Chapter 1: Inkling
Nasir was more nervous than he cared to admit even to himself as he stepped into the tattoo shop, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thump.
The first time he went in here he had been surprised by how nice and welcoming it looked. The walls were painted a deep purple and scattered over them sat a myriad of small, framed pictures of tattoos and sketches accompanied by some canvases in vibrant colours. There were two black couches in one corner and a pile of tattoo magazines on a small table in front of them. Off to the left were the tattoo station, a wall with only a doorway and no door separating it from the rest of the area. Music was blaring from two speakers sitting high up on opposite walls, something with lots of guitar riffs and pounding drums that Nasir had no idea what it was. There was no one behind the disk, though. He checked his watch. 10 a.m. Right on time.
Nasir looked up to see a man in the doorway to a room to the right and all thoughts and nervousness alike were instantly wiped from his mind. The man was dressed in nothing but a pair of ripped off jeans, rolled up to show most of his gorgeous, bulging thighs, and tight enough to leave virtually nothing to the imagination. Not to mention low enough to make Nasir suspect he wore no underwear underneath. His equally muscular torso – fuck, Nasir just wanted to move over and feel those abs, preferably with his tongue – was stained with flecks of venomous green paint and gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. He held a roller in one hand and there was more green paint in his hair. A big part of his body – arms, one leg, one side and one pectoral – was covered with tattoos in black and grey.
“H…” He cleared his throat, trying to hide his flaming cheeks behind long tendrils of hair, and tried again. “Hi.”
“So, I’m guessing you’re here for a tattoo?”
Nasir swallowed and said “Yeah” even as he contemplating turning around and making a run for it. He couldn’t let this man tattoo him. He was pretty sure he would come in his pants if he so much as touched him.
He cleared his throat again. “You’re not the guy I made the appointment with.”
“No, that was my brother. He’s the tattooist – I’m just here to help him paint.” He spread his arms to indicate his paint-stained body. “He will be along any minute – he’s just running a bit late. There was something involving my niece, a jar of jam and the ceiling.” He grinned, and Nasir’s heart practically stopped. There had to be some law against this. It couldn’t possibly be good to have all of your senses accosted by gorgeous, half-naked, paint-specked, green-eyed giants right before getting a tattoo.
Nasir realised had kept talking first when he noticed that he was looking expectantly at him.
“Do you want anything to drink? Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” It was way too hot for coffee. Nasir hadn’t checked the thermostat before going outside, but it was well over 85 degrees. He couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over the guy’s body once again. Probably over 100 degrees in here.
“Something else then? There’s soda and iced tea and maybe some lemonade.”
Iced tea? Lemonade? What kind of tattoo place had iced tea and lemonade? Nasir would have been less surprised if he’d been offered a beer or Jack Daniels.
“Some iced tea would be great.”
“Okay. Just sit down and I’ll get it for you.” He disappeared further back into the tattoo shop.
Nasir sat down in one of the two black couches, the fake leather creaking a little under him.
The guy was back quickly, with a tall glass filled with ice and amber liquid in each hand. He handed one to Nasir and flopped down beside him, far to close for it to be good for Nasir’s sanity.
“Gratitude,” Nasir said.
He smelled of sweat and paint and cologne and something else and Nasir wanted nothing more than to lean over and press his lips against that ragged scar over his collarbone to find out if he tasted as good as he looked.
What the fuck was going on with him today? Nasir didn’t get this instantly attracted – for him attraction was something that usually built up over time as he got to know the person in question. It didn’t just run him over like a freight train.
“I’m Agron by the way.”
Before Nasir had a chance to react, his hand was caught up in the other man’s big warm one and enthusiastically pumped up and down a couple of times before released.
“Nasir.” He held on a second too long before he pulled away, blushing, and took a sip of his iced tea in a vain attempt to cool himself off.
“Is this your first tat?”
“Yup.” The trepidation suddenly returned in full force, but at least it gave him something else to focus on than the sweaty, smiling god next to him.
“Are you nervous?”
“Little bit, yeah.”
“Where are you doing it?”
“On my arm.” Nasir held out his right arm unnecessarily.
“Piece of cake,” Agron said, showing off one of his own heavily inked arms.
Without really meaning to, Nasir closed his fingers around Agron’s wrist, studying the ink. He had always loved tattoos, and Agron’s were amazing. He had a half-sleeve reaching from wrist to elbow – torn skin showing off the part organic, part mechanic musculature beneath in wonderful detail. A bit clichéd maybe, but it was such an exquisite work that it didn’t matter in the least. Above the elbow were three portraits – first a man that Nasir recognised as the tattooist and then two women. A long line of text in something Nasir guessed was German snaked it’s way around and between the portraits.
“Your siblings?” he guessed and Agron nodded. He turned his arm over a little to show Nasir the inside of his arm, where four black paw prints climbed their way up to his armpit.
“Wolf prints,” Agron said. He turned a little, giving Nasir his other arm and Nasir was already tracing the black outline of the skull on the inside of his wrist with a fingertip when he realised what he was doing. He had Agron’s arms in his lap, warm against him even through his jeans.
He looked up, but that was a mistake, because then he was staring right into startlingly green eyes and he could feel his heart thumping heavily in his chest. Tattooing nerves. Nothing else.
He opened his mouth, maybe to say something, maybe to start kissing Agron and never stop, when – thankfully – the door bust open and Nasir’s lap was suddenly empty of tattooed, muscled arms.
“I’m so fucking sorry I’m late, man.” Duro rushed into the studio, putting down a take-away coffee and a sketching pad on the disk. “My daughter just thought this morning a perfectly good time to go Jackson Pollock on our ceiling. With jam. I’m still not sure how she managed it. She’s three,” he added, already on his way into the other room. “I hope Agron has taken good care of you,” he called back.
“I gave him iced tea and told him that arms are easy peasy and doesn’t hurt at all,” Agron called back.
Duro came back, holding some papers in one hand. “When I did your left arm you were almost crying at the end.”
Agron looked terribly offended.
Duro sat down on the coffee table in front of Nasir, handing him the sketch.
“This is what I drew up for you.”
Nasir looked at the drawing with a sense of awe. It was perfect – all that he’d asked for and more.
He had wanted something special to celebrate him finally having had the guts to quit his day job and focus solely on his art, and had decided on a tattoo because it was a big thing to do and because he’d always wanted one. He had walked into the tattoo shop with a not quite clear idea in his head, hoping he’d chosen the right artist to make it flesh.
“I want brushes and a camera and maybe a pen, and a palette and film – you know, analogue camera film – and paint splatter all around it, in full colour…” He’d drawn a few sketches himself, too, just to give the tattooist a hint about exactly what he had on his mind.
Duro has surpassed all his expectations.
The centrepiece was two crossed brushes – one with the strands facing upwards and the other downwards. From the first one a thick, swirly line, curving around the top of the tattoo, emerged as if it was right in the middle of drawing it. The other was dripping paint that cascaded down into a wave. Around it was paint-splatter, framing the camera and pen and palette Nasir had asked for. The back of the camera was open, the film spilling out and swirling around the other objects. The palette was dripping paint.
Nasir was speechless.
“Do you like it?” Duro asked.
“Fuck, yes! It’s amazing.”
“Nice piece, brother,” Agron said and Nasir was suddenly aware of how close he was, leaning over his shoulder to get a good look at the sketch. Nasir unconsciously turned his head a little towards him and inhaled, blushing furiously as he realised what he’d just done, hoping that no one noticed.
“So, what’s the story behind it?” Agron asked without moving back the slightest as he looked at Nasir. His open, beautiful face was so close and it made it so fucking hard to think.
Nasir’s tongue went out to wet his dry lips. “I just quit my job to work full time with my art,” he said. “I’ve got a book coming out in about six months and a pretty big exhibition to promote it.”
“That’s so cool,” Agron said, leaning, if possibly, even closer. “So you both shoot and paint?”
“Yeah,” Nasir said, considering backing up and deciding against. Agron’s wonderful arm was pressed against his, and it felt good. Very good. “And write, a little.”
