Hearts of England

by Anthology

  Momentarily switching himself off to the sound of her voice as she spoke to the customer, Rob studied the Buddha. The picture the woman had given him yesterday hadn't exactly been full of artistic detail, but the basic outline was clean. The face was more of a caricature, with a cheeky grin, so he'd altered the face to give the Buddha a serene and knowing look—much more in keeping with the brief he'd been given. Freehand, he began outlining a bed of lotus blossom for the little fat man to sit on—curling petals so intertwined it was impossible to tell where one finished and the next began.

  "Rob, this bloke wants a portrait. I said he was looking at a couple of hours at least. He wants it done today, but I told him we close in fifteen."

  Rob glanced at the photograph Rainbow had tossed onto the table, and his pencil once again stuttered on the paper. The photograph showed a man with laughing green eyes staring up at him from a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones. The man's softly falling blond hair was lifted by a gentle breeze as he laughed at whatever the photographer was saying. The man's chest was bare and Rob's gaze touched on the beautiful tattoo of a wolf's head artfully placed around the man's belly button. He couldn't help but admire the artistry of the needle work, the wolf's fur so expertly done that the tattooist may as well have used a brush and paint. But it was the expression that caught his eye. The photographer had captured a moment in time. An expression of tenderness so acute that it made Rob wonder if he'd ever been looked at that way. With completely unabashed joy… love.

  "Hello?" Rainbow drew out the second syllable pointedly and Rob cleared his throat, glancing at the guy behind the desk and then back at his assistant.

  "I can do it," Rob blurted out, cutting her off in mid-flow. "Bring him down."

  "Rob, it's not late night—"

  "Maud," Rob ground out through his teeth in an attempt to keep his voice at a controllable decibel. "I said I can do it. Bring him down."

  "Jeez, unbunch," Rainbow complained, folding her arms and glaring down at him. "I don't have to stay, do I?"

  Rob rolled his eyes and waved an impatient hand at her. "God forbid you should have to work one minute later than five," he growled. "In fact, go home now—just make sure you turn the closed sign, pull the blinds, and kill the lights at the front of the shop. Then sod off and do… whatever it is you do." He gazed up at her, confronted with the cavern of her mouth as she yawned widely. "What exactly do you do?"

  "Well, on Thursdays I watch EastEnders. After which I go out and sacrifice a live goat or two. Then I bathe in their blood to keep my youthful complexion," Rainbow drawled sarcastically, flipping him the finger and spinning so fast on thin heels he was amazed she didn't break her neck as she walked back to the reception desk.

  Watching the man follow Rainbow the length of the shop, Rob couldn't help but admire his confident gait. His long legs were encased in tight, dark blue denim, firm thigh muscles outlined against the fabric with each step. His broad shoulders were covered by the girly combination of lilac and grey. There was a gentle swell of bicep bulging as the man lifted his hand and ran his fingers through thick blond hair. Watching the way the soft strands moved without effort, Rob touched a hand to his own jet-black, purple tipped hair and sighed longingly. Rob's dick twitched eagerly, straining against the confines of his briefs. Cursing whoever had invented the ridiculously tight jeans he was wearing, Rob was able to adjust himself, hopefully without drawing too much attention to the movement. Although judging by the twitch of the man's lips, he failed abysmally. Nice work, Rob. Is that the new by-line? A free boner with every tattoo?

  "Shane… Rob, Rob… Shane," Rainbow drawled, waving Shane to a chair. "Don't worry, Rob always looks like a bulldog sucking a wasp. He's the artistic type, you know, all guy-liner, PMS and bunched panties. On that note, I'll bid you both a good night. I have goats to sacrifice."

  "Careful, Maud," Rob ground out as she spun on her heel. "Or it might be goodbye, not good night."

  "Please," Rainbow said and poked out her tongue. "You're already so in love with me, you wouldn't know what to do without me."

  "Good night, Maud."

  Rob winced as the shop door slammed behind Rainbow and glanced up at Shane with a smile. "What—?" The words stilled in his throat as Shane held his hand out and indicated with a nod that he expected Rob to return the pleasantry. After a few moments, he slipped his fingers into Shane's hand, swallowing hard at the warmth of the man's palm against his.

