by Jude Sierra
“Chia—Char—what?”
“Chiaroscuro,” River said. His palm worked the frayed strings of his distressed jeans. “It’s an effect in black and white used to create more contrast or draw attention to it. For this, rather than a head-on look, I approached it as if the light were coming from here.” He leaned forward to look at the screen. Erik smelled fantastic, like leather and vanilla. “The play between light and dark gives it a different kind of drama.”
Erik took his time, and River didn’t rush him. Instead, he cataloged Erik’s face—it, too, was a study of curves and lines. He wondered at Erik’s eyes, how they might feel, dichotomous, changeable, staring back at him in the half-light of his apartment at night. Erik looked up from the phone, taking in River’s workspace. To their left was a framed watercolor and ink piece, a lotus, bleeding and almost edgeless, so pale it could be lost to the paper, broken apart by an absinth flower, slashes of ink cut with angry lines growing through and over it.
He’d bled all over that piece, his mother sharp in his mind after yet another fight with her, another failed promise. It was the newest addition to a rotating selection of his art, and it would be there for longer than most, even if looking at it rubbed him utterly raw some days. Only Cheyenne’s insistence that it might inspire trust in River as an artist kept it there.
Above the lotus was his personal favorite: Pennywise the clown, fathomless and sharp-toothed; eyes, invitingly dark, that reeked of cold. He’d made it for his older sister, Val, for Christmas a few years ago as a joke. She’d been both appreciative of his art and pissed he’d remembered her recurring nightmares from when they were teens.
“You’re an asshole,” his sister had said around a laugh, “but at least you’re talented.”
She’d re-gifted it back to him the next year with a note: may this finally see the light of day. It’s haunting my closet.
Erik’s eyes barely flickered over it before going back to River’s other pieces. Then he returned his attention to the phone and tapped the screen, zooming in. “Yeah, I think that’s what it is. It’s kind of broken up. I like that—I’ve seen a lot of dragons, but none like that.”
River smiled. “Awesome.” He checked the time. “If you want, we still have time left, I can sketch it out now, and you can think it over for later? We can get you coffee or something else?”
Erik laughed and saluted him with the coffee cup in his hand. Damn. River’s chuckle was only part show, the rest, embarrassment.
“If you don’t mind me sticking around, I’d love to see what you come up with,” Erik said. “I’ll go up front if you want.”
“Naw, you don’t have to. I don’t mind an audience,” River said, then winced. “That was… I didn’t—”
“Don’t worry, pretty boy, I got it.” Erik smirked around the rim of his coffee cup.
River loved clients who were open to slightly untraditional ideas. The longer River tattooed, the more he’d come into a particular style, and with it, a particular reputation that built a clientele. He excelled at watercolor tattoos, at a particular pen-and-ink effect some people loved. River enjoyed his work regardless of style, but clients like Erik made tattooing that much more fun. It didn’t take long for him to sketch something—he’d done plenty of dragons before, even if none had this effect.
“So.” River picked up his sketchbook.
Erik paused whatever he’d been doing on his phone—River suspected playing a game, by the way his hand had been moving. Not that he’d admit to stealing glances at Erik out of the corner of his eye. Erik leaned in to examine the drawing. His fingers hovered over the outline, tracing it on the air, testing its limits.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“I’d put in some shading here.” River gestured toward the spaces in the gaps between the dragon’s body and tail, where diagonal strips cut through them. “It’ll look smoky, so it doesn’t seem cut up and disjointed.”
“I love it,” Erik said. When their eyes met on a smile, he caught the green in Erik’s, a subtle olive. Erik’s gaze flicked down to River’s lips.
“Um, excuse me?” Cheyenne’s voice cracked the moment apart. River sat back, regretfully leaving Erik’s space.
“Yeah?” River wondered how long she’d been standing there.
Cheyenne’s perfectly arched brows lifted. “Your eleven-thirty canceled.”
