Work Text:
Blaine leaned back against the hood of his father's jeep. His gaze was turned inward, his thoughts focused on his best friend, Trent Anderson, the boy who had captured his heart so many years ago.
There wasn’t a moment when he couldn’t remember not being in love with Trent. They had started out as childhood friends, best buds. As the years progressed, he began to have deeper feelings for Trent, feelings that not only confused him but caused his body to react in ways that left him breathless and shaking. No one else made him feel like Trent did, and the sheets on his bed bore the evidence of his desire and love for the younger teen.
Two years ago he had finally acknowledged not only the true nature of his sexuality to his parents but also his love for Trent. Following his confession, he had spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the end of his parents’ bed, pouring out his heart, expressing his fears, revealing his feelings, asking questions. It was a rough time for all, but eventually he felt secure about himself, about his sexual orientation and about his feelings for Trent. And yet, even though he was bravely traveling the path he had set his feet upon, he wasn’t quite sure how he would deal with his friend’s rejection if, for some reason, Trent could not accept his best friend being gay and in love with him.
A large hand tangling in his chestnut hair startled him from his thoughts.
"Any sign of Trent?" Sean Matthews asked.
Blaine glanced up at his father. "He called to say he'd be here in a few minutes. He's waiting for his dad."
"Can I see the design again?"
Blaine dug out his wallet and handed over a small folded piece of paper. His father examined the design he had drawn for their tattoos.
Handing it back, his father asked, "Are you still planning to….?"
Blaine quickly interrupted, a challenging light in his blue eyes. "Yes, I am. Is there a problem? I thought you and mom were cool about this, okay with my feelings for Trent."
Smiling, his father wrestled him into a hug. "You know there's no problem. Not with me, not with your mom. I just want to make certain you understand what you're declaring here."
"I know what I feel, Dad. And I don't think that's going to change any time soon." Blaine looked down the tree-laden street, searching for the face that invaded his dreams every night.
He felt a tug on his shoulder-length hair. Turning, he looked at his father.
“Son, if you're sure about this, then me and your mom are behind you 100%."
Blaine pushed away from the jeep, a smile brightening his usually somber face. "Here comes Trent."
Before his father could turn away, Blaine gripped his arm. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate . . . everything."
"Everything, including my footing the bill for this endeavor?"
Blaine punched his father in the arm. "Of course!"
As Trent quickly approached, one more question was directed at him. "Have you thought about the pièce de résistant?"
He turned and reached out a hand, his fingers touching the nipple piercings visible through his father's t-shirt. "Not quite sure I'm ready for that, at least not yet."
His father stuck his chest out. "The girls love 'em. Just ask your mom."
As his friend tackled him from behind, Blaine winked at his father. "I don't think I'm worried about impressing the girls."
Returning his attention to his best friend, he hugged Trent, taking a rare moment to bury his face in soft curls and fill his lungs with the boy’s unique scent. Quickly letting go, he stood back and shook hands with Trent's father. "Thanks for giving Trent permission to do this with me."
Devin Anderson grinned. "It was either that or listen to him grumble for the rest of the summer." The man tugged on his son's curly blond hair.
Trent laughed, his green eyes sparkling. "Hey! I'm just following in your footsteps. Like father, like son." He pushed up the left sleeve of his father's jersey and displayed the man's bicep and the tattoo of a rearing stallion upon it. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Yeah, cool." Blaine tugged on Trent's t-shirt impatiently. "Let's get this show on the road."
"Ready when you are, Budman." Trent took his seat in the back of the jeep and started flexing his arms. "Once I start working out, I'm gonna have some major muscles. Maybe I'll put my tattoo on my bicep like my dad."
Climbing in beside his friend, Blaine laughed and pulled his shirt up, exposing his well-defined chest and abs. "Well, Shrimp, since I already have muscles, I'm putting mine on my left pec."
He felt a familiar warmth settle in his groin when Trent innocently brushed his fingers over his left nipple. He sucked in air as the dark circle of flesh instantly hardened. Afraid his friend had witnessed his body’s helpless response, he jerked his shirt back in place, covering not only his chest but the answering bulge in his crotch area.
Hoarsely, he called out to his father. "Dad?"
Obviously picking up on the stress in his voice, his dad took his place behind the wheel and started the engine. "Everybody ready?"
A duet sang out from the back seat. "YEAH!"
+++++++
Blaine stood naked in front of his mirror, admiring the tattoo that graced the left side of his chest. The area was sore, but it was nothing compared to the discomfort in his right hand. He smiled as he remembered how Trent had nearly crushed his fingers with his grip.
His friend had elected to go first and, of course, declined the need to have someone go in with him. Blaine was a little upset about being left behind, but it wasn't five minutes later when the tattoo artist came back into the waiting room and motioned for him to follow.
