Work Text:
“Oh ho,” Stiles crows as Peter steps through the door. “My favourite customer.”
Peter flashes him a smirk and plucks the beanie off of his head playfully and throws it on the couch, despite his protests. “I’ve told you to stop wearing that. You’re not fifteen anymore.”
“Says the middle aged man wearing leather pants,” Stiles shoots back, twirling the pencil in his hand a few times before sticking it behind his ear.
He’s designing a sleeve for one of his regular customers, and it’s been a pain in his ass for nearly a week now. Garrett left a list of what he wants on his tattoo, and it’s Stiles’ job to put it all together.
So far, he has nothing. With only a little over a week left to finish the design, he’s starting to freak out.
“I am not middle aged,” Peter says, with a genuine offended look on his face.
Stiles tilts his head and grins, twitching on eyebrow to say sure, and flips the pad in front of him to face Peter. “Help me?”
“What is this supposed to be?” Peter asks, staring down at the mess on the page.
He thinks about being offended, but then, only a few people - meaning Scott - have ever been able to figure out how his brain works and keep up with him.
“I’m not sure yet,” Stiles slumps, lets his head drop onto his forearms where they’re crossed on the table.
Peter hums and reaches over the counter, snatching his pencil and taps it on the edge of the page. “I assume this is a checklist of what’s to be involved.”
“Uh huh,” Stiles confirms, licking his lips. Peter follows the movement and oh, Stiles forgot that he’s pierced his tongue since Peter was last here.
“Black and white?”
Stiles shakes his head. “Some pieces will be coloured.”
“So if we draw a violet here,” Peter’s trails off, drawing what Stiles assumes is a violet but looks like an oddly shaped blob. “Then add a bucket above it, dripping blood over the flowers. That’s two things done.”
Peter ticks off the words “carrie” and “violet” and spins the pad back around.
“That is… actually not a bad idea,” Stiles admits, brain already working overtime. He can see it in his head, how the red colour of the blood is going to look with the purple of the violet. He thinks about adding the quote Garrett requested next to it, put it sideways and facing inward.
Stiles lifts his head up and smiles. “Thanks, man.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter replies, smiling in return.
“Oh!” Stiles flushes slightly, suddenly realising something. “Did you come in for anything specific?”
Peter laughs at his sheepish grin and nods. “As fun as this is, I came to book an appointment for a piercing.”
“I’m free now,” Stiles offers. “What do you want?”
“I believe it’s called a Prince Albert…”