Stories Beneath Our Skin

by Veronica Sloane

  "He told me about it on the phone." He sucked in a breath. "How is Joy? I mean he tells me, but..."

  "Not always an accurate report? She's good. Still working at that travel agency. Keeps saying she'll be ready to move out of the house soon, but I can't see it happening for another few months. The money is tight, and the built-in babysitting is nothing to sneeze at."

  "Still in therapy?"

  "Yep. No idea how that's going. I don't ask that woman anything if I can help it." Goose picked the gun up, examining his work. "Getting clocked once was enough."

  "She was high at the time."

  "Whatever. I still say it's safer at a distance. I think you're done. Take a look?"

  The mirror hung over the back of the door. Angry red skin made the black ink pop and the color blare brighter. The scars were still there, woven in. Liam stared at it for a long time. Brandon's messy signature was gone, swallowed up in a drawing of Liam's own design.

  "I'm going to double your fee," he announced.

  "Great. Double gratis is let me see -- still zero." Goose looped an arm over Liam's shoulders. "Glad to do it."

  "Thanks, man." Liam knocked their hips together. "Tape me up?"

  "You got it."

  Ink sealed in under a neat bandage, Liam finally let his shirt fall back over his stomach. The music had eased off a little in anticipation of paying customers. He winked at Goose then slipped back into the hallway. Ace's door was cracked open, the last thready chords of the song reaching through. Liam went straight in.

  Ace squatted in front of the far wall, marker in hand. His dreadlocks were gone, replaced by a riot of messy gelled spikes. The tattoo Liam had designed for him ran up to his freshly bared neck, practically begging to be licked. The city under his marker-stained hands had grown by leaps and bounds. It spread over all the formerly blank space, buildings rising helter-skelter to the ceiling. The sun had spewed forth a few stars over the ceiling, and a subway line ran over the edges of the floor.

  "Got a new one for you. Charles Baudelaire this time." Liam said softly, smiling when Ace jumped to his feet, turning to find him there. "What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters."

  "Innocent monsters, huh?" Ace studied him with a tender expression, capping his marker slowly. "Thought you weren't coming home until late tonight."

  "Changed my mind. Sooner is better."

  "You're back for good. Day or two doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things." The marker got tossed aside.

  "Of course it matters." Liam dropped all pretense to cross the floor and lean down for a kiss. "Say hello."

  "Hello, Professor." Ace smiled into it, hands sliding over Liam's hips. When their bodies touched, Liam bit back a whimper of pain. "That eager?"

  "No just a little raw."

  "You got work done?" Ace hooked his fingers under Liam's shirt and pulled it up. "Just now? You let Goose cover it up?"

  "Yeah. It's time. I'll show you later. You can peel the bandage off. Help me with my aftercare." He practically growled out the last word.

  "Someone's got a pain high." Ace waggled his eyebrows. "See, this is why you should have told me when you were coming. I'd've made time to take you home. Say hello properly. Instead, I've got clients."

  "Thought a day or two didn't matter much? I can wait."

  "Got no choice. Why don't you get us dinner?" Ace stepped back enough to peel two twenties out of his wallet. "Pizza."

  "Hawaiian and pepperoni." He took the money, though he didn't actually need it.

  They were going to have to talk finances now that Liam was home for good. Ace had been paying the utilities and upkeep on the house in lieu of rent, something that drove Ace crazy. He tried to pay for nearly everything whenever Liam came back for a visit, trying to make up for it. Liam didn't care one way or another. He had enough to come out of his master's program without much debt and a steady income starting in the fall. Not to mention the nest egg Gene had left behind, enough to keep them in pizza for a long time.

  He walked to the pizza place, neon signs snapping to life around him as the sun set. When he got back, Frankie was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs. Her hair was smoothed back in an effortlessly neat bun and her bangs curled to perfection. She'd kicked off her high heels and tucked her legs under a pink poodle skirt stitched with a black embroidered skull.

  "When did you get home?" she scolded as he came through the door. "I would've made something if I knew you were coming back."

