Too soon, Chet realized he had to be back at work. He stood and, holding his tray, tried to think of what to say to make Scott want to see him again. The problem was, Chet didn’t know if Scott was sending off all the right signals or if he just got turned on talking about tattoos. Was it him? Or the thought of reeling in a potential new customer?
“Here.” Scott dug a business card from his back pocket and handed it to Chet. “I rent a booth there. Hit me up sometime.”
Chet fingered the card. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go under the needle just yet…”
Scott shrugged, then gave Chet such a steady stare, it unnerved him. “I’m not talking about just that. Unless you want me to spell it out—”
“No, I got it,” Chet said with a relieved laugh. He pocketed the card and held out his hand for Scott to shake. “Looking for a good time, call.”
“Definitely.” Scott set his elbow on the table, arm up as if preparing to wrestle. He gripped Chet’s hand like that and, instead of shaking it, gave it a gentle squeeze that belied his rough appearance. One finger slipped between their clasped hands to tickle Chet’s palm. “Call me.”
“I will,” Chet promised. His whole body tingled at the thought. “Definitely.”
* * * *
Chet took the plunge and called Scott a few days after they met, and they went to a midnight movie playing at the Byrd in Carytown. They sat in the back of the theater where no one could see them and, at some point, Chet stopped paying attention to the film and began to realize Scott’s hand rested high on his leg. He covered it with his own, pulling it toward him. Scott took the invitation and reached across the armrest to cup the crotch of Chet’s khakis.
At the touch, his cock went from mild arousal to full-blown hard-on. He stared at the screen ahead, no longer comprehending the images flickering across it, and held his breath as Scott slowly unzipped his pants. Yes, he prayed, yes, yes. Fingers fumbled into his open fly, digging into his underwear, to encircle his stiffening erection.
Yes.
Then he was out in Scott’s palm, the cool air of the darkened theater and the thrill of excitement at what they were doing fanning the flames of lust igniting his veins. He gasped as Scott began to massage his dick, and let himself slide down into the seat a little, his legs spreading farther apart. How things had managed to move so fast between them, Chet didn’t know, but he didn’t dare question it. This was exactly what he’d hoped to get from the evening.
The movie played on. At some point, Scott leaned over into Chet’s lap and kissed the weeping tip of his cock. The tattoo artist then opened wide and took Chet’s length into his mouth. Chet felt a ball piercing in the middle of Scott’s tongue as it tickled down the slit in his dick. With one knuckle between his teeth to keep quiet, Chet thrust up into Scott, losing himself in the sensations, the emotions, the moment, the man. Later, when Scott kissed him goodnight, Chet swore he could still taste himself on Scott’s lips.
And that had just been the beginning.
Chet kept odd hours—he went to school during the week, held down the museum job between classes, and spent his weekends copyediting for the newspaper. Scott ran his booth at Tattoo 804 six days a week from noon to eight, taking a break on Thursdays when he got paid. Things moved fast between them—less than a week after they met, they were having sex in the back seat of Chet’s Lexus. It was much roomier than Scott’s VW Beetle, to be sure. He wasn’t quite ready to invite the guy back to his apartment yet, and maybe that was part of the reason why Scott never brought Chet back to the place he called home.
They didn’t need to, Chet reasoned. The car worked well down darkened side streets or in abandoned parking lots. A few times, he’d snuck Scott into the employee restroom at the museum for a quick fix, and there was a supply room in the back of the tattoo parlor that locked from the inside. Whenever one of them wanted to get off, he texted the other. Want 2 hook up?
Every time Chet saw the text on his cell phone, his cock began to swell.
He didn’t want more, he told himself. He didn’t need more. Scott didn’t seem interested in taking things further, and Chet was sure as hell not going to be the one to suggest it.
* * * *
Three months later, Chet still wouldn’t necessarily call what they did dating. If he had to put a name to it, he’d call them fuck buddies. Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that he felt something more for Scott. After all, he let the guy talk him into getting a tattoo.
He felt rebellious doing it, more nervous than scared, and almost chickened out twice as he flipped through the racks of flash designs looking for the right one. Finally he told Scott, “Nothing really stands out to me. You decide.”
“Where do you want it?” Scott asked.
