Heathens Ink Box Set, page 89
“Cool. We’re doing this on your hip?”
I nod and bite down on my bottom lip while Owen starts tearing paper towels off the roll and stacking them neatly beside the rest of his supplies.
“I guess I should, uh…”
“Yeah, just shimmy your pants down as much as you need and then hop in the chair,” Owen says easily as he squirts baby pinks and blues into little plastic cups.
Shimmy my pants down a little, easy peasy. With trembling fingers, I unbutton my jeans and slip my fingers under my black briefs, working both down on just the one side. My packer jostles but stays in place like it should. Then I hop into the chair, proud of myself for getting through the first part. Now I just have to endure Owen’s hands on me while he works. Maybe this is the perfect time to put my plan into action. Operation: Seduce Owen, as Kyle has taken to calling it. I think that sounds way too official since my plan basically consists of trying to get him to see me as more than just Royal’s little brother. Well…I do have a little bit more of a plan than that, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to chicken out.
“Ready?” Owen asks, tugging on his blue nitrile gloves and rolling his stool forward.
“Ready,” I agree, taking a deep breath. “Is this spot going to hurt?”
Owen eyes my hip. “If you had some nice fat padding over your hip, it would be fine, but you’re skin and bones, kid, so it might be a bit rough.”
I take another breath, holding it and then letting it out slowly.
“Okay then, I’m ready.”
Owen places one hand on my hip, and I startle.
“Easy there, you’re lucky I didn’t start with the needle.”
“Sorry.”
“You okay? I figured you’d be an old pro at this by now with everyone trying to get their ink on you around here.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Just wired today, I guess. I drank a bucket of coffee when I woke up.”
“I bet.” Owen smiles and shakes his head. He makes quick work of shaving the spot smooth and then squirting the minty, antiseptic stuff on my skin. “Okay, needle this time, no flinching.”
I lean my head back and close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see Owen touching me, it’ll be easier. I can still remember how he looked when he did my owl tattoo: Strands of his hair hung around his face, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, tongue just barely peeking out between his teeth.
The buzz of the needle against my skin has a soothing effect. I fell asleep when Nox did my back; I think I could easily do the same right now if it weren’t for Owen’s presence. Every breath he exhales tickles against my skin and causes an ache between my legs. I know catching Owen’s eye that way is a pipe dream. In the five years I’ve known him, he’s dated countless men and women, and none of them held his interest, why should I be any different? That doesn’t stop me dreaming though.
“Okay?” Owen checks.
“I’m great,” I answer in a dreamy voice.
“Doesn’t hurt, I take it?”
“Maybe a little.” I shrug and open my eyes, my heart squeezing to see Owen exactly how I was picturing him, face screwed up in concentration. He wipes away some ink and blood droplets, and I wince a little. “The wiping is always worse than the needle,” I say, and he chuckles in agreement.
I close my eyes again and let the buzz and burn soothe me.
“I recognize that look of bliss. You’re going to end up inked from head to toe before you’ve had enough.”
“Quite possibly,” I agree. “At least I’ll fit in around here.”
Owen shrugs and glances up at me, his deep blue eyes an ocean I could easily drown in.
“Fitting in is overrated. Do what makes you happy, always.”
“Will do,” I agree with a solemn nod that morphs into a smirk after a few seconds.
We fall into a comfortable silence as Owen works, and as he predicted, the whole thing is finished in less than an hour.
“Do you need ointment, or do you still have some at home from your last tat?” Owen checks after I’m cleaned up and the bandage is applied.
“I think I need some. I can’t remember where I put the tube, might’ve gotten lost in the recent move.”
“Let’s get you hooked up with that then.”
Owen turns his back while I hop off the chair and get my pants back into place, a task made more difficult by trying not to dislodge the loose bandage. Then, he walks me up front.
