Work Text:
“Ugh…” Apollo just woke up face-first on his couch. He isn't hungover, thank God, but he feels like shit. Clay is already up in his boxers and a Star Wars tee, drinking a red bull. “Mornin’, how do you feel?”
Apollo checks his phone, it's 3:23 PM, he almost panics until he remembers today is Sunday.
“I feel bleh… like I haven't showered in a week and ate nothing but junk food, even though that's not true.”
“How is your ass?” Clay asks, nonchalantly.
Apollo freezes, noticing the soreness. “What?” The gears begin to turn in his head. “…Was I in some dude’s bed?!”
“... Apollo, you weren't that drunk, were you?”
Then, the fog cleared.
Apollo leaps off the couch, and runs to the bathroom, almost tripping on his own feet.
“CLAAAAY!” He calls loudly while looking in the mirror with his pants off. “CLAY! What the FUCK?!”
Clay yells through the door. “YOU DIDN'T LET ME TALK YOU OUT OF IT!”
–
“Truust me Clay, I've never been this sure about this kinda thing!” Apollo slurred, trying to reassure his best friend while cheerfully hopping his way to the local parlor.
“...Okay bud, uh…” Clay, stammered, not due to the alcohol, he wasn't drunk. Despite being lightweight and Apollo being heavyweight, Clay had carefully cradled his beer while Apollo took 3 shots and a vodka soda to celebrate his soon college graduation. Apollo was only tipsy, still drunk enough to be too cheerful and make odd decisions.
The tattoo shop was across the street and about 5 blocks away. While they were waiting for traffic to come to a halt, Clay tried to talk sense into him.
“So, why a dragon? Why not something a bit more meaningful?”
Apollo was always apprehensive to the idea of tattoos and piercings, not because he didn't like them, but he was worried about losing employment opportunities or having something he regrets permanently on his body.
“It's not just a dragon!” He protested using his cords of steel. “A defiant dragon!” He showed Clay the drawing he sloppily sketched. “Like the one dad and ‘Yuta had on their hand!” Suddenly, Clay understood.
“Wa– wait!” Apollo grabbed his wrist and started to sped walk across the street with him. “Are you sure you want a foreign gang symbol on you, forever?!”
“IT'S NOT A GANG SYMBOL!” Apollo turned back and shouted at him, face red and eyes a little glossy. They stopped when they got to the other side. “They aren't gang members! They- they're FAMILY!”
Clay panicked, holding Apollo by the shoulders gently but firm. “Nonono! That's not what I– …Apollo.” He gave him a serious look. “You're right, they aren't… But, the world that knows about them thinks they are.” He reasoned.
Clay grabbed Apollo’s hand and grazed the top of it. “Are you sure you want this on your hand?”
Apollo stared at him for what felt like forever, before he answered, solemnly. “No, I don't want it on my hand.”
Clay breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, in that case–”
“I need it somewhere else!” Apollo yanked Clay onwards.
“Oh God dammit…” Clay winced. Although he can try all he'd like, Clay can't talk tipsy Apollo out of anything he's 100% about. “Where else could you put the symbol?”
Apollo hummed in thought, slowing down a little and allowing Clay to way by his side. “Employers don't look at your butt… without clothes on ‘em anyways.”
“You're gonna get a tramp-stamp!?”
“No!” Apollo yelled, like he was surprised Clay suggested such a thing. “If I bend over with a tight shirt on, it might show!”
“Okay…”
“I'm putting it low on the left cheek.”
Clay choked on his own spit. “Apollo!”
“What?” Apollo looked at him like Apollo just said the normal-est thing ever. They stopped right in front of the tattoo parlor.
“Hey! Uh, I think this place does piercings too! Why don't we get dragon earring instead? Butt tattoos hurt a lot more anyways!”
“No! I don't want earrings.” Apollo whines, pulling open the parlor doors.
Clay ended up finding an image of the legitimate symbol on Google and showing the artist that after they tilted their head in confusion at Apollo's scribbles. (Un)Fortunately, Apollo acted and sounded sober enough to the artist for them to agree to a… butt tattoo.
–
Apollo sits on the toilet, pants down to his ankles with his boxers now pulled up, head in his hands. Clay sits on the ground in front of him. In complete silence. Apollo’s head stays in his hands, his voice muffles. “…Clay?”
“Yeah?” Clay looks up at him.
Apollo lazily drops his hands. “Thank you.”
“Why?”
“For not letting me get it on my hand.” He rests his chin on his palm. “I would've had to get it removed or have to cover it up.”
“But–”
Apollo pulls his pants up “There was one thing drunk me was right about, not like too many people are gonna be looking there… and I don't plan on a long term relationship.”
–
…A few years later…
Apollo enters his boyfriend's apartment, just getting back from work. He hears him call out. “Herrrrr forehead!” The voice comes from the bathroom, with the door wide open. “Klav?” Apollo peaks around the corner.
“Care to join me for a bath, Schatz?” The fruity, German flop relaxes in a bubble bath with lit candles. Like a cheesy romance movie.
Apollo blushes at the request. “Ah– uhm, well…” They have never been bare around each other.
“You don't have to if you don't want to.” Klavier reassures. “I'm sorry I–”
“N– no! I'm fine!
Klavier flinches. “Sweetheart, you don't have to shout.”
“Oh, s– sorry. I'm just… nervous.” Apollo fiddles with his bracelet. “I've never, uh, I’ve only had casual… and one night stands.”
“Ah! No no! I'm not asking for that! I just… want to…”
“Oh! My, my bad!”
Klavier flinches at his voice, again, but this time he starts giggling. “But, either way, don't feel obligated.”
Apollo closes the door to Klavier’s bathroom and begins to undress himself. Unbuttoning his vest first, then his undershirt, folding them both on the counter. Klavier moves over closest to him, goggling his chest. “Oh, how tables have turned. Inspecting me like the ladies do you, huh?”
Klavier gives him a confused look before catching on. “Oh, don't worry Schatz, just returning the favor.” Apollo rolls his eyes, he takes off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door and starts to undo his pants, taking his boxers with them. He folds them and turns around to place them next to his folded tops.
Apollo laughs with his voice cracking a little, watching Klavier stare at his behind in the mirror. “Does something catch your eye?”
“You have a… tattoo?” The realization hits Apollo like a truck.
All Apollo could think was...
"God. Fucking. Dammit."