Work Text:
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Matthew gulped audibly as he stood outside the Bad Touch Tattoo & Piercing Parlor. This was not his typical scene. He had followed his cousin, Alfred, here after having a quarter-life crisis at the bar last weekend. Somewhere along the way, Alfred had convinced him to schedule a tattoo consultation, spouting something along the lines of, “Dude, it’ll be totally radical and fix all your problems.” Matthew severely doubted it; if anything, it was adding to his problems.
Alfred clapped him on the back, causing him to jolt. “Come on! It’s just a consultation. They’re not gonna hurt you.” The blue-eyed blond winked before adding, “Yet.”
Matthew’s heart dropped as they stepped in through the door. He was half frozen to the floor as Alfred approached the front desk and began relating their names to a bushy-eyed blond man sporting multiple flashy ear and nose piercings, as well as chipped black nails.
“Oy! Frog! Jones is here for you!” he called across the room. A moment later, a tall, suave blond appeared in the doorway. He looked like a proper gentleman, with silky long hair tied back in a low bun, and he wore fashionable trousers and a button-up rolled up to his elbows. There were no visible tattoos showing, but his ears were stacked with shiny and lustrous bands and gems like a well-kept garden of gold. Without the earrings, he looked like any normal man.
“Artie, darling, you couldn’t have picked a better nickname for me?” ‘Artie’ shrugged, returning to the schedule of appointments on the computer screen.
“Got you out here, didn’t it?”
The piercer sighed and shook his head, but his eyes were soft and playful, and the insulter himself had a very satisfied look on his face.
“Anyway, Alfred, is it? I’m Francis.” He extended his hand. “I’ll be taking care of you today. Come on back and we’ll get started.”
Alfred shook Francis’s hand with vigor. “Great!” He turned to give Matthew a salute. “Good luck, Mattie!”
The sharp-tongued blond turned to face the remaining customer. “Matthew Williams? Go ahead and take a seat. Gilbert’s just cleaning up his station. He’ll be out in a moment.”
Awkwardly, Matthew took a seat on the wooden bench. Without the shield of Alfred’s cheerful personality to distract him, his nerves were on fire. He picked at the sleeves of his red checkered flannel, suddenly a kid waiting at the doctor’s office.
“Nervous?” A voice pulled him back into reality.
“W-what?”
The green-eyed blond smiled. “First time?”
Matthew nodded. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he admitted.
“Don’t worry, poppet. It’s never as scary as you think it is, and you’re just in for a consultation, aren’t you? You can always change your mind.”
The comment assuaged Matthew’s anxieties. Perhaps that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go in, explain that I changed my mind, and walk out! But as soon as his pulse started to slow, a new presence entered the room.
“You’re not scaring my client off, are you, Arthur?”
Matthew’s violet eyes went wide as a ruby-eyed man walked in. A tight, black outfit showed off his lean, corded musculature, and his paper-white skin made the perfect contrast for the countless number of images that were expertly drawn on. His ear lobes were widened with thick black gauges, and his hair, white at the roots and red at the tips, was styled to look both wild and casual. Gilbert was drowning in masculinity.
Arthur scoffed. “You don’t need me to do that for you,” he turned back to Matthew, “Gilbert’s ready for you.”
Yes, but Matthew was not ready for Gilbert.
__________________
“Follow me back to the office, and we can sit and chat about what you’re looking to get done.” They weaved through the parlor, walking past a tan tattoo artist who was working on a colorful back piece.
“How’s it going, Toni?” Gilbert asked as they passed by.
His coworker glanced up with a prideful glow. “Just finishing up. She’s a real beauty.” He wiped the sweat off his brow, chocolate-brown strands sticking to the sides. A masterful rendition of the red desert landscape of the Australian Outback rippled along the entire length of the torso, and each minute movement made it look like a moving picture. It looked like it had taken a while. The patron, who was lying limply face-down, simply groaned a weary, “Worth it.”
