by JC Holly
“You already said that one, Carly.”
“It bore repeating.”
Rook stood and stretched his back. Still no pain. “None of that is important. I’m talking about who he is as a person, not what his bank balance looks like.”
“Eh, you know as much as me there. He hooks up with guys in the bar a lot, and doesn’t date a huge amount, from what I hear, but he seems like a nice guy.”
The conversation turned to Carly’s exploits after she left the club. It turned out that she hadn’t yet slept, so Rook forced her to get a few hours on his bed while he vegetated on the couch. He couldn’t get Damon out of his head and wondered if Damon was feeling the same.
* * * *
Damon lowered himself from his fiftieth pull-up and dropped to the floor to start on the sit-ups. Technically his fitness was magical and required no upkeep other than regular food, drink, and sexual energy, but that didn’t extend to include his physique. If he wanted to look good, he had to work for it.
The radio was playing some modern pop dross, but it served as something he could keep beat with while he worked out. He smirked at his own use of the term modern dross. He’d been using the same term for a century through all sorts of music. Should just stick with dross.
Thanks to his encounter with Rook, he’d been feeling great all morning and had already been working out for an hour. The guy’s sexual energy was like a shot of Red Bull straight into a vein.
“Didn’t hurt that he was cute, good to talk to, and will do my tattoos cheap.”
He finished the rest of his workout quickly then picked up the phone. His sweat had long ago removed the number written on the back of his hand, but he didn’t need it. Photographic memories were part of the Otherworldly package. He tapped Rook’s number into the phone then paused, his thumb hovering over the dial key.
Why was he calling? His first thought was the sex, as usual. A hookup somewhere where they could both have some fun, and Damon could walk away feeling ten feet tall. But what if he wants more? He frowned. That was the first time he’d considered the other person’s feelings in years.
He dropped into an armchair with a sigh. The guy really did seem like a nice guy. Maybe he could get something more than sex out of it. What’s the worst that could happen? He says he only wants a fuck?
He hit dial.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Rook, it’s Damon from last night.”
“Oh, hey, Damon. How’s it going?”
He wasn’t certain, but it sounded like a woman squealed somewhere on the other end of the line.
“I just thought I’d call and see if you were up for coffee or something this afternoon.” Damon cleared his throat nervously. “I know it’s a little soon, but I thought we got on pretty well.”
There was a pause before Rook reappeared. “That sounds good. How about you stop by the shop later, just before lunch, and we’ll head out somewhere?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.”
Damon hung up and let out a breath, then laughed. It had been so long since he’d bothered even trying for a second date that it was almost like the first time again. That said, his first time had been rather different. For one thing, phones hadn’t existed. Or coffee, come to that.
The clock said it was eight thirty in the morning, which gave him a few hours to check in on the club. He opened a portal and stepped through, unconcerned with the energy loss this time. His tank was on full, after all.
* * * *
Carly couldn’t keep quiet on the car ride to the shop and continued to occasionally squeal and chatter during the first hour of business. Damon this, Damon that. The guy had asked Rook out for a coffee date, and Carly was treating it like a freaking proposal.
“Carly, please,” Rook said for the third time in ten minutes. “I’m trying to focus.”
“He called you, Rook,” she said, grinning. “He called you. That has to be good, right?”
“I’m not even thinking about it right now. I’m thinking about the ink I’m pushing into this guy’s calf.”
He rolled his eyes at his customer, who merely shrugged. This one wasn’t up to the pain of a tattoo, and it showed in his pained expression. Rook could say anything right now. The guy was too busy trying not to scream like a little girl.
“Nearly done now,” Rook said in his calmest voice. “Just a little shading near the wolf’s ears and you’re done.”
The man nodded once, his eyes on a poster across the room. Why he wanted a large wolf with blue eyes, a smile, and a dog tag reading Ethan was beyond Rook, but it was none of his business, anyway. Family pet, maybe.
Rook finished the last bit of shading and put his gun down, then stretched his back out. The pain was returning. He pulled out a bandage and dressed the fresh tattoo.
“There. Know what to do with this?”
The man nodded. His relief at the cessation of fast needles in his skin was palpable. “My boyfriend talked me through it. Clean, keep it out of the shower.”
“That’s the one. Go speak to Carly.”
The man rolled his trouser leg back into place—he’d regret the skinny-fit jeans in about ten minutes—and limped over to Carly.
“I’ll be in my office,” Rook called before heading to the small door behind his work area.
The office was tiny, stuffy, and looked like a tornado had taken up residence, but it also contained the comfiest chair known to man. Rook lowered himself reverently into the seat and let out a long sigh. He was just beginning to enjoy himself when someone knocked on the door.
“Carly, no last-minute appointments. No matter how urgent they say it is.”
“It’s Damon,” the silky voice said.
“Oh!” Rook jumped to his feet, slamming his knee into the desk in the process. “Come on in.”
He made it halfway across the room on his sore knee when Damon opened the door and stepped inside. God, the man was beautiful. He hadn’t really taken stock last night, what with the poor light in the club, but standing in the doorway with the light from the front windows lighting him, he looked almost angelic.
