by A. J. Thomas
Sean wondered if that blush would be there the next time Nate saw his skin, once he was mentally prepared for the shock. It might be worth the embarrassment just to find out. “If you come by any evening from Monday to Thursday next week, you’ll be able to see whatever section Hawk’s working on. After you see the whole process, you can decide if you want to schedule a session. No hard feelings if you change your mind, of course—it’s your skin.”
Nate stared at him, his expression so serious Sean didn’t know what to make of it. “I want the nautilus. But I want to see what yours looks like too.”
“All right. When you’ve got time free, give me a day’s notice and I’ll make sure we’ve got a spot open,” Sean promised. “But I still need to know where you want the nautilus placed, so I can get everything ready.”
Nate stared at him, his dark blue eyes so intense Sean felt he was being picked apart. He licked his lips again and seemed to hesitate. “How about a professional opinion?” he asked, slipping out of his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt.
Sean’s mouth felt dry, and his throat seemed to be closing as Nate stripped out of his clothes right in front of him. He immediately regretted the thin gym shorts he was wearing, not so much because they didn’t do shit to hide his left leg, but because if he so much as twitched, his erection would end up popping the loose elastic waist open. He wanted to curse, but all he could do was hunch over a bit.
In a few quick movements, Nate had his dress shirt and thin undershirt off. He tossed all of it onto Sean’s cot and took two steps toward him, holding his arms out wide. “Front or back? Where do you think it would look best?”
Sean drank in the sight of Nate half-naked, committing as much of his form to memory as possible. He’d need to get over this if he actually wanted to focus on Nate’s tattoo, so he’d enjoy the view while he had the chance and just hope to become desensitized to it. He almost groaned when he saw the only hair on Nate’s torso was a tiny triangular patch in the center of his chest and a thin trail of black strands poking out of his slacks.
“I know I’m not bulky, definitely not like you, so probably not the shoulders,” Nate said, turning slowly.
Sean watched him spin, holding both of his arms up high so Sean could see every inch of him. “Around your navel would be hot,” he said, his tone breathless. “Spiral designs look good around nipples too. Or centered on your back, between your shoulder blades. But that would hurt a bit more, going over the spine.”
Nate smirked and picked up his clothes, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to put them back on. “Around the navel it is.”
Sean nodded. “Are you going to put your shirt back on?” he asked eventually.
Nate shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
SEAN THREW himself back into work as soon as he could sit still without muscle spasms. Ink consumed his thoughts and free time through the entire month of October and the first week of November. He pushed himself to exercise twice a day, forced himself to try harder in each physical therapy session, and worked in the shop whenever he had the energy. In his therapy sessions, he’d gone from barely being able to stand on his right leg to making it across the room with a set of forearm crutches, and the progress he’d made had stopped his leg from cramping every time he tried to work. He still needed the wheelchair most of the time, but something as simple as being able to get up to reach things on the counter was amazing.
He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the familiar buzz of the tattoo machines and the routine. Even the ever-present smell of antiseptic tinged with blood left him settled and happy, and he laughed when he imagined that the feeling of nostalgia was probably what most people felt when they talked about enjoying the smell of their favorite childhood foods when returning home to visit.
He poured his heart and soul into each tattoo, taking extra time to keep his lines as crisp as possible and add as much depth and realism as he could when the piece called for it, and he spent most evenings stretched out on a table or chair himself while Hawk traced lines and filled in huge swatches of blue, silver, and gray over his back, shoulders, neck, chest, and arms.
But the work hurt more than he remembered. Every time the needle scratched over a scar, the constant pain that he had learned to ignore seemed to multiply until he almost screamed. Since he was facedown on the adjustable dentist-style chair, Nate was the only one who could see his expression, thankfully.
