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Albert is no stranger to permanent ink.
Honestly, he’s sort of a walking sketchbook at this point, especially after Jack started his apprenticeship and actually started translating some of his fantastic artwork to skin in a way that was at all acceptable. He’s not even new to sentimental tattoos, despite how stupid a lot of them are. The stick and poke heart he has on the side of his hand that matches Racer, the skull on his ankle that goes with the crossbones on Sarah’s, the dove on his chest for his mom, the massive Spider-Man emblem on the inside of his left bicep for his inner child - he’s softer than he looks, especially when it comes to ink.
“When are you gettin’ another one?” Race muses quietly when they’re laying in bed one day, tracing the lines of the fluttering bird imprinted on his skin gently with his finger. “Feels like it’s been awhile.”
He peeks down at him out of the corner of his eye, shifting to kiss the top of his head before replying. “I dun’no. Soon. I always gotta talk to Jack about ideas before I can do anything new.”
It’s a total lie.
Albert’s had a plan for months, one that should be done by August 17th - conveniently in time for Race’s birthday, imagine that - but it’s a secret. It didn’t even involve Jack drafting all that much, considering he already had the note Race wrote in highschool, but they hadn’t had time until this weekend.
He rolls, propping himself up on his elbow to hover above Race. He smiles automatically when the other ruffles his hair, drawing him closer in the process. “Any thoughts on what I should get next?”
Race pretends to consider it - he can tell, he doesn’t scrunch his eyebrows together or bite his lip like he does when he’s actually thinking something over - before he shrugs noncommittally and tugs Albert down until they’re so close he can feel Race’s lips brush against his when he speaks. “Not particularly,” he teases. “Something for me.”
He can’t stop the huff of a laugh he lets out in response, glad they’re this close and Race won’t be able to see the way his ears burn red and give him away. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He mutters with a smile, closing the gap to press their lips together.
Between working on cars at the shop, Jack’s other clients, and the various ways the both of them are preoccupied by their boyfriends, it’s really a miracle he ends up in Jack’s chair at all. It’s July 31st, which means he should have enough time to let his tattoo mostly heal before Race’ birthday, but whether or not it’ll stay a secret that long is kind of a toss up.
“Honestly, man, if you manage to keep him from figuring out you did this, I’ll give you like… fifty bucks.” Jack’s been his best friend - other than Race, but he’s been refusing to refer to Race as his best friend over his boyfriend since they first kissed sophomore year - since he was in middle school, and you can tell by the way they interact.
“Hey, it’s not as hopeless as it would be if it was you and Dave.” He snarks, laying out with his arms out of the way so Jack can prep his side. “I’m guessing you already told him I’m doing this?”
“Who would I be if I didn’t spill all your secrets to him, huh?” Jack can pretend he’s not all the way gone for David as much as he wants, but there’s no hiding the look he gets when he talks about him. It’s the same look, in essence, he gets when someone talks about Race, but he’s worse than Jack is when it comes to pretending it’s not like that.
Once the stencil is placed and he likes the centering, Race’s loopy, slightly messy handwriting printed on his side exactly in line with his heart, the dark outlines of fluttering butterflies dotting the skin around it, he honestly kind of zones out. He mindlessly follows the vines twisting and curling around Jack’s work, the completion of the sleeve when he decided there was too much free space. It’s funny, now, considering he’s seen Jack’s tattoos in every stage of their existence, but can’t seem to remember how they looked before the skin was entirely inked over with deep, vibrant colors. Even the blooming flowers and shining leaves that creep up the sides of his neck, no more than a few months old by now, are completely inseparable from him. Like Jack fills his skin with ink to match his image, rather than crafting an image out of his ink as he goes.
It’s barely four hours of sitting, with how simple the design is, but Jack is just putting the finishing touches on the butterflies above the words when the bell on the door alerts them to David walking through the door.
“ Yekiri,” He says easily, walking over but waiting until Jack has lifted the tattoo gun to press a kiss to the top of his head. Jack’s whole expression softens, sharp focus turning to silent affection. “Almost done?”
“Yeah, he made my life easy for once.” He wipes a paper towel over the tattoo one last time, clearing the red-tinged skin of anything but the image. “Go look properly. I know you’re dying to.”
“And then show me! I’ve been waiting for you to do it for weeks.” David tacks on, shifting closer to Jack when the former tugs him closer by the hip.
Albert shakes his head at them as he walks over to the mirror, surveying the dark black closely before backing up and seeing how it meshes with the rest of the image. The words aren’t visible when he holds his arm naturally at his side, but the butterflies wrap just far enough around to make out the vague shape of them. He’s got shorts on, so you can see the little skull on his left ankle, and the lack of shirt means you can see all the work scattered across his chest and abdomen. It’s much more obviously sentimental than most of the things he has, but it’s not wildly out of place.
“C’mon, red, I wanna see!” David calls, grabbing Albert’s wrist when he walks back over and holding his arm out of the way. He can actually read Italian, and the way he immediately raises an eyebrow at the other makes Jack laugh loudly from his seat next to them. “Oh, you went sappy sappy.”
“Shut up.” He says easily, pressing the corners of his mouth down, to hide his smile. “And what did I say about calling me red?”