He smirked as Rook kept staring. “So you like my shirt, then?”
“Um, sorry.” Rook ran a hand through his hair. “Well, yes, actually. It’s nice. But it’s not...Ah, fuck.”
Damon laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” He gestured to the shabby couch lining one wall of the office. “May I?”
“Sure.”
The man sat and smiled up at Rook, who stared blankly until he finally took the hint and sat beside Damon. Damn, he smelt great, too. Rook didn’t normally notice scents, but the subtle hint of vanilla filled his senses.
“So,” he said, to force himself to stop staring. “Do you want to head straight out?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you about a tattoo first, if you don’t mind. I thought while I was here you could help me choose a placement for a design I’ve been working on for a couple of months.”
“Sure. It’s what I do best.”
Damon pulled a square of paper from his shirt pocket. “This is roughly what I want.”
Rook took the paper and unfolded it, smoothing it on his sore knee. “Wow. You’re a great artist.”
The design itself wasn’t overly complex, just a shield with some shading to make it look metallic, but it was ringed with symbols that drew the eye and didn’t let go. They were almost like Magic Eye drawings, in that they seemed to shift when he moved his head.
“Do these mean something?”
“They do. Though I’d rather keep it to myself, if you don’t mind. It’s a family thing.”
Rook nodded, his attention still on the page. “Sure, no worries. Get that a lot. What sort of size are you looking at?”
“Pretty much that scale.” Damon tapped on the page, breaking Rook’s stare. “The question is where to put it.”
The design was a little over six inches high and similar in width. Not huge, but it did limit placement.<
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“Any places in mind?”
Damon stood and began to unbutton his shirt. “A few, but I’d like a professional’s opinion.”
Rook smiled and held up a finger, then poked his head out of the office door. “Consultation in session. Do not disturb.”
Carly grinned from her place by the front window. “Sure thing, boss. Be gentle.”
He felt the blood rush to his face as he closed the door. Damon smirked at the sight.
“Come now, you’ve seen more already.”
“True. That was, uh, below the belt, though. This is new territory.”
Damon shrugged and began to remove his shirt. “This territory isn’t as pretty, I’m afraid.”
The shirt came away, revealing two very noticeable things. Muscles and scars—lots of scars. Rook moved closer despite himself and reached out to brush his fingers over a long scar that ran over Damon’s right pectoral and down toward his naval. Though there were many sizes, each was narrow, as if from a cut from a very sharp instrument. A sword?
“What happened?” Rook swallowed as he realized what he was doing. “Uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”
Damon reached over and picked up his tattoo design, his gaze on the page for a moment. “Oh, you know. Can’t live as long as me and not pick up a few scars.”
Rook frowned. “You can’t be more than thirty-five.”
Damon’s eyes widened for a split second. “Yeah. Sorry. Meant you can’t live a life as hard as mine. Still, it’s in the past.”
“Army?”
Damon nodded. “I was a soldier, of sorts. These markings are related to that.”
“I see. May I?”
Damon handed the design to Rook. He held it against Damon’s chest for a moment. “Tattooing scar tissue is tricky. Luckily these are all old scars, which helps, and I have experience. It won’t be a problem, just a little more time consuming.” He walked around to check Damon’s back. “This your first?”
Damon paused for a moment. “Yes. But pain isn’t an issue, don’t worry.”
“Glad to hear it.” Rook ran a hand over Damon’s shoulder. “Can’t stand pussies.”
“We already established that, if you remember.”
Rook smirked. “I’m thinking pec, upper side, or shoulder blade.”
Damon nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Any benefits or negatives?”
“Well, the pec is liable to sag a little in old age, but it’s less painful and easier for you to enjoy the design afterward. The side is the most painful, due to thinner skin, and you’d only really see part of it, but it’s a less obvious placement, which I think looks better.”
“True. What about the shoulder blade?”
Rook ran a finger over Damon’s shoulder. “It’s lovely.”
Damon laughed and turned to face Rook. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s not as painful as the side, it’s an easier canvas, but you can’t see it without a mirror. That’s not an issue to some. Depends why you want the tattoo.”
“To remember. I don’t need to see it for that, though.”
Rook nodded. “Then I’d say shoulder or side.”
Damon smiled. “I’ll think it over, then. Will you be able to book me an appointment in the next few days?”
Rook ran a hand along one of Damon’s scars. “I’ll make time.”
Chapter Six
The consultation over with, Damon and Rook headed out to a coffee shop nearby. Damon let Rook lead the way, and not just so he could stare at Rook’s ass, like he told him.
He had a few things on his mind, one of the biggest being his slip-up in conversation. He’d rolled off “you live as long as me” without thinking. Thankfully, Rook hadn’t questioned it too heavily. The scars had been unavoidable, of course. He could hardly have hidden them. And I wouldn’t want to. Other than the few that had to be covered by the tattoo out of necessity, they were trophies from another time and should be left intact.
Damon snapped out of his musing when Rook stopped walking and turned around, an amused smile on his face.
“Sorry, did I miss something?” Damon asked.