“Oh.” River glanced at Erik. “Yeah. So, I mean, I don’t know if you have anything planned for today—”
“Nothing for a while,” Erik said. He winked. River flushed everywhere.
“Wanna stay?” River played with his pencil, the metronome tick of it against his sketchbook a loud thwap thwap in the tension of anticipation.
“Yeah, I guess I could,” Erik said and shrugged, nonchalance belied by his smirk.
“Fantastic,” Cheyenne drawled, rolling her eyes so hard behind Erik that River was almost concerned she’d injure herself. He reined in the face he would normally make because, you know, client. Right there. “I’ll put you down so we have a record. Have fun, boys.” Her smile was insinuation and amusement. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Oh my God, shut up. River turned an apologetic smile on Erik. “Sorry about that. She’s—”
“Don’t worry about it. Really,” Erik said.
“All right. Let’s size this up and get to work.”
Chapter Three
Erik focused on the blue ink rather than the curl of River’s fingers on the edge of the transfer paper. He watched the image appear, a one-dimensional sketch that stretched from the middle of his arm to the top of his hand.
“How’s that look?” River’s thumb brushed Erik’s palm, his bare hand warm on Erik’s wrist. “It’s even, yeah? Looks straight.”
I sure fucking hope not. He opened his mouth and closed it with an audible click. “Yeah, looks straight. Can we extend the tail a bit?”
River nodded and tapped the groove between Erik’s knuckles. “Want it to curl around here? Over your finger, maybe?” He traced Erik’s middle finger.
“Think it’ll bleed into the lettering?” Erik flexed his hand.
River shook his head, brow furrowed. “No, it’ll be nice and thin. Trust me?”
Heat built in Erik’s cheeks. No. Yes, maybe. Erik sure as hell didn’t trust himself, but River had captured his attention, and trust aside, he couldn’t look away. River looked back, one brow climbing high, and waited.
“Sure, hot shot,” Erik said. “I trust you.”
The side of River’s mouth quirked. He released Erik’s hand and tugged on a pair of black latex gloves. Tiny containers of ink were lined up on a silver rolling tray next to the armrest. River adjusted the light, scooted forward until he hovered over Erik’s outstretched hand, and brought the buzzing tattoo machine to Erik’s skin.
It was the same as always. A pinch that turned into a sting, a sting that annoyed more than it hurt. River started on the tail first, outlining the flick of it over Erik’s middle finger, before making his way to the top of Erik’s hand. He watched River closely, the pass of light across his eyelashes and the relaxed concentration on his face.
Music filtered through the speakers, slow, melodic rock that was predictable enough not to distract the artists but rough enough to add to the ambiance of a tattoo parlor. It was a long time before either of them spoke.
River dipped the liner into a vat of ink and nodded toward Erik’s hand. “So, is it true?”
“Is what true?” Erik glanced at his bandaged fist.
“Do you bite?” A grin curved River’s mouth into a half moon, but his attention was unwaveringly pointed at Erik’s tattoo.
It registered like a spark in his chest. Erik’s gaze fluttered away, toward the ceiling, the wall, the mirror across from them, anything besides River. He fought the rising burn that spread across his cheeks and steeled his nerves. Because River was flirting with him. Or at least Erik thought he was. He had to be. People didn’t say shit like that whi
le wearing a smile like that without meaning to.
“Sometimes,” Erik said through a soft laugh. “But that’s just half of it.” He held up his free hand. The bottom edges of the four letters on his knuckles peeked from underneath the bandage. “The whole thing says, ‘wolf bite.’”
“Wolf bite,” River repeated. He sat back and lifted his gaze, catching Erik’s eye. “Any significance?”
“An old friend used to say that I fight like an animal. He told me I should give people a warning, that a hit from me was as nasty as a bite from a wolf.” He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. Memories throbbed restlessly in the back of his mind, a closet filled with skeletons. “The last thing someone sees during a fight is usually my knuckles, so…” He tipped his head one way then the other. “I got them done when I was seventeen. Never thought I’d get paid to fight, but five years later, here I am.”
