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WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Alvarez-Jensen-Sawyer Residence
WHEN: June 21st
OPEN TO: Jake Jensen
WARNINGS: Haircuts and Complaining
STATUS: Open

The last time Cougar had been on a mission this far north during the summer, he hadn't slept for a full week straight between the sunlight and the mission. It had left him a little splintered of reality then. Here, he isn't sleeping as much as he'd like, between the heat and the light, and it's taken him back to old habits. He sits in shady spots in high trees to keep an eye on people, his observation skills as critical as ever. Maybe more, because he's not sleeping, and when he is, the nightmares are worse than ever. So instead, he stays awake and he makes notes about people and he watches, always watches.

It's how he notices that Jake is starting to get irritated with the heat and his hair. It's little signs at first, but then, Cougar's unwavering eye notices enough little additions that he knows just what he needs to do. He fetches his scissors and a bowl of the coolest water he can find, putting everything together and then sitting in the corner of their bedroom with his hat pulled low over his head, sweating through his tank top and self-made shorts (his scrubs, cut, which means he will not have them for the winter).

Unmoving, he sits there and waits, his own hair tied in a bun behind his head. After what happened the last time to make him cut his own hair, he's not trying that again. No, this is about making Jake stop with his fidgeting and complaining and sweating, at least, for a few seconds. It will be a few seconds worth it.

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Growing up in the foster system meant Jake had never really had many luxuries a a child. The inherent instability of his living situation hadn't allowed him to get too comfortable with any one family, and as he was never anyone's real child, even the good foster parents weren't falling over themselves to spend money on him. For most of his childhood, haircuts were doled out on the back porch, or in the kitchen, or over the bathroom sink, all with a pair of clippers, usually set to one length with no concern for style or fashion. Enlisting in the Army hadn't changed very much in that respect, though when he got more settled in with the Losers, and realized he was able to push the boundaries of the rules a little more — like with his glasses — he started to affect a more stylized look.

Even with the occasional clipping he's managed to finangle since he showed up here, this is the longest his hair has been his entire life, and he hates it.

The incessant sunshine and oppressive heat has been making everyone miserable, and Jake is certainly included there. He's sweating, he's sticky, he's uncomfortable, and his hair sticks to his neck to matter what he does. It's awful. If Veronica weren't still living with them, he'd spend most of his day naked, just to escape the feeling of his clothes sticking to him, but alas, he cannot. What he can do, though, once he's checked on the rabbits and made sure Baby's been fed, is to trudge up to the room he shares with Cougar, stripping down to his boxers as he goes so he can spread-eagle across the bed and whine piteously into the pillows. Maybe if none of his limbs are touching, he'll feel better.

"No," is what Cougar says, the instant that Jake's head hits the pillow, seeing as if Jake goes right back to sleep, he's never going to deal with the hair and then Cougar is going to spend another few days awake and watching Jake sweat and whine, whine and sweat. He's already on the razor's edge of a breakdown from lack of sleep and darkness, he needs to make sure that Jake is at least in a good mood, in the event that happens.

He leans over to splash the water in the bowl, flicking it at the back of Jake's neck. "Up," he commands. "Sit on the floor."

"No," he mocks, in a passable imitation of Cougar's accent. "You mean yes, buddy."

He groans when it's clear that Cougar really did mean that no, squirming on the bed and trying to burrow deeper into the rumpled covers, something that at least blocks out the light but also has the unfortunate side effect of making him even sweatier.

The water splashing on his skin is nice, though. Nice enough that he lifts his head to blearily peer at Cougar, having lost his glasses in the great Throwing Self Onto The Bed Incident of whatever-the-fuck-year-this-is. 2017? He's not even sure any more. They're on the bed somewhere. Probably. "Donwanna."

Cougar arches his brow, because Jake is getting better at imitating him. That's not good. He crawls out of his cross-legged position and picks up his things, standing above him and whistling as he points to the end of the bed again. "Floor," he says again, reaching down to muss up Jake's sweaty hair with his hands. "No more bitching," is his rule of the day, which means that he's going to have to deal with this.

