So we’re talking sterile environment, right? People have this idea tattoo parlours are dirty places, blood-poisoning lurking all around, unwrapped needles, you name it. But think about it. It’s a parlour. You could eat dainty fucking fairycakes off the floor in here; let’s get that straight before we get started.

The players? Well there’s me, obviously. I’m Theo, by the way. There’s Danny the Ink. He’s the ace with the needle. And there’s Johnny, the kid.

Now Johnny’s about as trusting as a cat, all claws and watchful eyes. Never lets his guard down, not for a minute. Sparks like a cat too, when he’s stroked. You getting the picture? He’s too long for the couch where he’s lying, bare feet curled up, pale insteps looking pristine, un-walked-on, dark head buried in his folded arms. Faded khakis, t-shirt, canvas sneakers at the side of the couch. Yeah, he spent the night here, but don’t get any funny ideas. He turned up too late yesterday for Danny to work the magic with the tatts, so we let him crash on the couch. Kid’s desperate to get inked before he goes—wherever he’s going. Not back home, is my guess. I say ‘kid’; he’s nineteen, going on nine hundred. Old soul, that’s Johnny.

Truth is, and don’t read too much into this, I’m just a little afraid of him. He’s not the usual type we get in here. Our parlour ain’t used to this sort of beauty, for one thing. Danny’s pretty sure the kid’s not got the money for the tatts he wants. Which is good. I mean, we’re running a business here, but sometimes business can be pleasure, right? There’s some crap I heard some place once: ‘Happy is the man whose hobby is his work.’ Danny reckons we’ve hit the jackpot, with Johnny. Watching him wake, I’m inclined to agree.

Christ on a crutch he’s beautiful, slim muscles rippling under pale skin as he turns onto his side, propping his head on his hand and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning.” I grin across the counter top.

Johnny says, “Hey.”

“Coffee?”

“Thanks.” He rubs a hand through his hair and rolls upright, spiking a glance at me, looking irritated by the attention. What the fuck, I shrug to myself, he’s gonna look like this, people are gonna stare. Get used to it, kid.

“Cigarette?” I offer, tossing the pack with a sharp flick of the wrist.

Johnny catches it. Yep, he’s fast. He gets to his feet and comes across the room. I step around the counter to snap a lighter at the stick between his lips. Holy Moses, what a mouth. I grab a handful of the t-shirt, murmuring, “C’mere.”

Johnny blows a wall of smoke between us. “I need a shower.”

“Sure.” I slip a hand down to the crotch of his khakis to stroke the early morning hard-on. “Later.”

He twists away from my touch. “Will you give me a break? It’s not even six o’clock.”

Oh, did I mention, he’s an A1 prick-tease?

Doesn’t matter. He wants the ink, he’s going to have to put out, sooner or later. I’d seriously like to sample his mouth but I’m getting this vibe it’s off limits. You know, like consecrated ground? I’m betting I’ve met nuns who give blowjobs less reluctantly than this kid. I shove up the sleeve of my bathrobe to show off the tatts. “Danny’s work. Beautiful, ain’t it?”

He nods, looking mesmerised by the ink. Then he says, “Is he clean?”

I grin. “He’s clean.”

“I mean his kit. If he’s sticking needles in me, I want to know I’m not getting septicaemia on the side.”

“He’s clean, okay? Go for your shower.”

Downstairs in the parlour, Danny the Ink takes one look at just-showered Johnny and grins, all white teeth and suntan. “Give us your hand, kid.”

He takes it in a firm grip, looking into Johnny’s sloe-dark eyes for a moment. “Other hand.”

Johnny offers it, standing still as Danny twists his wrists flat and studies his forearms. Danny’s gaze is like a touch. Hell, it’s a fucking caress, smooth as glass, like getting licked by a hundred dollar whore. I catch the kid looking at the guy under his lashes, checking him out. Danny’s tanned and toned as a film star, same age as me but without the pallor that comes with the bookish lifestyle. Yeah, that’s right, take the piss, I’m the ugly duckling in this party, but I’m used to that. Cowboy boots and jeans is Danny’s look, muscle packed like bricks beneath.

“Nice skin,” he tells the kid. “Know what I’m going to give you?”

Johnny shakes his head.

“Golden Dawn Cross. Right here.” He traces its outline, up the kid’s left forearm. ‘And Rose Cross, here.’ Up his right forearm.

Johnny’s into the symbolic shit—magic talisman, all that kind of thing—which suits Danny and me because the symbols ain’t cheap and the kid knows it.

