Permanent Ink

by Avon Gale

  He didn’t last long—a shame because I was enjoying the hell out of feasting on his big, furry balls—but when he did come, it was all over my face, neck, and tongue, which was honestly just as good.

  Jericho dragged his cock through the mess, spreading it everywhere. I caught the tip between my lips and sucked him until he shuddered and told me to stop.

  He collapsed beside me, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his black-and-silver hair clinging damply to his forehead. I turned to him, and he groaned softly, reaching out to cup my cheek. “Fuck, Poe. I love the way you look with my come on your face.”

  I surged closer to kiss him, smearing semen and leaving us both sticky, but like I gave a shit. I’d happily spend the next week covered in Jericho’s sweat and jizz—as long as he spent it with me. “You make me so fucking hot.” I pressed my stiffening erection to his hip.

  Jericho’s brows shot up in surprise. He reached between us to wrap his fingers around me. “Damn. Already? I haven’t had a recovery period like that since I was—”

  I laughed when he cut himself off. “My age?”

  He slapped my ass so hard I yelped. “Don’t be a brat.”

  If anything, the words made me hotter. I whined and humped into his grip. “Yes, Daddy. Gonna get me off again?”

  Jericho snorted. “I shouldn’t.” But he didn’t stop moving his hand.

  Jericho

  Poe’s friend Kandee, who was to be the recipient of his very first tattoo, was sitting in the chair with her arm outstretched. She was getting the phrase Nevertheless, she persisted on her inner wrist. I could tell Poe was nervous. He was paler than usual, and while he was trying valiantly to hide it, I’d become accustomed to his body language over the last few weeks.

  Very accustomed.

  The thought of Poe and how we’d woken up this morning, him with his pouty mouth on my cock, me with my hands in his hair—

  Yeah. Not the time. Thinking about Poe gave me a half smile and the beginnings of a hard-on. I didn’t want to look like I was laughing at him, but I also knew this was an important moment, and I couldn’t be distracted by lust.

  Or the reminder of how it sounded when he called me Daddy.

  I couldn’t get over how hot that was, or how much I fucking loved it. I’d always enjoyed the dynamic in porn, but I’d never thought I would ever find someone who wanted to do that with me. Much less someone who brought it up in the first place.

  “You look, like, kinda nervous,” Kandee informed Poe.

  It made me grin outright to see Poe scowl, toss his hair out of his face, and say, “I told you that you were my first client.”

  “You probably don’t want to tell people that.” Kandee glanced up at me. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I think honesty’s always a good policy,” I said, with a smile. “But maybe not unless they ask.”

  My smile faded as I heard my own words echo in the room. As usual, if I wasn’t thinking about fucking Poe and him calling me Daddy, I was thinking about Poe’s actual father. Landon. My best friend. And the giant lie that was steadily growing between us, even if it was technically one of omission. After all, it wasn’t like Landon had asked me specifically if I was sleeping with his son . . .

  I made myself stop thinking about it and focused entirely on Poe and his client. Thoughts of Landon, of sex, of Poe spread out on my bed, begging his daddy to get him off, all faded as he picked up the tattoo machine—mine—and glanced up at me.

  I nodded.

  “Today, Poe,” Kandee said. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a million tattoos, dude.”

  “It’s not like I’ve done any before,” Poe retorted. He swallowed visibly, glancing around like he was about to throw the liner down and storm out of the room. Then his shoulders set, his mouth went tight, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He dipped the machine in the ink, turned it on, and went to work.

  I could see that he was trying to conceptualize the small space of skin—where the transfer waited on her wrist—as the practice material he’d been tattooing for the last month and a half. But there was nothing quite like tattooing actual skin, which was connected to a living, breathing individual who, no matter how much they wanted to, couldn’t always stay still.

  The tattoo was simple and might take me about ten minutes. For Poe, it would probably be closer to forty-five, which was normal for a first tattoo.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked Kandee, for the sixty-fifth time, before he’d completed the v in nevertheless.

  “Oh my God, you’re adorable,” was Kandee’s response.

