Fade Back (A Stepbrother Romance Novella)

by Brother, Stephanie

  “No, I mean, tell me about yourself.”

  “Oh, you don’t want to hear that kind of shit. Do girls like you like TV?”

  “Girls like me?” Becka teased him, enjoying the nervous energy Fitz was projecting, distracting her from her own awkwardness.

  “You know, twenty-year-olds. You work down at Lux, don’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Oh… Karen said something. She can be a real loud mouth.”

  “Oh really?” Becka remembered the laconic-to-the-point-of-hostility Karen and raised an eyebrow.

  “….Yeah. She’s pretty talkative one-on-one, you know.”

  “I’ll bet. I work at Lux but I’m not, like, married to it. Anyway I thought you were meant to be doing the talking. I’m just lying here. Still as a log. No wriggling.”

  “No wriggling!” Becka’s eyes were closed but she could hear a smile in Fitz’s voice. “I’m a homebody I guess. Old dogs and all that.”

  “Shut up, old? You can’t be a day over twenty-nine.”

  “Ha! That’s cute. Well, I feel old, anyway. I get restless sometimes, but that’s when it’s time to pack up my gear and go someplace else. I’ve guested in studios all up and down the country, just for the change of scenery. But everywhere you go, the same old problems come up.”

  “Like what?” Becka asked softly.

  “Loneliness, mostly.” Fitz replied, his voice like a lost puppy that Becka desperately wanted to scoop up and hold close. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “Where was your favorite place you lived?” Becka asked, thinking to herself, restless: that’s how Lux made her feel. And if she was totally honest with herself, a little lonely too.

  “Portland, I think. For a while, anyway. It’s the only place I’d go back to, I think. Not that I can.”

  “Why… if you don’t mind me asking?” Becka felt Fitz bristle at the question, and wished she could take it back, scooping that one syllable up in a cupped hand and swallowing it down. And Portland… Why did that tug at the back of her memories too? Eventually, Fitz answered.

  “Things didn’t go so well there for me in the end. But they seemed really good at first, you know? Ah well, c’est la vie et cetera and so on. Okay, brace yourself. We’re starting the needles.”

  “You mean you haven’t yet?!” Becka was relieved to hear Fitz’s saucy chuckle again, and settled in to the table.

  She braced herself against the needle, but her first jolt came when she felt Fitz’s cool, powerful hand spread against the naked flesh of her chest and upper belly, pressing down gently with a tantalizing hint of force. Oh boy. This guy. Wow.

  “Nope, that was a regular pen. Sorry. Here we go!”

  Chapter Five

  It didn’t really hurt, or at least the pain was easy to trace along with the needle, disappearing as quickly as it arrived, with Fitz’s hand deftly moving from line to line. It stung just enough for the tingling and wetness between Becka’s thighs to finally go away, which was a relief in itself. For the most part, they were quiet. Becka let her tattoo artist focus on his work, enjoying the steady whisper of his breath, her body still humming with every touch.

  In the intermissions, when Fitz refilled his ink and fiddled about with fresh needles, Becka stretched, and their chatting resumed.

  “I’ve never been to Portland, though I hear it’s pretty cool.”

  “It’s beautiful, but it might be just a little too hip for me, truth be told.”

  “Too hip? For an award-winning tattoo artist? Are you kidding?”

  Fitz chuckled again and shrugged in a self-effacing gesture; Becka found it so disarmingly cute she thought she might just fall in love with it. Fall in love? Shut up, Becka.

  “Well, I knew a girl there. She was a lot cooler than me I guess ‘coz she never had that problem. It gave the whole town this kind of hipper-than-thou vibe for me, and I just can’t seem to shake it. But yeah, ostensibly, I should’ve fit right in.”

  “You didn’t?” Becka asked, genuinely perplexed that a guy this handsome would have trouble fitting in anywhere. She also wondered if she’d be receiving any salacious tidbits regarding the nasty Wendy’s gossip about Fitz’s predilections.

