Work Text:
It was just a run of the mill day, as he set up his tools and made sure things were clean. Fresh rags, swabs, and a wide range of hues to gloss on guests nails. Jen sat next to him at her own spot, set up with deep tones for the more alt ones that like a goth vibe.
He liked bright, soft blues and off whites at his own desk.
It was nice to have her work with him, it had been too calm, at first, when it was just him with a dream and no clue how to make it work. But Jen had a great mind for this type of work, knew how to spruce the place up and she was the one who made plans, did the math—all the things he would not do, and he could free up his mind on new nail art styles.
He had hoped for more work, some spas had closed their doors for good and thus they had more guests than in the past, to take in those who’d lost their old nail tech spot. So it was strange to have a day start with a slow cup of joe and a calm read of the news.
Hours by now, and it was still so slow. No walk ins, both of them stare at the door. At just past noon, though, a man came. A fine man. He sees Jen move to stand but he’s quick, on his feet and in the guests’ space by the time they walk to the front desk.
“Hey,” he drawls. It rolls off his tongue and earns him a look, a warm flush on tan cheeks.
“Hi.” The man smiles, crows feet at the edge of his eye. “Are you free? I would like to—”
Jen opens her mouth, but he speaks first.
“Of course!” With a smooth hand he slides it up the man’s arm and pulls him to his work space. There's a low stool to sit on, and a soft pad to rest his arms and place his hands on the clean rag.
In his chair, it feels more like a throne now that there is such a fine man in front of him, eyes cast down and he sits so prim. Like a nail tech was more than him.
He smiles, oh how likes the shy ones.
He leans in, takes those large hands in his own to take a close look.
He's seen the man a few times. Twice? This would be his third time to get his nails done, he came in twice a month. Same thing each time. File, buff, clear coat, and a rub down with some hand cream. A man who cared for his hands.
And what a pair of hands on this one. Large, tan. A bit rough . Oh, the things they could do. How hard could they squeeze? How much of him could they grab? Faint scars and thick skin in odd spots. They felt strong. And though the man was a cool type, the kind to hold books and pens, to spend a day or more just to type at a screen, there was a small hope that there was a freak in there. The soft ones were just like that. Right?
The thought made him tense, a firm grip on those tan palms.
The man’s face went from pink to red at the squeeze, still with his gaze cast to the desk.
“What can I do for you?” A small ask, but damn it how he wants to ask more.
“Just a clear coat, I think.” The man gulps, the knot in his throat bobs.
“Same old, same old, hm?” A smile on his lips, voice kind, though his tone holds a tease. At least the man takes it well, at last he peers up to meet his look.
“Too dull?” He gives a small shrug, like he knows he’s been caught in his plain ways.
“Not at all, if that’s what you like.” He quirks a brow, a test. A man who took care of his nails was a plus, to show that he put thought in how his touch would feel. Flat, smooth nails. They could dig in just a bit, leave soft marks in pale flesh.
Not like his own. As a nail tech he had to show off his skill of course, how own are sharp to points, and if he was true to himself, in a dire need to rake down some tan skin or card through long dark waves.
Dare to dream , he sighs.
“Well, that's not all I like.” The man says, then his lips go tight like he’s said too much.
Oh?
It pulls a laugh from him, warm and low; the kind a fire might make to draw a moth to it. It works, the shy man draws in and a look of mirth on those full pink lips.
“My, my, how fresh.” He tuts with his tongue, but preens under the gaze of those brown eyes. “I’ve seen you here quite a few times. You do seem fond of your clean trim and clear coat.” He grabs his nail file, and starts at a rough edge. “But we could try a new look, since you feel so bold.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I could tell you,” he tilts his head, a smirk at play. “Or you can trust me.”
The man blinks, bites on that plump lip.
Gods, he thinks, just knows that it gives way like a ripe fruit.
But for now, he’s acts like a pro. He looks down at the task at hand (heh), and smooths out the last of the rough bits of nail. He looks to his right, scans the shades he has in stock and thinks of what might look best when placed on such a warm skin tone.
He finds a deep plum, it's nice but... one coat will not do, not when he’s got free reign to do as he’d like. With a few smacks he strikes the tube on his palm, the ball in it clinks on the glass.
The man won’t look from him, locked on to each move he makes. Were Jen not here, he’d try to find a way to turn this nail spa day a bit more lewd. Cling and stroke a bit more than what need be to paint a nail. But, for now, it's best to keep it clean.
Start with a name, at least. So, he tells him.