“That’s awesome,” Agron said. “I couldn’t be creative if my life depended on it. The closest I get to art is helping Duro paint his fucking walls.” His eyes widened. “Not that I mean to diminish your art by comparing it to painting walls! I just…”
Nasir laughed. Gods, was that man endearing while flustered. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve managed to get that paint stain on your cheek looking really artistic, for one claiming to lack creative talent, I have to say.”
Agron’s hand immediately went to his cheek and he smiled again. “So, now that you’ve seen some of my artwork, I think it’s only fair I get to see something of yours,” he said.
Nasir’s heart sped up even more. Agron was flirting with him, wasn’t he? He didn’t want to read the signals wrong. It had happened more than once that he had thought a guy was flirting with him only to make him all flustered and going through the I’m-really-flattered-but-you’re-not-really-my-type-if-you-know-what-I-mean-even-though-I’m-sure-you’re-a-great-guy-speech as if his life depended on it once Nasir responded.
He had a hard time reading people. He knew and could read every curve and plane and shadow that made up a person’s face – it was putting all those components together in any other way than on paper that was his problem. But this he couldn’t possibly be mistaken about, could he? Agron was practically crawling into his lap.
“Well, the exhibition will probably open in about six months. I’ll send you an invitation.”
“Aw, come on. That’s like a whole lifetime!”
He was pouting – gods, this gigantic, gorgeous man was pouting and Nasir had no idea how to handle that.
“Maybe I can arrange I private showing of some sort.”
A mischievous glint in those green eyes. “Define ‘private’.”
“Okay!” Duro’s voice startled Nasir into all of a sudden remembering his existence. “Are you happy with the sketch? Anything you want to change?”
He looked away from Agron to his brother, blinking a few times before looking down at the paper again. “No. It’s perfect.”
“Just give me a sec to sterilize and prep the work space and then we’ll begin.”
It took a little while before Duro called him in. When Nasir got up and went into the tattoo station, Agron followed him.
Duro raised his eyebrows when he saw him. “Don’t you have walls to paint?”
“If you want to boss me around, you’re going to have to pay me,” Agron said.
“Go paint the walls or I’ll reveal all your ticklish places to Liesel.”
Agron glared and stomped away.
“I take it Liesel is your daughter?” Nasir asked, smiling.
“Yup. And she’s got her uncle wound thoroughly around her little finger. Sit down.” He indicated the chair, the right armrest covered with cling-wrap. “I hope my brother didn’t have time to get on your nerves too much.”
“No, he was very nice. Brought me iced tea and everything,” Nasir assured him.
“Good. Now, let’s get this on you so we can start inking.” He put on a pair of plastic gloves and sprayed some sort of liquid over Nasir’s arm and pressed the stencil against it before removing the paper carefully. He regarded it critically for a moment before grabbing a pen from the table and drawing a few lines directly on Nasir’s skin.
“There. Go look in the mirror. Is the placement good?”
Nasir studied the purple lines running down from the top of his arm to the fold of his elbow, trying to imagine how it would look when done, the exhilaration currently winning the battle of emotions inside him.
“Yes,” he said and sat down again.
“Good,” Duro said.
He started preparing his workspace and Nasir watched in fascination.
He first took a plastic bag from a roll on the shelf beneath the table and cut a hole in one corner before putting a spray bottle inside it, the nuzzle peaking out of the hole. Then he placed a white tissue on the table and squirted a large amount of vaseline on it. He put out a row of small cups beside it, before taking out a bottle filled with black ink, putting his thumb over the cap and shaking it, and pouring a small amount into one of the cups. He brought out a couple of plastic packages from two different cartons and then picked up the machine.
Nasir’s nervousness was suddenly back with a vengeance. That thing looked… primitive, not to mention rather crudely assembled. It had rubber bands wrapped around it, for fuck’s sake! And then Duro got the needle out of its package and Nasir’s eyes widened slightly. Gods, that was one hell of a long needle. Sure, he got that the whole of it wouldn’t go into is arm – it would go right through it – but still.
Duro grinned at him. “Starting to regret it even before we’ve begun?”
“No,” Nasir said. “But that’s one monstrous needle.”
“This?” Duro’s smile widened. “This is a precision needle, for the outlines. Just wait until I bring out the bug pin.”
“Hey,” Agron said, showing up in the doorway again. “Be nice on him. You weren’t that cocky when you got your first tat either.”
Duro glared at his brother over his shoulder before turning back to Nasir and swabbing off his arm with disinfectant.
“Want to hear about Agron’s first tat?” he asked, starting the machine. The buzzing sound filled the room and Nasir could almost feel himself shiver with some weird mix of anticipation and fear.
“Please,” he said as Duro started to fiddle with something on the power supply.
“I’m still a little bummed that I didn’t get to do his first,” Duro said, “but at least it was a fun spectacle to watch.”
“Our cousin Saxa is a tattooist too – she’s moving here and I told her she could work in my shop, that’s why Agron’s painting that room. She’s crazy good.”
“And just plain crazy too,” Agron added.
“She was just starting out and in need of some skin to practice on and Agron volunteered.” Duro pulled off his gloves again and replaced them with a new pair, and swabbed off Nasir’s arm again, before smearing it with vaseline. “Are you ready?”
Nasir took a deep breath and nodded.
“Good. Just tell me if you need a break.” And with that Duro put both his hands on Nasir’s arm, stretching the skin, and put the needle against the bottom of the tattoo-to-be.
Nasir’s first thought was, I’m never getting another tattoo.
The pain was sharp and kind of warm, and he could feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat after only a few strokes. Was he going to spend six hours like this?
Then Agron was crouching before him, one warm hand resting on his knee. “It gets better,” he said, all sympathy, “once your endorphins kick in.”
“So, anyway,” Duro said, picking up his story, probably to distract Nasir from the pain, “somehow Saxa managed to talk Agron into getting a tribal on his hip. Hips are a bit awkward to tattoo, especially when you’re dealing with clean, straight lines and lots of solid black. And also, it’s rather painful for the subject. It took maybe five minutes before Agron was writhing and whimpering on the table, cursing Saxa and the gods to hell. He didn’t stop until she threatened to duct tape him to the table.” Duro laughed. “If Saxa tells you that she will duct tape you to the table if you don’t hold still, she will duct tape you to the table if you don’t hold still. Needless to say, he held still. And the tat turned out pretty nice, even though I’m not a big fan of tribals myself.”
Agron was standing up again, dazzling Nasir with his smile. “Wanna see it?”
Yes! “Um, I…”
“Agron!” Duro’s voice was sharp. “Stop molesting my customer and go paint the fucking walls.”
Agron glowered. “I’m not molesting him.” He turned to Nasir, green eyes wide and earnest. “Am I molesting you?”
“Agron, get the hell out of here before I fuck this man’s arm up for good and hold you responsible for it.”
“I’m sorry,” Duro said when Agron had stormed off again. “I don’t know what’s with him today. Is it getting any better?”
“Yes.” It was – the pain hadn’t exactly diminished, but it felt like he was starting to get used to it. It was weird; every time Duro removed the needle from him to wipe off his skin or dip it into the ink, he almost missed the pain, the feeling of having the sharp point pressed into his skin. He said so out loud.
“Yep,” Duro said. “This shit is dangerously addictive. Just look at my brother and me.” He spread his arms to indicate his own skin, more heavily tattooed even than Agron’s, the ink reaching not only down over his entire arms but up over his neck as well, before grabbing a clean tissue, spraying disinfectant on it and wiping Nasir’s arm off once again. It came away red-black with blood and ink.
The time passed surprisingly quickly. Duro was very talkative, both asking questions about Nasir and his motivation for getting the tattoo and telling him entertaining tales about him and Agron and even some about his daughter. He had a portrait on the inside of his lower arm that Nasir guessed was her, a lovely dark-haired girl that had her father’s eyes.
“Open mind for a different view, aaaand nothing elseee maaatteeers!” Agron suddenly started to sing along to the track that was playing, his strong, very false voice carrying throughout the tattoo shop.
