Chapter Text
A disheveled , overworked man stumbles into his cozy studio apartment after being out all day. Another long day at work was finally over for Olruggio— Such is the consequence for being one of the best tattoo artists in his area . Unfortunately though, he still had a little bit more work to do from home; Specifically for his client that he just started working with. That damn client. The artist, now hunched over in his chair, sighs into the desk.
Olruggio, as tired as he was, couldn't stop thinking about his new client. This was the fourth week in a row he'd came in. Decent sized pieces, on the pricey side. Hell, even he couldn't afford tattoos like that, not weekly! Another prolonged sigh. Always getting worked to the bone for so little. Maybe he should switch studios. Maybe he should sleep more. Maybe he should ask about the source of his client's bulky income. Focus, would you?
Deciding to finally get back to work, he leans back in his chair, looking over stencils and messy sketches on his computer from the last couple weeks of his (beautiful, might he add) new client, Qifrey. They're all nature themed; Branches of sycamore, leaves sprawling out across his pale back, covering up a profound scar on the way, wandering to his sharp collarbones. Client said something or other about sycamores representing strength and endurance. He thinks. He opens up the pictures that Qifrey had sent of himself after their last session to use as reference. Olly took a moment to admire his handiwork on Qifrey, and began to sketch out on his now open tablet where the next placement of branches would be. Qifrey had specified for scars to be covered, which is fine, but Olruggio was having trouble spotting any scarring. Zooming in on Qifrey's chest, he finally saw evidence of scarring . The scars here are so terribly light, but if that's what he wants, so be it. He is getting paid for this, after all.
After sketching for 30 minutes or so, the shrimp shaped artist stretched himself out in his chair, putting away his tablet and pen. "I need ta' stop sittin' like that." He mumbled to himself. He recalled Qifrey commenting on it in passing, too. What was it he had said? Ah, right-
"Keep hunching like that, and you'll be a lindwurm by the end of this ordeal!" Olruggio could almost hear the cute (vaguely chastising) giggle in his ear. Wait, what the hell did Qifrey call him?
Upon reflection, Olruggio begins to realize that he was very distracted the whole time while Qifrey had been chatting away with him earlier. Is that what Qifrey said? He's never had such a chatty client before. Never had such a strikingly handsome client before. Qifrey's cold blue eye, studying every line driven into his flesh by Olruggio. The way he kept calling him "Mister Olruggio," So terribly polite, almost uncomfortably so. It made something stir within him. Olly frowns, now slouching his head down into his open palms. He could feel his ears heating with embarrassment. Qifrey has felt like the only thing he could think about this past week. Olruggio didn't even realize Qifrey had infiltrated every crevice of his thoughts so quickly. He doesn't ever think about clients like that, but — Gods, his smile, his cotton wrapped voice, the way he'd hiss from the sting of the needle, the squirming, the way his hands delicately rested on the seat in front of him, picking at his cuticles. Those anxious hands would look so nice stroking his cock. Pretty Qifrey with his pretty lips, with his pretty sounds, with his pretty back, pretty pink flushed cheeks and his snow colored hair, Qifrey, Qifrey, Qifrey —
"Fucking hell," Olruggio lightly smacks his head, attempting to get the flooding thoughts to go away. Not working. "Fine." He grumbles, closing out all of his open tabs on his computer; With the exception of a minimized tab, open with one of the reference pictures. Reference, right. He sighs, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for what he's about to search. Trans cam boys. Search. It's been a long while since he's cut out time for himself like this, anyway. He's pleasantly surprised with what the internet reeled in for him with his rudementary query. He clicks on a site and couple results down. Oh.
Olruggio immediately finds what he's hunting for, rare in these situations. He's met with a live cam of a trans model with his pale legs splayed apart, agile fingers rubbing at his swollen clit, face out of frame. Must be shy. Glancing around, he discovers that the streamer's username was Inkandsilver. Unique. The stream had apparently been running for an hour at this point, but the chat was still going insane over him, telling him to do all sorts of heinous things with his gorgeous cunt. Olly scans through the chat with half lidded eyes, seeing one bold request after another pour in. "U shuld slap that pretty cock of urs", a message begs the camboy. Olruggio already can feel the heat pooling in him.