“I just mentioned the weather, is all. Distracted?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Club stuff.”
“Ahhh, I know all about work stress.” Rook gestured ahead. “We’re here.”
Damon hadn’t been to the coffee shop before, but they were all pretty similar. Tables and chairs out on the street, more inside. The scent of multiple blends of coffee over the top of various baked goods. For a change, this particular shop also had an attached flower shop, which added to the rich aromas.
They took a small table outside and placed an order with the barista. Damon decided upon a latte, whereas Rook opted for an espresso.
“Tired?” Damon said as they both watched the overly camp barista waggle away.
“Little bit, yeah. Someone kept me up half the night.”
Damon smirked. “Next time I’ll aim for all night.”
The man started to color and coughed nervously. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll be gentler next time.” He ran a finger over the back of Rook’s hand. “Promise.”
“So you’ve decided there’ll be a next time, eh?”
“If you want there to be.”
“I do.” Rook cleared his throat. “Sorry. Been a while, and I’ve never been with anyone so...direct before.”
“Direct? This isn’t direct.” Damon slid his hand under the table cloth. “This is.”
With deft fingers, he walked up Rook’s thigh and brushed against the bulge under his zip. The fastener came down slowly and Rook’s eyes widened as he caught on.
“Oh.”
Damon licked his lips. “Oh indeed.”
The button at the waistband came free next, leaving only a pair of smooth cotton boxers between Damon and Rook’s stiffening cock. He slid his fingers through the hole in front and pulled the shaft free.
“Nice weather we’re having today, hmm?” he said as he stroked the length of Rook’s cock. “Hope it won’t rain later.”
Rook swallowed hard, his right hand clenching a fork. “Y–Yeah. Hope not. So, uh, tell me about yourself?”
It sounded more like a plea than a question. The man was easily excited, that was for sure. Damon slowed his movements on Rook’s cock, and the man thanked him wordlessly.
“Well, I’m not from the city originally, but I’ve been in the area for quite a few years.” He pulled Rook’s foreskin down and rubbed his thumb tip on his cockhead in a circle. “Before that I moved around a lot. I like to see everything the world has to offer.”
Rook shuddered. “Oh, so you’ve travelled? I’ve never been much further than this country.”
“There’re a lot of beautiful things out there. Worth the time spent in airports.”
The barista appeared with their coffees and gave Damon a questioning glance for his hunched position, one hand out of sight. Rook started to stammer something about a shoulder injury.
“I’m jerking him off under the table,” Damon said, as he squeezed Rook’s cock to make him gasp. “Go ahead, take a look.”
Rook’s eyebrows shot up, as did the barista’s, and for a moment it looked like the man was considering it. In the end he merely winked and walked away. Rook opened his mouth to say something, but Damon turned it into another gasp with several quick flicks of his wrist.
“Hey, you were right. Guess I’m direct.”
Rook bit his lip. Damon couldn’t tell whether he was trying not to laugh or come. Maybe both. Damon sped his hand on Rook’s cock and felt him tense. A moment later warmth hit the back of Damon’s palm and fingers. He kept working until Rook began to soften, then slid him back into his pants and yanked the zipper up.
“Well,” Rook said once he’d regained his breath. “That was...new.”
“Yeah?” Damon licked the cum from his hand, his eyes on Rook’s. “Good new or bad new?”
Rook
picked up his espresso and downed it in one, grimacing as he swallowed. “Definitely good new.”
“I’m glad. And the barista part?”
“Terrifying. But in a good way again.”
“Noted.” Damon sipped at his coffee. “So, are you from around here?”
“Few miles out of town. I moved over when I finished my tattooist apprenticeship at a local shop.”
The pair sat and discussed their upbringings, Damon’s being fake, for a while then switched to various random topics. Usually, Damon would tune out and work out how to get the guy in bed quickly, but this time he found he was genuinely interested in what Rook was saying. Been a while since that happened.
They decided to call it a day, as Rook had an upcoming appointment, so Damon handed him a card with his number on it.
“If you’re free tomorrow, we could go do something. Work up a sweat before I take you home and work up another one.”
Rook grinned and took the card, promising to call, then headed back toward his shop. Damon watched him leave then dropped a twenty on the table for the coffees and headed home. He had some thinking to do.
* * * *
Rook got back to his shop with ten minutes to spare before his next appointment. That gave him time to head to the bathroom and then face the onslaught that was Carly’s inquisition.
“Well? How did it go? Was he nice? Did you get along? Did he bend you over the table and slip you a length?”
Rook dropped into his tattoo chair with a wince. His back pain was certainly on the return.
“It went well. Very well, actually.” Rook adjusted his pants. “Nothing happened over the table.”
“Uh-huh. Under the table, then.”
“How did y—”
“You’ve adjusted your boxers like five times since you got back.” Carly smirked. “I know all about walks of shame, honey.”
Rook said nothing, instead turning his attention to his appointment whiteboard. “So, Mr. Brooks is in at four?”
“Don’t change the subject.” She punched him on the arm. “Which was it? Hand, or full-on ‘dropped my fork’ head under?”