Matthew’s stomach flipped in fear. They look exhausted! Do all tattoos feel like that?
They moved on, but as if Gilbert could read his mind, he answered: “Antonio’s been working on that one for a couple sessions now. Large works like that can really take it out of you, but I’ll let you know what precautions you should take depending on the size you want.”
None! Matthew silently screamed. No size!! But he marched obediently behind, swallowing every ounce of panic that threatened to arise until they arrived at a secluded room. Gilbert held the door open and ushered Matthew in, inviting him to sit on the black leather couch.
The office space was modern and minimal—exceptionally clean—which contradicted Matthew’s first impression of the cool and rebellious artist. Select artworks were mounted on the wall, presumably Gilbert’s, showcasing crisp and delicate linework that made use of negative space and slight shading to create abstractions for the brain to fill in. A style like that required a confident and experienced hand to command it on skin.
Gilbert offered a bottle of water, which Matthew graciously accepted. His mouth always went dry whenever he was nervous. The pale man sat down opposite Matthew with a friendly smile. He watched the two silver studs of Gilbert’s snake bites curl, which sent shivers down his spine. Everything about him was just so much.
“First time, right?” he started. “So, what are you thinking? I’m here to answer whatever questions you might have.” Matthew balked. The amount of times he admitted to being a first-timer made him feel like a teenage virgin. Although in this regard, he supposed he was.
He hung his head and stared down at the water bottle in his hand. “To tell the truth, my cousin convinced me to come, but I don’t think I can do this. I’m so sorry to waste your time.” Embarrassed and ashamed, he couldn’t bring himself to look up. Even though this is what he wanted to do, he couldn’t help but think he had disrespected the tattooist.
“That’s okay.” Gilbert’s tone was amicable and unfazed, and it made Matthew lift his head with a quizzical look. “I’m not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want, and a tattoo is a commitment, no matter how big or small. If you don’t want one, then no harm done. I’m glad you told me upfront.”
The tension in his body eased away. It really was that easy. He would be walking out unscathed.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “Sorry again. I’m sure there are better ways for you to be spending your afternoon.”
Gilbert waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. But if you don’t mind, I’d enjoy a conversation.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You came in with your cousin, didn’t you? I don’t think they’re done yet, and you’re the last person I had on my schedule. You’d be doing me a favor by keeping me company.”
Matthew pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, feeling a bit more upbeat and relaxed than before. “Sure.” I can handle a conversation. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Awesome! I’ll start.” Gilbert leaned forward on his knees. “So, how’d you get roped into coming here? No drunk bets, I hope.”
Matthew chuckled, tucking a stray honey-blond strand behind his ear. “Nothing like that, although a couple drinks were involved. We got a little bold, and the next thing I know, we had two confirmed appointments.” He shrugged, his tone changing to something akin to nostalgia. “I think we just wanted to live a little. Sometimes life gets away from you, you know?”
There was a sympathetic nod in response. “Tell me about it. The years slip by, but having something permanent can be a nice reminder of the now. Getting any type of body alteration is real brave.” Red eyes flashed to meet violet. “Admitting you don’t need any takes courage, too.”
A soft smile served as acknowledgement. “My turn. Do you have a favorite tattoo?”
Gilbert perked up. “Of mine or on me?”
“Either. Both.”
Gilbert grinned and put a hand up to indicate ‘just a minute’ as he got up to retrieve a binder. He flipped through the pages for a moment before stopping and turning it towards Matthew.
“This is my favorite design. I’ve never put it on anyone, but I always include it in my portfolios.”
The curious blond leaned over to examine, and his jaw gaped open in awe. It starred a dainty songbird centered in between the shoulder blades, its wings spread open to its full length. As it stretched up to the shoulders, watery wisps of a vapor trail wrapped around the collar bones and trailed down the spine. Hidden within the absences of ink where the silhouettes of loose flowers and leaves. It was a smoky watercolor piece, the only color being a perfect blue circle set behind the bird to illuminate it.
