One Shots || Bruno Mars

Mask Night

The water from the shower cut off and my boyfriend presses a soft kiss upon my wet lips, making me giggle. He pulled the thick towels draped on our see-through glass shower doors and dried me off for a bit before handing mine to me. He shakes his wet and saggy afro off like our dog would, causing some beads of water to splash all over me—like our dog would.

"Bruno!" I gasped, shoving him on the shoulder playfully.

One side of his lips raised into that infamous smirk as he said nothing and wrapped the towel around his waist. Fog and steam escaped into our lavish bathroom as he stepped out, just like smoke would on his nightly performances. He extends a hand to help me through the slippery floors and did not disappoint on my analogy when he started singing, "Ain't nobody dope like me, I'm dressed so fresh and clean!"

I laughed when he started shimmying his shoulders, our toes wiggling against the soft rug before sliding them into some bathroom slippers. He slips his fingers through mine and pulled me towards the massive sink on his little corner.

"Come here, babe," he said endearingly, putting his hands on my waist and maneuvering my body in front of his. He pushes me backwards and I let out a shriek and hold on to his neck with both hands, trying to regain my balance from the water dripping under us. Rolling his eyes playfully, he grumbles, "You're so dramatic."

I gasped exaggeratedly, "But I could slip and die!"

"Nah, worst case scenario is a concussion," he immediately dismissed my claim before softy knocking on my forehead with his knuckles. "Or a bump on your pretty little head."

My eyes widened before pouting, "You really don't care about m—"

He shut me up by leaning in and taking my lips in his, kissing me with such ferocity I almost forgot how to breathe. Tightening his grip on my waist, he bit my lip before pulling away. He flashed me his pearly wipes cockily when he saw my flush expression, "I gotchu, baby. You know I won't let go."

I felt our huge sink against my back when he halted his movements. "I swear you think your life is a romcom. Telling me cheesy ass lines like that."

He chuckled and shook his head, "Jump, babe."

Complying, he slid me backwards so he could sit me down on the counter. I grabbed some paper towels nearby and motioned him to come closer.

Settling between my legs, he laid his hands flat on the skin of my caramel thighs as I wiped them through his curls. This takes moisture out without messing with the texture like a cloth towel would. Jason Schneidman, his most trusted hairstylist, would give me tips on how to groom Bruno's mane for me to remind him on the regular. His client never paid attention when it came to that stuff.

I dropped some Argan oil into my palms before running my fingers through his hair. According to Jason, natural oil separates the curls.

He closed his eyes, relaxing as I massaged through his scalp and pressing delicate kisses on my exposed shoulder.

"Bruno, stand straight!"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled against my skin, eyes still shut. "I'm just so tired."

I let my guard down a little, my heart aching at the sight of him so rundown from his job. I pecked his lips, making him smile. I moved my fingers gently from his sideburns down to the curls on the nape of his neck. His moans echoed throughout the room and I decided to start a conversation, "How was your day, babe?"

"Eight-hour rehearsals as usual," he said above a whisper, throwing his head back and cracking his neck. "The guys don't say nothing but I know they hate me."