The constant thrum of pain and the tightness of the healing tattoos made dealing with his legs easier and harder at the same time. The pain and itching gave him something to focus on besides the way his body ached, but it also left him feeling more drained than ever by the end of each day. But seeing the design come to life on his flesh, making him smile instead of cringe when he looked at himself, was worth the constant fatigue and exhaustion.
And seeing the look on Nate’s face during each session helped make coping with the pain easier too.
Nate kept stopping by three or four times a week. Each time, they talked about the case, but soon it became obvious Nate was reciting the same summary, as if he needed some kind of excuse to justify hanging out. Once the obligatory legal briefing was done, Nate shed his suit jacket and seemed to relax enough to laugh and talk with him like he had before, so Sean kept pretending to listen. Sometimes Nate got there early enough to watch him work, staying silent when Sean had to focus. Eventually they’d wander over to the Chinese restaurant next door. Sean made sure to bring back something for Hawk each time, and then he’d carefully remove his shirt and position himself on the table so Hawk could continue building the depth and shading across his back, shoulders, and chest.
When Sean was on the table himself, he noticed Nate didn’t say much, but Nate never took his eyes off Sean. He stared, gaze only occasionally riveted to the tattoo machine in Hawk’s hands or the lines on Sean’s skin. As much as the idea of having anyone look at him had terrified him for months, the almost reverent expression on Nate’s face as he watched the octopus take shape kept him from feeling more than mildly self-conscious.
Two weeks after they’d begun Sean’s octopus, after Nate had watched Sean finish up his last client early Saturday afternoon, Nate approached Sean where he sat on one of the workroom stools and stopped less than a foot from him. The proximity made Sean’s pulse thrum a bit faster, but with most of the angry pink lines of his scar tissue covered in blue suction cups, the urge to flinch from Nate’s gaze was muted.
Nate looked nervous. “Can I ask you for something?”
Sean cocked his head to the side. “You want to go to trial after all?”
Surprise flashed across Nate’s face. “What? No, that’s not it. I’ve been dying to know what a tattoo feels like,” he admitted sheepishly.
“It hurts,” Sean said, trying not to stare at Nate in turn. “It feels like a cat scratching your skin over and over again in the same spot.”
“Well, I figured getting a tattoo hurts,” Nate said, his hands fidgeting. “But what does the actual tattoo feel like? To touch?”
“Touch?” Sean swallowed.
“I’d feel weird asking anybody else, but….”
Sean forced himself to smile like it was no big deal and extended his arm toward Nate. Instead of casually touching his forearm like Sean expected, Nate ghosted his fingertips over Sean’s elbow, following the lines of day-old ink over his right shoulder. Sean shuddered as Nate moved his fingers along his collarbone, where Sean was damn sure his skin was bare, finally stopping at the taped edge of the newest section of his octopus.
“It’s so beautiful,” Nate whispered, his voice so quiet Sean almost missed the words over the Green Day song blaring from the stereo on the counter. “Did you talk Hawk into doing the ultraviolet highlights yet?”
Sean huffed, pretending that there was nothing strange about the fact that Nate was still running his fingers over his skin. “No. But I’m ordering the ink myself. Tonya said she’d do it, but if she changes her mind, there�
�s a guy in the shops across town on Westheimer who’ll do it.”
“It’ll look amazing,” Nate said, pausing as his fingers ran over the rough edge of a still-healing section of ink. “That’s got to itch.”
“So much it’s driving me insane,” Sean confirmed. “It’s worth it, though. I don’t feel… quite so disgusting.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You never were.”
Sean couldn’t bring himself to hold Nate’s gaze.
“Have you got any more appointments this afternoon?”
“No, I’m done. Do you think you’re ready to take the plunge with that nautilus shell?”
“Yes, but not today,” Nate announced, grinning. “You’ve got to be getting sick of fried rice and that ginger sauce.”
He shrugged. “It’s impossible to get sick of fried rice. What did you have in mind?”
“Tacos. They’re doing that Bayou City Art Festival in Midtown, and there are always awesome taco trucks and music. At least, the years I’ve gone they’ve been good.”
