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Saturday nights at the shop are usually the busiest. The buzz of the machines is a constant, never-ending hum, and the wide variety of people that are in and out of the door from open to close never fails to be interesting. Most people leave with appointments to come back another day, but a few of the lucky ones leave with fresh ink to show off, sore yet proud.
It’s a little past ten, and Adam has just finished a five hour piece. He is cleaning his station when he hears, “Hey, Levine, we’ve got a walk-in!” from the front of the shop. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he lets out a deep sigh; he had so been hoping he could duck out early tonight. He still might, depending on what this walk-in has in mind.
He tucks a cigarette behind one ear before heading up to the small lobby, the walls covered in flash tattoo designs, artist portfolios laid out on the tables. He has learned to expect the unexpected from walk-in clients, so the impressively tall, broad shouldered dude dressed in plaid, jeans, and a camo print hat to top it all off doesn’t surprise him too much.
“Hey, man, can I help you?” Adam asks, and when the guy turns around, what is surprising is how impossibly attractive he is. Adam wants to give him another good look from the ground up to further assess said attractiveness but knows he has to be the professional at the moment, so he sticks with the eyes, blue as the sky and shining bright.
Blue Eyes smiles as he walks over and he’s all dimples, of fucking course he is, icing on the cake, holding out a big hand and saying, “Hey, name’s Blake,” with an accent that makes Adam want to laugh, just a little.
“What can I do for you, Blake?”
He scratches at the back of his head beneath the bill of his backwards cap, like he’s embarrassed to be in the shop or confused or has no idea what he could possibly be doing here.
“Ah, well, see I was talkin’ to a buddy of mine about tattoos the other day, and he seems to think that I’m too much of a wuss to ever get one. Of course I told him hell no, that’s bullshit, right? I mean, look at me, do I look like a wuss to you? And of course wuss isn’t the word he used, but there’s a lady present,” he says, flashing a smile at Gwen (who was used to hearing and saying worse than Blake gave her credit for) sitting at the desk. When she grins and gives him a flirty little wave back, it seems to startle him a little, and Adam almost laughs. “Anyway… what was I sayin’?”
“You’re too much of a pussy to get a tattoo.”
“Right. But no! I’m really not, so that’s why I’m here.”
“Please tell me there’s no bet involved.” When Blake gets the shifty eyes, all Adam can do is groan inwardly, scrubbing at his eyes. “You’re going to regret this later, you know that, right? Getting a tattoo just to win a bet is something you will definitely regret somewhere down the road.”
“Nah, I picked out somethin’ good. It means somethin’ to me.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Adam says, motioning for Blake to follow. He leads Blake back through the shop to his station tucked in the back corner, sectioned off with high walls for the privacy of his clients. “Have a seat and tell me what it is you’re looking to get.”
“Deer tracks,” Blake replies, taking a seat in the big black chair.
“Deer tracks,” Adam echoes.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know how some people get paw prints or whatever?” Blake says, and Adam immediately thinks of the one on his right shoulder blade. “I want deer tracks. A whole row of ‘em around my arm.”
Adam blinks. The camo print hat makes more sense now, at least. But honestly. “I still don’t understand. What the hell do deer tracks even look like? Aren’t their feet like, you know…” Adam just waves a hand because he isn’t sure how to finish that sentence.
“They look like… You got a pen?”
Spinning around on his own stool, Adam grabs a pencil and his pad of tracing paper, handing them over to Blake. It takes him a couple of minutes of extremely concentrated drawing to come up with something he’s happy with before he’s handing the materials back.
“Didn’t I just do your job for you?” Blake asks with a smirk, and it takes all of Adam’s willpower not to kick him. “Will I get some kind of discount?”
Adam snorts softly, dismisses Blake’s questions with the shake of his head. He still has no idea what the hell he’s looking at, and unfortunately, a quick consult with Google doesn’t make it make any more sense; still, Adam figures it’s Blake’s arm, and what the customer wants, the customer gets.
He takes Blake’s drawing and a quick measurement of the width of his forearm, and gets to work on creating a stencil for Blake’s tattoo. He can feel Blake’s eyes on him as he works, wishing like crazy that he would have had the time to duck outside to smoke beforehand because it’s driving him absolutely crazy, both the staring and the lack of nicotine.