He managed to exhale the words: “It’s beautiful.” Matthew traced the intricate lines with his fingers, gently gliding over the plastic sheet protector. “I can’t believe no one’s gotten it.”
“I’m kinda glad no one has,” he confessed. “It makes it more mine, if that makes sense.”
“Yeah… I think I get it. You’re incredibly talented.”
The complement tickled Gilbert’s ego, and he twisted his arm to scratch the back of his neck, stretching the already taut muscle tee. The motion uncovered what looked like large feather tips on the cusp of his muscled shoulder, and it caught Matthew’s eye.
Curiosity took over. “Which one is that?” The blond pointed at his own shoulder, mirroring the location. Gilbert raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“You beat me to it. That’s my favorite one; it was my first one.” He described a huge black federal eagle, wings spread and splayed out in a ferocious display. It was the only piece on his back, taking up most of the space, and the wingtips stretched over his shoulders and down the back of his triceps.
Matthew had a barrage of questions. “I can’t believe it’s your first one! That must’ve hurt. How long did it take? Can I see it?” It was an innocent request, but he didn’t realize until afterwards that it may seem a bit indecent.
Gilbert quirked a pale eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
It was too late—Matthew nodded in childlike wonder. Almost torturously slowly, Gilbert turned and reached over his head to pull the back of his shirt up, revealing the magnificent bird of prey. The sight elicited a gasp from Matthew as he gazed upon the dark ink markings.
“My old man did it,” told Gilbert. “He’s the whole reason I became a tattoo artist. I wanted my first one to be one of his, and it took forever and hurt like a bitch.” A somber second passed. “It was the best gift he ever gave me.”
After the story ended, Gilbert pulled his shirt down, straightening it out the best he could without appearing too fussy.
Matthew was starstruck. “It’s amazing. He must’ve been such an inspiration to you. Thank you for sharing something so personal with me.”
“He was pretty awesome for an old badger. Thanks for listening.” There was nothing but gratitude on his face.
“Of course!” New energy surged through the before-shy man. His eyes roamed over the images on Gilbert’s arms, and a newfound spirit within him wanted to know every story that had been etched into that living skin. “What about that one?”
Without a care in the world, or a single look at the time, Gilbert told tale after tale of his tattoos at Matthew’s request. There was a scar from where he was cut taking down a pickpocket that he turned into a dagger. There was a constellation done by Antonio—they were best friends and had apprenticed together—although in a slight of judgment it was of Aquarius, Antonio’s zodiac sign. In return, Gilbert did one on him of Capricorn: Gilbert’s sign. There was a row of music notes singing Bach’s Suite No. 2 in B-minor winding down his forearm, the first classical piece he ever learned on the flute as a child. Every piercing he had was done by Francis, the only person he trusted with a needle near his face, and he even had matching tongue piercings with Francis and Antonio, which he didn’t hesitate to show Matthew when he asked.
There was seemingly Gilbert Beilschmidt’s entire autobiography on his body, and every anecdote fascinated Matthew. This was a man who lived—truly lived—and was proud to tell it. Before they knew it, nearly an hour had escaped them, and it was high time Matthew took his leave. Gilbert escorted him back to the lobby where an antsy Alfred was waiting.
“Dude! What took you so long?”
“We were just chatting. Sorry if I kept you waiting.” Alfred wasn’t fazed in the slightest, but, of course, he never really was.
“It’s cool! I took a little bit, too. There were tons of options, but check out the new digs.” He cupped his ears, showing off two little black orbs in his lobes. “Pretty cool, right?”
“They look nice! Did it hurt?”
Alfred shook his head. “Nah, took all of two minutes and bam! I’m a changed man!” His boisterous laugh filled the small area. “Anyway, I’m finished and paid for. Do you need to make another appointment or what? You really gonna do it?”
Matthew smiled sheepishly and rubbed his shoulder. “No, I changed my mind.” He turned to face Gilbert, who had been left standing in the doorway. “I really enjoyed our talk, though.”