A strangely warm sense of nostalgia snuck up on him. “The ones they do at Memorial Park? My mom used to take me. Of course we were at the park anyway, and it was cheap, but still… I loved it. Let me put on a long-sleeve shirt, and I’m game.”
It took them almost an hour to get downtown, and another hour of wandering between art stalls and food trucks before they settled on a bench near an open field where a small stage had been set up. They listened to the country-western cover band and shared every random deep-fried thing that Houston’s army of food trucks had to offer.
“Sean, I’ve got to ask, would you mind if I brought another attorney in on this?” Nate asked after listening to the band for a bit.
“Another attorney? You seem to have a handle on things.”
“I do,” Nate said immediately. “I’m having fun hanging out with you, though. I feel like we’ve become friends, and I… I don’t want to risk compromising your case. I don’t want to stop hanging out, either, so it’d probably be a good idea to have someone else who can handle things, just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said, keeping his gaze on the stage. “In case I get pissed off at Gilman and actually punch him the next time I meet with them? Who knows….”
“You know I trust you, right?” When Nate nodded, Sean continued. “So if you think it’s a good idea, go for it.”
His consent seemed to wash all the tension from Nate’s expression, and Sean was thrilled to see him beaming. “Good. I’ll start looking for somebody.”
Feeling like he was missing something, Sean cocked his head to the side. “Unless I’ve got to pay them fifteen percent too. Granted, there’d still be a lot of money left over, but still.”
Nate laughed. “I’d pay whoever it is out of my fee, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Is that okay?” Sean asked uncertainly.
“It’s perfect,” Nate insisted, still grinning.
Sean gave up. “If you say so.”
THE NEXT weekend, only one section of the tattoo still needed to be filled in, the severed tentacle that would sweep over the side of his ass and hip and end above the neoprene liner he wore over the stump of his residual limb. It required showing more skin and scar tissue than he was comfortable with, so he’d asked Hawk to work on the lower section earlier in the day on Saturday, well before the time when Nate usually showed up. That night, after Hawk had left for his weekly AA meeting, there was still no sign of Nate by six o’clock, and Sean found himself worrying.
Sean buried himself in work, doing inventory, ordering ink, cleanser, and disinfectant, and finally drawing when he ran out of things to focus on. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten to think of the moment around six when Nate would show up as “usual,” but he tried not to dwell on that.
“No sign of your Ken doll tonight?” Tonya asked while Sean stared at the nautilus he’d drawn a dozen times now. He’d killed three hours, and even though they’d normally have closed the shop by eight, Sean hadn’t turned off the front lights yet.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a real-life human being. And he’s not mine,” Sean insisted, trying not to sound bitter.
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s my lawyer,” he reminded her. “And I told him Hawk wasn’t working on my tat tonight, so he doesn’t have any reason to show up.”
“I watched him when Hawk was doing your back. I’ve seen a lot of guys watch sessions with that look on their face, but most of them were watching their new girlfriends get something naughty done.”
“Yeah, because scar tissue is real attractive….”
She finished setting up a display of their new dermal implants on the counter and spun the rotating stand. “Bet he’d look hot with a few of these studs along his collarbones,” she suggested.
He resisted the urge to cringe, but just barely.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she insisted, tweaking the barbell in her belly button.
“I’ll stick to ink,” he said for what might have been the hundredth time.
“It’s your flesh, baby,” she said, smiling brightly. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I borrow your car for a few days? Mine’s dead, and I had to take the bus in today.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Battery’s dead. Like totally dead. Jump starting it only keeps it running for a few minutes, and then it makes this groaning, death-squeal kind of noise. Hawk said he could replace the battery, but the last time he worked on my car, I ended up with a leaking fuel line and nearly scared the actual mechanic who fixed it half to death.”