He bends over to rummage under the counter, and my eyes roam shamelessly over his ass. I wonder what he looks like naked…god I bet it’s incredible. He has colorful ink on each arm, and I’ve caught a glimpse on his chest as well. How much of his body is covered in art? One of my fondest fantasies is to strip Owen slowly and trace each of his tattoos with my tongue. I start getting hard and having my sensitive areas rubbing against my packer isn’t helping either.
“Here we go.” Owen finds the ointment and holds it up triumphantly, and I’m glad for a change that my erections aren’t something anyone would be able to notice.
“Thanks.” I reach for the proffered tube and shove it into my pocket. “Um hey, I was wondering—”
“Do I get to see your new ink?” Dani interrupts, coming out of her work space near the front of the shop.
“Oh, um…yeah. Let’s go into your room though; I don’t want to take my pants down in the front of the shop.”
“You wouldn’t be the first one,” Dani jokes.
“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll see you later?” Owen asks, a question in his eyes as he waits for me to finish whatever I had been about to say before Dani burst in.
“Nothing else.” I’m such a chickenshit. “Thanks again; I’ll see you around.”
“Cool, later.”
I follow Dani to her space and show her my new ink and then give her what I owe for today and head out.
Royal, Nash, and Zade wanted to take me out for a birthday dinner tonight so I have a few hours to work on some of my images on my photo editor and then get ready to go out. If I’m lucky, I’ll even have time to grab a quick nap.
Chapter 3
Owen
My eyes linger on the door longer than they should after Liam walks out. For some reason, I still can’t shake the strange, electric moment I felt last night. I’d blame it on booze if I’d been drinking. And it’s been a good five years since I’ve touched anything harder, so that’s out too.
It’s more likely my loneliness addling my mind. Whatever it was, it caused my normal nightmares to be replaced by an uncomfortably arousing dream featuring Liam and Wyatt making out and stripping each other while I watched.
My cock thickens at the memory, and I force myself to tear my gaze away from the door and head back to my work space before anyone can see me watching Liam walk away with a growing hard-on and draw conclusions. Luckily, Royal and Nash aren’t in today; if either of them spotted that, I’d be lucky to walk away with my balls intact.
The dream likely had more to do with my extended celibacy streak than anything else. It’s not like I know Wyatt—even if he is cute—and Liam is just a kid, not someone I need to be looking at like that.
Back in my workspace, I clean up the ink cups and paper towel mess I made, trying not to remember the sweet blush on Liam’s face and down his neck as he lowered his pants. I wonder how far that blush extends under his clothes. No, I don’t; he’s a kid and Royal’s little brother at that, I scold myself.
Once my space is clean again, I check the schedule and see my next appointment should be in any minute. Thank fuck for that; the last thing I need is time alone with my thoughts when I’m in such a strange headspace.
I step into my dark apartment and kick off my shoes without bothering to turn the light on. The quiet is more chilling than it has any right to be. I’ve lived alone for five years—not counting the several months my friend Finn stayed here—I shouldn’t be disturbed by the quiet anymore.
A shiver runs up my spine as unwelcome memories threaten, pushing at the edges of my thoughts. Fuck, I wish I still popped pills. This shit was easier to bury when I was high.
Determined to outrun my thoughts, I head to my bedroom and change from my work clothes into a pair of basketball shorts and a fresh t-shirt, then I head back out. Anything is better than being in the unsettling silence, anything is better than letting the memories in, anything is better than going to my dark place.
My feet pound a rhythmic beat against the pavement, my pulse steadily drumming in my ears. I run until my sweat drenched t-shirt clings to my back and my lungs burn from the exertion. Only when I feel ready to drop on the spot do I turn in the direction of my apartment once again.
This time, I can’t hear the silence when I step inside because my heart is pounding too loudly, my breathing too harsh. I go straight to the bathroom and strip out of my sweaty clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. I avoid glancing in the mirror; when my demons are this close to the surface, I can’t bear it. I can’t look myself in the eye and know that I let her down the way I did. I can’t look in the mirror and risk catching a glimpse of my father looking back or seeing that terrified little boy still behind my eyes.