  "Just got in a few hours ago. No one knew." He put down the boxes to accept her hug, inhaling the baby powder, whiskey, and lipstick scent of her. "There's pizza anyway."

  "Pizza isn't home cooking."

  "Not going to stop you from having a piece though." Deb handed Frankie a paper towel. "We can do a big dinner on Sunday."

  "At my place," Frankie guessed. "With me cooking?"

  "Well, if you're volunteering."

  "I can make something," Liam offered. "I've mastered the fine art of chopping vegetables at least."

  "I'll think about it." Frankie took a slice of pepperoni.

  "I smell something awesome." Goose ducked his head into the room.

  "Hey, baby," Frankie said softly.

  "I knew it wasn't just the pizza." He bounded in, swarming the chair to get a kiss. Frankie ruffled his curls as he pulled away, red lipstick smeared over his lips. "Did you see? We've got our Professor back."

  "I noticed." She plucked up a paper towel and rubbed at his mouth. "If you just let me eat first, this wouldn't happen to you."

  "Waiting is for losers." He declared around her ministrations. It came out a bit garbled.

  "What's all the noise about?" Ace had a liter of soda tucked under one arm. "Are they being gross again?"

  "Possibly." Liam took the soda, opening it slowly. "Depends on your point of view, I guess. Does saying hello right away count as gross?"

  "Oh, let it go." Ace elbowed him gently. "You surprised me."

  "I know. That was the point." Liam bussed him on the cheek before handing him a slice of pizza.

  "I hate all of you. I hope you know that." Deb groused, sinking into the couch.

  "There, there. You're the sexiest single I know." Ace sat down next to her.

  Liam could've taken the other chair. It probably would've been kinder on his stomach, but he didn't want to be that far away just now. Instead he settled on the floor, in the vee of Ace's legs. He listened to the banter flying around above his head as he ate the chunks of pineapple off one by one.

  At some point in the evening, Ace's clever fingers slipped Liam's ponytail holder out. The long fall of his black hair swept into his eyes. He'd let it grow past his shoulders, pleased with Ace's obsession with it. He tuned out the others' conversation, lost in the rhythm of Ace's fingers in his hair.

  "Got a client coming soon," Ace said regretfully. "I'll meet you at home. Don't freak if Cole and Joy aren't there. Mom was making noise about stealing them for the weekend."

  "Okay." Liam yawned, pushing off the floor. Goose must've already gone back to work, Frankie and Deb dickering over the last piece of pepperoni. "Wake me up if I crash."

  "Nice to have you home." Frankie hugged him again. "Sunday. Dinner. Seven?"

  "Sounds good. I'll bring salad."

  "You know someone else would look like a goth boy's wet dream with this." Deb tugged at a lock of his hair. "You just look like an anemic poet."

  "I'm going to buy a pair of tiny glasses and become a beatnik." He mimed drumming bongos. "I'll be the hit of the talent show."

  "Get out." She laughed. "Come back tomorrow. It's Saturday, we'll have walk-ins. Word gets out you're back, and we'll have all your fans back too."

  He drove home slowly with the windows rolled down. The house sat under the same tall trees, and the path from the driveway to the front door still curved a little for no reason. Joy had cultivated the roses, some kind
of hands-on therapy that Ace claimed really seemed to help. They looked good, red and white blooms nodding heavy on their stems.

  Darkness greeted him when stepped in, but evidence of the other occupants was littered everywhere. The old bulky television had been replaced with a mounted flatscreen, a dozen cartoon-covered DVDs sprawled out on the coffee table. Joy's shoes lined the hallway, high heels in a myriad of colors. George padded up to him, fatter than ever, his purr all gravel and pleasure. Liam knelt down to greet him properly. When he stood, George returned to his bed in the window, watching the squirrels with interest.

  Liam bypassed the kitchen and his old room, now Joy's, and went straight into the master bedroom. Ace's things had swelled to capacity in the space, but there were still drawers for the clothing Liam had brought back with him. Books were another story. Maybe they could build some bookshelves in the basement that Ace kept threatening to renovate. The tug of tape on his stomach reminded him to remove the bandage. He did it in the bathroom under the harsh white light. Cosmetics warred with shaving paraphernalia over the sink.

