Travis likes watching Mikey after, how he sinks down to the sheets on his back, eyes closed and mouth curved up in a broad, silly smile that means relaxed and happy and sated. His dick's soft against his thigh and wet at the tip and Travis kind of wants to touch it again, tease it, wrap his hand around it and stroke slow and tight while Mikey writhes and begs and swears he doesn't have any more to give.
He's feeling lazy right now, though, enough to override the temptation to make Mikey take it again. Instead he taps Mikey on the thigh and then curves his palm around the bony jut of his hip. "Turn over."
"Hmm?" Mikey blinks at him, squinting in the absence of his glasses. They're on the floor somewhere, off to the side of the bed probably, with their clothes. Travis hadn't paid a damn bit of attention on their way into the bedroom.
"On your stomach," he says, pushing at Mikey's hip. Mikey heaves a sigh and obediently rolls over, pushing his ass up in the air.
Travis smacks it lightly, then pushes down until Mikey's hips hit the bed. "You're like a dog in heat, Way."
"I figured you were asking."
"No." Travis shakes his head and reaches down under the bed, fishing through his box of random art supplies until he comes up with a marker. It's one of the extra-thick black Sharpies, the kind for making posters or something. He tugs the cap off with his teeth and shifts over to straddle Mikey's lower back, spitting the cap so it hits Mikey in the head.
"You're getting me all wet and sticky," Mikey says, wiggling under him. "Gross."
"More gross than when you had it in your mouth?"
"It wasn't cold then. What are you doing, anyway? Suffocating me to death?"
"Shh." Travis looks down at Mikey's back, the stretch of smooth pale skin. It's not unblemished, but it's unmarked, no tattoos or scars. A canvas. He sets the marker to Mikey's cervical vertebra and starts to draw.
Mikey makes a little noise, but it's not a protest, and so Travis keeps going. Lines and curves, patterns, work their way down Mikey's spine and then up, left and right, stretching for his ribcage. The ink blends and bleeds here and there, but the core of the image stays true. It's a dragon, curved and curled so it's dancing down Mikey's back, tail-tip and one wing-tip dipping off around his sides.
He finishes with his signature, lining it up across the right of Mikey's skinny little ass, and sits back to study his work.
"Can I see it?" Mikey asks, his voice low and sleepy.
"I'm impressed with how good you held still."
"My brother's drawn on me before. It's kinda soothing. Like meditation or whatever." Mikey turns his head a bit. "Can I see it?"
"Yeah." Travis grabs his Polaroid and gets a full-length shot, then a few close-ups, and scatters the photos across the pillows to develop. "Here I thought I was being all creative and your brother beat me to it."
"Well, he and I usually aren't naked at the time." Mikey rests his chin on his hands and studies the pictures as they blur in. "Wow. That's awesome. How long would it take me to get that tattooed for real?"
"A while." Travis stretches out next to him, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. "And it would hurt like a bitch."
"Mm." Mikey turns his head and smiles at him, eyes half-closed, and leans in to steal a proper kiss. "Maybe I'll just have you draw it for me again whenever I miss it."