My gut clenches as my thoughts dance dangerously close to the dark place. My fists clench, and my muscles quiver to do something to expel the thoughts. There are enough patched holes in the walls from nights I couldn’t help myself, another won’t make me any more of a failure.
My phone dings from the floor where it ended up in the heap with my clothes. The distraction eases the fog of rage and self-loathing. I reach for my phone and find a message from Madden, one of the other tattoo artists at the shop. It’s a picture of his and Thane’s girls, three-year-old twins, Bella and Brooklyn, looking adorable covered in paint from head to toe. The caption reads budding artists.
The message manages to ease some of the tightness in my chest. I stare at the picture for a few more seconds before setting my phone down and hopping into the lukewarm shower.
For years, I was sure my soulmate was just around the corner—someone who could chase out the darkness with their light, someone who could soothe my soul and absolve my sins. I’ve had the time to realize that’s too much to put on any one person. If my soulmate is out there somewhere, I hope for their sake they never have the misfortune to cross my path.
God, I’m in an awfully sullen mood tonight. Normally, this is the kind of mood that sends me to the bar looking for a man or woman to distract me for a few hours, to ground me in the here and now instead of letting my thoughts drag me to the past. For some reason, in the last year, that way of coping has lost its appeal.
So here I am—no soulmate, no hook-ups, just me and my demons.
When I get out of the shower, I shoot a text to my friend, Finn. He’s one of the only people who knows my whole story. We met behind bars, and when you share an experience like that, there’s not much you won’t share.
Owen: I need to punch something, meet me at the gym?
Finn: I hope you mean a punching bag; I’m still rough from our last spar lol
Owen: Anything other than my wall is fine with me
Finn: Meet you there, man
Liam
I stroke my fingers through the soft fur of my German Shepherd, Fritz, who’s lying beside me on the couch. I tilt my head and smile at the way the image on my screen turned out. I got the idea for this slightly risqué series a few months ago and have been working hard to put it together ever since. Unfortunately, it’s more difficult than one would think to find a bunch of tattooed men to agree to be photographed mostly nude.
Half the tattooed men I know are my brothers, so that’s out without a doubt. I found a few subjects through friends and some by posting on the job board at the college. But the subject I really want is Owen. And not just because I want to get him naked in my bed. Okay, that’s maybe forty percent of the reason why. Mostly, it’s because his ink is perfection. He’s exactly what I had in mind when this series first called to me. I just need to work up the balls to ask him.
“Oh my god, you would not believe the day I had,” Kyle says as he steps through the front door of our apartment and kicks off his shoes. Fritz’s tail thumps lazily against the couch in greeting.
“Hey, buddy.” Kyle pats Fritz’s head and gives him a kiss on the snout.
“Do tell.” I pat the spot on the other side of me.
“Ooo, sexy picture. Who’s the hottie?” he asks, eyeing the image on my screen.
“His name is Tony. You know Beck’s friend Clay?” I say and Kyle nods. “It’s Clay’s husband Max’s brother. He’s got that nice, olive toned Italian skin that made his ink look incredible on film.”
“Did you happen to save his number after you paid him and sent him on his merry way?” he asks, eyes still glued to the screen.
“I have his number, but he’s straight as an arrow. Trust me, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Shame,” Kyle sighs and finally tears his gaze from the image.
“You were saying about your day?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m thinking about quitting. I can’t deal with my homophobic boss anymore. He doesn’t care that my marketing plan has doubled his business; he’s too busy fixating on the fact that I like to wear makeup.”
“So quit. Fuck him if he’s going to be like that. That shit is exactly why I work for myself. Not that I get misgendered much anymore, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“That’s understandable.” Kyle pats my leg and then sighs. “Guess I’d better start looking for a new job this weekend.”
