[ the other hand is gloved still, and wayland's impulse has his hand reaching out to grab the wrist it belongs to, slowly peeling that one off to. ]

There... seems silly to keep the other on... don't cha think?

[ he says it softly, guiding it to join its twin, threading through his hair. braiding is sure a thing they were trying to do, but as wayland slides his own bare fingers into sephiroth's hair, the strands slipping through his knuckles, he realizes that he doesn't really want to have his hair braided anymore. he wants... he wants someone to just touch it. to touch him. there's heat building up at his throat, flushing his cheeks, and as he presses forward, their foreheads softly push together. ]

Y'know... fuck the braid...

[ he doesn't really care. it's strange, because so far the only ones who have ever handled his hair have been his mother or his father, or shepherd-who-walks-with-his-flock. paloma to tattoo his nape. he can count them on one hand. but there's no danger here, strangely enough, not that he can feel. just something strangely similar. a quiet taint lies under every lungful, and wayland wants to push deeper.

their noses brush. ]

Your hair's real soft... [ curling a bit around his knuckles, he lingers in the moment, his gold eyes flicking forward again to meet the other's. ]