Gilbert approached and offered up a business card. “Me too. If you’re ever interested for real, feel free to call.” Matthew happily accepted the card, but he was shocked to see another phone number and the message ‘or text ;)’ scribbled on the back. When he looked back up, Gilbert winked. A small blush crept up Matthew’s cheeks, and he hurried to leave the building and hide it.
“Thanks!” he called over his shoulder, pushing Alfred out in front. The last thing he saw before the door swung close behind them was Gilbert waving farewell with a mischievous smirk.
__________________
Almost a week had passed since his consultation, and he thought about the white-haired artist on the daily. During the span of a mere hour, Matthew had lived vicariously through Gilbert’s tattoos and piercings, experiencing a life that was fundamentally and atomically different from his own.
The workweek was over, and as Matthew stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, he was bitterly disappointed. He was so plain compared to Gilbert. Natural blond hair that had never seen a squirt of bleach or color, no pierced earlobe that might have hinted at a delinquent past, and a lack of staggering confidence and debonair assembled a meek and boring Matthew Williams. His fair skin was mockingly untainted— not a single scar from his sheltered childhood and cautious adulthood blemished him. His life felt as empty as his body, and a wistful urge dared him to leave a bruise. He couldn’t wait any longer: it was finally time to make a mark on life, rather than waiting for life to mark him.
Matthew didn’t bother calling the parlor; he went straight for Gilbert’s personal number.
Hi, it’s Matthew. Do you have any time slots for tomorrow?
Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for a response.
Hey! Good to hear from you
I’m available first thing in the morning, if that’s ok?
Yes, I’ll see you then! Thank you!
Sorry to bother you last minute.
No bother lol
See you tomorrow ;)
That silly little winky-face emoticon set Matthew’s heart aflutter. He told himself it was just his anxiety about making such an impulsive decision, but he knew that wasn’t the case. What he did know, however, was that no matter what happened tomorrow, he would not regret it.
__________________
“Good to see you back so soon.” Gilbert was beaming with energy, despite the early morning lull. He was dressed once more in a fitted black outfit, this time a tank top revealing laurel branches across his collar bones. His piercings hadn’t changed, but his silver hair was frosted a royal blue, contrasting his crimson eyes.
They were back in his office, and Matthew noticed a heavy black leather jacket hanging on the back of the chair. His mind entertained a sleek mental image of Gilbert coolly posed with the garment hanging off his broad shoulders, but he shook his head clear before he could get lost in thought.
Straight out the gate, Matthew stated, “I want you to ink me.”
The two hadn’t even had the chance to sit down yet. Gilbert leaned back on the desk, strong arms supporting his weight and ankles crossed.
“I figured as much, but why the sudden change of heart? I need to know if you really want this before we start.”
Matthew was adamant: “I do! I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I want you to tattoo me. It has to be you.”
Gilbert cocked his head to the side. “I believe you, but why me? Although, I’m not complaining.”
“Look at you!” exclaimed Matthew. “You’re covered in stories, and your life has been so exciting. Me? I’m just a blank canvas. I haven’t done anything worthwhile.” With a renewed resolve, he willed, “But I want to change that. I want a mark that inspires me. I want a mark that’ll mean something to me thirty years down the line. I want a mark that says ‘I’m living’.” His violet gaze burned. “And I want it from you.”
There was shocked silence. For a second, Matthew wondered if he had come on too strong, if his explanation only made him sound desperate and delusional, but then Gilbert nodded his head.
“I’d be honored if I could put a mark on you.”
Matthew sighed in relief. You already have, he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. This would be proof enough.
__________________
“Are you sure you don’t want to see it first?” It was just the two of them in the parlor. Neither Antonio nor Francis had yet arrived, and neither of them would for another hour. Arthur was absent, as well, and Matthew realized that Gilbert had opened up early for him.