“You never told me your name,” Blake says, just as Adam is finishing up.
Adam pauses for a second to glance up and almost chokes because Blake has decided to get comfortable, long, long legs stretched out along the entire length of the chair. It’s something Adam has never seen before, someone taking up that whole space. Those chairs are big for a reason, so people can bend and twist into impossible positions and not fall off and remain as comfortable as possible. Now all he can think about is how stupidly big Blake is and wonder if the rest of him is equally as impressive and fuck, please, if there is a god.
“It’s Adam,” he finally answers, knowing it took him entirely too long to formulate that response that should have been so immediate, and when he chances another quick glance at Blake’s face, all he finds is a small, amused smirk.
“You have any tattoos you regret, Adam? Looks like you got quite the collection from what I can see.”
The drawing is done and Adam takes it to the copier before he comes back to answer Blake’s question. “I might have one that I regret, but it’s more a design flaw than anything else,” he says as he grabs a brand new razor from his supply cabinet.
“What is it?” Blake asks. “Where is it?”
Adam tugs on the neck of his t-shirt, it’s stretched out already anyway, he doesn’t care, so Blake can get a glimpse of the blob around his right collarbone. “It’s not anything, really. It’s just… stupid? It was like, a sunburst or something when I originally got forever ago, and then I tried to add to it and now it just looks like fucked up cauliflower.”
Blake laughs and it’s an unbelievable sound, Adam can hardly stand it. He must be more exhausted than he realizes or something with the way he’s reacting to this random stranger, or maybe he just really needs to get laid. It’s probably a mixture of both, but getting Blake’s arm prepped is strangely erotic, and Adam wants to punch himself in the face by the time he’s finished and getting his machine ready to ink.
“You ready for this?” he asks, machine ready, Blake’s arm awaiting its first taste of black ink.
“I think so,” Blake says, eying the machine like it’s some kind of venomous creature.
“You think so? Either you’re all in or you’re out, cowboy. There’s no halfway here, unless you want your arm to be fucked.”
“I did not drink enough before I decided to do this,” is the grumble that Adam hears next. It makes him grin and squirm at the same time because Blake’s voice goes deep, and Adam’s thoughts make a beeline straight to inappropriate.
“Hey, it’s okay to be nervous. Just breathe through it, and look at me, okay?” he says because professional. “This is a small one, I’m fucking awesome, and it’ll be over in no time, I promise.”
Blake nods and catches Adam’s gaze, holds it for a few moments. “All right.”
“Good,” Adam says and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching over, resting one of his hands on top of a strong thigh and giving it an encouraging squeeze. He’s quickly pulling it away again before he can get a gauge on Blake’s reaction, before he can let himself focus too much on the heat he felt for those brief seconds through his latex glove. “Now,” he lets his machine buzz away, dips it into the black ink. “Ready to lose your virginity?”
It’s the perfect thing to say because Blake laughs again and visibly relaxes, and when Adam inks the first line of Blake’s brand new, very first tattoo, he barely even flinches. The rest of the process goes much of the same way, inking and wiping, Adam leaning into Blake’s personal space, Blake watching as closely as he possibly can without being in the way. They talk the entire time, and Adam learns that he can’t make Blake laugh while he’s working because Blake laughs with his entire body, and it risks screwing up his work. By the time Adam finishes, it feels like it has taken no time at all, and he finds himself wishing Blake had wanted something bigger, more elaborate, something that would have taken him days to finish.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Adam asks as he’s cleaning Blake’s arm up, taking his slow sweet time.
“Dude, that wasn’t bad at all. Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
Blake’s arm gets wrapped in plastic and taped up before Adam grabs Blake a copy of the after care instructions they give all of their clients. “Read this carefully, follow the instructions. They are actually important, we don’t give them out just to waste paper. If anything looks weird or it gets really red, puffy, gross looking, come back and I’ll take a look at it. It will start to itch as it heals, but don’t scratch it. It’s miserable as fuck, but I promise you’ll regret it if you do. Any questions?”