  "I'm Shane, nice to meet you."

  Rob frowned before inclining his head and shaking Shane's hand as firmly as he could manage. "Rob, same to you." His tone was casual, he hoped, because the guy's nearness was sending most of the blood he needed for basic motor functions due south. "Where do you want it?" He swallowed hard when Shane immediately took off both his jumper and his shirt in one swift move, tossing it to the floor beside his chair.

  "I was thinking here," Shane replied, brushing long fingers across his left flank.

  Trying desperately not to pay excess attention to the movement of Shane's hand on his own flesh, Rob nodded curtly. What is wrong with me? My cock is behaving like a pubescent teenager's, for God's sake. It hasn't been that long, for crying out loud. "You know it's gonna hurt there? Over the ribs is always painful and you don't have much… um… flesh covering them."

  "I'm a big boy," Shane said in a low voice. "I can handle it. As long as I have something to suck on."

  "Excuse me?" Rob was highly embarrassed to hear the squeak that was his response.

  "You know, a lollipop… for distraction," Shane said, innocently enough, Rob thought, but he couldn't be sure he hadn't been played. "Don't you do that here?"

  "Of course, of course," Rob replied, clearing his throat and gathering himself. Most tattooists offered lollipops to their clients to suck during inking as a distraction technique to give the brain something else to concentrate on. It didn't stop the pain, but for a lot of people, it certainly lessened it. So why was your dick your first thought? Ignoring his inner voice, Rob picked up his pigment pen and glanced into dark brown eyes. "It'll take me a while to draw this. Jump on the table and make yourself comfortable."

  Turning his chair around, Rob placed a fresh sheet of tracing paper over the photograph and smoothed it flat with his hand. He stared into the deep green eyes once more and began to draw his outline. Vaguely aware of Shane lying down on the leather chair, which had already been lowered into its full reclining position for his last client, Rob concentrated on recreating the man in the photograph.

  Starting with the outline of the face, Rob was quickly lost in the task at hand. He liked to take his time. Making sure every stroke of the pen was just right. The slightest mistake, that no one else would ever notice, caused him to screw up the paper and toss it into the bin and then start all over again. He would never allow anything less than perfection to be transferred from paper to skin. His craft was everything. His pen stilled as he realised how true that was, of late anyway.

  Rob had started the shop over a year ago, and from the first tattoo word spread like wildfire. Before he knew what had happened, he had two other artists. Business had been so manic he'd finally acquiesced and hired a receptionist, if that's what anyone would call Maud. The shop had been his dream since art college and the moment his tutor had praised a piece of art he'd been working on. The words, "Wow, that would look beautiful on flesh," had lit a spark deep in his gut and he knew from then on what he wanted to do with his life. To have someone walk around with his art imprinted on their skin for all to see, he couldn't think of a better accolade to his work.

  "You sure your wife won't mind you staying late?"

  Rob had been so lost in his own inner world he'd almost forgotten Shane was there… almost. "Not married," he said dismissively, not looking up. "But my boyfriend's used to me keeping odd hours."

  "Are you sure?" Shane's tone was derisive and Rob's gaze briefly flitted to the other man's.

  "Why wouldn't I be?" Rob frowned and cleare
d his throat, indicating the photograph. "Do you want the whole photo? The body and the tattoo and everything?"

  Shane nodded. "Yes. I want everything. Whenever I look at him, that's what I want to see."

  The words were said with such breathy honesty that Rob couldn't help but gaze at the wistful expression on Shane's face. "You don't see that anymore?" The question was out before he could stop it and now it was hanging in the air between them like an unwelcome visitor.

  "Sometimes." Shane seemed to give himself a mental shake, and Rob watched as he raised an arm above his head, the muscles in his torso tightening and rippling beneath the skin. "How long is this gonna take?"

  Rob turned back to the drawing and continued the recreation with swift strokes of his pen. "A couple of hours, at least."