“Never cared for what they dooooo, never cared for what they knoooooow! But I knooooow!”
Duro sighed heavily. “That’s fucking great, Agron – Nasir here surely isn’t in enough pain as it is!” he called out.
Nasir was starting to wonder if Agron’s only volume was ten.
“Forever trusting who we are, and nothing elseee maaatteers!”
Duro rolled his eyes, before trying another tactic. “Ag, could you go get Nasir a soda? He’s looking a little pale again.”
Agron was there in three seconds, four cans in his hands.
“Coke? Sprite? Fanta? Fanta Exotic?”
“No one wants Fanta Exotic but you, Agron,” Duro muttered.
“Sprite, thank you,” Nasir said.
Agron put down the other three cans on the drawing table and opened the Sprite. “Wait, I’ll just get you a straw so it’ll be easier to drink.” And he was rushing off again and returned with a pink straw in the can.
Agron was leaning over Duro’s shoulder, checking out the half-finished tattoo. “Looking good, brother.”
Nasir shifted a little in his seat, carefully, twisting his neck in a vain attempt to get the strands straying from his ponytail out of his face.
“Getting uncomfortable?” Duro asked without looking up from Nasir’s arm.
“My hair’s in my face,” Nasir said. It didn’t matter how he put it up or braided it, his bangs always somehow managed to escape and hang into his eyes.
“I’ll fix it!” Agron volunteered and before Nasir could say anything, the tie was removed and his hair cascading down over his shoulders, Agron’s fingers combing through it.
Duro shot his brother a look Nasir couldn’t read.
Agron was surprisingly gentle as he gathered up Nasir’s hair, careful to get every last strand, his finger’s smoothing it away from first his face and then his neck. It felt extremely intimate, and it took Nasir’s mind off the pain completely, instead filling it with images of Agron grabbing on to his hair as they were fucking, finger’s raking roughly through it, tugging, and…
Agron wrapped the tie around the ponytail. “There you go.” His fingers slid through Nasir’s hair one last time as he let go of it.
“Thank you.” Nasir hoped that no one else noticed the slight edge of breathlessness to his voice. This was silly. You didn’t get aroused from having a guy doing up your hair, no matter how hot he was. And especially not while his brother was pressing a needle into your arm.
“Don’t mention it. You have lovely hair.”
“Thanks.” Had he just said some kind of variant of ‘thank you’ four times in a row? Way to go to make yourself look like an complete idiot, Nasir.
Agron smiled at him, and it wasn’t his dimpled, sexy-as-fuck, mega-watt smile, but something softer, more intimate, and Nasir could feel himself mirror it.
“So,” Duro said, breaking the moment, “outlines and shading all done! Ready for some colour?”
Again the pre-tattooing ritual, only somewhat mutated this time. The other cups were filled with ink in various colours – baby blue, purple, violet, yellow, cerise, neon green, brown, white, orange. Nasir couldn’t believe that all that would go into the skin of his arm. Duro brought out a new tube and needle, reassembling the machine, and started all over again to fiddle with the power supply.
“Ag, get me a cup of water, would you?”
As Agron did so, Duro exchanged his gloves for a new pair and worked some vaseline into Nasir’s arm.
Agron returned and put down the water-filled cup on the table.
“Ready to go again?”
This time Agron stayed, leaning against the wall, his eyes flickering between watching his brother at work and Nasir’s face.
“You’re doing so good,” he said after a long while. Nasir had no idea how long. Time seemed almost suspended in here, especially when they were all silent and the hypnotic buzzing of the machine was the only thing that could be heard. “It’s a big piece and you’re sitting like a rock.” He sounded impressed.
Nasir laughed softly. “Well, I have to confess I’m feeling rather shaky.” His endorphins were starting to give up on him and the pain felt sharper with every movement of the needle.
“Just another hour to go,” Duro said after another long while. Agron had disappeared, back to his painting. Nasir could hear him whistle along to the music.
Duro laughed at the relief in his voice. “Really.”
“It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Nasir mused out loud. “At least not most of the time.”
“It kind of hits you bad occasionally, though, doesn’t it?” Duro said.
“At least you’re quiet. I had a guy in here last week doing his skull and I think he told me to fuck off and die about twenty times before we were done. But the skull is pretty bad. Never done it myself and probably never will.”
“I’m not feeling especially tempted either,” Nasir said.
“Good,” Duro said. “Or you’ll have to get rid of all that lovely hair and that would make my brother very distressed.” Maybe he felt Nasir tense because he quickly added, “Have no idea why I said that. Sorry.”
“No need to apologise.”
Duro rinsed the needle and tube in the water cup to rid it of the purple pigment he had been using, before wiping it off on the tissue in his hand several times and filling it with cerise ink.
“He is single,” he said, the by now familiar pain coursing through Nasir’s arm as he put the needle back against his skin.
Nasir turned his head to look at him, but Duro was utterly and completely focused on the tattoo, and Nasir wondered if he’d maybe imagined his words. Why would Duro try to get his brother together with some random guy that walked into his shop?
The last hour passed mostly in silence, Duro working fast to get the last colouring and details done as quickly as possible. He knew how painful the end of a long tattoo session was, when you had been sitting still for hours and your skin was worked raw.
Then Duro finally put the machine down, grabbing a new tissue from the pile and sprayed it with disinfectant before carefully swiping the tattoo off.
Nasir breathed out. Finally.
Duro was studying the tattoo critically, turning Nasir’s arm a little to see it from all angles. He picked up the machine again and Nasir almost groaned.
“Just some last touching up,” Duro smiled, guessing Nasir’s thoughts.
He started working again, in small, sharp strokes that felt like streaks of fire in Nasir’s abused skin.
He released a sigh of relief as Duro at last put the machine down again, wiped the tattoo off, smeared it with vaseline and told Nasir to go look in the mirror.
It was with bated breath that he got up from the chair and moved over to the mirror, turning slightly to get his arm in full view.
Even with his skin red and swollen beneath the tattoo and some blood still trickling through in places and discolouring it, it was a masterpiece. Sure, Nasir had only a rudimentary grasp on the tattooing art, but he even he could see how clean and straight the lines were – most people couldn’t produce a line like that on paper with a pen, no less on living skin with a vibrating needle. The colours were vibrant and perfect, the shading immaculate, and Nasir couldn’t quite believe that that amazing, beautiful thing would adorn his arm for the rest of his life. It looked so alive – as if his would be able to feel the soft strands of the brushes or the sleekness of the film or get his fingers stained with paint if he touched them to the tattoo.
“It’s…” He had no words, instead opting for shaking his head in disbelief and smiling. “Thank you so much. It’s just… it’s exactly what I wanted.”
“I’m glad. Come here so I can tape you up.”
“Is it done?” Agron yelled from the other room.
“Yes!” Duro called back, bringing out a roll of cling-wrap and measuring out a large piece of it before tearing it off.
Agron showed up again, with even more paint stains decorating his body this time. Nasir wondered if he’d managed to get anything on the walls at all.
Agron grasped his arm gently, holding it out from Nasir’s body to properly see the tattoo.
“Wow,” he said. “You outdid yourself, brother.”
Even though Agron’s fingers weren’t even close to the inked area, they caused an electric charge to shoot through Nasir’s oversensitive skin and goosebumps breaking out all over it.
“You’re not going into some kind of post-tattoo shock, are you little man?” Agron asked, his large, warm hands rubbing Nasir’s skin. Like that helped matters.
“Nope. I’m fine.”
“Agron, let Nasir go so I can put some plastic over that,” Duro said and Nasir walked over to him. He taped the cling-wrap carefully but firmly to Nasir’s skin.
“For how long should I keep that on?” Nasir asked.
“I’ll give you a paper with instructions on how to take care of the tattoo,” Duro answered.
Nasir still felt a little dazed. The skin beneath the plastic was pulsating with pain like a bruise, and the whole arm felt stiff and awkward when he moved.
“Did you bring a sweater or something?” Duro asked. “Anything to cover the tattoo with? It’s not good to expose it to sunlight for the first three weeks.”