Danny looks him over. “Shirt off. Let’s see what else I got to work with.”

Johnny hauls the t-shirt over his head, keeping it in his hand as Danny walks around him, taking a good look. “Real nice, be like inking on silk.”

I see Johnny flinch from the trail of fingers across the back of his shoulders. But he stands still, saying nothing.

“Sigillum Dei Ameth,” Danny murmurs, coming to a standstill behind the kid.

“What?” Johnny jerks his head around to stare at Danny.

“The Sigil of Ameth.” Danny puts his palm flat on the kid’s back, between his shoulder-blades. “Seal of the Truth of God. Right here.”

“I know what it is,” Johnny says, “I’ve seen pictures of the Holy Table. You’re not tattooing that on my back. Jesus, how many days would it take?”

“A few,” Danny admits. “But think how cool it’d look.”

The kid thinks; we both see him doing it.

“Start with the Golden Dawn,” I recommend. “See how it goes.”

Danny nods, and starts laying out his kit. Johnny watches him, sees that everything comes out of sterile packs, wrapped. He’s put aside the whiskey shot (“For when you’re done,” I told him, knowing Danny won’t ink on relaxed skin); Danny and I downed our shots in one. I fetch the bottle and set it on the table, within easy reach.

“Sit,” Danny tells him.

“Where?”

I sprawl on the couch, spreading my legs and patting the worn leather between them. Johnny gives me a hostile look of annoyance. “Think it through, kid,” I shrug. “How many chairs in this place?”

Danny and I shifted the chair late last night, put it in the backroom. Forward planning’s what they call that; can’t fault us on it.

The kid mutters some obscenity, seating himself where he’s told, more or less in my lap. I smile over the top of his head, at Danny. He’s soaking a strip of cloth in the bowl of water I supplied. Johnny’s keeping one eye on what he’s doing. Danny nods his approval. “Stick out your arms.”

“Which one?”

“Both together. I’ve got to get the symmetry right, to give the best effect.”

Johnny holds his arms out and Danny works liquid soap into his skin, lathering it from elbows to hands. The soap’s green, the smell of it making Johnny wrinkle his nose. Danny rinses the kid’s skin and dries it with a paper towel from a sterile pack.

When he’s done, he fits Johnny’s wrists together, side by side, elbows touching, knuckles facing outwards, bending his arms into a right angle and resting the kid’s fingers on his forehead to help him keep still. “Like that. Okay. Keep steady for me.”

He draws the raw outline of the tatts on the forearms with a marker, then gets started on the real work. I love to see the smooth movement of Danny’s hand, wielding the needle like a conductor’s baton, the equally smooth movement of his foot working the pedal, lifting a hum like music from the motor.

“Real still, kid. As the grave.”

Johnny nods. I can feel how rigid he is. It takes a while for him to get used to the rhythm of the pain, from the needle, the wiping, the gel. I remember my first tattoo. Jesus, those first five minutes under the needle, you never forget them. The longer it lasts, the more you dread the pain, like being punctured by a pencil lead, over and over.

The smell of the soap and blood, the sound of the pedal, turns me on; always did.

I’m thinking how the kid will cope with the pain that’s still to come. It’s going to take some ink, to fill in the Crosses. The more ink Danny puts in, the more he’s gonna clean the skin. That pain is something else, like scrubbing a freshly skinned knee then skinning it again, scrubbing it, skinning it, over and over. But it’s the bit after the bandages come off that kills me, every time. The bit when the ink is drying under the surface. Like lobster-red sunburn being slapped. The kid’ll have to treat his skin like a baby's: wash it, work lotion in, keep clothes away from it. And not scratch the holy crap out of it, which is the hardest part of all. Scratch and you end up pulling the ink right out, so the whole goddamned thing’ll have been for nothing.

After the first twenty minutes, I see a fine layer of sweat forming on the back of the kid’s neck. But Johnny doesn’t move, or make a sound. Once the outline is done, Danny blots the blood, washes his skin again with the green soap and tells him to take a break. “You’ve a mile-high pain threshold, kid, could take the Ameth easy.”

Johnny nods, rubbing his wrists, working the blood back into his fingers. After a bit, he kicks off the couch and heads for the bathroom.

“Cute kid,” Danny says, when he’s out of earshot. “Think he’s as tight as he looks?”

“Tighter,” I say.

“Yeah.”

Johnny comes back as we’re finishing off a sixth shot between us. “C’mere,” I beckon. He returns to his place on the couch, between my legs. I slip an arm about his waist and lean in to nuzzle the back of his neck. It’s still beaded with sweat, salty to the taste. He moves his shoulders, half-heartedly. “Get off.”