  “It didn’t feel right, I guess. My ex,” Becka’s heart sung at that laden syllable. Ex. So he dated. He might date again. He had a girlfriend, but not anymore. If Jerome were there, he would have been screaming ALL ABOARD at the top of his lungs. If Mick were there, he’d have rolled his eyes and said duh. But neither of them was there, so instead Becka just listened. “She kind of ruled that scene, and in the end I just didn’t feel like my interest in the place was worth all the drama, considering I was the newcomer, so to speak. Either way, it turned out all her friends loved the drama and all my friends were her friends so I packed up and left, but two years is plenty of time to get to love a place.”

  Two years he’d been with that other girl? That was almost as long as Becka had been out of her geeky shell. In the three years since Becka burst through the doors of this new partying lifestyle, she barely remembered who she was before, and a lot of that she attributed to the admirers she’d teased along the way, and the confidence they’d given her. She tried to imagine forsaking the scores of conquests she’d had in that time for one person, and simply couldn’t.

  “Two years is a long time.”

  “For you maybe, but you’re just a kid!”

  Becka was surprised to find herself smarting from this. She was used to her youth being seen as a commodity, and deeply desirable at that. In her world, anyone over twenty-five had better be transitioning into a lawyer or a doctor or they’d desiccate into an aged, grandmotherly fossil. And yet,` here was Fitz: probably almost thirty but still as hot as they come.

  “So what if I’m just a kid? Two years is a long time when you could have anyone you wanted!” She didn’t mean to blurt that out, but luckily Fitz took it as a compliment. Becka was gratified to see him blush again as he gave her a sideways glance between the changes of the needles, the crinkles around Fitz’s eyes deepening with his grin.

  “Yeah, but what if you only want one person, and you can’t have them? Or you can have them, but they want everyone else as well?”

  “Well, then it’s time to look for someone else!”

  “I’ve done enough of that in my time. I figured it was time to just settle in and focus on art. Let someone else find me for a change.”

  Now it was Becka’s turn to blush. Fitz’s smiling gaze lingered on her and she could feel every second of it stretching out for an eternity. She felt herself getting restless again, and to cover her embarrassment, she clapped her hands in enthusiasm when Fitz was changing the ink as she giddily shouted, “Alright! Let’s get back to it!” when what she really wanted to do was sit beneath that lingering stare and give Fitz something to see.

  “There’s not much more to go for today, just a few more lines. How are you feeling, by the way?”

  “It feels kind of like getting bit by a bug or something, but like, over and over again. Am I going to bleed at all?”

  “Y’know some do, but it looks like you’re going to be pretty clean. You’ve got a thick skin.”

  “I heard from this guy once that he got a tattoo, and it scabbed over so much that the whole thing came off, or faded away, when he scratched it, and he sued. Or he was going to sue. Or something.” Becka suddenly felt stupid. This anecdote was stupid. She couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, or what the tattoo was. It was just another of the black light conversations she had with the other Lux patrons, barking inanities into deaf ears until somebody either went in for a kiss, or turned away. She tried to think of the details, why Fitz might find this story cute or interesting, some texture which would make it a worthwhile use of her breath. She couldn’t think of anything.

  “I think he was probably pulling your leg. Or his tattooist was really terrible at their job. Let’s go with terrible, shall we? Well, I assure you I am not terr
ible, and this is going to look great. My designs are permanent. They fade with time, just a bit, but they don’t fade away.”

  “I trust you,” Becka mumbled closing her eyes, and felt the pen hover over her chest before Fitz again, tender as ever, applied its buzzing nib to her marker-festooned flesh.

  “So how do you know Mick?” Fitz sounded forcefully casual as he stretched Becka’s skin.

  “How do you know I know Mick?” Becka countered playfully.

  “Because Karen said, doh.”

  “Oh yeah!” Becka giggled, which earned her a playful slap and an admonishment from Fitz: “No wriggling OR giggling!”

  “We met in college. He taught me how to break this one difficult code—back when I was a bespectacled nerdy nerd—and I taught him how to think positively. As it turned out, I’m a better student than I am a teacher.”

  “Ha! Yeah, he’s a little on the sarcastic side, but no one could blame you for that. You were nerdy before? Would’ve never thought that.”