“Why don’t you do some freelance marketing consulting in the meantime? You could stop in to some of the small businesses and offer your services to boost their business? Your marketing got me a ton of business; I’d be happy to do an endorsement for you.”
Kyle’s eyes light up. “That might not be the worst idea. I’ll think about that.”
“If you need anything like images for a website, let me know.”
“Will do.” He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving me sticky from his lip gloss. Then he gets up and heads down to his bedroom.
I shake my head and close my laptop. You’d think by now people would’ve gotten past their small minded bigotry. Maybe one day.
I spent a lot more time editing my photos than I’d planned. Now, I have to haul ass getting ready before my brothers get here. The last of my hangover has faded throughout the day, which I’m grateful for because I’m sure I’ll hear all about what a drunk mess I was last night, and I’d rather not be hungover for that.
In the bathroom, I turn on the shower and strip out of my clothes, tossing them into the hamper. I set my packer on the counter and take a moment to appreciate having Kyle as a roommate. I can’t even imagine how anxious I would feel if I didn’t trust the person I was living with as much as I trust Kyle.
While I wait for the shower to heat up, I run my hands through the hair on my chest and smile. It took a while to fully come in, just a few stray hairs for ages, but now it’s a respectable thickness. The scars from my top surgery three years ago now have nearly faded and are just about invisible among the hair. My body isn’t everything I wish it would be, but my therapist has helped me to focus on the parts I do like rather than dwelling too much on the things that aren’t quite there yet. No one is one hundred percent happy with their body, right?
I peel the bandage off my new tattoo and rinse the seepage away gently with cool water from the sink. I hiss through my teeth at the tender sting. Totally worth it though.
When steam starts to cloud the mirror, I step into the shower and sigh as the hot water cascades over me. I angle my body so a minimal amount of water touches my new tattoo, but every droplet burns the sensitive area. At least it’s better than the one covering my whole back. I couldn’t shower for a week.
I grab the body wash and chuckle at the tagline on the bottle declaring that this soap will make me smell like a man. Pretty sure it’s my T shots that did that, but whatever.
Once I’m squeaky clean, I hop out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. With my packer in hand, I peek out the door to make sure Kyle isn’t standing right there or anything. Kyle’s cool, but it would still be kind of weird to walk past him with my dick in my hand.
Kyle let me borrow his car earlier to meet with Wyatt and to go to Heathens, and Royal said he’d drop my car back over when they come to pick me up for dinner. I find a missed text from Nash telling me they’re on their way over so I towel myself off quickly and haphazardly pull on some clothes. Kyle would probably faint if he saw me throwing on clothes without even stopping to look at what I’ve grabbed. We can’t all be as fabulous and fashionable as he is.
Once my red briefs are on, I slip my packer into place and then absently run my hand over the bulge, shivering with delight at the feeling I never get tired of.
The sound of the front door opening has me tugging my pants on quickly.
“Running a few minutes behind guys, make yourself at home,” I call out.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Zade calls back. I chuckle and shake my head.
I swear I hit the jackpot when I found those guys. After my dad discovered I was trans, I found myself at sixteen years old with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Then I remembered the brother I’d never met from my father’s first marriage. With no other options, and twenty dollars in my pocket, I went to the only place I thought I might find him—Rainbow House. I’d seen pictures and information about RH all over Royal’s Facebook page when I’d looked him up out of curiosity, and luckily the place was easy to hunt down. When I walked through the door of the LGBT halfway house, I was greeted by Nash. As soon as I mentioned Royal, Nash took me to their home to meet my brother. I was astounded it was so easy, a big part of me thinking searching him out was a long shot. Royal didn’t hesitate for a second to take me in, going through the process to get legal guardianship of me. I always thought it was fate’s way of making up for the shit hand I’d been dealt up to that point. I don’t know where I’d be without my brothers, but it wouldn’t be anywhere good.