"I'll gladly do that for you," A voice came from Olly's now plugged in headphones. His voice seemed so..oddly familiar? No. No time to think about it. Olruggio slides a hand down his loose pajama pants. "You just have to pay up~" His voice was going to drive Olly up a goddamn wall. Hell, he might even cum from it alone. A chiming sound from the website. "Mm- thank you so much- ah!" He slaps his cunt— extremely hard.
Then an idea creeps into Olruggio's hazy mind as he strokes his cock slowly. He presses the button to create an account, sighing long and breathlessly. Maybe I could tip him? No. He shouldn't. The model begins to part his cunt with those pretty delicate hands. Fuck it.
He types his credentials in, driven by pure greed and hunger. He doesn't have time to think of a fucking username. Who would? He thinks quickly. Tattoos. He's good at that.
Username: SearingNeedle
A little cringey, sure, but he needs this. He's so tired and he needs him.
Clicking frantically, the worn man finds his way back to the stream. "Mm, welcome in SearingNeedle!" His heart skipped. He didn't know he was immediately going to get spotted. The model had leaned over and began rifling through something off camera. What do I even want to ask for? A dildo slides back into frame, and he drags it against his wet clit. Fuck.
Olly, sinking in his delirium, begins to type- "Looks like mine. U should fuck urself w/ it.". He selects the option for a $150 tip. Surely, this is enough. He thinks. Send. Precum running down his shaft, he groans.
"You want this inside my cunt that bad?" The model's grin was almost palpable. "You want to be inside my cunt that bad? Mm." He sounded so snarky, so chastising. "You gonna tell me your name so I can tell everyone who's fucking me?" Oh fucking hell.
"You can call me Olly." Send. Fuck this is reckless. He's getting close already. He never lets anyone call him that, why now?
"Oh, that's cute, Olly," The cock slides against his own, sliding down gently, sliding into his wet cunt. "Fuck, Olly, you feel so good stretching me out," The camboy begins to move, clearly not adjusted yet. Olruggio is desperately pumping his cock in time with it. "Mm, so rough with me, Olly, ah!"
Olly leans back in his chair, hungrily stroking himself to the sight before him. He types, "Fuck, ur gonna make me cum, angel". He feels filthy. His mind wanders, imagining Qifrey's legs straddling him, milking his cock for all it's worth.
"Yes, fuck yes Olly! Ah~ Cum inside me please I need you please!" The dulcet voice begins to babble. "I'm! Gonna! Ah-!" Olly's pace grew animalistic as he watched the model's clit start throbbing, wrecked cunt squirting around the dildo— no, his cock.
Ringing in his ears, his release finally came. "Qifrey!" He groaned, eyes screwing shut. Yes, that's what he wanted. Qifrey. Damn it. He sinks into his bliss, intoxicated by the thought of Qifrey.
"Mm.. I think that's it from me tonight. I'll see you all this Wednesday!" He leans, throwing the toy off camera, pussy a mess all because of Olly. A soft giggle, "Thank you for treating me so well tonight, Olly. Let's do it again~" Olly watches in a daze as the man leans to turn off the stream. He sees a crisp outline of a branch tattoo on the models' collarbone. No way. He shakes his head, closing out the stream. There's no way. In all fairness, he never asked Qifrey what he did for work to be coming in so regularly.
It's your mind screwing with you, you need to go to sleep. He reassures himself, sauntering drunkenly to the bathroom. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Greasy. He cleans up the aftermath of his rampant pricey fantasy, a shower will have to wait until tomorrow morning. For now, he slinks back to his bed, feeling himself crumble into the mattress.
He's still lingering on the last frame of the stream.