The guest blinks, at first shocked and then he tries to say it back. It’s not one that's heard in this town, he bets, so he can’t blame the man for how he gets it wrong. He fails, but tries all the same. Falls over his tongue and oh —
Just think of his name and how it could catch in this man’s throat in other ways.
“Just call me Star, then.” He hums, with a slow drag of the brush over the man’s first nail.
“I’m Gale, a joy to meet you.” Gale is so warm, with a smile that spans the width of his face and eyes that shine.
“Oh no, the bliss is all mine.” Or, would be. If things went the way he’d like them to. Gale gives a small shy cough, his tongue runs over that lip once more and to make it shine. It takes all of Star’s will to keep his eyes down, on Gale’s hands so he won't mess up the paint.
The hue is deep, rich, just like Gale. But it could use a bit more. A man like him had more than met the eye, Star could tell. Once the first coat is dry, he grabs a new tube and gives it a stern glance. It has to be just right. He sees these hands in his mind’s eye, how they rove over his chest, his thighs, squeeze at him and coax him—
No, no. Can’t think of that now. Clean thoughts, clean thoughts. I bet he tastes like rain and—
No.
Star clears his throat and takes Gale’s hand, thick and with a light dust of coarse hair, and keeps it still as he drags the clear coat over the nails. It’s not just clear, but has flakes that shift in tone when caught in the light just right.
Gale peers, face so close Star can feel the breath on the back of his hand and how it makes the hairs in his skin stand on end. The rush down his spine, how he‘d long to feel that breath on the back of his neck. How he’d arch his back at the feel, show how good it felt so Gale knew what he did to him.
“Do you like it?” Star asks, voice low.
“I do.” Gale’s eyes look up through dark fans, and Star’s brain runs wild at when else he’d see that look at such a slant.
“Well, in you pop, then.” Star leans back so he won’t be rash and puts Gale’s hands in the light to cure the top coat. “It’s a gel, so it should last some time.”
“More than two weeks?” Gale now looks a bit put down, eyes dart from the desk to Star.
“Well, if you are in need of a touch up I… have been known to make house calls.” Star can hear Jen snort at her desk, and then leave to go in the back. How kind of her to give them the room. Or, she just knew it was rude to barf in front of a guest. Not that Star would care how she felt for the way he flirts, and so what if it came off bold? It’s been months since he’d been laid, and once he caught sight of Gale, that first time he had come in, his mind had not let go since.
And now he had Gale right in front of him, and it was clear he was just as starved. Like he would eat right from Star’s hands. Eat him whole. Gale, still so close his breath’s heat could warm Star’s skin, smiled. It was a new kind of look, one that made Star’s gut go tight and that sent a rush of blood to his prick.
“Well, it’s my first time with… gel nails.” Gale looks at them, then back to Star. “How should I care for them?”
Star feels his own face grow hot, the way Gale looks at him has his brain in a wild spin. But, this is a game he knows well. He smirks. “With oil.” He drags his touch along Gale’s hand, to trace the nails. “For the skin, keeps it soft. Pliant. And be sure to go slow, when you rub it in. To make sure you don’t ruin such a fine piece of work.”
Gale’s teeth pull at his lip, his eyes fix on Star’s thumb where it strokes.
Star wont stop. “But don’t worry. Gel coats are strong, you can be as rough as you’d like with them. In fact, you should .” With a firm press he digs into Gale’s palm, rubs at the thick meat of his hand to ease the strain there.
Gale’s look turns to a leer, gaze dark and he seems to miss the fact that they are still in a nail spa with how his eyes roam Star’s form. Like he could take him now on the desk. Gale was on the edge of his seat and Star was too glad to keep him there. He bet Gale was the kind of man who’d stay for as long as he was told to.
“When do you get off?” Gale was past the coy stage. So was Star.
“That’s on you, my dear.” Star let go of Gale’s hand, but he gave a wink.
It was a quick scrawl of a note, his home, and with a firm press he put it in Gale’s hand. Star was loath to let go, it was too soon. So, he brought Gale’s hand to his lips and let a kiss brush that fine skin off the back of his hand.
Gale’s jaw hung, like a word was stuck right there in his mouth but had no way to get out. With a blink, he came back to the world.
“How—how much?” Gale was too close, their hands still linked and his greed for more of Star’s touch clear on his face.
“No charge this time. The nails are on me.” Star gave a nudge to the door, his voice right in Gale’s ear and just a glance of a touch. ”And, you can be on me at eight.”