“Positive. I trust you.” Matthew was sitting propped up, shoe off, foot on Gilbert’s thigh.
“Alright… I know you wanted an inconspicuous spot, but the ankle is really gonna hurt, especially for your first tattoo,” Gilbert warned for the umpteenth time.
“Your first one was your entire back! If you can do that, I can suffer a little ankle pain.”
Gilbert wouldn’t fight him any more. “Alright, alright. So final check: I have your explicit consent to permanently tattoo your body?”
“Yes.”
“Are you allergic to latex or have any medical conditions I should be aware of?”
“No and no.” Matthew was growing impatient. Any day now! He twitched at the sound of latex slapping against skin. When he glanced down at Gilbert, he couldn’t help but think that the black gloves looked great against his white skin.
“Can you feel this?” Matthew squinted to see Gilbert poking his foot. Oddly enough, the sensation was dull.
“Not really.”
“Okay, I think the numbing cream has set in. This won’t take long, but it’s still going to hurt. Did you eat this morning? No coffee?”
“Pancakes with maple syrup and a glass of orange juice—let’s go!”
“Yes, sir!” The machine whirred, and Gilbert dipped the needle into the ink. “I’m starting. Tell me if you need a break.”
Matthew rolled his eyes but then immediately shut them as itching pain shot through his foot. He squeezed the arm rests, leaving crescent-shaped indents with his fingernails. He did his best not to move his leg, but Gilbert was right. It hurt. He should’ve sedated me!
“You okay?”
Through gritted teeth, Matthew replied, “Fine.”
“Bear with me for a little bit. It’ll be over soon.”
Not soon enough! The tattoo artist’s hands were firm and gentle, steadying Matthew’s leg through the occasional tremble and working efficiently. Meanwhile, the poor blond clenched his jaw tight in discomfort, only breathing whenever the needle lifted from his skin. After what Matthew deemed was far too long, it was complete.
“Bad part’s over. You did awesome! Sit pretty for a little longer, and I’ll get you wrapped up and ready to go,” he promised while he cleared away his work station.
“I always sit pretty.” Matthew’s coy (and slightly dazed) remark prompted a red reaction from Gilbert. He cleared his throat and ignored the comment, although Matthew noted that he was clearly flustered.
But now, the anticipation was starting to take over. Matthew needed to know what Gilbert had chosen for him, what Gilbert had just put on him. Once his ankle was wiped and wrapped, he was finally able to see his new skin. Gilbert walked him over to the mirror, and he turned his leg in the final moment of truth.
He gasped.
Two little songbirds were flying along a wispy blue vapor trail. He saw their wings spread wide and flapping joyfully together, moving upwards with strength and determination.
“I wanted to give you some wings to help you fly towards your next adventure.”
Matthew stared at it for another second before moving his eyes to the man standing behind him. With tears, he whispered:
“It’s perfect.”
They smiled at each other through the mirror, savoring the sweet moment of two people sharing a minute of their lives together.
“I don’t know how to thank you—other than paying, of course. It’s just—“ he was stumbling over his tongue like a love-struck fool. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes shyly shifted around. “Um, if you’re serious about a thank you…”
Matthew turned around, interest piqued.
“I’d take a dinner. With you. Out. A dinner out—”
“A date?” How ironic it was for Gilbert to be a nervous wreck in his own tattoo parlor and for Matthew to be standing confidently inside it.
The usually-assured man audibly gulped and nodded. “If you’re interested, that is.”
Matthew took a step, closing the distance between them, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Very interested.”
He broke into a wide grin, the curl of the studs of his snake bites sending a different kind of shiver down Matthew’s spine. “Does tonight work?”
“I think I’m available first thing in the evening.”
Gilbert pulled him in by the waist, his arms flexing the dark lines that adorned them into a dance. He pressed an eager yet innocent kiss to his lips, which Matthew gladly reciprocated.
“I’ll see you tonight then, Birdie.”
And the blank canvas finally had its first splash of color.