River swiped blood and ink from Erik’s hand. “You do competitions or something?”
The needle crossed over a vein. He winced and tried to smother it with a lighthearted smirk. “Or something.”
River glanced up at him, then down. Erik thought he saw his lips press tight. Silence spun and spun, a needed thing, a necessary thing, and after a while, a heavy thing. Erik considered what else to say, but nothing came to mind.
“And what about this?” River spoke suddenly. “Do the dragons mean anything?”
Erik sat back when River scooted closer. He held Erik’s skin taut and outlined a curve along the dragon’s body, up to a short-clawed foot on the knob of his wrist. River’s eyes flicked to Erik’s, waiting.
“I get them if I win.”
“A fight?”
“Yeah, this one is an Imugi, a Korean dragon. Imugis aren’t as powerful as they could be, so they create storms and chase after falling stars, hoping to catch one.”
River finished outlining the dragon’s wicked, narrow eye and its long whiskers. “Falling stars, huh?”
“Yeouiji,” Erik said. “Apparently, they’ll grant a wish for the dragon that catches them.”
“What do the dragons usually wish for?”
Erik took in River’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw and length of his throat. His gaze swept from River’s hand, wrapped over the tattoo machine, to the tendons shifting beneath his skin, the just-so curl of his fingers, and imagined them elsewhere. “To become something more,” Erik said.
River wiped excess ink from Erik’s arm and hand then switched to a different machine. “I’m about to start shading. You need a break?”
A sarcastic smile graced Erik’s face. Really? He raised his brows and glanced from his wrapped knuckles to the clean black outline. Bruises littered his torso under his shirt. Three days ago, he’d had someone’s knee jammed into his rib cage. If there was anything he was used to, it was pain.
“Do you need a break?” Erik teased.
“No, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.” River shook out his hand. His grin was loose and effortless, the kind of smile that came with comfortability Erik hadn’t known for quite some time. “Don’t flinch, tough guy.”
Phrases built in his mouth, but Erik didn’t have the courage to say them.
I’d rather you weren’t polite. Call me tough guy again.
River went back to tattooing. He worked on the lower half of the dragon’s body for the next hour. A song River must’ve known filtered through the speakers. Erik watched his lips round the lyrics as it played. At one point, River’s gloved fingers were wrapped around the side of Erik’s hand. Erik’s pinky finger lifted to brush his palm. It was involuntary. He’d been wondering what kind of past and future traveled the lines there, and suddenly he’d touched them.
River lifted the shader from Erik’s hand. “You good?”
“Yeah, sorry. You told me not to flinch, but”—Erik shrugged—“must’ve hit a nerve.”
“Sure you don’t need a break?” River didn’t wait for an answer. He lowered the shader to Erik’s wrist and kept tattooing.
“Yeah, smart-ass. I’m sure. How long have you been in Seattle?”
A short, light laugh burst from River. “All my life. I was born here, raised here, plan to stay here. What about you?”
“I’m from L.A.”
“Course you are.” River laughed again. Erik wondered if he could keep making him laugh, if it was possible to bottle a sound.
“Shut up,” Erik teased. “I moved to Phoenix when I was eighteen, then went to Portland for a few years, and I came up here seven months ago.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a case of wanderlust.” River paused to change the tip of his tattoo machine again and filled a couple of containers with white and gray ink. “Do you like bouncing around?”
“I just haven’t found a reason to stay in one place yet, I guess.”
River’s rich brown eyes flashed to Erik’s face but quickly found their way back to the tattoo. “No partner?”
The question was innocent enough. River’s voice was quiet and steady, but Erik still had to relax before he answered. If they weren’t flirting before, they certainly were now.
“No,” Erik said. “No partner for a while. Kept it casual with the last guy I was seeing. No strings. That was back in Phoenix, so it’s been a while. What about you?”