"Down," is what he says. "Hair first, then beard." In winter months, Cougar will encourage it back, but right now, it's just another reason for Jake to complain for the heat, and for Cougar's irritability to soar.

"Ugh, you're the worst," Jake whines, but does, slowly, start to slither his way off the bed onto the floor. He manages not to collapse in to a heap on the rag rug at the end of the bed, but it's a near thing. Not bothering with his glasses, he manages to get himself into a more-or-less upright seated position, lifting one hand to scratch idly at his chest where his sweat is tickling a slow path through his chest hair.

"You know, you're really bossy when you're hot," he complains, shutting his eyes and trusting Cougar not to fuck him over too badly with those scissors.

Bossy only begins to scratch the surface. He's hot and irritable and awake, which is bad for anyone. For a sniper with lightly concealed trauma issues, it could mean a powder-keg going off, but his control is tightly held. Maybe too tightly, but as he swings one leg to the other side of Jake, straddling him as he perches on the edge of the bed, he thinks that Jake shouldn't be insulting his boyfriend when he's wielding scissors.

"Yes," he agrees, a deadpan. "I'm the worst. I'm going to cut your hair and make you sweat less. I'm very awful. Worse than any demon you could meet," he finishes in Spanish, making the first few cuts before Jake can open his mouth and he gets the inevitable reply.

"That's what I've been saying," he agrees languidly as Cougar starts to snip, leaning back into the cradle of Cougars' legs and tipping his head up briefly to give him a tender smile that belies his words completely.

"Hey." He twists, pulling away from the scissors for a moment, and reaches out with a palm to touch the side of the skin-colored blob that is Cougar's face. "Thanks." He's been complaining about his hair for days, idly, not expecting Cougar to do anything about it. Even though he's an irritable bastard, and hasn't been sleeping — don't think he hasn't noticed, Carlos — Jake is still very, very grateful for him.

He stops cutting in time to avoid accidentally cutting Jake's neck open (that would be a bad way to break up) and shrugs, because he's doing this fairly selfishly. "You bitch too much," is what he says, filled with all the love and affection he has for the man, because complaining about Jake's complaining is practically the first step in admitting that you're starting to get used to him.

He works the hair off of Jake's neck, cupping water in the curved palm of his hand to run over his head, brushing away strands of hair with the blunt edge of his thumbnail before he goes back to cutting the rest. "Am I still awful?" he asks, as he starts to work on trimming, getting Jake's hair back to the way he kept it on most missions.

Cougar might shrug and complain, but Jake is fluent in Cougar-ese, and he knows what's going on under those words. He wraps his hand gently around Cougar's ankle, his thumb rubbing his skin slowly, and hums. "It's the easiest way to get you to do things," he teases. That's a lie. The easiest way to get Cougar to do something is to ask him, but that's not the point.

Obediently keeping his head bowed so Cougar can work, Jake hums. "Totally," he agrees, lying again. "Super awful. The most awful."

The touch to his ankle is going to be distracting, very soon, but he keeps his attention focused on the task at hand, careful to snip away all the little hairs until they're gone, which is when he bends to find the razor, wiggling it in Jake's blurred vision. "On the bed," he says, patting the space beside him.

"Now, we get rid of what is giving me burns on my thighs," he says, maybe a little too eager for this part.

"One of these days I'm just gonna shave my head again," he murmurs wistfully, wishing he had a pair of clippers around so he could do just that. Of course, after about a day of marveling at the novelty of a buzzcut again, he'd be whining about how much he missed his luscious locks, but that's Jake in a nutshell for you.

It takes him a moment to realize Cougar wants to shave his face, too, even with the razor being waved around in front of him. "I thought you liked my beard!" he protests, smoothing a hand over it. It is very hot and itchy, though, and there have been moments when he missed being clean-shaven. Or at least missed his goatee.

Clambering up on the bed, he flops himself across Cougar's lap and sighs dramatically. "Alright, go ahead, divest me of my lumberjack powers."

"I won't mind," Cougar says, rubbing a palm over Jake's head to promise that he would like it just as much as ever. He shifts the bowl of water onto the bed cautiously, running the razor through it as he gets a bit of a lather going, both hands working to get it into Jake's beard. "You are still a lumberjack, inside," he says, tapping on Jake's chest, near where his heart is.