  I agreed, but kept a neutral expression on my face and watched Poe continue the tattoo.

  His hands were a little unsteady, and I liked that he realized it and went slow. Every time Kandee moved he stopped, at least until he’d finished the first word. His posture was a little tense, and I could tell he was gripping the machine too tight. All stuff he’d get over, in time. He asked me more than once to check his work, and I knew that my being there made him feel less nervous, which was good. His first hundred tattoos were all to be supervised, so he’d better get used to me staring at him and recording every aspect of his technique and what he needed to do better.

  By the time he reached the last two letters, he was covered in sweat and I could tell the tension had taken its toll on his muscles. But his grip was a little easier on the machine, and he wasn’t as easily spooked when Kandee moved—which wasn’t that much because she was used to being inked. Finally he let out a breath and pushed back from the chair, raking a hand through his hair. It was still gloved, and I wondered if he’d noticed.

  “Oh my God, you spelled ‘persisted’ wrong,” she said.

  “What the fuck?” Poe squeaked, his eyes widening in horror.

  I hid a laugh behind a cough as Kandee giggled. “Oldest trick in the book, dude.”

  “Did you tell her to do that?” Poe snapped at me, and I knew he was embarrassed.

  I made my expression stern and gave him my best that is not how you speak to me face. “Clean and bandage her up, Poe.”

  He glared at his friend. “I should let it get infected.”

  “Poe,” I said, a hint of warning in my voice.

  “I won’t,” he said, as if he were doing her a favor, grabbing the green soap and liberally cleaning her fresh ink before bandaging it. “But I should.”

  “I’m going to give you a really good tip,” Kandee informed him. “And I’ve got like, six people who want to have you ink them too, as long as mine didn’t suck. And it doesn’t.” She smiled at him in affection, and I ignored the completely childish flare of jealousy as she leaned in and patted him on the cheek. “I’m so happy you’re doing this. Ignore Blue. I think he’s just jealous.”

  “I think he’s just a dick,” Poe muttered, but he looked mollified and gave Kandee a smile as he stripped his gloves off. He glanced up at me again. “Since I did this tattoo, does that mean you clean up after me?”

  “You wish, kid,” I said, then nodded at Kandee. “Let’s get a picture so we can add to Poe’s portfolio, and I’ll need you to sign this paperwork for his apprenticeship hours.”

  “Can I at least tip him?” Kandee asked.

  That was a bit sketchy, since Poe’s first hundred tattoos had to be free. But it was bullshit to say an artist couldn’t receive a tip from a satisfied customer, regardless. “Yeah, but only in cash.”

  She hopped up and gave Poe a hug, then dug around in her purse for her wallet to extract some cash. “See you later? Party tonight? I can show off your work and you’ll get a million people who want tattoos! I’ll make sure they know to bring a tip.”

  Poe snorted. “Those fuckers don’t have any cash. They’ll try and tip me with paint or weed. No thanks. I need actual cash if I’m ever gonna move out of Landon’s basement. Besides, I— Uh. Not really feeling the party.”

  “You’re gonna have to see him sometime, Poe. He knows he shouldn’t have started tha
t shit.”

  I assumed she was referring to Poe’s friend, Blue, the artist who was too good to make money.

  “If he wants to apologize, he knows where to find me,” Poe said flatly. “I gotta clean up, Kandee.” His voice softened, and he reached out to give her a hug. “Thanks for letting me ink you. I’ll always remember you were my first.”

  “You better,” Kandee said, and waved. “Later, Poe.”

  I went back in after she’d let me photograph the tattoo and initialed the paperwork for Poe’s licensure. My station was immaculate, and he’d relocated to the break room where he was sitting and drinking a water.

  “How do you feel?” I asked him.

  “Tired.” He gave me a small smile. “Like that took six hours.”

  “Yeah, well, wait until you do one that does take six hours.” I pulled a chair out from the table, swung it around, and straddled it. “You ready for some critique, or you need a minute?”

  “You sure you don’t want to give it to me later, so you can spank me for all my mistakes, Daddy?”