Erik caught the twitch of River’s lips as he suppressed a smile. “I’m not seeing anyone, either. Seems like the ten months of gray skies chase the good ones away.”
“Then I guess I’ll stick around,” Erik said. River finished placing the white on the dragon’s eyes and sat up. He met Erik’s gaze and stayed there, watching and waiting. Erik stared back, unsure if he’d been too abrupt, and added, “Since I’m not one of the good ones.”
River geared up to say something; Erik saw it in his throat, in his hands, and behind his eyes, but River swallowed it. He cleaned the fresh tattoo and peeled off his gloves. “Looks badass. You like it?”
The Imugi was sharp-toothed and beautiful. It coiled down his arm to the top of his hand, floating in patches of smoke. No scale was out of place or line unfinished. River paid attention to detail, and his precision was undeniable.
“Yeah, I love it.” Erik stretched out his fingers, turned his arm one way and then the other.
“Can I take a picture of it for my Instagram portfolio? Cheyenne likes us to stay on top of social media.”
Erik nodded. He placed his hand on the armrest and River took the photo.
“Thanks for letting me tattoo you,” River said. “My portfolio is mostly color, so I usually don’t get many clients who want black and gray.”
“Thanks for tattooing me,” Erik countered. “Would you be interested in doing more black and gray? Not that I’m opposed to color, but…” He finished with a shrug.
“Definitely. Hit me up after you win your next fight.” River grinned as he taped down the plastic wrap covering Erik’s fresh ink. “I’m guessing you don’t need me to go over aftercare?”
“No, I think I’ve got it.”
Cheyenne’s heels clicked on the floor. She smiled to them, hands clasped in front of her. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a walk-in. It looks like you’re finished. Mind if I send them back?”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute to clean up. Can you check him out?” Cheyenne nodded, and River’s attention snapped back to him. “I’ll see you next time, Erik.”
“For sure. Thanks again.” Erik stood and walked with Cheyenne toward the front of the shop.
He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, though. And when he did, he was pleased to see River watching him go, a private, shy smile perched on his mouth.
Chapter Four
Saturday came with Erik still on River’s mind. It had been four days, and Erik, with his muddled olive eyes and angular smile, was still interrupting his morning yoga—coming to him at night and refusing to leave. River bit his lip so hard that it bled Thursday night in the shower, as he spun out what it might be like to peel Erik’s lay
ers off, to watch the tightly held power of those sinuous muscles work.
It’d been a while.
“Man, c’mon,” Steve, his best friend, complained over the phone, trying to convince River to try a new bar he’d heard of through some complex social networking River wanted nothing to do with. Instagram portfolio aside, River didn’t have much use for any of it. The last time he’d looked at Facebook it had been a different year. Social media made it impossible to escape reminders of his ex, Brigid, of what remained after a shared life and social circles. Her picture and comments had popped up constantly, haunting traces winding into his heart. Unfortunately, deleting an app was about as definitive an action he could take at that time.
“I hear they have great pool tables and usually aren’t too busy to grab one,” Steve said.
“What’s it called again?”
“Gem.”
“Sounds like a dive bar.”
“Well, yeah, that’s the point.”
River couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t have the patience for the posturing required for an on-trend night out. “Fine, fine,” River said. “I’ll meet you there?”
“Awesome, definitely.”
River had to smile. Steve’s enthusiasm was generally contagious; River rarely had a bad night out with him. They’d been friends since high school, and in the nearly ten years they’d known each other, River had learned the futility of arguing with Steve when he was on a roll.
River ran the water in the shower for a bit to warm the room as he got ready. Despite the Easter-blue skies that day, the air was the kind of damp his mother always called bone cold. The kind that settled under your skin and squatted despite the mild-for-January temperatures; the kind only a hot drink or a shot of liquor chased away. In the slowly steaming mirror, River contemplated shaving. His three-day stubble did nothing to make him look older, and he wasn’t nearly impartial enough to know if it made him look lazy or a scruffy sort of attractive. As happened most days, he discarded the idea.