  “Are you calling me pretty?” Becka teased, for the first time all afternoon feeling a little in control of this situation. She was used to flattery, but something about Fitz’s bashful delivery made her happier than a thousand party guys prostrating themselves at her feet.

  “I guess, maybe I am,” came Fitz’s reply, which made Becka blush even harder. She could imagine the crimson rushing down her neck and spreading across the fair skin of her chest. She must be burning to the touch.

  “Well, you smell incredible,” Becka said, muttering under her breath.

  “Thank you,” Fitz almost whispered. He drew on in silence for the next few minutes, while each of them contemplated their chosen words, each assailed with feelings of hesitant regret and bolstered by their boldness. The air grew thicker between them, to the point where Becka was sure she could feel Fitz’s breath against the fine hairs of her arm, the sweep of an errant touch of Fitz’s hand on her stomach, bathed in the combination of cologne, ink, clean laundry, and some unidentified earthy tones which made up his melange. Becka breathed deep. If she could only bottle it…

  The silence intensified to the point where Becka, almost lost in the vastness, began to force herself to shore out of habit.

  “So… This tattoo of mine, how did you come up with it?” she asked, trying to sound affable, but the quaver in her voice gave away her curiosity.

  Fitz continued drawing, a thoughtful ‘Hmmmm’ his only indication of having heard. Becka wondered if she should ask again but Fitz finally spoke up, with a shake in his voice to match Becka’s. “I don’t want you to think I’m being… I dunno, presumptuous.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Presuming is what most of my friends do.”

  “Well, I don’t. I guess it’s just… I do a lot of tats for young girls like you. They’re always hot, and confident, and they think they know exactly what they want. It’s like they were born with this sense that they, I don’t know, that they fit in. And when you came in, it was like you could have been just like these girls, and that you could fit in, but there was something about you that just didn’t. I don’t want to say you’re vulnerable, because we all are, I think. But the way you held that crumpled paper, and all the scribbling on it, all the doubt and fear… I guess I just didn’t want you to have to be like that crowd when you’ve got something better. I thought there was more to you than a line from a movie, and I think you think it too.”

  Chapter Six

  Becka didn’t know what to say, so she just kind of nodded and thought about what Fitz said. He was right, of course. She ruled the roost at Lux but despite fitting in, she realized she no longer really wanted to. The parties were fun and the people were fun, but it was getting old. Every bleary Monday lately, she’d been wondering if there wasn’t more to life, a new kind of enjoyment that didn’t rely on novelty and drama. The guys liked to throw the word ‘love’ around, but they were really just play acting, performing an emotional connection instead of actually having one. None of Becka’s admirers knew she was a math geek, and she didn’t really know anything about them either. It was like they’d all gone through the years before partying in a coma, emerging on the dance floor like butterflies, never admitting they used to be caterpillars. Becka realized she’d allowed herself to lose her individual history in preference for a mass hallucination among hard-bodied strangers. And Fitz somehow saw that.

  “I was the same way too. It took me a while to figure out who I am, and what was really important to me, whether it was cool or not. And then, of course, times changed and what I loved became cool in its own right. I’m just coasting off that. Geometry will have its day too.”

  “Maybe I should go back to school, get myself a master’s degree before it gets too hot to get in the field. My father would be pretty happy about that,” Becka said, almost wistfully.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, you know how it is… it cost a lot of money, and there were no jobs, and I started having too much fun at the club. Just stupid stuff, really. It feels like forever ago.”

  “Well I promise, in the big picture, two or three years is nothing. And it’s never too late for something you really want.”

  “Do you think so?” Becka asked.

  “I know so,” Fitz said, before reaching over and switching off his pen.

  “Are we finished already?” Fitz laughed as Becka looked up at him, wide-eyed and smiling.

  “It’s been four hours! Now stay still. You’ll need to apply this every day. Make sure to keep it moisturized, and you won’t have to worry about it scabbing. And I promise you: this tattoo isn’t going anywhere.” He picked up a bottle of cooling gel from the work bench and squeezed out a generous dollop into his hand.