“Nope.” I lick at the beaded skin. “You taste too good.”

Johnny mutters something, trying again to shake me away. Danny watches us, with a smile. I slide both hands up the kid’s chest and pinch his nipples.

He makes this sound, which I’m choosing to call a moan. Then Danny’s on the couch, pinning him in place. “Play nice, kid. You’re gonna love the tatts.”

Johnny looks down at the work Danny’s started on his arms. I lean in and kiss his neck, nodding at Danny. Then I slip my arms about John’s torso and draw him back down into a loose embrace, half-sitting, half-lying in my lap. Danny brushes the kid’s fringe from his eyes with the tips of his fingers before touching his mouth, moving in for a kiss. Danny’s good, the best. After a beat or two, I hear Johnny moan with faint reluctance.

“C’mon, kid,” Danny soothes, “You want the ink. I’ll paint you pretty.”

Johnny moves as the kiss slips deeper, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. I bite down a groan, my cock stiffening under his squirming ass.

Danny unbuttons the faded khakis and pulls them out from under John in a series of short jerks. Johnny scrabbles at the couch, at me, trying to get upright, cursing softly.

I tighten my grip, my hands around the slim biceps, elbows pinning him back against my chest. I suck at the nape of his neck, grazing with my teeth. He’s fighting me but not so much, his breath coming in gasps as Danny moves the kiss from his neck to his nipples then down, across the flat outcrop of his belly, to his cock.

There’s a grinding sound from the kid’s teeth as Danny dips lower, his tongue lapping wetly as it goes. He hikes the kid’s legs up and open, slipping one over his shoulder as he rims, before straightening, licking his lips. “Taste good, Johnny.” He’s got his thumb against the kid’s ass, rolling it gently. “Or you could pay me in good old fashioned bucks. Three hundred and fifty for the Crosses. A thousand for the Ameth.”

Johnny is glaring, I sense it. I nip at his earlobe to get his attention. “C’mon, kid. I’ll suck you off when he’s done.”

“I don’t want your fucking mouth anywhere near me.” Yeah, he says that now…

Danny looks from me to Johnny. “Hey, man, if the kid doesn’t want it...”

“He wants it.” I push my crotch against the clench of Johnny’s ass. “Don’t you?” I bite down again, into the taut strip of muscle marking out the angle of his shoulder.

Johnny blanks me out, shifting his gaze to Danny. “I want the Crosses finishing tonight.” His voice is harder than diamonds. “And the Ameth, in outline. I want the whole lot done in two days. For one fuck.”

“Suits me.” Danny grins.

“And use a condom.”

“Sure. Theo?”

I nod. “Bathroom cabinet, top shelf. Lube, too, if you want it.”

“You want lube, kid?”

Johnny nods. I sit stroking his neck until Danny returns. “Good kid,” I murmur, kissing the spot I bit. He’s not too happy with me right now, but all that’ll change, you’ll see.

Danny returns, to kneel between Johnny’s legs. He works lube up the kid’s ass with a careful finger. The kid wriggles his hips, then goes still, hissing through his teeth.

Danny strips, fisting himself hard, holding a foil-wrapped condom between his teeth. He’s big; I’d forgotten how big. Danny jerks his head at me. “Clear out the way, man.”

I plant a final kiss on Johnny’s neck and roll out from under him. “Try him on his knees,” I recommend.

“Shut up.” Danny rips at the foil, rolling the rubber over his cock, reaching for Johnny. “Which way you like it, kid?”

Johnny snakes a hand to the back of Danny’s head, pulling him down into a kiss. The hungry sound of it makes me groan. I watch as Danny strokes him, spreading his legs and taking the left one back over his shoulder, tipping his ass up, nudging at it with his cock.

“High pain threshold,” Danny says, grinning down at the kid, “that mean you like it hard?”

Johnny bares his teeth in a vicious semi-smile. “Knock yourself out.”

I slump at the side of the couch, reaching for the whiskey. The kid makes a thin sound, not quite pain, as the big head of Danny’s cock pushes up him. He’s stiff, I can see that, horny as hell, the slut. Rolled back at the waist, ready to take every inch of it, to be fucked full of hot cock. Holy Moses. I touch myself in a trance of pleasure. He’s better than the best porn I ever seen.

“Jesus, kid, so fucking tight..!” Danny forces up him, sweating. After a while, he groans and starts to ride. “Yeah, that’s good, better.”