After a brief look over the sheet in his hand, Blake shakes his head, folds it up and stuffs it into his back pocket. “Not that I can think of right now. That looked pretty thorough.”
“If something comes up that’s not covered on the sheet, or like I said before, it starts to look infected or anything and I’m not here,” Adam says, apparently going for it, what the fuck, grabbing his wallet and pulling out one of his cards, handing it over to Blake. “Give me a call.”
Blake looks from the card in his hand back at Adam for a moment before he nods his head, slipping it into his pocket along with the aftercare instructions. “Alright, I will.”
There’s no other reason to stall, not that Adam can think of, so he leads Blake back up front to the lobby. He writes down how much to charge for the session, and even though he doesn’t have a reason to do it, not really, he gives Blake a discount.
“Well dude, it’s been a pleasure,” Adam says, holding his hand out. “Gwen will be taking care of you from here on out.”
Blake shakes his hand, holds it maybe a second or two longer than necessary. “Thanks again, Adam. I appreciate it, man.”
With a smile and a mock salute, Adam heads back through the shop toward his station to pack up for the night. He turns right before he gets there, manages to catch just a glance of Blake watching him walk away before Gwen steals his attention.
***
Two weeks later, another Saturday night at the shop, and Adam wants to shoot someone. It’s been a long day of difficult clients and difficult coworkers; it’s like it’s national Be An Asshole Day and Adam missed the memo, but he swears the next person that walks into the shop with an attitude is getting punched in the face.
He has just gone out back to smoke and ruminate over what a shitty, miserable day it has been when his phone rings, a muffled sound coming from his front pocket. The caller is unknown, a number on the screen that Adam doesn’t recognize, and after the day he has had so far, it’s tempting to not even answer it. He taps accept right before it can go to voicemail and prays he won’t regret it.
“Hello?”
“Oh, uh. I mean, hi. Adam?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Blake.”
“I know,” Adam says. He would recognize that voice anywhere.
“I wasn’t expectin’ you to actually answer, so I was kinda surprised. Sorry. I was just gonna leave you a message.”
“Well, here I am. What’s up?”
“I wanted to get your thoughts on addin’ to my tattoo.”
Adam can’t help but grin to himself. “Already?”
“Yes, already. And I can already hear you gettin’ smart with me about it, so don’t start,” Blake says and all Adam can do is laugh. Especially when he adds, “It might have been a poorly thought out idea.”
“I’m shocked to hear you say that,” Adam says, his laughter fading. “We’re kind of booked up for the rest of the day but tell you what. I should be done with my last client by 10:30 or so if you want to stop by then and we can talk about it?”
Without missing a beat Blake says, “I’ll be there.”
True to his word, when Adam walks up to the front of the shop around 10:40, Blake is sitting on one of the couches flipping through a portfolio binder. It takes a second for Adam to process the fact that Blake actually came, like maybe he was expecting Blake to stand him up or something and why does that make it sound like a date? Then he’s shaking himself out of it and shaking hands with his last client, leaving her to finish up with Gwen before turning his full attention to what awaits.
“Give me five minutes?” Adam says to Blake, and after he gets a nod in response, he’s practically running back to his station to clean up. It’s spotless by the time he’s calling Blake to head on back, and as Blake settles into the chair, Adam gets an odd sense of déjà vu. Only this time there’s an added twist of anxiety in his stomach as he rolls his stool close to the chair, his laptop and a pad of paper sitting across his lap.
“Did you have any ideas for what you want to add or should we do some brainstorming?”
Blake shrugs a shoulder and holds his arm out, the both of them looking at the fresh ink. “Something to make it look more badass? I mean, this is just stupid. Why didn’t you tell me how stupid this was before I got it?”
“Dude!” Adam says with a laugh. “I told you you’d regret it. Do you not remember me saying those words?”
“I know, I know,” Blake says, dragging a hand over his face. “But it’s not that I regret it, not exactly, it’s just… so stupid. And not badass at all. Someone asked me why I got ladybugs tattooed on my arm. Ladybugs, Adam. We’ve gotta fix this.”
Adam is laughing again as he opens his laptop, slides his stool even closer so they can both see the screen. “All right, we’re going to fix it. You’ll have to tell me how big and elaborate I can go, so I don’t get carried away.”