He nods at Jake, telling him to tip his head back to look up at the ceiling. "Up," he instructs, intending to start with the neck. He's using a more modern version, but even if he had a straightrazor, he could do this without flinching -- even as tired as he currently is.

He can't help chuckling when Cougar promises he can still be a lumberjack where it counts, in his heart. "You say the sweetest things, Carlos," he murmurs, grinning as he gets comfortable and bares his neck to the razor, completely and utterly trusting.

Considering he's had a knife held to his throat with intent more than once — and not just by Roque — that says a lot.

Cougar can't help the sincere smile when he gets called 'Carlos' because even in a bad mood, even on the edge of a dark madness that claims him, he'll enjoy little sweetness like this. He works at Jake's beard until there's little to nothing left, not even leaving a goatee because he wants a completely fresh start. If Jake complains, then he can grow it back, but it will be better.

Or maybe he'd thought it would be. Easing back, the look on his face is mildly disturbed. "I made a mistake," he confesses, crossing himself as if faith will help solve this problem.

Look, Cougar may be a prickly bastard, but he's Jake's best friend, and he knows how to get through to him. Most of the time.

He slowly blinks his eyes open to look up at Cougar when he speaks after such a prolonged silence, just in time to watch him cross himself. "Oh Jesus, what did you do?" he asks, but he doesn't make much of a move to roll off the bed and go investigate. "You didn't give me a Hitler mustache, did you?"

"Worse," is what Cougar says, evenly as he reaches for the little mirror in the kit he's been using, turning it in between them to show off the babyface that Jake now sports, making Cougar feel like he's robbing the cradle of a very handsome man with a great body, but twink was never really Carlos' type before.

Ah, well, he will have to start making exceptions. "At least it will grow back?" he suggests, trying to look on the bright side. Also, it won't burn him every time Jake kisses him, causing a rash that's irritating to live with.

Jake has to squint pretty hard to make the picture in the mirror look like anything more than a wash of peachy skin, but eventually he realizes that Cougar has basically shaved him completely bare.

Instead of being offended, he laughs. "Babe, I'm not mad." He lifts a hand to stroke it curiously across his face, having almost forgotten what his skin feels like. "It's too fucking hot for this bullshit, and besides, it'll grow back in like two weeks. It's fine. I'll survive."

He still feels a little strange, but if Jake is happy, then Cougar is happy, too. He finishes up with the few last bits and washes Jake's face with the soap, drying him off and leaning in for a slow kiss, brushing his lips over Jake's upper lip, as if to test. Humming with approval, he sets his things to the side.

"Now, you are human again," he says. "No bitching, two weeks," he says, taking Jake's words as promise. Gesturing behind him, he also wants to make sure Jake keeps up his part of the bargain. "Braid it," he says. "Maybe have to pin it up, too."

Sometimes, usually when Cougar leans over to kiss him all languid and slow like this, Jake is so pathetically grateful for this hellhole of a village, he doesn't even know how to articulate it. It's possible that he and Cougar might have found their way together like this if they had remained topside, as it were, but he doubts it would have been easy, or quick. He hasn't touched a laptop in almost a year, and he has no idea how his family is doing, but at least he has his best friend, willing to put up with him and kiss him whenever he asks for it.

"I'm going to need my glasses for that," he points out, not making much of a move to extricate himself from his position on Cougar's lap.

Cougar glances to where Jake had left them on the table, estimating his distance. Shifting so that he doesn't displace Jake from his lap, he leans all the way back, horizontal, and plucks them up, hauling himself back up slowly, slowly, his core still as tight as ever. Sliding them back onto Jake's face, he follows that up with a kiss, as well, arms draped over Jake's shoulders.

"That, or you can cut it all off again, make me look at least closer to you in age so people don't think a new you has come from the fountain and I am robbing the cradle," is his Spanish nattering, too tired to translate.