  The bandage peeled off cleanly. He washed the aching skin, applied two packets of ointment, tossing the spent packets in the garbage. A GI Joe lay limp by the trash, one arm missing. Liam set him on the one clear spot on the sink.

  The bed called to him. He flopped down on his back and shut his eyes, anticipating a quick nap before he attempted any further unpacking.

  "No one should look this pretty asleep," Ace whispered in his ear.

  "Not sleeping," he denied through a yawn, blinking. "You're back early."

  "It's one in the morning. You fell asleep."

  "Oh." He propped himself up on his elbows, taking in the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock. "Guess I did."

  "Can I look now?"

  "Sure." Liam stretched, letting his t-shirt ride up. The pull of abused skin sent confused fissures of pain and pleasure up his spine.

  "That's good work." Ace straddled him, hands falling on either side of the ink. Careful not to touch.

  The quote swam in an ocean of the psychedelic color that Goose was known for. Liam had given him an outline for the framing, let Goose run wild with the plumes of orange, purple, and red. The lettering he had been firmer on, blocked print in black: "The wound is the place where the Light enters you."

  "I found it a year ago. Took me awhile to be ready for it though."

  "You believe it?"

  "How can't I? If I'd never suffered, then I wouldn't be here, right now. Which is exactly where I want to be. Even if the bathroom looks like a battlefield."

  "That's because it is. I spend more time waiting outside that door then I do actually showering." Ace huffed out a laugh. "I like it, anyway. You do realize though that this means we can't get sweaty."

  "That did not cross my mind. Damn it." Liam groaned.

  "Lucky for you, I'm creative."

  Creativity apparently meant a long, detailed blowjob that left Liam a fucked-out mess smeared over the sheets. Not a sweaty mess though. He returned the favor, urging Ace upwards to straddle his shoulders to avoid pulling at the oversensitized skin of his stomach. They'd never done it this way before, but Liam liked it, the lack of control and the way he could hold on Ace's thighs to feel the muscle flex.

  "Goddamn." Ace dropped in a heap beside Liam, pupils blown wide. "That is way better than a phone call."

  "My voice doesn't do it for you?"

  "There's really only so many times I can jerk off to poetry before I develop a really geeky fetish."

  "You started it." Liam grinned. "Wanted me to tell you what I was studying."

  "Then you read it in The Voice. Got all teacherly on me. Does things to a man."

  Ace rolled onto his stomach, letting Liam trace the graceful lettering he'd laid there a year ago. He'd been infinitely nervous about it, but Ace hadn't hesitated for a second once he saw the design. The skyscraper was actually more Ace's style, the cartoony building leaning over his left shoulder could have come right off his wall. Two people stood on the edge of the rooftop, indistinct and blurred. A bridge of hazy letters stretched from their feet, from Ace's left shoulder blade to the right one. Dawnsio ar y dibyn, a Welsh saying that meant "dancing on the edge of a cliff." Ace had never said it, but when Liam found it in idle internet search for the "raining old women and sticks" line, it had stuck.

  "That's us." Ace had said when Liam handed him the design. "Playing with fire all the time. Getting burned. Coming back for more."

  Then Liam's hands had shook when he prepared the inks. Now, they were steady tracing the letters from one side of Ace's shoulders to the other. He loved them there, words he had settled under Ace's skin where they were beloved instead of reviled.

  "Enjoying your work?" Ace tilted his chin up on his arms.

  "Enjoying my work on you." Liam dropped a kiss over the words.

  "No more quote tattoos, okay? Next time you design one for me, I want a big image. Something to go underneath."

  "I can do that." Liam wondered if he sounded as pleased as he felt. "How about a phoenix? A real one?"

  "Only if it's more fire than bird."

  They resettled for sleep, Ace curling up behind Liam and resting his hand on the point of Liam's hip instead of his belly like usual. They didn't bother with the covers, lying exposed to the rattling ceiling fan. In the darkness, the line between their bodies blurred until the ink melted between them. In sleep, they told one story together, stretched across one skin.