They’re sitting as close as they can possibly get without sharing the chair, with Adam suggesting this forearm design or that full sleeve, while Blake just laughs and calls him crazy. They don’t even notice Gwen when she pokes her head in a few minutes later. She’s smirking when Adam looks up over the top of the computer; it’s disgusting how well she knows him. “I’m all done up front, left your tip sheet by the register.”
“Thanks. Will you lock the door behind you and turn off the light up there? I want to knock out this plan with him tonight without worrying about anyone else coming in,” he says and immediately wants to punch himself because that wasn’t obvious at all. Fuck.
“Sure thing,” she grins and gives them both a little wave. “Night, boys.”
Adam watches her walk away, listens for the sound of the front door closing before he turns back to Blake, a little surprised to find Blake staring back at him. He clears his throat, his gaze dropping down to the computer screen. “Where were we?” he asks, suddenly hyper-aware of the press of Blake’s arm against his own, the ridiculous amount of heat radiating from his body, the earthy way Blake smells with just a hint of something spicy sweet.
“I think I was in the middle of callin’ you crazy,” Blake says, and god, he’s so close, too fucking close, but Adam doesn’t dare move an inch.
“Oh, come on! You said you wanted badass. Everything I have suggested has been totally badass.”
“This,” Blake says, pointing to his poor excuse for a tattoo, “pathetic little thing is my first tattoo, and you want me to jump right into gettin’ a sleeve? You’re nuts, buddy. I don’t think so.”
‘But it would be so fucking hot,’ Adam wants to say; instead he lets out a sigh and opens up a different folder saved on his desktop, a collection of flash arm bands that might work for this. “I’m not giving up on that idea, just so you know. Just putting it aside for now to be revisited at a later date.”
A quick glance over at Blake finds him with a small but mischievous smile on his face, a certain twinkle in his eye, and Adam would sell his soul to have just the smallest inkling of what he might be thinking. Adam likes to think he’s pretty good at reading people, it’s rare that he’s ever really wrong, but it’s different with Blake. There’s just something about him that’s making it difficult to get a clear gauge on where his head’s at, if he could possibly be flirting back at times or if he’s just an overly nice guy or if he’s just a general pain in the ass sent to get under Adam’s skin and make his life a living hell. Then Adam wonders if it’s possible that the answer could be all three.
“So!” Adam says, probably a little too loudly because if Blake doesn’t stop looking at him like that, someone is getting hit in the head. “Look through these, tell me if anything strikes your fancy.”
Blake clicks through the image files like he’s considering each one, whether they make any sense at all with what he already has to work with or not. He stops on a few as possibilities, which Adam shoots down immediately without question because they’re even more stupid than the original.
“Fire, Blake? Like what, did you burn the deer alive and all that’s left are their footprints in the sand? What the fuck’s the matter with you?” And, “Ugh, tribal. It means absolutely jack shit and every second person has it. Why would you want to be like everybody else?” And even better, “I am not giving you Celtic knots, you enormous idiot!”
“You’re bein’ absolutely no help at all, you realize that, right?” Blake asks just as Adam takes the computer away and sets it aside.
One of the designs Blake had scrolled past had given him an idea, and Adam grabs a pen from his workstation. He’s reaching for Blake’s hand next and gets momentarily lost when he’s struck once again by Blake’s size, his hand significantly larger than Adam’s own. He pulls Blake’s arm out straight, can feel the intensity of Blake’s gaze as he starts to draw directly onto bare skin, still clutching at Blake’s hand to keep his arm steady.
The drawing is rough, the lines sketchy, but between the feel of Blake’s breath against his ear and how their fingers have ended up tangled together, it’s the best Adam can do under the circumstances. He wishes he would’ve left some music playing so he’d have something else to focus on instead of Blake’s steady inhale and exhale, and if Adam tilts his head just right, he gets a gust of warm air across the back of his neck because they really are sitting entirely too close, practically on top of each other by now. His hand is sweating when he pulls it away from Blake’s to twist his arm around so he can make quick work of finishing the drawing on the underside. There’s only so much of this a guy can take before he goes completely crazy, and Adam is just about there.