“Fuck, no,” Nasir said, something almost like dread sweeping through him. He couldn’t risk his new, wonderful tattoo. “I didn’t think about it.”
“You can borrow mine!” Agron was off and back in no time, holding a slightly tattered Metallica t-shirt in one hand.
“Agron, that’s a t-shirt,” Duro said.
“But he’s so much smaller than me – it’ll cover his arm without problem. Here!” The last to Nasir, who hesitantly took the offered tee and pulled it over his head. It actually did cover most of the tattoo, with only a small part at the bottom peaking out. Also, it smelled divine. He probably looked like in idiot in it.
“See?” Agron said. “Perfect!” Something in his eyes as they moved over Nasir’s body told him that he didn’t mean the fit.
“Thank you,” Nasir said. “I’ll wash it and come by with it as soon as I can.”
“No hurry,” Agron said. He grabbed a pencil off Duro’s working station with one hand and Nasir’s untattooed arm with the other. “Here’s my number,” he said as he started scribbling, “and here’s my home address. You can drop it off anytime or call me. Or something. Anything.”
“Or leave it here,” Duro said, smirking at his brother.
“It’s better if he leaves it at my place,” Agron argued.
“And why’s that?” Duro raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
Agron seemed at loss for words. “Because!” he eventually countered, rather lamely.
Duro just shook his head before turning back to Nasir, handing him a paper. “Here are your care instructions. If you wonder anything or have any problems with the tat, just email me or give me a call or pop in here, okay?”
Nasir nodded. The letters and numbers Agron had scribbled upon his skin almost seemed to burn, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers over them. He folded the paper and put it into his pocket before taking out his wallet to pay for the tattoo.
“Thank you,” he said again as he turned to leave. “The tattoo… It’s incredible. I couldn’t be happier with it.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Duro said.
“And thank you for lending me your tee,” he said to Agron with a smile, before he opened the door and exited the tattoo shop.
Nasir spent most part of the afternoon in front of the mirror, examining his new ink from every possible angle, a perpetual smile of sheer happiness curving his lips. It looked fucking great and if he could say so himself he wore it pretty fucking well too.
He had yet to take Agron’s t-shirt off. Mostly because it smelled so good – faintly of laundry detergent and sweat and more of cologne and something that couldn’t be anything than Agron’s own personal scent. It was intoxicating, and Nasir couldn’t help but ever so often push his nose into the fabric. He had glanced down at the scribbles on his arms so many times that he would soon have the number imprinted on his brain forever.
The smile he had worn pretty much non-stop since getting home weren’t just post-tattoo giddiness or aftereffects from the endorphin high. It was Agron. Nasir didn’t know when or how, but sometime during those six hours he’d spent in the studio he’d fallen for that insanely hot giant. Fallen and fallen hard.
And he had gotten both his phone number and home address. That just had to mean something.
He grabbed his phone, sliding it unlocked and scrolling down through his contact list.
“Nasir!” Chadara said as she picked up. “How did it go? Is it done? Did it hurt? Does it look good? Send me a picture!”
At first Nasir had no idea what she was talking about, so engrossed in his thoughts of Agron that he had momentarily forgotten about the tattoo.
“Oh,” he said when he caught up. “It’s so beautiful. And it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” The memory of the pain was already starting to recede. “I still have the plastic on, so I’ll send you a pic later. Or I’ll come by tomorrow or something and show it too you. But that’s not why I called,” he added hurriedly as she started to ask something more about the tattoo. “I… um, met someone.”
Chadara’s squeal was delighted. “The tattooist?”
“No. His brother.” He quickly relayed the entire story, leaving out some of the more embarrassing details, and ended with Agron writing his contact information on Nasir’s arm. “I’m not reading too much into this, am I?”
“Honey, I don’t think you’re reading enough into this.” Chadara laughed. “From what you just told me, I bet you could just walk over there and propose and he’d say yes.”
“Come on, Chadara, be serious,” Nasir said.
“Okay, tell you what: when you return that shirt, ask him out. There is no way in hell he will say no. And as soon as you’ve slept with him, I want all the details, got it?”
“All. The. Details. I’m your best friend and I give the best advice. You owe me.”
“Okay, okay. Fine.”
“So you are going to ask him out?”
“Yes.” He felt daring, reckless - he’d just gotten a tattoo to celebrate the best decision he’d made in his life and it felt like he could to anything, from flying to the moon to asking the sexiest guy he had ever laid eyes on out.
He could practically hear her jumping up and down with excitement.
He hesitated. “Would tonight be too desperate?”
“Nasir.” Chadara’s voice was patient, as if she was talking to a child or an idiot. “That guy obviously flirted with you, took every chance he possibly could to talk to and touch you, loaned you his t-shirt and scrawled down everything but his social security number on the inside of your arm. No, tonight is not too desperate.”
“Okay.” Nasir wasn’t entirely convinced. Being daring was one thing; being desperate another.
“What the hell are you still doing here?”
Chapter 2: Imprints
Part two. More tattoo porn and some regular porn. There's also some fluff. And a very cute puppy.
Finally! Two days late, but that's only because it turned out 2,000 words longer than planned (I have no idea how that happened and it's certainly not my fault; I blame Dimey).
No matter how much Agron scrubbed, most of the paint remained. He just shrugged as he looked down at his green-speckled and lathered body; it would wear away eventually. It did look rather silly though, especially where the stains covered his tattoos.
He scratched at his chest with soapy fingers, releasing a few flecks of green that clung to his wet skin. He wished he had been slightly more presentable to Nasir. Couldn’t his brother have given him a heads-up or something? “I’m tattooing this guy that you will fall head over heels for as soon as you see him so dress up a little nice and try to keep your mouth shut?”
Duro hadn’t seemed to know whether to tease or tell his brother off as Nasir had left his shop.
“What the fuck was that, Ag?” he’d said as he started to clean up after the session. “Couldn’t you even have tried to reign in your raging libido? I’m surprised you didn’t fucking go down on him right there and then to distract him from the pain!”
Agron wished he’d thought of that. Not that Duro would have let him. His brother was such a freaking spoilsport.
“And when you offered to show him your hip tattoo! Jupiter’s cock, Agron!” But Duro had been laughing as he said that. “I though the poor guy would jump right out of his fucking skin!”
Agron didn’t find that funny in the least. If Duro was to be believed, he had, all in all, done a piss-poor impression on Nasir. And that was so not good, because Agron had kind of already decided that he would marry the man.
He had felt himself drawn instantly to him; first to his beauty, naturally – that man was fucking otherworldly – and then to his strength and bravery. Doing a piece like that, big and in full colour too, wasn’t something that many opted to do for a first. And he’d been sitting through those six hours without so much as a word, only frowning a little every once in a while when the pain got especially bad.
There was something about him that left Agron wanting more, to know more about him, to get closer, to find out what it was he hid under his polished, polite surface. He wanted to make him lose control, wanted to release whatever it was that he had glimpsed and been drawn to in him. Preferably in his bed. Or on the floor or up against a wall – Agron really wasn’t that picky.
One paint-stained hand found its way down his water-slick chest and abdomen to close around his hardening dick without him really registering it. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back, and imagined that the hand slowly stroking him was Nasir’s, his long, thin fingers lightly squeezing along his length, his mouth pressed against Agron, lips trailing soft, wet kisses down his neck, tongue and teeth roughly teasing a nipple.
Agron let out a quiet moan, jacking himself off harder and faster; more frustrated then anything else by the tempting images his mind conjured, because they were nothing more than just that – images, a fantasy, too far removed from the real thing to ever be truly satisfying.
A loud knock on the door, followed by Dimebag’s yelping bark.
He finished himself off quickly with just two more strokes, most of the pleasure lost, carefully washing every trace of come from his body before hurriedly turning the shower off and stepping out. He grabbed a towel, drying himself haphazardly before wrapping it around his hips, and rushed out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints all over the floor.
“Hush!” he ordered his puppy, wrestling the black furball away from the door he was enthusiastically jumping at with one foot. “You’re not fooling anyone with those sounds, Dimey.”