It was late evening—Chet had stopped by after class but the tattoo parlor was still open for another hour, so if he wanted to get off, he had to wait for Scott first. As much as Chet would’ve loved to get a tattoo somewhere obvious, like the crook of his elbow or the inside of his wrist, he didn’t have enough courage to so blatantly disobey his parents. “Maybe on my back,” he suggested. “Like partway down the middle where no one can see it unless I show them? What do you think? Will that hurt?”
“Shit,” Scott drawled with a laugh. “It’s going to hurt no matter where you put it.”
Chet winced. “How much?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle.” Scott gave him a seductive wink that sent shivers down Chet’s spine. “We’ll take it in stages, how’s that sound? Just do the outline tonight, and get you back in here for the fill later.”
The parlor was mostly empty, but Chet still stepped closer to Scott and lowered his voice to tease, “I thought I was here to get filled in the first place. If somebody would just get off already…”
Scott grinned. “What? You don’t want me to wait for you?”
* * * *
Now it was four weeks after Chet’s first tattoo. True to his word, Scott only inked in an outline of the image—what would eventually be a complicated half-moon/half-sun orb hovering just behind him was currently a series of black lines indicating the design. It’d hurt like a bitch, and Chet dreaded filling it in. Couldn’t they leave well enough alone? True, it looked silly as is—Chet caught sight of it in the mirror sometimes when he was getting into the shower and shuddered to remember the way it’d felt, as if someone were scraping into sunburnt skin. When it was finished, it would look bad-ass, Scott promised…and he’d never lied to Chet before. In the meantime, it just looked bad.
As Chet followed Scott through the employee-only area of the tattoo parlor, he wondered what had the artist working so late. Part of him was afraid to ask. What if he wasn’t Scott first booty call of the night? What if he wasn’t the main course but dessert? What if—
“We threw a birthday party for Lanie after work,” Scott said, interrupting Chet’s thoughts. “I knew it’d run late, but geez. They closed the place up early and it was beers all around. I thought they’d never leave.”
Lanie was one of the piercers at Tattoo 804. When Scott first introduced them, she told Chet she’d love to see him with a Prince Albert. He’d laughed politely at the time, but when he went home and Googled the term, he almost fainted. No way in hell was he ever getting one of those! And if he did…God forbid, but if he did, she’d never see it.
“Did you give each other tattoos, too?” Chet asked as Scott held the door to the main area of the tattoo parlor open for him.
The look Scott threw his way reminded Chet just how little he knew about the art. “You don’t ink someone who’s been drinking.”
Chet shrugged; he didn’t know. “I guess you guys don’t need alcohol to dull the pain.”
He followed Scott across the darkened floor to his ‘booth,’ a stool, a padded tattooist chair stretched flat into a tabletop, and a series of locking steel drawers that held all his ink and supplies. Only a few of the recessed overhead lights were on—the bulk of light came from a s
mall lamp perched on a desk beside the chair in Scott’s booth.
“It thins the blood,” Scott explained. “If you’ve been drinking, then you bleed more when you get a tattoo. And it hurts a hell of a lot worse than usual.”
“But you’re too drunk, you won’t feel it as much,” Chet muttered under his breath.
If Scott heard him, he chose to ignore him. Instead he stopped in mid-step, so abruptly Chet bumped into his back. Turning, Scott was suddenly right there, right in front of Chet, so close he just had to pucker his lips to claim a kiss. His hands roamed the front of Chet’s sweater, finding the hardened nubs of Chet’s teats beneath the fuzz and plucking them erect. He trailed down Chet’s stomach, over ticklish skin, to play with the snap fly of his jeans. Snap, open. Snap, shut. Open, shut, open, shut, a steady rhythm that punctuated their kiss. With each snap, the zipper beneath it eased down a little farther than before. Chet wondered how many kisses it’d take to get him out of the jeans altogether.
Apparently Scott had other plans. Slipping his hands under Chet’s sweater, he rubbed up the flat plane of Chet’s belly and around his waist. “Let’s see how well you’ve healed,” he whispered against Chet’s lips.
For a few seconds longer, Chet lost himself in their kiss and didn’t let his mind register Scott’s request. How well I’ve healed…What did that mean, exactly?