“So it’s—” he starts to say, turning his head only to find Blake’s face is right there, a few scant inches separating them. It’s impossible to miss the way Blake’s gaze dips down to his mouth, just for a second, and Adam wants more than anything to lean the rest of the way in, close that little bit of distance. His heart is suddenly pounding in his chest and he swallows hard, leaning back a little instead because he just doesn’t know.
“It’s uh,” he starts again, licking his lips gone dry. “It’s really rough, I’d draw up the real thing, obviously, but...this might give you an idea.”
Blake barely looks at his arm before he’s looking back at Adam again, and Adam feels like he can hardly breathe under the weight of that heated gaze. Part of him wonders how this can even be real; he doesn’t even know this guy, Blake doesn’t know him - what the fuck is even happening - it’s some kind of gravitational pull, a wicked instant attraction.
“Do you—”
“Adam—”
They speak and stop at exactly the same time, and it brings them right back to the same place, sharing another one of those looks that seem to be saying more than they’re able to express with words at the moment. But this time Adam can’t take it anymore; this time he completely buckles under it, gives up and gives in, closing that little bit of distance between them and pressing his mouth to Blake’s. He only has to wait half a beat before the surge comes, before there are big hands cupping his face and Blake is kissing him back in such a fierce way, Adam’s brain completely shuts down. There’s no more thinking after that, all thought giving way to simply doing and feeling, Adam pressing forward until he’s practically on top of Blake in the chair, straddling his lap.
It takes no time at all to get swept away by the way Blake kisses: deep and intense, hungry for more, the perfect balance of tongue and teeth that sends a sharp throb of arousal curling in Adam’s belly. He doesn’t feel a single moment of hesitation beyond that first initial press of lips, and it’s a dizzying thing, to feel so consumed by someone so quickly.
The searing heat Adam feels pressed against his back is almost startling until he realizes Blake has slipped his hands up under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and it’s enough to make Adam groan into the endless string of kisses they’re both drowning in. The temptation to simply reach back over his head, tug his shirt up and off is impossible to resist; the less clothes in the way, the better, as far as Adam is concerned, and he gets a good minute to catch his breath when Blake’s mouth attaches to his neck.
And it’s so hard to keep still, pressed together impossibly close, Adam’s hips moving in a slow, barely there roll that sends little thrills of pleasure sparking behind closed eyelids every so often. He gets his hands wedged between them, thumbs open a few buttons on the front of Blake’s shirt before Blake sends one hand of his own down the back of Adam’s jeans.
“Oh, fuck. Blake,” Adam groans, and then freezes. It’s like hearing the sound of his own voice is enough for his brain to click back on, and he suddenly remembers where they are, and he’s cursing for a completely different reason. “Fucking christ, we gotta stop,” he says, letting his forehead rest against Blake’s temple.
“What? Why?” Blake asks, and he’s slow to pull his hands away, letting them linger on Adam’s body.
“The shop. I can’t, the shop, I mean, it’s not fucking sanitary, dude.”
Adam is bitching, he knows he is, but Blake still laughs, shifting them both to the edge of the chair. “Can we go somewhere else?”
“Do you want to?”
The look Blake gives him is priceless, his eyebrows raised like Adam is the biggest idiot Blake has ever met. Adam will give him that one because it might have been a stupid question, but he isn’t going to just assume; there’s a big difference between making out in the shop and going home to bed with someone.
“I know a great place we can go for some free drinks if you’re up for it,” Adam says, sliding off of Blake’s thighs and making a grab for his shirt.
“Oh? Those might be my favorite words ever and you just used them both, together, in the same sentence. There’s no way I can say no to that.”
“What, free drinks?”
“Hell yeah. What kinda place does that?”
Adam grins. “My apartment.”
***
The following Friday afternoon finds Adam sitting at the drawing table in the shop, putting some finishing touches on a large project. He keeps watching the clock because Blake has an appointment to get the addition done to his arm, and to say Adam is anxious would be an understatement.
“That is rad as hell.” Adam jumps, startled, when he hears Matt’s voice over his shoulder and smudges one of his lines. “Dude, my bad. I didn’t realize you were concentrating so hard or I would’ve stomped my feet or something.”
