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Summary
It was a weird realisation to come to, that some random tattoo artist would turn out to be Barty's best fuck.
But his best fuck he was.
And damn, had it been good.
“I need a new rule. No sex in the chair or I’m gonna repeat that.” Evan mumbled.
“Aww, but I wanted to come back just for the tattoo aftercare.” Barty sneered as he tried to compose himself, but his voice shook slightly as he spoke. He was still a bit overwhelmed.
OR
Barty is a rockstar who gets a new tattoo for every album release he does and Evan is a tattoo artist who he pays to do that tattoo, and they both end up with a mess of feelings that they need to figure out