  Heat flashed through me and my dick stirred immediately. I frowned. “No sex talk at the shop.”

  “Since when?” Poe tilted his head, and I felt the usual combination of aggravation and arousal when he challenged me or didn’t do what I wanted.

  “Since I’m talking to you about your first client, and you’re not listening to me.”

  Poe frowned, and I didn’t miss the irritation on his face. Too bad. This was important. It was his first tattoo, and I knew he wanted to celebrate with me. That had to come later, though.

  “I have some critique for you, and I want to make sure you’re listening and not distracted.”

  Poe slouched back in his chair, and I could tell he was annoyed.

  “I’m your boss right now,” I reminded him. “You’re my apprentice. That’s what we need to focus on, all right?”

  He lowered his gaze and nodded. “I know. Sorry. I feel all . . .” He raised a hand, which was shaking. “Like the first time I painted.”

  My own irritation eased, but I couldn’t help wondering if our relationship was going to make it difficult for him to accept criticism from me. “I know. But I want you to listen, all right? You need to get a handle on any improper techniques now, before they become a bad habit.”

  He drank his water and nodded, and I briefly went over the notes I’d made. I gave him plenty of praise—I’d seen a first-time guy faint and one throw up when they did their first tattoo, and Poe kept his cool way better—and went over the things he could improve, mostly proper posture and to watch his speed.

  “I know you want to make sure it’s perfect, but you went over the first few letters too many times,” I said. “And we don’t want to rush this, but for simple tattoos, which you’ll do a lot of at first, you want to improve your speed. Your precision was good, and all the sanitation was on par with what you need to do.”

  “Except next time I’m taking my glove off before I run my hand through my hair,” said Poe. “Ow.”

  “And maybe don’t threaten the client with an infection,” I said, but I was mostly teasing. I stood up, walked over, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You did good, Poe. I’m proud of you.”

  The smile he gave me made me want to put him on his knees, or maybe spread him out on the table and suck him off. Which, now who needed to get their head in the game and remember who was the teacher and who was the student?

  “Hey, Poe.” Harriet appeared in the doorway. “Your dad’s here.”

  I dropped my hand from Poe’s shoulder, going tense immediately.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said, and Harriet smiled and went to get a Coke out of the fridge before heading back to the front desk. “I told Landon it was my first one today.” Poe worried at his lower lip.

  “Of course. Your dad’s welcome here, he knows that.”

  “He, ah. I think maybe he’s worried I’m not doing a good job.” Poe flushed. “Since you guys don’t talk as much as usual.”

  And that was, of course, because of this thing between me and Poe. “Let’s go tell him he’s wrong, then.”

  “I do like doing that,” Poe agreed, and together we went up to the front.

  Poe showed Landon the picture I’d taken of Kandee’s tattoo, and Landon smiled and ruffled his son’s hair.

  “Glad to see you’re learning,” he said. And then, “Jericho must be keeping you in line.”

  Poe’s face turned six shades of red. “I, uh. Yeah, he is.”

  Landon glanced at his son and then at me. “Since you’re getting my son a career in which he might, someday soon, move out of my house and give me back my basement—”

  “You’ll put a bunch of classic car shit down there. Or fishing poles,” Poe muttered.

  I almost, almost told Poe to be more respectful when his father was talking, but that skirted way too close to a line I didn’t want to cross.

  “Son, I pay the mortgage on that place. I can keep novelty popcorn tins down there if I want.” Landon glanced at me. “That beer, Jericho?”

  “Don’t you want to buy me one too?” Poe said.

  “I think I’ve given you enough free beer.” Landon slung an arm around his son. “Let the grown-ups go out, Poe.”

  Oh God. My face was flushed and the guilt was making it hard for me to do anything but stand there, trying to figure out how I could refuse without making it seem like I was avoiding hanging out with Landon. Which I was. And it might have been because of Poe, but not for the reasons Landon thought.

  “Your client was sick and had to cancel,” Harriet piped up. “So you’re done for the day, Jericho. Poe and I can clean up, right?”