"I like your hair the length it is," Jake points out, finally forcing himself to sit up so he can shuffle around on the mattress until he's perched on his knees behind Cougar so he can finger-comb his hair out of his face. It's sweaty, and a little dirty, but Jake barely notices as he nimbly twists it out of Cougar's face and close together to keep it neat and tidy.

"Are you going to sleep after this?" he asks pointedly, tugging lightly on the hair he's got threaded between his fingers as he braids. "I know it's bright, but don't think I haven't noticed you've completely fucked your sleep schedule."

Cougar grunts when Jake asks what he does. "Too bright, too hot," he complains, because even if he did lie down to try and sleep, it wouldn't do anything. He'll end up tossing and turning, being a miserable fuck because he can't sleep and he wants to be curled under the covers for warmth, not sweating like they're back in Bolivia again.

There's the box of sleeping pills he'd stolen from Frank when he'd vanished, but he's also too wary to take them in case he's needed. "I will sleep later," he insists, with a glint of crazed madness in his eye.

"I know it's bright and hot," he agrees patiently, using all the skills being an uncle to a nine-year-old has taught him. "You still need to sleep."

It's not like Jake has an easy time sleeping either. His bulk means he puts out a lot of heat, and he's always uncomfortable. If he had his druthers he'd just strip naked and lie down in the cellar in an attempt to cool off, but Veronica still lives here, and he doesn't actually want to scar her for life. She doesn't need to look at his dick.

"You will sleep when I'm done with this," he decides, his tone brooking no argument. "If you won't look after yourself, I'm going to look after you for you."

The bright and hot is making him have nightmares. It's all too similar to Bolivia that it's like it's triggered it again, making him very difficult to be with because he's exhausted and worried he might splinter worse than he has in months. He knows there's no arguing with Jake, even though he wants to.

"That's your job," he does point out. "Boyfriend's job, to look out," he says with a firm nod, avoiding any agreement to the sleeping contract Jake's given him.

"I know," he agrees, leaning around to buss a kiss in front of Cougar's ear, smacking his lips obnoxiously. "That's why I'm going to make you sleep whether you like it or not."

Once the braid has been completed, Jake quickly ties it off with the hair elastic Cougar had been using before, and then drops both hands on Cougar's shoulders.

"Okay, up," he demands. "I've had an idea, and you're going to help. Your mission, which you will accept or else, is to find me something I can fan with. Go."

The hair off his neck is a relief, as is the actual order to the braid as opposed to the messy chaos that Cougar had managed for himself. He gives Jake a wary look when he's ordered up, because he knows Jake, he knows his plans, and he knows that sometimes, they are very bad plans that require a gun to get out of them.

Still, he thinks he'll trust him, at least a little. He gets up, digging through his things to find one of the boxes that things had come in, thinking about all the alcohol sitting in their cellar and wishing it were a little colder, so he could actually enjoy some of it. "What are we doing?" he asks, a touch amused and eager to see what Jake has in mind.

That's very rude, Cougar, thinking such disparaging things about the love of your life. (It doesn't matter that it's true, that's not the point.)

He watches as Cougar picks up one of the box lids, eyeing it for a moment before deciding that it would suffice, and giving him an approving nod. "You," he says, pointing to Cougar's chest to emphasize his point, "are going to wash out and refill that bowl of water, and then you're going to go into the cellar. I," he points to his chest, "am going to figure out how the hell I can get my mattress into the cellar without knocking everything we own onto the floor."

He'll manage it eventually, but it might be slow going.

Sooner or later, though, he's going to set up a makeshift bed in the dimness of their cellar, and then he's fully planning on sitting on the floor and fanning Cougar as he sleeps like some kind of Egyptian king.

"All the alcohol is down there," Cougar says, with an interested look in his eyes. He doesn't think that booze is going to help cool him down, but it could help with the passing out part. For the most part, he's been letting the alcohol sit there for emergencies, but right now feels like they're inching closer to that need.

He shrugs, finding no glaring faults in Jake's plan, and starts to get the fresh water, heading to the cellar in nothing but his boxers, holding a bowl of water. It's still too hot, and there's a very tempting moment where Cougar wants to tip the entire bowl over his head, even if the water is lukewarm, at best.

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