Jensen’s chest, fingers and palms hot like a brand through his sweater, Jensen curses himself, J-Boozie, Christmas dinner, the stupid fade, his sister, and everything to do with the moment right here because he can only feel the hard, muscular press of J-Boozie across his back and the soft, tender touch of his hands on his chest. “Yeah, of course,” Jensen murmured.
J-Boozie kissed the back of his neck with a loud smack then ran back down the hallway with a cheerful, “You’s da best, boo!”