Work Text:
Liebgott dragged his hand up Shifty’s thigh and thought about how much he loved summer. He used to hate it, back when the primary thing he associated with the season was the fact that he had to give up his half his wardrobe (long jeans, jackets, dark t-shirts), but now all that was overshadowed by the fact that summer was when Shifty wore shorts all the time, and sometimes cut-off t-shirts and tank tops. Joe, personally, liked to be covered up, but he thoroughly approved of his boyfriend’s wardrobe choices.
It was nice, too, that in the summer it was often so hot that on Tuesdays—chores day—they rushed through grocery shopping at the market, did their laundry, and then instead of folding the hot clothes in that weather, retired to Joe’s bedroom for an afternoon nap. The bedroom had the best A/C, too, so they could cuddle up together without getting sweaty. He typically took full advantage of this opportunity.
“’M sleepin’,” Shifty mumbled reproachfully.
“Go ahead and sleep, I’m not stopping you.”
He dropped a series of soft, closed-mouth kisses to Shifty’s neck; beneath the prickly scent of sweat he could still smell the clean sea-breeze soap he had used in the shower that morning. The dark, slick curls plastered to his neck had dried, become fluffy and honey-colored.
“You can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” Shifty chided, and then he let out an indignant yelp as Joe’s fingers brushed the inner curve of his knee. “Will you quit it?” he laughed.
“I can’t help it, Shifty. What’re you wearing jean shorts to bed for, anyway?”
Shifty sighed dramatically. He wiggled away from Liebgott, just far enough that he could flop onto his back, and put his hands behind his head.
“All right, go on,” he said, long-suffering.
“Go on,” Joe mocked. He kissed Shifty on the lips and slid his hands up his arms. “I didn’t realize me making you feel good was such a fucking hassle.”
“Just trying to keep you from getting a swelled head,” Shifty said with a sunny smile, so of course Joe had to kiss him for that, too.
They continued to kiss lazily in silence for several long minutes. Liebgott liked this, liked taking the time to touch wherever he wanted. He trailed kisses down Shifty’s neck and across his clavicle, on the palm of his hand and the smooth skin of his stomach just beneath his ribcage. Once or twice he felt Shifty’s pulse quicken under his touch, but there wasn’t anything driving his touch except the desire to touch. The other man was pliant and undemanding, and Joe didn’t rush.
Eventually he pushed Shifty’s t-shirt up and then, after a moment’s consideration, tugged it off entirely. They’d been to the beach six times already and spent a few sunny days at a park—Shifty had a gorgeous tan, and Liebgott’s third sunburn of the year was finally starting to fade.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” he said fondly. Shifty shook his head a little, embarrassed. “Don’t give me that look, Shifty. C’mere.”
“You’re sweet,” Shifty mumbled into the kiss.
“I’m an asshole,” Joe countered. “But I’m honest.”
Shifty laughed softly, and Joe continued his exploration.
“When are you gonna let me give you a tattoo, huh?” he asked as his hands spread across the bare skin of Shifty’s chest and slipped around his sides.
“When I want my Mama to kill me,” the other man snorted.
“Aw, come on, she’ll never know. How ’bout a tramp stamp, huh? Then just make sure you don’t go shirtless whenever you visit home, and it’ll be our little secret.”
He dug his fingers into Shifty’s lower back, but he shook his head.
“No, thank you.”
Joe grinned to himself. With one hand he popped the button of Shifty’s shorts and tugged them down, innocently pretending not to notice the way Shifty bit the corner of his lip. He brushed his thumb over a patch of skin high on his thigh.
“What about right here?” he suggested.
“What’s the point of getting a tattoo somewhere only you and me’ll ever see?” Shifty countered in an even voice, and Joe would be lying if he said the caveman part of his brain didn’t appreciate that. “If I ever got one, I think it’d be here,” he said thoughtfully, indicating a spot on his forearm. “Or maybe here.”
He tapped a spot on his side.
“Ribs hurt like a bitch,” Joe commented. “I made a marine cry once, hand to God.”
“That’s why I’m not getting a tattoo, Joe.”
“Yeah, that’s it? What would you get, though?” he asked, rubbing his thumb back and forth.
“Well, I don’t rightly know… maybe like, the outline of Virginia with a heart or a star or something over Clinchco.”
Joe pulled a face.
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s so cliche, Shifty—you’re not allowed to get a cheesy tattoo when your boyfriend’s a tattoo artist, it’s against the rules.”
“So not your name, either?” Shifty grinned. “Or a heart with Mom on it?”
“Come on, be serious.”
“I’m thinking,” he chuckled. After a minute he said, “You know, I saw a fella at Pride last year, right when I first got here, who had this band around his arm, right here.” He circled just above his elbow. “A rainbow flag, just like that, but it was thin so it wasn’t too big. I liked the look a lot. No?”
Joe pursed his lips.
“I don’t like how pride stuff looks after a few years. The colors don’t stay as bright, and it wouldn’t be a big deal except with something like that you really want to know how they’re going to look next to each other.”
“See, that’s why I’m not ever getting a tattoo, because you’re so picky.”
“I thought it was ’cuz you were a wimp,” Liebgott grinned.
“Hey, which one of us ever finished a deer hunt on a fractured ankle, huh? I’m as tough as you.”
“Ehhhh.”
Shifty punched him in the arm and Joe fell back with an exaggerated groan. Shifty swung a leg over and straddled his waist, and loosely pinned his arms.
“Pinned ya again,” he teased.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a beast,” Joe said, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah.” Shifty leaned down and kissed him, slow and warm as sunlight, and then pulled back with a content sigh. “I got it,” he said. “Flower power.”
“Come again?” Joe said in a somewhat breathless voice.
“That’s what I would get, something related to flower power.”
“Okay, forget me doing it for you, if you let anyone put psychedelic flowers and a peace sign on your body, we’re breaking up.”
“You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Joe,” Shifty tutted. “You’re from San Francisco, aren’t you supposed to be educated about the 60s? Flower Power’s a picture, silly. It’s from some protest in the 60s—it’s this young guy in a sweater surrounded by policemen, and he’s putting flowers in all their rifle barrels. It’s my favorite picture.”
“Shifty, you know the point of it is to say they shouldn’t be using guns, right?” Liebgott said, amused. “They’d do the same thing to your hunting rifle, given a chance.”
“I know.” Shifty flicked his nose. “Don’t you try and ruin it for me, Joseph Liebgott. I like rifles and flowers and gay boys, and ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from loving that picture.”
“How do you know he’s gay?”
“Says so on the internet.”
“Okay.” He reached up and locked his arms around Shifty’s neck. “So what, you’re going to get a photorealistic tattoo of some other guy on your chest?”
“Nah. Just I think the outline of a rifle with a flower in it would be nice. Maybe the rifle in black and the flower with yellow petals. Something like that.”
Shifty let his elbow crumple so he wasn’t holding himself up anymore, just lying stretched up on top of Joe. He closed his eyes and Joe reached up to pet his hair absently as his eyes drifted shut. They probably had to get up soon; the sun was slanting in from a different angle, and he suspected that the afternoon was fading fast. For now he was happy to lay with his boyfriend on top of him, cuddling close and keeping him grounded. And besides, he’d managed to get Shifty more than half-undressed, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to get a blowjob out of this nap if he played his cards right.
“And besides,” Shifty said suddenly. “I ain’t getting a tattoo.”
“Sure you’re not,” Joe smirked. Not yet.
He slid his hands up the bare skin of Shifty’s legs and hitched him closer.