Maintaining a rather loose grip on the towel and his foot still battling Dimebag, he managed somehow to get the door opened.
And there was Nasir, more handsome than a human being had any right to be in a tight-fitting maroon button-up and a pair of black slacks, his hair braided back.
He really couldn’t catch a break today, could he? First all green and sweaty and now practically naked with a barking puppy at his feet trying to launch himself at Nasir, one hand holding on to the towel and the other against the doorframe to keep himself upright.
Nasir looked a little taken aback at the display, and more so when Dimebag managed to wrestle himself free from around Agron’s foot and rushed towards him, completely ignoring Agron’s “Come back here, Dimey!”, rising up on his hind legs, demanding to be petted. Nasir reached down with a smile and scratched him behind his ears.
Dimebag, apparently deciding that Nasir was his new BFF, chewed affectionately on his pants for a bit before lying down and rolling over, wiggling his paws in the air, granting Nasir the immense privilege of scratching his tummy.
Nasir laughed and went down on one knee, Dimebag closing his eyes in pure, canine bliss as Nasir slid his fingers through his fur. Agron tried not to get too jealous.
“He’s cute,” Nasir said, smiling up at Agron.
Agron put down his still-suspended foot and righted himself, letting go of the doorpost. “He’s a freak,” he said fondly, gazing down at his little furball.
“What’s his name?”
Nasir raised an eyebrow. “Dimebag?”
“Yup. You know, after Dimebag Darrell.” Nasir didn’t lower his eyebrow. “I know it’s a weird name for a dog,” Agron continued, rolling his eyes a little, “but “Walk” played on the stereo during the ride home from the kennel and he really seemed to dig it.”
“You’ve lost me,” Nasir said. “Who is Dimeball?”
Agron blinked as he realised that if everything happened the way he hoped and imagined and wanted, that would mean that he would get involved with a guy who had no idea who Dimebag fucking Darrell was. Someone who had probably never even heard “Walk”.
Nasir was still looking at him, still scratching Dimey’s stomach, a faint smile on his lips and Agron decided that it didn’t matter in the least.
“Dimebag,” he corrected. “One of the greatest guitarists that ever lived.”
“Never heard of him.” Nasir stood up, Dimebag letting out a pitiful whine at the loss of his own private slice of heaven, and got something out of the plastic bag Agron just then saw he held in one hand. “Here,” Nasir said, giving him his Metallica-shirt. “Thanks again for letting me borrow it.”
“No problem,” Agron said. “You didn’t have to rush over with it, though – I do actually have other shirts.”
“You’re current state of dress would suggest otherwise,” Nasir said, smiling again and looked pointedly at Agron’s bare chest, his cheeks colouring a little. “Anyway,” and now suddenly he looked nervous, teeth worrying his bottom lip in a way that sent something very fluttery through Agron’s stomach, “that wasn’t really why I came over.”
Then he didn’t say anything more and they just stood there looking at each other, Nasir having to tilt his head slightly upward, and it felt a little bit uncomfortable and awkward and mostly just… charged.
Dimebag, suddenly tiring of not being everyone’s centre of the universe, sunk his teeth into Agron’s bare foot.
“Fucker!” Agron shouted, and somehow managed to keep from reflexively kicking out and hurting his little doggy. He glared down at Dimey, and if dogs could grin that was exactly what Dimey was doing. “Bad puppy,” he groused, already softening. “Not your fault, though, is it, little one? I’m the one who lets you get away with everything, isn’t that true, you little weirdo?” Then he remembered Nasir and felt instantly embarrassed for how he coddled his puppy. “Duro says he takes after me,” he said, as if that explained anything, and almost face-palmed himself.
Great, Ag, just convince the gorgeous man that you’re in the habit of chewing on people’s feet.
Nasir laughed warmly and he was looking at Agron in a way that made Agron’s whole stomach flip. He tried to think of anything else to say to coax that sound out of him, and came up blank.
Then he suddenly realised that Nasir was still standing in the doorway, the door open behind him, and that he was quite possibly the worst host of all time.
“Shit, I haven’t even invited you in.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “Do you want a beer or something?”
Nasir looked like he was considering something, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He smiled. “Yeah, sure.”
Agron leaned over and closed the door as Nasir took off his shoes before guiding him into the living room, Dimey hot on their heels. He swiftly moved some clothing and a dog toy from the couch, feeling like the biggest slob in the world beside Nasir in his pristine shirt, and indicated that he could sit down. He did and Dimebag jumped into his lap a second later – needing a little help from Nasir to get up all the way – and made himself comfortable, curling into a tight ball. Apparently Agron wasn’t the only one being smitten with Nasir.
“Okay,” Agron said unnecessarily, forcing himself to look away from how the fabric of the shirt clung to Nasir’s arms and shoulders and his bangs fell over his face. “I’ll… I’ll go get dressed then. It will just take a sec.”
When he reached the bedroom, Agron banged his head against the wall, careful not to make a sound. A beer. He’d asked Nasir in for a beer. That wasn’t a date or and didn’t even hint at something romantic. It was something you did with a friend, not with someone you wanted to wrap your arms around, kiss apart, and never let go of again. Hell, the way it looked right now, Dimey had a better chance of getting it together with Nasir than Agron.
But still. Nasir was here. Agron couldn’t help but grin at that thought. He’d come all the way over here just to bring Agron’s shirt back, on the same day he’d borrowed it. He hadn’t needed to do that, unless he had some weird phobia of having other people’s stuff in his apartment or something. That must account for something, right?
He managed to find a pair of jeans and a tank top that were clean and relatively free of dog hair – Dimey had developed the habit of sleeping on Agron’s clothes, not to mention wrestle with them, and every time Agron tried to chastise him, he looked up at him with his deep, sweet puppy eyes and Agron just let him. Dimey had made the world’s biggest pushover out of him.
He couldn’t resist sending Duro a text.
Guess who’s in my apartment? :D
The answer was almost immediate. You do know that kidnapping is illegal, don’t you?
And, two seconds later: If you mess that tattoo up, I will kill you dead.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” Nasir said.
They were sitting on Agron’s couch in opposite corners, the leftovers from their pizza dinner spread out on the coffee table together with an mostly empty bottle of wine and two glasses.
Agron had almost turned his kitchen upside down trying to find something suitable to offer Nasir to drink once he’d realised that all the beer had been polished off during last Saturday night’s Lord of the Rings-marathon before remembering the bottle of red wine sitting in one of his cupboards awaiting the right time.
Motörhead wine – Duro had brought him back a bottle from Germany when he and Diona had been there months ago to let the whole family meet Liesel and Agron had been forced to stay home due to work, and he had been saving it. This was the prefect time – if breaking out his precious Motörhead, only-available-in-six-countries-in-Europe wine didn’t say I really like you and want you to kind of become a part of my life, Agron didn’t know what did.
Despite the lack of classy drinks and food and the fact that Agron wasn’t sure that Nasir even knew this was a date, it had quickly turned out to be the best date of Agron’s life. Mostly because it included the most amazing man Agron had ever met, but also because it felt so relaxed and comfortable. The initial conversation had been a little bit shy and awkward, but after some wine and Agron’s suggestion to order pizza when his stomach started to loudly grumble from lack of food, things got better and better, the conversation more flowing and personal. Agron didn’t even know – or care – what time it was anymore.
Nasir was curled up in his corner of the couch and had let his hair out of the braid – Agron had watched mesmerised as his fingers had combed through it, releasing every tangle.
“What do you want to know?”
Nasir shrugged a little with a smile, his eyes moving over the ink on Agron’s right arm. He lifted one of his hands. “May I?”
“Of course.” Agron could feel his pulse speed up as he held out his arm. Nasir reached over to take it in one hand just like he had at the tattoo shop, but Dimey would have none of it, letting out an indignant yelp from were he was asleep on Nasir’s lap, very distressed at having been folded almost in half.
“Drama queen,” Agron said as Dimey glared up at Nasir. He lifted the puppy out of Nasir’s lap, careful not to touch anything he wasn’t supposed to touch either by accident or not. “I think it’s sleepy time for you.” Dimey licked his cheek and Agron took that as agreement. He moved over and put him down into the nest of blankets and toys and a couple of his t-shirts, ruffling the fur between his ears as he lay down with his head on his front paws, adjusting a little to get comfortable.
