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"Of all of the responses I would have expected of you, 'Can you do one on my butt?' was not even in the running."
The smaller man snorted and sharply took in air as the needle jabbed him again. "You're the one hiding all of these secret talents."
Simon discarded the needle in the trash, turned Apollo's head toward him gently, and gave him a soft kiss. He discarded the gloves before donning a new pair.
"How'd they do that in prison? I guess you didn't have access to surgical gloves or endless needles."
"We made do with what we had. They were willing to take risks I will not let you take." There was the sound of a new, sterilized needle being dipped into ink before Simon quickly stuck him again on the pattern he had drawn before beginning.
"So I guess you didn't tell them they shouldn't get a tattoo on the part of their butt they sit oHN-."
"Doubtless, they would not have appreciated my insight in the matter. Also, no one opted for a stick and poke in this location." Simon discarded another needle and gloves before gently patting Apollo's butt cheek that wasn't being tattooed. He felt the smaller man relax from the latest needle prick, pressed a kiss against his forehead, and began the process anew with a fresh needle and gloves.
Apollo lay on his belly, an old towel between him and the bed sheets. Simon was spoiling him rotten with attention, he knew, but he loved it. That deep voice seemed like it was coming from somewhere ancient and important, full of perfectly-cut and sculpted marble. If they hadn't been dating, Apollo would tattoo his entire body to get more of this.
It was funny how relaxing it could be, half-naked with your butt exposed, a needle with ink tracing a permanent addition to your body in merciless jabs. Those same long fingers patiently traced and caressed him, kisses found their way all over his body. He could almost fall asleep.
About ten minutes later, Simon threw away the last needle and pair of gloves before handing Apollo a mirror and holding another up near his freshly-tattooed butt so that he would be able to see it without moving much.
"It-it looks just like the outline you did. It's perfect." He put the mirror down and closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms, folded a few inches above shoulder-height.
"I'm no artist, and particularly not in this medium, but I did do my best."
Apollo felt wetness as Simon cleaned the wounds that would heal into his tattoo.
"It-it means a lot. I would never have had it done-it'd be too embarrassing with anyone else. To show them, and to explain why."
"Would he approve?"
"He shouldn't have suggested I had one there already if he wouldn't."
"Such impertinence!" Simon teased.
"No, he'd-he would probably laugh that big, booming laugh of his and . . ." Apollo closed his mouth and gave himself up to his thoughts.
Simon threw away the cleaning supplies before carefully settling himself on the bed beside Apollo, running his hands through his hair.
After a few minutes, Apollo wistfully said, "I wish you could have met him."
He loved that Simon didn't feel the need to answer "Me, too." He could feel the desire all the same.