“It’s fine,” Adam says, the mistake an easy fix. He’d probably be pissed if it was anyone other than Matt, but he’s a good kid, just started working in the shop six months ago. One of the most talented rookies Adam has ever seen.
“Is that for your next appointment?”
“No. Well, yeah, but not really. It’s complicated?”
“Sounds like it. Good luck with that. Anyway, I just stopped by to say I’m heading out to lunch, wanted to see if you wanted me to bring you back anything?”
Adam shakes his head, hears the front door opening before he answers. “I’m good, but thank you,” he says, stuffing his drawing into his pad of paper as he stands up.
Blake is waiting for him when Adam gets up to the front, and follows him back without saying a word. Once they’re back in Adam’s station, it’s quiet for a few moments, Adam sitting on his stool, Blake in the chair. It isn’t until Adam mutters a curse and drags a hand through his hair that the tension breaks.
“Fuck, I’m gonna have to get a new chair.”
Blake is slow to grin, but it’s just as hot regardless, just as mischievous. “Why? Nothin’ happened.” The ‘not here anyway’ is left unspoken, but Adam can hear it loud and clear in that stupid grin.
“Shut up,” Adam says and grabs his books. “Okay, I need you to hear me out for a minute before we get started.” At Blake’s nod, he continues. “You made your feelings about going from your first tattoo into something bigger perfectly clear, and I get it, I do. I understand. But I am also of the mind go big or go home. Get something beautiful or get nothing at all. Make it meaningful or else what’s the point? Don’t even look at my arm, my shit doesn’t count.”
Blake is still chuckling when Adam pulls out his drawing. Adam thinks it’s everything a nature guy like Blake could want. He made sure to include aspects of hunting and fishing with their natural elements, all intertwining and woven into a brilliant, intricate design to cover Blake’s arm in earth and water, in the essence of his beloved deer and ducks and fish.
Adam gives him time to look it over, to take in all of the details. He’s quiet for longer than Adam was expecting until he finally says, “you drew this in a week?”
“What can I say, I was inspired.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“And that’s fine. You don’t have to get it now, you don’t have to get it done at all. It’s just… It was in my head, and I just wanted to do it. For you.”
Blake looks at him for a few long moments, holding his gaze. His expression is a little hard to read, but he looks – amazed? In awe, maybe. Then he’s studying the drawing again, tracing over some of the lines with one of his fingers, like he can’t believe it’s real. Like he can’t believe someone would do something like that for him. Adam can see him swallow hard, watches the way his throat works. Then he’s following the slow nod of Blake’s head until Blake looks over at him again and says, “okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. I’m all in. Let’s do it.”
It’s the last thing Adam expected him to say, and he’s a little taken aback. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’m serious,” Blake says, and he’s smiling now, big and bright. “I can’t really believe you took the time to do somethin’ like this for me, but this… it deserves to be seen. And I’d be proud to wear this and show it off for the rest of my life. Especially if it’s comin’ from you.”
It’s Adam’s turn to grin and before he can stop himself, he’s leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to Blake’s mouth. They both seem a little surprised by the gesture, but they’re still smiling when Adam sits back properly on his stool again.
“This is going to be fucking amazing, you just wait,” Adam says; he hasn’t been this excited about doing a tattoo in a long, long time.
“This is going to fuckin’ hurt is more like it,” Blake corrects him.
“You’re right, it will. I can’t deny that. It’s going to take a few sessions, and we’ll do as much or as little as you want. I’ll never do more than I think you can handle, but on the plus side,” Adam shifts closer, slides a hand along the length of Blake’s thigh, his voice pitched low. “You have me to keep you nice and distracted.”
Blake flashes him a small smirk, spreads his legs a little so Adam’s hand slips to the inside. “As long as you can stay focused on what you’re doing, I won’t complain about that.”
Adam scoffs and spins on his stool, grabs a pen. “I am excellent at multitasking when I want to be.”
“I’m sure you are, I just want my arm to stay in one piece durin’ this whole process.”
Pen in hand, Adam grins. “I’m going to take such good care of you, you’ll see. Now, shirt off, cowboy, and give me that arm. We’ve got work to do.”