When Agron turned back to the couch, Nasir was watching him with something that made Agron’s heart. He sat back down a little closer than before, giving Nasir his left arm without a word.
His fingertips were soft and tickled slightly against his skin as he moved them over the biomechanical design on his lower arm.
“This is Duro’s work, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. He did that while he was still an apprentice and all he got to do was flash, text, ridiculously simple designs and some tribals. He worked on himself and me a lot at that time, needing to get some real outlet for his creativity. Nothing wrong with that kind of tattooing, but it isn’t really Duro’s thing. He likes big things, intricate designs, challenges. Flash art didn’t really cut it for him.”
“But he powered through?”
Agron nodded. “He powered through. Whined a lot at the time, though.” He smiled at the memory.
“It’s beautiful.” Nasir’s finger was sliding along a rim of torn flesh, moving over to circle a gear, before continuing up, following the banner that wound around his siblings’ portraits.
“Did Duro do this one too?” Nasir asked, touching the bottom of Duro’s portraits.
“No. I wanted it to be a surprise, to Saxa did that. He did Anina and Ivonne, though, and the banner with the text.”
“What does it say?”
They had closed some of the distance between them, and Agron inhaled the scent of Nasir with every breath. It made his head spin. “’Bound not by blood, but love’,” he quoted. “Duro was very clear on exactly how much of a sentimental fool he thought I was as he did the text.” Agron laughed a little. “But it’s true.”
“So you’re close with all of them?” There was a hint of envy in Nasir’s voice.
“Yes.” Agron frowned. “Or I was. Before Anina decided to move to Germany and study history and Ivonne married and moved to Florida. But I’m going to force her to move back home again if she has kids – no niece or nephew of mine is going to grow up without their uncle.”
Nasir laughed. “Have you told her that?”
“Repeatedly. She says that I have been such a terrible influence on Liesel that she couldn’t never do that to her own children.” Agron smiled down at the portrait of his sisters, a little ruefully. “Gods, I miss them.”
Nasir turned his arm over a little and Agron breath caught in his throat as he slowly traced one of the paw prints on his inner arm.
“And what are these for?”
Agron hesitated. He didn’t really talk about his tattoos. People used to compliment him on his ink or ask who the artist was, but people seldom asked about them. “It’s…” His own fingers brushed over the paw print right above Nasir’s fingers, not really daring to touch. “Our parents used to call us their little wolf pack, just because we were wild and unruly and crazily protective of each other. Father started it, I think. Duro has one too, on his ankle.”
Nasir’s fingers stilled. “Used too?”
Agron looked away, the look in Nasir’s dark eyes suddenly too much. “They died seven years ago. Car accident.” Seven fucking years and his voice still got rough with unshed tears when he talked about it.
Nasir reached down, slowly, and put his lips against one of the paw prints. It wasn’t even a kiss, just his lips against Agron’s skin. Without breathing, Agron turned his head to watch him, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
Nasir righted himself and before Agron had time to say or do anything, Nasir had wound one arm around his neck and reached up to press their lips softly together.
His lips were warm, tasting faintly of wine, and Agron could feel how the scruff on their cheeks caught a little as he tilted his head slightly to prevent their noses from knocking together and brushed his lips over his. Agron instinctively put one hand on Nasir’s thigh and let the other go up to his hair, gathering a large amount of the silky strands in his fist.
Nasir exhaled shakily against his mouth and Agron groaned, deepening the kiss by coaxing Nasir’s tongue into his mouth. His hand cupped the back of his head, teeth sinking gently into the soft flesh of his bottom lip.
Nasir pulled back, his dark eyes gazing up at him and sending a heated tingle throughout Agron’s entire body.
Nasir gently took hold off his other arm, pulling it into his lap, and they sat there just like they had at the tattoo shop. Or almost like they had at the tattoo shop. Agron’s heart hadn’t been racing like this then and he hadn’t had the taste of Nasir on his lips and tongue, or the memory of the sensation of his hair gliding through his hand imprinted on his palm. Or a raging hard-on pressing against the restrictive fabric of his denims.
“Tell me about these.” Low and soft as if he was afraid to destroy something with his words or voice.
Agron swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “This is the result of letting Duro and Saxa loose on my skin.” Agron mind was completely muddled. They had just shared an amazing first kiss and now they were suddenly back at his tattoos as if it hadn’t happened?
“That must require a great deal of trust.”
“I guess.” Nasir’s fingers were sliding over the black lines again, tracing the skull on the inside of his wrist and the light caress left a trail of fire in its wake. “I would never let another tattooist work on me.”
“So these are all just… play?”
The way he said play made Agron’s cock twitch. “Mostly. That,” he indicated the tattoo Nasir was still stroking, “is a ram’s skull. I’m an Aries.”
“You believe in that?”
“No, but Saxa wanted to do a skull and I didn’t want a human skull, so we came up with this instead. The rest is kind of the same: just stuff that looks cool but fits me too.”
Nasir’s fingers moved over and along every line, gently and intently, as if he was trying to commit the shape of every last one of them to memory. He smiled a little as he reached the lilies – a wonderful swirling floral design that Duro had done to fill up a tricky patch of blank skin around and beneath the tentacle curled halfway around Agron’s bicep. That had gone with lilies because Agron had decided that the classic roses were just too classic.
“This is wonderfully done.”
Agron was glad that Nasir could see that. The floral tattoo looked simple, but it wasn’t – Duro had spent over forty minutes trying to get the stencil just right, in the end simply drawing everything but the flowers themselves in free hand directly on Agron’s skin. He had managed to make the stalks and petals look like they were twining around the tentacle without it actually being entwined with it, and it was a masterful job.
Nasir leaned down again, but instead of kissing the tattoo, his tongue flicked out to taste and trace the flowing lines. Agron gasped outright, Nasir’s breath searing against his skin.
Nasir looked up at him, his eyes dark with desire and wildly beautiful. “Does that offer still stand?” His voice was husky, with a hunt of roughness to it and his smile was nothing short of lustful.
Agron was confused, trying to rack his mind for every word he’d said to Nasir and failing, most of his brain capacity focused on the throbbing arousal between his legs. “What offer?”
“Getting to see your hip tattoo.”
Nasir let out a surprised sound halfway between laugh and moan as Agron pushed him down onto his back, settling over him, taking his weight on his elbows, and pressed their lips together, wasting no time in shoving his tongue into his mouth, moaning at the taste of Nasir flooding his mouth. His body moulded to Nasir’s and he could feel the other man’s erection pressing against his thigh, rubbing slightly against it, already turned on beyond belief.
Nasir’s body was shaking and it took Agron a few seconds to realise that he was laughing, Agron’s mouth effectively muffling the sounds of his mirth.
“I’m sorry,” Nasir said as he saw Agron’s puzzled and little bit hurt expression. “It’s just…” He shook his head, still chuckling. “If I’d know what kind of response that would warrant, I’d done it sooner.”
Agron was panting as he kept himself up with one palm against the couch, the other resting against Nasir’s cheek. “How much sooner?”
“Very, very much sooner.”
Nasir tried to pull him down into another kiss, but Agron sat up, bringing Nasir with him.
“Bed,” was all he got out by way of explanation.
Nasir smiled widened and he raked one hand through Agron’s hair, grabbing a fistful of it and tilted his head down, his tongue sliding into Agron’s mouth, pressing up against that sensitive spot behind his front teeth before sliding in further, tasting and exploring. Agron groaned, hands gripping Nasir’s waist.
“Show the way,” Nasir said.
They got to their feet awkwardly, neither willing to let go of the other, and eventually Agron just turned Nasir around, pressing him close to his chest and his face into the crook of his neck, Nasir’s hair catching against his beard. They managed to scramble their way into the bedroom – Nasir reaching back occasionally for a deep, wet kiss – and Nasir was pushed down on the bed, Agron putting one knee beside him and leaning over him with his hands placed on either side of his face. He kissed him, their tongues sliding greedily together and teeth clanging.