  Becka nodded at these instructions, a little disappointed that the session was over, and Fitz was apparently all business now. She got over it when she felt Fitz’s hands gently smearing the ointment against the hot skin on her chest below her bra, the spreading coolness making her shiver. Or it might have just been the chemistry between them, because Becka felt alive under Fitz’s touch. Either way, Becka didn’t mind how long it took for her tattooist to rub her down, though she was surprised a little lotion should require so much tender care. She caught herself moaning again, covering it up with a whimsical smile and a breathless exaltation: “Wow, free massage. Sweet deal.”

  Fitz’s hand lept away from Becka’s body like he’d been bitten.

  “You can keep going if you like…” she whispered, her eyes closed.

  She heard Fitz’s voice drift up to her. “I… I shouldn’t.”

  Becka batted her long lashes open at Fitz, her eyes sweeping up his muscular physique, past the chiseled jaw and full mouth, to gaze into the green eyes she’d dreamed of for days.

  “I think you should.”

  Becka saw doubt run across Fitz’s face, a furrow in his brow which Becka chased away by rolling fully onto her side and sliding her hand up and down Fitz’s leg. She then lay flat again and pulled of the towel that covered her bra, noticing Fitz’s breath hitch as she did so. She traced the knots of her flat belly with her fingertips, eventually letting her hands dip below the waistband of her jeans, then undoing them completely. She had no idea where the boldness came from, but she couldn’t stop either. All her usual reservations flew out the window in Fitz’s presence, it seemed. Not breaking eye contact, she lowered her pants down to mid-thigh, watching Fitz’s crotch come to life, the zipper of his jeans straining against his turgid flesh.

  Fitz’s face was suddenly calm as he licked his lips and reached out, trailing his finger down her chest and belly, letting it trace over the top of her lacy underwear, feeling it get wetter almost on sight. He leaned over and kissed Becka, who winced as Fitz touched his body to her freshly tattooed skin.

  “Careful with your tat!” she whispered into his ear. She lifted her hips to allow Fitz to pull of her jeans in one graceful sweep. They lay discarded on the floor, and were soon joined by Fi
tz’s ancient 501’s, leaving them heaped beneath the head rest of the tattoo table, a tantalizing hint of what was to come.

  “You have no idea how much I wanted to do this to you,” Fitz whispered, pulling off his t-shirt. “I’ve been hard as a rock since the moment you lay down on that table.”

  “I wanted this too,” Becka whispered back, surprising herself with her boldness, and they kissed again: Becka tilting her head backwards with Fitz tenderly stroking her face, feeling the insistent pressure of his hard-on against the goose-pimpled flesh of her thigh. The scrape of Fitz’s stubble against her chin took her breath away, their kisses searing her lips and making her hungry for more. As if he could hear her thoughts, Fitz’s hand worked its way beneath Becka’s hips, which she raised to better meet his touch. Becka gasped when she felt the calloused fingers gliding between her wet lower lips, softly probing and stroking, and she thrust mindlessly into his hand. She arched her body, and Fitz immediately took the cue. He kissed his way down her chest, caressing her breasts but avoiding the fresh tattoo. Then, as if on cue, he went lower and slid her panties off, taking her throbbing clit into his mouth, his lips feeling just the way Becka imagined, his tongue lapping at her swollen nub and sending her into spasms of pleasure.

  “If you keep going like this, I’ll come right now,” she gasped, and the way Fitz looked at her, his cheeky smile buried between her legs, and whispered, “I want you to,” she couldn’t keep it at bay. She came moaning, thrusting herself into Fitz’s lips as she shuddered, still whimpering, still begging.

  “Oh, you’re mean. Come here,” Becka muttered when her climax finally waned, pulling Fitz up by the shoulder while the man wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Becka sat up and positioned the Adonis before her. A respectful ohhhhhh escaped her when she pulled down his boxer briefs and saw clearly for the first time Fitz’s impressive member, the velvety skin drawn over the smooth ridges of his veins. He was huge. Becka didn’t consider herself a size-queen but this was the kind of cock porn was made for.