He tucked the dark gray-colored pencil he was using to outline a sailboat back into the pack and reached for a light taupe. “A battery is easier to replace than a fuel filter. Does it run for a bit and die, or does it run until you shut it off again?”
“Just for a few minutes, then it stalls on its own.”
“It’s not the battery, it’s the alternator,” he said, beginning to trace the lighter sections of the wood grain on his sailboat.
“I was worried that might be the problem,” she said, nodding. “And that means it’ll be another three hundred bucks. Unless you want to walk Hawk through fixing it for me? If you tell him exactly what to do, he shouldn’t be able to blow anything up, right?”
“I can fix it,” he said, not looking up from his drawing.
“Like, personally?” she asked, her smile morphing into a lopsided grimace.
“Yes, personally. I’ve been working with a brace on my right leg during my therapy sessions, and it helps a lot. I can’t hobble around very fast, and if I push it too long my leg cramps up, but it should work fine for replacing a couple of parts.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because if you try it and can’t, Hawk will decide to help, and… I can’t afford for him to fuck up my car again.”
He sighed and tried to remember that she’d seen him at his worst. Her visit when he was in the ICU had left her squeamish and hesitant, and for a woman who accurately claimed she could pierce any body part a client wanted, that was a difficult feat. “If I can’t manage it, I will personally walk Hawk through each step. It’s positioning a belt and tightening one bolt, so I’m pretty sure he can’t screw it up. Still, if you need the Jeep until you get the part, you’re welcome to it, but I’ll need it to get to physical therapy on Monday.”
“Thank you, Sean, you’re the best,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
The locked front door clanged as someone tried to open it.
“Guess we should have turned the lights off first,” Sean muttered.
“Nope.” She smirked at him, grabbed the shop keys from beneath the register, and hurried to the front door. Sean turned to see the door and felt his pulse spike when he saw Nate standing there trying to open the door.
He wasn’t in a suit.
<
br /> Sean had sketched dozens of possible tattoos to go with the nautilus shell, all on a muscular, headless body inspired by his memories of Nate’s chest bare in the stockroom. He’d drawn Nate Delany enough that Sean had almost convinced himself he’d be able to act professional when it came time to do the actual tattoo. That happy delusion was shattered the moment he saw Nate walk through the door.
He was dressed in a pair of loose gym shorts and a Tulane Law School tank top, and his normally meticulous hair was a wavy mess, like he’d just gone to the gym or the beach. After skipping lunch and living off coffee so far today, Sean was willing to pretend the nervous tremors vibrating through him at the sight of Nate’s shoulders was the result of letting his blood sugar get too low, but he knew he was bullshitting himself when he saw Nate smile and the temperature in the shop seemed to spike in an instant.
“I should have called,” Nate said, shifting nervously. “You said you had the stencil done and you weren’t busy tonight, so I thought… maybe you could fit me into your schedule?”
Tonya’s grin was pure evil. “I’ll go ahead and lock up so you boys won’t be disturbed,” she announced, jangling Sean’s keys.
Chapter 5
HE WAS doomed. That was the only valid conclusion Nate could arrive at.
Over the last four weeks, he’d spent almost as much time in Hawk’s studio as he had in court. Since Angelica had been referring everyone who couldn’t afford the fees Tillman insisted upon charging in his direction, his caseload had exploded. He had two marriage dissolutions, a custody dispute between a couple who’d never married, an adoption, and two more civil tort claims demanding his attention. But he couldn’t seem to stop dragging himself to the studio each day after he was finished. He couldn’t stop staring at Sean’s chest and back as the outlines Hawk traced upon his skin were filled in with vibrant colors and shades, making suction cups and realistic-looking blue tentacles curve over his shoulders, back, chest, and arms. And lower still, but Nate wouldn’t allow himself to remember the way the blue and silver and gray colors had sunk beneath the waist of Sean’s jeans, following the curve of his ass. He’d fallen asleep imagining himself touching those lines with his hands every night since.