Nasir pulled him down fully on top of him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and moving the other down to grab his ass. Agron rolled his hips against Nasir’s, and they moaned in unison, the quiet dusk of Agron’s bedroom filling with the sound of their laboured breaths.
Agron grasped Nasir’s face in both his hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, and claimed his lips, already plump from their kissing, again. Agron kept grinding his hips down against Nasir with the desire raging through him, every place he and Nasir connected like a spark of fire in his skin.
Nasir raked his nails down Agron’s back and Agron arched into it, growling and turning his head, biting down hard on Nasir’s pierced earlobe, his tongue sliding through the silver loop. He could feel him shiver beneath him.
Agron was starting to lose control. He moved his lips from Nasir’s ear to his neck, sucking and biting at his skin, tasting him. He slid one hand between their bodies to stroke Nasir through his pants, making him gasp for breath like a man drowning.
Fuck it, Agron thought, speeding up the movement of his hand, his hips jerking against Nasir. They could do slow later. Many, many times.
“Nasir,” he gasped as Nasir slid his hands around Agron’s waist, “I need…”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before he found himself flat on his back, Nasir straddling him. Agron gave a breathless laugh, surprised and delighted and if possibly even more turned on by Nasir’s show of strength.
Nasir was resting his hands on Agron’s biceps, his long hair hanging down on one side of his neck and tickling Agron’s chest. Agron lifted one hand and brushed his knuckles across Nasir’s cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, voice wrecked, and Nasir leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck, teeth skimming over his skin.
“You too,” Nasir murmured, fingers brushing along Agron’s collarbone. He grabbed the hem of Agron’s tank top and pulled it up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Agron moaned as Nasir’s fingers deftly undid his fly and lifted his hips eagerly to aid Nasir in getting them off him.
“Match me,” Agron said, pulling at the belt-loops of Nasir’s slacks as if they offended him, desperate to feel Nasir’s skin against his.
Nasir obliged him, his pants quickly joining Agron’s on the floor. He slid down his body a little, his heavy cock pressing against Agron’s thigh, and took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it several times before Agron felt the sting of teeth and moaned. Nasir was caressing the other nipple with his fingers, lightly pinching it. Agron erratically rubbed his leaking cock against Nasir’s lower stomach and exhaled sharply between his teeth as Nasir’s hand went down to close around it, thumb playing over his slit and spreading pre-come over the head.
“Scheiße,” Agron breathed, closing his eyes and biting down on his lower lip.
Nasir let go of him, Agron letting out a whine of protest, and sat up on his stomach. He reached out and switched on the lamp on the bedside table.
The sight of Nasir on top of him stole Agron’s breath away as the warm light cascaded over him, lighting up his skin and making shadows play in the sharp curves of his body. His pupils were completely blown, his skin flushed and rosy, and Agron needed to see more of him, needed to have him out of his boxers five minutes ago.
But when his hand went to the waistband of Nasir’s underwear, he was stopped by Nasir twining their fingers together. He brought their joined hands up to his mouth, sweetly kissing Agron’s knuckles.
Then he bent down and started to tenderly follow the sharp black outline of Agron’s chest panel with his tongue.
Agron groaned from both pleasure and frustration as he realised that Nasir was hellbent on tracing every last line and curve the tattoo, his tongue leaving a scalding wet trail on his skin. The tattoo was a hybrid tribal-filigree-henna design that Duro had drawn for him when Agron had told him that he would get to do his chest only if he did a tribal to piss him off. Duro had, to Agron’s surprise, immediately grabbed his sketchpad and drawn up a first draft of the design. Agron had fallen instantly in love with it and laid down under Duro’s needle the very next day.
“Nasir,” he whined pleadingly as Nasir was finally done with the chest panel and his mouth moved up to Agron’s collarbone, where he had two lines of Metallica lyrics – “I adapt to the unknown / Under wandering stars I’ve grown” in a flowing script. If he was planning on exploring every last one of Agron’s tattoos with his tongue and lips, Agron would explode and die long before he was done.
He grabbed Nasir’s chin, a little roughly, and kissed him.
“But I want to…”
“Later.” Agron kissed him again. And again. “We have time.” Again. “I’m keeping you.”
Nasir looked like he had trouble deciding between laughing and shaking his head and settled instead on reciprocating Agron’s insistent kisses. Agron placed his hand between Nasir’s shoulderblades, pressing down to feel his heartbeat thrumming against him.
“Nasir.” Under different circumstances Agron would have been embarrassed by the sheer want wrecking his voice. “I need you.”
He had the lube and a condom out of his nightstand drawer faster than anyone of them could blink.
“Fuck me.” He thrust the tube into Nasir’s willing hands.
Agron’s need seemed to be infectious, if the hurry with which Nasir got the cap unscrewed and how his hands shook as he slicked his fingers up was anything to go by.
Agron’s legs spread quickly to accommodate him as he moved down between them, wasting no time in pressing one slippery fingertip against his entrance, teasing for a few shorts seconds before pushing it in, causing Agron to writhe and whimper. He pressed hot, wet kisses against Agron’s stomach and one to the tip of his cock, tongue going out to taste the pre-come oozing out of the swollen head. Nasir added another finger, going deeper, Agron keening at the sensation of being stretched, the wonderful burning pleasure of it. Nasir’s lips were still against his cock, his breath caressing the sensitive skin with each exhale and Agron was worming increasingly violently beneath him, pushing down on his fingers to get him deeper, deeper…
He gasped out Nasir’s name as Nasir’s fingers hit his prostate, and suddenly this wasn’t enough, he needed more, needed Nasir’s cock inside him right fucking now.
Nasir was panting, his mouth open, eyes wild as they met Agron’s, clearly reading Agron’s want.
He pulled his fingers out of him and moved his hands to the elastic of his boxers as Agron started to pull him out of his shirt. He stopped immediately at the sharp hiss of pain from Nasir.
Fuck. He had completely forgotten about the tattoo.
Nasir didn’t seem to care, his boxers already off and the shirt following a second later. He pushed Agron down on his back, latching his mouth onto his, and grabbed the condom off the nightstand, tearing the package open.
“Wait. Wait!” He pushed Nasir gently away and he went up to his knees, staring unbelievingly down at him. Agron tried not to get too entranced by the sight of Nasir’s cock jutting thick and heavy from the nest of dark curls between his legs.
“Now you fucking want to wait?” Nasir’s voice was coarse and incredulous.
“Your tattoo.” It was hard to think and even harder to try and make sense out of what he was supposed to say. “My brother will have my balls if we mess that up. You’re not supposed to put any weight on that arm for a while.”
Nasir looked down at the arm in question, still enclosed in the cling-wrap, as if he’d never seen it before. “Oh, fuck.” His eyes went back to Agron. “We can still do this, right? Somehow? You can fuck me, or I can suck you, or…”
Agron too rose up to his knees, pulling Nasir close and kissing him. “Fuck me from behind.”
He moved over to the headboard, positioning himself, and when he felt Nasir’s fingers spreading him wide he mewled and trembled with anticipation. He heard Nasir putting on the condom, letting out a soft “Shit!” as he fumbled with it, his fingers clumsy with need and slick with lube.
The head of Nasir’s cock pressing against his rim had him filling his fists with sheet, and he groaned and panted heavily as Nasir teased his crack with his cock, sliding it between his buttocks, only pushing slightly against his hole.
Agron growled. The sound deepened, turned guttural and ferocious as Nasir finally pushed into him, one hand gripping his hip, trying initially to go gently and slow and failing magnificently as Agron thrusts his hips back against him, demanding more. He shoved all the way inside with a wail, stilling when he was buried inside Agron, his balls pressed against his ass, his breath hot and heavy against Agron’s ear.
Agron’s biceps were shivering from holding himself up on his arms, and he was about to break apart from the feeling of Nasir inside him – thick and long and throbbing and so fucking hard. He could feel Nasir shift, pressing closer until he couldn’t possibly go deeper and he moaned at the sensation of being so completely and thoroughly filled. Nasir moved again and Agron grunted out as his cock brushed against his prostate.