Johnny grabs Danny’s head and hauls it back into a kiss, shutting him up as they fuck. He takes it deep and hard, squirming with need under Danny’s heavy thrusts, opening for each one, letting them batter him halfway through the couch. His skin’s like milk next to Danny’s tan, his body slim as a girl’s under the muscle-packed pounding.

I get my cock out and start stroking it. This has gotta be the single hottest thing I’ve seen in forever.

“Hard enough for you?” Danny asks Johnny, slamming in.

The kid gives him a contemptuous look from under his lashes. “No.”

Danny grunts and hikes his legs higher, fucking fast, slapping the kid’s ass with the force of it. They’re both wet with sweat. The Green Man tattoo in the small of Danny’s back stretches its mouth into a broad grin under the impact. “Better?” Danny grits.

“Harder,” Johnny demands, thrusting his ass to meet the slamming shoves. “Hurt me, you fuck.”

That does for Danny. He drops his head back and curses as he comes, holding the kid’s hips in both hands, rough enough to mark.

When he’s done, he collapses on top of Johnny, who shoves at him until Danny pulls free and drops to the floor, still panting.

I move to take Danny’s place on the couch. “Fuck off,” Johnny warns me, but he’s stiff and wet, needs to come as much as I do.

“Just looking,” I tell the kid. It’s true. The sight of that hot stretched hole, his ass as red as his lips, is enough to bring me off.

I fist the spunk from my cock, up the inside of the kid’s thighs, groaning as I do it. Best fucking orgasm of my entire life, and I never even touched the kid once. So help me, God.

Johnny makes some noise, sounding scornful, like he’s reading my dirty mind. Which he probably is. I told you, this kid is scary.

I lean in and lick the precum off the head of his cock. Great taste, like salted sugar. Before he can protest, I’m swallowing his cock, taking it right down until my lips are kissing the tight balls at its base.

Dumb move, as it turns out. Johnny grabs two fistfuls of my hair, hauling my head down and holding it there as he thrusts up with an angry jut of his hips, repeating the action until he’s nearly fucking the throat out of me. There’s a smacking sound as my fists hit the couch in protest. But the kid’s got me fast; I’m going nowhere ‘til this is done.

Shit. My eyes are watering as I try to keep up with him. He’s working his hips like a fucking dynamo and I’m not getting nearly enough air through my nose.

Shit! I choke on the kid’s cock as he comes, spurting spunk, fucking until every last drop is shot, before dragging my head up by the hair and thrusting me away.

I fall to my knees on the floor, coughing and cursing. The kid drops back onto the couch with a shuddering, stuttering gasp.

“Jee-sus!” Danny whistles, and slaps me on the back. “Hardest face-fuck I ever saw, man. Someone should film this kid in action.”

I reach for the whiskey and slug it back with a thirsty sound. Danny laughs. Johnny ignores us both, lying in a sprawl of sweat-kissed limbs on the couch, looking more beautiful than ever.

“Christ,” I manage at last, my voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.

The kid rolls his head at the neck to look at me. His eyes are huge, drugged-black. “I told you to keep your mouth away from me,” he slurs. Not an apology, just a statement.

“Son of a bitch…” I massage my throat.

“True.” Johnny drops his head back onto the couch, shutting his eyes. “She is.”

“Roll over,” Danny tells him.

“Get lost,” it’s a murmur, slurred still. “You’ve had all you’re getting.”

“Kid, I couldn’t fuck again after that without ending up on crutches. I want to outline the Ameth. Deal’s a deal.”

Johnny rolls over, burying his head in his folded arms. Danny strokes sweat from the kid’s back with his fingertips, tasting them before reaching for the liquid soap.

I’m nursing my throat with whiskey. “Light?” I offer Danny.

“Sure. And one for the kid. Could use a towel, too.”

I get up and stagger to the bathroom, staring at the inside of my mouth in the mirror. Jesus, the kid nearly skinned me alive. Didn’t I tell you he was scary?

I fetch the towel, taking it back into the other room, together with the cigarettes. Danny lights a couple, puffing at them both before planting one in the corner of Johnny’s mouth. “Suck it up, kid.”

I watch as he scrubs sweat off the kid’s back and works the soap to a lather, rinsing and drying the skin before arranging Johnny how he wants him.

“So these tattoos,” Johnny blows smoke, “they for life?”

“You bet.” Danny grins. “Time I’ve finished, it’ll take a blowtorch to get these off.”

The kid shivers, like someone’s walking on his grave. Then lies still and shuts his eyes, letting Danny work the magic deep into his skin.

 

© 2007 Sarah Hilary - Contributor's Bio