  "That's okay. I have time, as long as you don't mind being stuck with me."

  Resisting the urge to stare into those deep brown eyes again, Rob concentrated on his job, mumbling curtly, "I don't much care, as long as I get paid." Okay, so his partner and he had been drifting apart lately, but that didn't mean he needed any added complications right now. His nether regions, however, seemed far more interested in throwing caution to the wind and jumping on top of the recumbent man before he'd even finished drawing. And his frustrated inner voice was urging him to ask Shane if he'd be interested in the kind of prick he wouldn't get from a needle.

  Finally, the drawing finished to his satisfaction, Rob picked up the tracing paper and spun around on his chair. "Okay, it's finished. What do you think?"

  Shane swung his legs over the side of the table and sat up, reaching out to take the piece of paper from Rob's fingers. As he stared, he shook his head slowly and Rob's gut clenched. Shit, he doesn't like it. Maybe I shouldn't have been so enthusiastic with the tattoo. Maybe I should have used softer strokes.

  "It's beautiful," Shane whispered. "It's him. It's… just… him."

  "Is that good?"

  "Yeah." Shane nodded and smiled broadly. "It's very good."

  "Okay, let's get this show on the road," Rob said, taking the picture out of Shane's hands and getting up. He strolled across the shop floor to the thermal copier at the back of the room and lifted the cover. With the tracing paper face down on the glass, he lowered the cover and pressed the start button. The machine whirred into life and spat out a fresh sheet with the design perfectly copied. Studying the lines and curves brought to life by his pen, he nodded to himself, satisfied with what he saw. Back in his chair, he grabbed his scissors and cut around the design, then tossed the debris into the bin under his desk.

  "I'm assuming you want this black and grey?" The question was tossed over his shoulder as he popped open the lid of two fresh black ink pots, knowing he was going to need at least two for the size of the tat.

  "You're the expert. I'm happy to leave myself in your capable hands." Rob could have imagined the suggestion in Shane's voice, but he wasn't sure. Either way, he chose to ignore the nuance in the statement and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

  "Lie on your side; get comfortable. You're going to be in the same position for a while," he said, waiting while Shane did as he asked. Rob wet some cotton wool with Dettol, wiped it across Shane's flank, and placed the stencil he had created onto the damp skin. He ran his fingers across the paper, pressing the design onto Shane's flesh, transferring his creation onto the man's body. When he peeled the paper slowly away, he inclined his head and smiled to himself, confident his canvas was ready. He instructed Shane to take a look at the positioning in the tall mirror on the wall and continued to set up his work station.

  Rob took out a fresh needle out of his top drawer and pulled on some gloves before ripping open the packaging and attaching the needle to the tattoo machine. He tapped the pedal with his foot and, as always, a frisson of excitement flowed through him as the machine whirred into life. Glancing up, he couldn't help but stare at the bunching of Shane's muscles as he turned this way and that, staring at the stencil on his skin. Rob cleared his throat and Shane seemed to snap out of the daze he was in. "Are you ready?"

  Shane nodded and returned to the table, offering Rob a birds-eye view of more rippling muscles as he settled himself onto his side. Letting out a breathy sigh, he smiled at Rob and said, "Be gentle with me."

  Rolling his eyes, Rob dipped his finger in the small mound of Vaseline he had placed on a tissue on top of his table and rubbed it into the area he was going to outline first. He had to give Shane his due. Most people at least flinched when the needle first touched their skin… but he didn't. Not one single muscle twitched. Rob glanced up the table at Shane's face and the man almost looked serene as he lay there, watching Rob work through lowered lashes. After the first fifteen minutes of complete silence, Rob thought he was going to explode from the tension crackling around them and between them. Then Shane finally spoke.

  "How long have you been tattooing?"

  Really? "Ten years," Rob murmured, wiping away the residual ink. "After art college I apprenticed with one of the best artists in the business and a year ago I opened the shop."

  "You must be doing very well."

  "It's taken off better than I could have ever hoped," Rob replied, smoothing more Vaseline into the tattoo.

  "Has it changed you?" Shane asked quietly.