Nasir pulled out almost entirely before thrusting back in, his cry almost drowning Agron’s own. Again and again, until their bodies were sliding slick with sweat, until Nasir had discovered exactly how he should angle his thrusts and hips to hit the sweet-spot and doing so relentlessly.
Agron buried his head in a pillow, his cock swelling impossibly between his legs, his mouth spilling out noises he had no control whatsoever over as Nasir moved inside him, cock sliding in and out of him, fucking him hard and fast and just so fucking right…
“Fucking fuck…!” Agron ground out in protest as Nasir suddenly pulled out, leaving him empty and wanting, his asshole clenching and unclenching at the loss. “What the hell…?”
“Want to see you.”
“Arm… tattoo…” Speech was hard.
Agron didn’t know how, but somehow he found himself on top of Nasir, sinking down hard on his cock, taking the whole of him in with one swift movement, Nasir howling.
“Fuck,” Agron breathed out. He lifted his hips and slammed back down, coaxing twin shouts out of them both. “Fuuuck!”
Nasir was glorious beneath him, dishevelled hair spreading over the pillows, teeth clenched together, his body tense and sweat-damp. Agron picked up the pace, already dancing on the edge, and Nasir’s hand went around his cock, the other to his hip. Agron slapped the other one away, still aware enough to be concerned about the tattoo. Nasir rolled his eyes, but the effect was ruined by the moans pouring from his mouth, the way he desperately pushed back against Agron, working himself deeper as his hand moved slowly against Agron’s cock, his palm getting sticky and slick with pre-come.
The orgasm hit Agron like an electric shock, causing his whole body to stiffen and arch before collapsing down on top of Nasir, his cock erupting all over his hand and stomach, Agron sobbing out Nasir’s name over and over again, like a lifeline, a prayer.
He said nothing as Nasir flipped him over and thrust back inside him, snarling fiercely above him, face contorted as his hips slammed against Agron again and again, his cock rubbing against his over-stimulated prostate, causing whimpering sounds to fall from his throat and his cock to attempt to rise back up.
Nasir didn’t stop or slow down his mad rhythm even as he started coming, his hips moving almost off their own accord, pummelling hard into Agron.
He didn’t stop until he was utterly and thoroughly spent, his body a boneless weight on top of Agron, his softening cock slipping out of him.
They lay there for a long time, soaking in the afterglow, trying to find their breaths, their limbs and minds heavy with pleasure. Agron thought he even may have fallen asleep for a short while, or at least slid into some kind of post-coital state of unconsciousness. Mindblown. He was completely mindblown.
At last, he rolled Nasir off him and leaned over to inspect his tattoo. It seemed fine, even though he suspected that it might have started bleeding a bit, in one or two places. But there was only a thin sheen of redness on the plastic and nothing to be worried about.
“Come on.” He nudged Nasir. “We need to wash that off and put on a new plastic.”
Nasir made a non-committal sound and Agron gave him another nudge, this time against his side with his chin. Nasir giggled breathlessly.
“Ticklish?” He rubbed his scruff-rough cheek against Nasir’s ribs, drawing more giggles from him.
“Gods, Agron, stop…! Stop!”
He did, eventually, resting his chin against Nasir’s side, looking up at him. Nasir threaded his fingers through his hair, laughter still in his eyes.
Agron suddenly thought of something. “Why did you come over?”
“Huh?” Nasir’s looked perplexed.
“You said the t-shirt wasn’t the reason you came over. Why did you?” He was curious.
“Oh,” Nasir said. He smirked down at Agron. “To get laid, obviously.”
Agron moved up a little and bit into a nipple.
“To ask you out,” Nasir said, his hand sliding down around the back Agron’s neck.
“And then you saw me in all my wet, half-naked glory and decided to just fuck me instead.”
“No, then someone plied me with heavy metal wine and pizza and his stupid, sexy dimples and manhandled me into his bedroom.”
“You started touching my tattoos!”
“Well, it was you who got them in the first place! And speaking of tattoos,” Nasir smirked again as one hand went down to stroke over the tribal on Agron’s hip, “is it later yet?”
Agron winced as he put down his bag on the hallway floor, the skin of his side straining a little against the tape.
“Babe?” he called out, and Dimey came trotting out from the kitchen, rushing happily towards Agron as he caught sight of him, almost knocking him off his feet as he barrelled into his legs. Agron laughed warmly, stroking his ears. “I didn’t mean you, you big fool.”
He walked into the kitchen, Dimebag at his heels, and found Nasir at the counter, pouring wine into two glasses from a bottle with a very familiar label.
“Where did you get that?” Agron asked as he wrapped his arms around Nasir from behind, kissing his ear.
“That’s a secret,” Nasir said and smirked as he put the bottle down, wiping a finger over the Motörhead logo to catch an escaped drop of wine. Agron caught his wrist and brought his hand to his mouth, licking it off.
“I’ve ordered pizza too,” Nasir said, angling his head over his shoulder to kiss him.
“Are we going to spend every anniversary like this?” Agron asked with a smile. “Re-enacting our first date?”
“Yup. Except for the slightly awkward newly-made-tattoo-sex-part, that is.”
Agron kissed his neck, smiling. “I have a surprise for you.”
Nasir turned in his arms, eyes shining. “What?”
Agron moved away a step, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and starting to pull it off.
Nasir sighed. “It’s not a good anniversary gift to give someone something they already get every…” He trailed off as he saw Agron’s plastic-covered right side.
“Can you see what it is?” Agron asked and smoothed out a corner of the cling-wrap, hoping that Nasir could see the tattoo despite the ink and blood clouding it.
Nasir said nothing.
“Crazy good, right?” Agron was starting to get anxious, worried that Nasir didn’t like the tattoo.
The first time he’d seen the painting, he had decided that he wanted it on his skin. It was, in his opinion, Nasir’s best: a tree in harsh black and white, the roots melting away into nothingness and the branches contorted into something indefinable, a shape that no one quite could agree on what it resembled. Duro had worked on the sketch for ages to make it perfect. Agron had been under the needle for hours, almost regretting the placement of the tattoo once he’d been reminded of just how painful ribs was get tattooed, especially during an extended amount of time.
Nasir opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell rang. He disappeared out in the hallway and Agron heard him pay and thank the delivery guy before he returned to the kitchen, carrying two pizza boxes that he dropped on a counter before grabbing Agron’s jaw and pulling him down into a hard, ravenous kiss that had him hard in an instant. Without a word, Nasir took his hand in his and pulled him along to the bedroom.
Slightly awkward newly-made-tattoo-sex it was.
When Nasir fell asleep curled up in Agron’s arms, Agron pressed his cheek against the tattoo on his arm, sighing out happily.
When it had been fully healed, Agron had tongued it tenderly and asked Nasir if he planned on getting another.
“I doubt it,” Nasir had said. “I don’t need anything more.” He had looked at Agron as he said that, rather than the tattoo.
Agron loved that tattoo, was so fucking grateful that Nasir had decided to get it, that he had walked into Duro’s shop and no other, that he’d decided to quit his job in the first place. He owed fucking everything to that tattoo.
“Agron,” Nasir mumbled, “stop licking my tattoo. I’m going to have to get it remade.”
Agron’s only response was to lick more vigorously.
“Think I’ll get a discount if I tell Duro his stupid brother licked the tattoo off my arm?”
“Doubtful. He will only tell you that it serves you well.”
“I guess. He did warn me.”
When Duro had come by the day after he’d tattooed Nasir only to find him and Agron curled up around each other and dozing on the couch in front of some old Western, he’d just shook his head and told Nasir that he hoped he knew what he was doing, because Agron was as permanent as any tattoo.
Agron smoothed away some hair from Nasir shoulder and kissed it. Nasir turned around and snuggled back up close, kissing Agron’s jaw. His fingers ghosted over the cling-wrap.
“This…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you did that.” His voice was a little thick.
“I’ve got you under my skin, baby,” Agron mumbled into his hair.