Entering the private room, his gaze was instantly captured by the frightened look in Trent's eyes. He walked over to his friend and did his best to avoid looking at the younger boy's naked chest. His body had already been tempted once that day, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take before losing control, both physically and emotionally.
"Hey, buddy!"
"Blaine!"
Blaine winced slightly when his friend claimed his hand in a white-knuckle grip. Trent immediately pulled their clasped hands to his chest. The touch of bare skin, Trent's bare skin, was enough to make him lose his breath. It took him several seconds to redirect his brain from lust to logic, his befuddled gray matter finally latching on to Trent's nervous stammer.
"… your design. Just thought … OW! Just thought you'd want to watch… damn it that hurts! Want you to make sure he gets it right."
Blaine took his free hand and tugged playfully on tangled blond curls. Leaning down, he whispered in his friend's ear. "It's okay, Trent." Straightening up, he nodded to the man beside Trent. "Mr. Samuels is the best. And he's the one who helped me create the design."
A grateful smile was offered up, the anxious light in Trent's eyes diminishing slightly. "Thanks, Budman. You're the best."
Blaine open his mouth, ready with a comeback, but the words completely disappeared from his mind the instant Trent moved their joined hands downward, allowing them to rest on his abdomen, their position precariously close to the waistband of Trent’s blue jeans. He tore into his bottom lip with his teeth in an attempt to distract his traitorous body from responding to the crazy, totally unattainable images crowding his brain. With a barely audible whimper, he moved closer to the head of the table, shielding his lower torso from Trent.
Not that his friend would have noticed; his attention was totally centered on the design taking shape on his arm. And yet even though his focus was off Blaine, the grip on his hand never relaxed.
After several moments, Trent turned his green eyes on him and asked, "How’s it look?"
Before answering, Blaine allowed his gaze to skim over his friend’s physique. "Looks good. Damn good."
Letting go of his hand, Trent reached back and slapped him on the arm while grinning mischievously at him. "The tattoo, Blaine. I’m asking about the tattoo."
A telling heat bloomed on his face, and Blaine dropped his eyes in shame. His friend had caught him staring. He stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape. Unfortunately his hand had been reclaimed and was once again tightly encased in Trent’s grip. He froze in place, unable to utter a word of protest, of explanation. He just stood silently, his gaze focused on his worn Nikes. A gentle tug on his hand brought him back to his friend’s side.
Trent smiled at him, and without a word, simply returned their clasped hands to their original resting place. He stared at Blaine for what seemed like forever before turning his attention back to his tattoo.
"Looks awesome. The other guys are gonna shit bricks of jealousy when they get a look at our tattoos."
Finally remembering to breathe, Blaine took hold of his heart and rejoined the living. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he acknowledged the slight tightening of Trent’s grip on his hand with a small smile.
An hour later, following a heated discussion about their favorite footballs teams, Blaine looked over to find Mr. Samuels finishing his work on Trent’s arm. He reached out and traced a finger around the skin that bordered the design.
"Does it hurt?"
Trent jumped up from the table and moved to a nearby mirror. He looked at his arm from several angles before turning back, a wide smile plastered across his face. "Stings a little but it’s nothing I can’t handle." He pulled Blaine over to him. "Looks good, don’t it?"
Blaine laughed as his friend struck several macho poses. He cuffed Trent on the head. "I’m sure all the girls will be slobbering all over it." He felt a tap on his shoulder; it was now his turn at the hands of the tattoo artist. With one last glance at Trent, he moved away and started to strip off his shirt.
Trent was still staring at himself in the mirror. The perplexed look on his face was one Blaine had never seen before and it worried him. Refusing to think on what the look might mean, he yelled, "Hey! Admiration society of one! Come over here and hold my hand . . . I mean, keep your eye on Mr. Samuels."
He laughed at the slight blush that crept over Trent’s cheeks. Holding out his hand, he smiled at his best friend. "Same here, buddy. Wanna come help me out?"
Trent stumbled slightly on his way back to the chair. Blaine forced himself not to move when he felt Trent's fingers trace the length of his arm before gripping his hand. The tension he'd been grappling with since the two of them had entered the establishment eased somewhat when his friend squeezed his hand and declared, "I’m here for you, Blaine. Always."
+++++++
A tingling pain in his fingers distracted Blaine from his memories. He looked down and found he was stroking his dick to hardness. Lifting his eyes to the mirror in front of him, he stared at the dragon tattoo on his left pectoral. His friend, Trent, wore the same design on his upper left arm.
The same tattoo… except his dragon tattoo carried a shield and hidden within the shield’s intricate design were the initials, TA.
Trent Anderson.
He fisted his erection faster while his tear damp eyes traced over the blatant declaration of his feelings for his younger friend. The moment his body climaxed, he whispered,
"I love ya, Trent."
To be continued . . . .