Damon Albarn Haircut Novels & Stories

I breathed, taking in the sight of the invisible battle behind the walls of the skyscraper before me. Damon came out of the car from the other side. Dressed in a white shirt, a black jacket and a long overcoat. His hair was slicked back with an effortless wave and his jaw was shape into a strong square. The gold in his eyes burned brighter and he looked more of a gentleman than a man who would sign a stranger into a marriage.

Dillon shouted back. He grabbed a black thermal and grey sweatpants from the dresser. As he threw the shirt on, he walked to the clean clothes basket and picked a pair of blue plaid boxers(his favourite. So soft!). Then he slipped on a pair of black ankle socks and adjusted himself in the dresser mirror. Finally, he combed his hair back and to the side and with a bit of hair putty on his fingers, he lightly pronounced the wave in the front. A very mild variant of the classic pompadour. Call him Elvis. Dillon liked it. It was how many bikers(Tony included) did their hair, the idiot ones that don't wear helmets anyway. Dillon sauntered out to the living room, where Tony relaxed on the couch wi

Lana accepts with a nod, knowing fully well she might let out her growing need for him inside her again if she decides to speak. Alpha Damon wipes off the specks of cum on his thigh and lifts his head to glance at Lana. He watched her with a mischievous, and possessive smile on his face. He observed her adjusting her fiery red hair, and snug crop top, trying to look normal like she hadn't just made him grow a new fetish.

He was also wearing his lip ring and it caught the sun, adding to his sex appeal. There was a sheen of sweat covering his rippling muscles as he jogged but the longer I looked, I realized there was something different about his appearance. And then it clicked. Dorian has gotten a fresh haircut. Most of the time I’d seen him at practice in the last forty-eight hours, he had his helmet on and besides, I avoided him like the plague. His red hair has been shaved to the low buzzcut he was wearing the first time he came into the locker room. I felt an unexpected stab of displeasure.

It didn’t make sense to him. Dalton strolled into the gym like he didn’t have a care in the world. Normally, the top of his hair would be combed over to the side with bangs hang to the side of his forehead; cut short on the sides and the back so he would just have to brush that part. But, now his brown hair was messed up and sweaty. It looked like he already had a workout. “Well, it’s about time,” Goldman said as he continued to jog. “I’m only a few minutes late,” Dalton said with a grin.

he faced us scratching his head. Well the head was not bald like Dwayne Johnson's own, his only shows any one that looks closely at him that he wasn't ready or doesn't want to grow old. His hair was cut in the popular Afro style, it was so obvious he dyed his hair black, but I could still see some stubborn grey hairs that refused to be black at the sides of his head, the man surely doesn't want to look old. But his beards gave out the secret. "Dad don't tell me you dyed your hair for the ninth time this month? " Kene asked his dad.

So, tell me about you. Damon glances up at the moon before looking back down at me and I take my time to take it all in. The moonlight highlighting his skin, it is as if he's in his own nature. The way his dark green eyes are somehow a tint of yellow but it was only for a couple of seconds, a bit too surreal to confirm. ''There's not much to tell.'' ''Right . . . so, I just told you about myself. And, I'm getting none from you?''

His haircut suits him well; both sides are shaved, leaving the center a little bit longer and spiky. "Angel," his voice is soft in my ears. "Mad?"

**Lennon (11:05 AM):** working out? **Damian (11:06 AM):** Yeah! **Lennon (11:06 AM):** can i see? A few seconds stretched. Lennon stared at the screen like it might bite him. Then the photo loaded. Damian in the penthouse gym—shirtless, skin gleaming with fresh sweat under the overhead LEDs. Chest carved, shoulders broad, arms flexed from whatever set he’d just finished. One hand held the phone out for the mirror selfie; the other raked back through damp, dark hair. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, devastating path down the center of his sternum, past the snarling bear tattoo, disappearing into the deep V below his navel. The waistband of his black gym shorts sat low. Too low.

Not after what Tristen said. I felt so stupid for letting Tristen's words affect me this much, but I couldn't ignore them. When I got home, I was not prepared to see Dameon, talking to an alpha I had never seen before on the driveway. He had brown hair with tattoos along his arms, just like Dameon. When I walked up, they stopped their conversation immediately as they both looked at me.