  “Um.” Poe blinked, clearly caught between wanting to be a good employee and his desire to save me from being alone with his father when he knew how conflicted I felt about keeping this secret. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Sure. Gimme a few minutes to finish some stuff up.”

  Landon and I agreed to meet at the Firehouse, a bar a few miles away that was halfway between both of our houses. I pulled Poe into my tattoo room and shut the door, saying we needed to finish our meeting from earlier before I took off.

  Except this wasn’t about Poe’s tattooing. “Look,” I said, once we were alone. “I can’t keep this from your father. He’s my best friend, and he knows something is up.” That was the reason Landon had stopped by, because while I knew he was genuinely interested in Poe’s progress, he could have talked to Poe about it at home.

  Poe watched me, his expression unreadable. He was perched on the edge of the table, his palms on his knees. I stepped between his legs and he widened them to give me room. I reached up and took his chin in my fingers. “What are you thinking?” I demanded gruffly.

  “I don’t know,” Poe said. “I don’t know if he’s gonna be mad, or tell you that you can’t see me, or what.”

  “Poe, I’m not going to let your father tell me I can’t see you,” I said firmly. “All right?” That made him relax a little, and he nodded. “But I can’t . . . The longer we go without telling him, the more this is going to eat at me, and the angrier he’ll be when he does find out. Because it’s a lie, even if it’s a lie of omission.”

  Poe slid his hands around my shoulders and pulled me closer. “Don’t break up with me because of him.”

  Frowning, I tapped him on the side of the face—not a slap, but enough to get his attention. “Listen to what I’m saying, boy,” I said, using the term of endearment that I knew he liked.

  He nodded and leaned in to kiss me. “He’s gonna freak out,” he muttered against my mouth, and I felt him smile. “I kinda wish I could be there to see it.”

  There was the Poe I knew and loved to shut up. I bit sharply at his lower lip. “Behave yourself, boy.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” he murmured against my mouth, and we ended up kissing, Poe’s long legs wrapped around my hips.

  I let him do it, kissing him back until finally I s
tepped away—he clung to me like a koala—and then forcibly deposited him on the ground. At his scowl, I smacked him on the ass. “Later. Don’t make Harriet empty all the trash bins, either.”

  Since Poe could tell I’d reverted to boss-mode, he huffed and discreetly reached down to adjust his erection. I did the same, took a deep breath, and then went to meet my fate.

  I made it halfway through my first Boulevard Pale Ale before Landon said, “So, is my kid fucking up or what? You’ve got to be ignoring me for a reason.”

  I put the beer bottle down on the counter and tried to think through what I wanted to say. “He’s— No, he’s not. I wouldn’t have him using ink on actual people if he was.”

  “For a few weeks, he seemed to be pulling his old shit again,” said Landon. “Coming home late, coming home drunk—damn kid thinks I can’t hear him shouting in the yard when he gets a ride home—the usual. Thought you were being a softie and didn’t want me to know he was fucking up.”

  “I’m serious about mentoring him,” I assured Landon. Fuck, it was now or never. I took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”

  Landon arched his full brows at me over his glass. “Yeah?”

  “Poe and I are . . . involved.” I didn’t say anything else, because it felt like my mouth was so dry my tongue was stuck.

  “‘Involved,’” Landon repeated flatly. His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you saying to me right now?”

  Oh Jesus. I met his eyes, relieved he looked wary but not hostile. “Involved. As in, dating.”

  Landon laughed, then went quiet when I didn’t join in. He put his glass on the counter and stared at me. “You’re dating my twenty-three-year-old son, who happens to be your apprentice.”

  We hadn’t really gone out yet on a date, but I didn’t say that. I wanted to take Poe somewhere. Just not until I’d told Landon. “Yeah. It’s, uh. A surprise.”

  “A surprise, he says.” Landon didn’t sound mad, exactly, but he didn’t sound pleased, either. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Both of ours,” I said, firmly.

  “Uh-huh.” Landon took a long drink of his beer. I let him ruminate for a few seconds, my heart pounding unpleasantly. I had no idea if he was about to tell me to fuck off or hit me.