Then it hit him. My tattoo.
Taking a step back, he let Scott pull his sweater up as he turned. In the full-length mirror on the wall across the room, he could see his reflection in the mirror beside Scott’s booth, but the tattoo itself was hidden by Scott’s body. Chet savored the artist’s sexy image—the way his jeans rode low on his hips, how his top pulled taut to tuck into his jeans, the colorful tattoos up and down his arms and across his back…Chet could faintly see them through the wifebeater. Mine, he let himself believe, if only for the moment.
Scott ran his hand over Chet’s back, then tugged the sweater up higher. “Take this off.”
Chet obeyed, slipping the sweater over his head. When he held it to his chest, his arms still in the sleeves, Scott grabbed both his hips and positioned him to get a better look at the tattoo. His touch was ticklish, smoothing down Chet’s spine. Chet winced in reflex at the memory of pain. He didn’t really need anything else done to the image. No one would know the difference but him.
“Looks real good,” Scott murmured. Chet watched in the mirror as Scott leaned over to kiss the black lines on his back. Then he asked the one question Chet dreaded. “Ready to fill it in?”
Chet tried to step away but Scott’s hands on his hips held him in place. “I thought you wanted to have sex.”
“We can do both.” Scott stood and, looking over Chet’s shoulder, met Chet’s gaze in the mirror. “All my supplies are here, you’re here, and no one else is around. Who’s to say we can’t get a little…”
He ground his hips into Chet’s buttocks. A hardness strained at the front of his jeans, exciting Chet as it rubbed against his ass. “You mean do it here?”
Scott gave him a sardonic grin. “The tattoo, shyeah. The sex, why not?”
Why not indeed? Chet knew there had to be a million reasons why not, but with Scott’s erection pressed tight against his butt, he couldn’t think of a single one. Still, his voice quivered when he said, “Sure, I guess.”
“Lose this.” Scott tugged on the sleeve of Chet’s sweater as he headed for his booth. “You ever done it on one of these? They’re designed for comfort.”
“I’ve never even been in one before I met you,” Chet reminded him. He shrugged off the sweater and folded it, then set it on a stool in the booth beside Scott’s. His hands strayed to his belt, still buckled even though Scott had unsnapped his jeans. Over his shoulder, he asked, “These too?”
Scott was rummaging in one of the drawers, pulling out tiny bottles of ink and placing them on a steel tray nearby. He glanced up and winked, sending a spark of lust shooting through Chet. “Unless you want me to fuck you through them…”
Quickly Chet unbuckled the belt and unzipped the jeans. He shoved them to his knees, then kicked off both his sneakers and the jeans at the same time. Bending in just his briefs, he shook the wrinkles from the jeans and folded them, too, setting them on top of the sweater. The sneakers he lined up and nudged under the stool.
A cold, slimy hand touched the inside of his inner thigh. Chet squealed and whirled to find Scott snickering, his hand wet with clear A&D ointment. “What the hell!” he cried.
Scott laughed. “You’re fun to tease. Come here.” When Chet didn’t move immediately, his tone hardened. “Come here.”
The floor felt as cold beneath his socked feet as the gel did, smearing between his thighs. He closed the distance between them, wary. He loved being with Scott—the mere fact that a guy like that could ever possibly be interested in a guy like him still amazed him sometimes. He loved the way Scott looked, every inch of him, piercings and tattoos included. He loved Scott’s light eyes, like windows full of unblemished sunlight shining from his rugged face. He loved Scott’s laugh, his smoked-out voice, his rough kisses and strong hands, and the way their bodies fit together so perfectly during sex. Shit, if he were being honest, he would admit he loved Scott, period, but he wasn’t quite ready to go there yet.