  Rob looked up and stared into Shane's deep brown eyes, his expression pensive. Changed me? He shook his head almost immediately. "No, it hasn't changed me. I mean"—he continued with the tattoo—"maybe I've been working more since I opened the shop. But it's a lot of responsibility when everything is riding on your name, your art. So many shops fold after the first year. Your client base is really only as good as the word of mouth. That means taking tats at the last minute, making sure you never turn anyone away. It's like all businesses. To be successful, sacrifices have to be made."

  "Is it worth it?"

  Rob lifted his foot off the pedal and the machine cut out, leaving the air in the studio silent except for the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Is it worth it? To be able to be the master of your own destiny? To live the dream? "Hell, yeah, it's worth it."

  "That boyfriend of yours must be very understanding." Shane's voice was derisive but the look on his face was innocent as he stared back at Rob.

  "I think so," Rob bit out. "What about yours?"

  "What makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

  "You're too hot to be single." Rob blushed at the rise of Shane's eyebrow and the smug smile flitting across his face.

  "You're not so bad yourself."

  Rob ducked his head, depressed the pedal, and placed the needle to Shane's skin. Maybe a little heavy-handedly as the man winced for the first time. Not that he was going to apologise. If he did that, Shane would know how much his nearness was affecting Rob's judgement and there was no way he was giving him the satisfaction. The guy had been baiting him from the moment he walked in. What, by walking into a tattoo parlour and asking you, the tattooist, to give him a tattoo? Rob's inner voice drawled sarcastically. Wow… the man's like some kind of sexual mastermind. How will you escape?

  "Can I change position?" Shane asked, raising himself on his elbow without waiting for Rob's response.

  "Careful," Rob said, lifting the needle and his foot at the same time. He pushed back his chair as Shane rolled slightly and arched his back off the table, his denim clad hips lifting invitingly.

  "Sorry," Shane grinned. "I didn't mean to distract you."

  Rob squared his shoulders and shook his head firmly. "You didn't… you aren't… I mean you… won't." He ignored the chuckle from deep within Shane's throat and tried desperately to ignore the effect the sound was having on his cock and quickly started the machine again. The guy was making him as jittery as a teenage girl at her first school disco.

  Having finally finished the outline, Rob changed the line needle and replaced it with a magnum needle for the shading. His eyes flitted between the tattoo and the photograph, using it as a reference to ca
pture the perfect amount of light and shade exactly as they fell in the picture. Although he was lost in the recreation of the moment in time, methodically wiping away the excess ink and blood, Rob could still feel the heat of Shane's skin warming his own flesh through his gloves. Smooth, firm muscles twitched beneath his fingertips. He knew he was sweating, and it was only partly due to concentration. Every now and then Shane's impressive pecs would rise and fall as the man took a deep breathy sigh, and the way he nibbled at his lower lip was driving Rob crazy.

  The most difficult part of the tattoo, apart from Shane himself, was the recreation of the wolf's head over the belly button of the man in the picture. Rob wanted to get it right, for it to have the same vibrancy and intensity in the fur as the original and to have it stand out almost as a piece in its own right.

  "Everything okay?"

  Rob nodded, his gaze unwavering from the picture as he planned his first stroke. Narrowing his gaze, he dipped the needle in the ink and began. As he worked, the wolf seemed to come to life before his eyes. The fronds of fur looked so real he was sure if he touched them, he would feel their softness beneath his fingers. Animals were not his forte and he would be the first to admit it, but excitement unfurled in his belly at the ease with which the wolf came together under his hand. However, the silence that had fallen over the room once again made him uncomfortable and he cleared his throat. "So, tell me about the tattoo."

  "There's not that much to tell," Shane replied, dropping his head onto his upper arm.

  "Most tattoos mean something." Rob dipped the needle again and began to shade the wolf's snout. "There's always a story."

  "Okay," Shane said softly. "It's someone I used to know."

  "Someone you used to know?" Rob echoed, the needle stilling in his hand and his foot easing off the pedal as Shane opened his eyes and stared at him.