“Blah blah, don’t like it, blah blah, something about being obsessed with Race, blah blah.” Albert yanks his wrist away and uses that hand to swat at David’s shoulder squinting his eyes and muttering mockingly as the pair laughs at him. “He’s gonna lose his mind, seriously.”
“I had to think about if it was too extreme before I remembered I also tattooed ‘Race’ on the inside of my lip a couple years ago and it was his favorite thing in the entire world so.. Pretty sure I’m safe.” It’d completely faded by now, as was the nature of most lip tattoos, but when he had it, Race would beam for hours whenever it got brought up. As for the ‘being safe,’ the engagement ring hiding in his sock drawer was a much better example, but nobody’s allowed to know about that yet.
“The fact you think this is extreme for the two of you.” Jack deadpans, rolling his eyes at him. “Literally unbelievable.”
“Says you,” He quips back, gesturing at David. “Literal husband, shut your mouth.”
Jack just smiles back in his face, all teeth and scrunchy eyes. “Okay, are we getting food? I have to text Race about dinner ‘n’ stuff if we are.”
“And we’re domestic?” Jack pauses for effect, and for David’s laugh, before continuing. “Yeah, text the boy, I’m starving. I gotta wrap that up first, and you actually wore a real shirt for once so we should be good after that.”
It’s almost funny how bad he is at hiding the tattoo from Race. Dinner was fine, since Jack and David could help balance out how much he talked, but then they got home and forgot he actually had anything to hide from Race, considering how little it happens.
He locks the door behind them, takes off his shoes, and then goes to get changed. It’s not until his side aches dully as he yanks his shirt over his head in the hall that he remembers he’s supposed to be keeping it a secret, and he knows it’s too late when Race’s flurry of motion from getting home suddenly pauses.
“Holy shit, is that a tattoo?” Albert stops dead and turns his right side away from Race, every good lie he’s ever told leaving his mind completely at the eyebrow being raised at him.
“Uh- I.. No?” He closes his eyes for a second at how god awful that lie was, and instinctively brings his hands over to his right side when Race takes a step forward.
“Oh, it’s for me, isn’t it? C’mon, lemme see!” He takes another step forward and puts his hand on Albert’s left forearm, trying to make him turn.
“No, no no, there’s noth- Racer!” The blonde had given up turning him with his arm, hooking a finger in one of the belt loops on his shorts and pulling him abruptly closer, so they were standing chest to chest instead of with Race on the far side of his body.
Albert turns them in the hall and boxes Race in against the wall with his arms, a smug little smile lighting up his face.
“You’re trying to distract me.” Race says dully, hand resting on his right hip despite the remark.
“Well, darlin’, is it workin’?” Albert replies easily, laying on the little southern accent he still has from his mother on as heavy as possible. Race’s face flushes red at the pet name - thank you, Finch - but his expression remains where it is.
“No.” Race almost breaks and laughs at Albert’s little pout, but he presses forward. “I wanna see the tattoo.”
Albert has to resist the little pull at his hip, leaning his head into the crook of Race’s neck and sighing in defeat. “Fine. Fine. C’mere, if you’re gonna see it, I wanna be able to see your face.”
He postures up and grabs Race’s wrist, dragging him to the bathroom and flipping on the light. His right arm stays firmly down by his side until they’re both visible in the mirror, and then he drops Race’s arm and moves his own out of the way. Non fare stupidaggini cazzate, ti amo in black ink, surrounded by the fluttering shadows of butterflies
There’s a little intake of breath, and he keeps his eyes locked on Race’s face in the mirror so he can see his expression dead on. The little glimmer in the blue eyes makes Albert turn his head sharply back to Race, eyes roaming frantically over his expression, and he’s so overwhelmingly settled the second the watery eyes land on his green ones.
“You asshole. I can’t believe you.” The words make Albert laugh - properly laugh, warm and rumbly and loud, the kind of laugh he holds back around people outside his chosen company.
“You know me too well to not believe I got this, Toni.” The tears break over Race’s waterline, coating his eyelashes and making them stick together, two escaping down his cheeks before he reaches up and brushes them away impatiently. Albert’s hands bump his out of the way, cupping his cheeks and grinning when he leans into the hold.
Race puts his hand on his wrist and leans in, putting the weight of his bubbly, swirling feelings behind the kiss. Albert’s hands shift a little, tilting their faces and deepening the kiss, making Race hum quietly in response. They pull away after a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, Race staring at Albert like he hung the sun in the sky to keep him warm everyday.
“I love you, y’know that, tesoro ?” Race says, voice slightly uneven, tugging Albert closer.
“It’s permanently written on me in your handwriting, I think I got the message.” He can’t help himself, and Race’s little giggle makes it infinitely better. “I love you, too, darlin’.”
He flushes deep red again, and Albert’s smile gets significantly more smug. “Stop! Unfair, rossa, I don’t deserve to be bullied this way.”
“Is it really bullying if I mean it?” He asks, voice tinged with laughter, cackling when Race pushes his face away, trying not to laugh. “Aww , c’mere, baby.”
Albert’s arms loop around his middle and pull them flush, smearing their lips together through their laughter. The little ring box floats around in his mind, and based on how Race won’t stop staring at his early birthday present, he won’t mind the surprise that’s coming on time.