But Scott had a bad streak in him, too. The tattoos and piercings hinted at it, and Chet knew that streak was part of the reason he was falling so hard for the guy in the first place. Sex with Scott could be a little harsh—never violent, but Scott liked to bite and pinch and thrust hard. He normally wanted to be on top, but a few times when he’d let Chet take control, he’d wanted more. The last time, Chet had to squeeze the base of Scott’s balls in a tight fist and hold it there as they fucked; Scott wouldn’t let him let go until Chet climaxed. Only then could Chet relax his grip, allowing Scott’s orgasm to erupt from an almost purplish blood-filled cock. He liked tweaked nipples and love bites in tender places, like the inside of Chet’s thighs, and he’d even mentioned felching once, though the look on Chet’s face had stemmed that conversation real quick. Chet didn’t even know what it was at the time—he had to look it up, too, and wondered if the librarians at the university ever wondered which student was Googling odd sex terms on the school computers—but it didn’t sound nice. It wasn’t.
Now Chet almost feared Scott. The cold hand on his leg had been one thing; would it be twisted titties next? Snapped waistbands or a bitten lip? Sometimes Chet wondered what had ever made him think he could control a man like this in the first place.
The ink and tattoo machine sitting out on the tray beside Scott’s stool didn’t go unnoticed. Chet hoped they fucked first. Maybe then he could talk his way out of any more artwork. He’d like a full-blown, gorgeous tattoo—who wouldn’t? But he was a bit of a wimp when it came to pain.
When Chet was close enough, Scott reached out and grabbed the front of his briefs to reel him in the rest of the way. The slick hand ran down Chet’s flat, pale belly. “You’re so virginal. No piercings, no ink,” Scott murmured, tugging Chet’s briefs down to expose the hardening dick hidden within. “And then there’s this.”
Chet’s cock swung up to meet Scott, the tip drooping slightly from its weight. Scott trailed the cool ointment down the path of tiny hairs leading from Chet’s navel into his pubes, then grasped Chet’s dick at the base. Tucking the briefs below Chet’s balls, he palmed the fuzzy nuts and leaned forward, mouth open wide, tongue licked out. Chet watched Scott’s mouth zero in on him, his breath caught in his throat as that pierced tongue came closer, and closer…
With a gasp, he closed his eyes as Scott swallowed his cock. The warm, familiar mouth worked his length, the ball piercing bumping along veined skin as Scott sucked. The hand around his shaft kneaded him, the other hand rubbed his balls. He felt like he was being milked, every nerve in his body attuned to the sensations in his crotch, every synapse gearing up toward release. Chet ran his hands over the scruffy top of Scott�
�s short-cropped hair, tugged on the hoops ringing his ears, fucked into him, eager for this, this, here, now, him.
Before he could come, though, Scott pulled free. Chet’s spit-slicked dick hardened in the cool air, and his balls shrank when Scott’s warmth was gone. Only half-kidding, he said, “That was cruel.”
“That was just the warm-up,” Scott replied. He slapped Chet’s ass, leaving a greasy palm print on his briefs. “Take these off and we’ll get to the main event.”
Chet pushed down his briefs, but stopped at mid-thigh when Scott reached out to caress his legs. “This good?”
Scott stood, his hand trailing up Chet’s body and around his waist to pull him into a one-armed embrace. “Perfect,” he murmured, catching Chet’s mouth with his.
The kiss was gentle, a stark contrast to the press of Scott’s body against Chet’s. Chet felt himself pinned between the tattooist chair and his lover, both unyielding as they hemmed him in. Without releasing Chet’s body—or lips—Scott half-turned and unzipped his jeans. The low-riding pants slipped to his knees, followed by a pair of boxers hastily unsnapped. Then Chet felt Scott’s erection alongside his own, both cocks gripped together in one tight fist. His lover’s hardness surprised him; how Scott had managed to stay seated with that crammed down the front of his jeans, Chet didn’t know.
For a long moment, Chet concentrated on their kiss, the tender tongue inside his mouth, the metallic taste of the piercing at its center, the way the ball rubbed the roof of Chet’s mouth. Scott stroked their shafts with long, languid movements, fingers squeezing as he traced up and down the lengths, the saliva on Chet’s dick adding lubrication to Scott’s. With his hands on the tattooist chair behind him, Chet held his own against Scott, wanting everything the man could offer, eager to prove he could take it.
Then Scott’s lips kissed across Chet’s jaw to his ear. “Bend over,” he purred.
The words warmed Chet up inside and tickled deep within him. Yes.
Tattooed Love - Gay Erotic Romance Box Set (5 Books in 1 Collection) Page 2
