by A. J. Thomas
He had to stop obsessing about his client. Sean was still healing. He’d been ripped to shreds by the accident, and even though he seemed to be recovering as well as he could hope to, he was still physically, mentally, and emotionally vulnerable. And he’d put his complete trust in Nate. There was no way in hell Nate could justify the way his thoughts had started to dwell on Sean, or the way he’d wasted hours each evening making the same news about Sean’s case sound different just for an excuse to see him.
“I was starting to think you didn’t really want to go through with it,” Sean teased.
“There hasn’t been a good time. Last weekend I had to track someone down for an adoption I’m working on, and I had to dress up. Then Hawk was working on your octopus most of the week, and I wanted to talk to you about bringing in outside counsel first.”
“That mattered for your tattoo?”
Nate sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get out of explaining. “I told you, I enjoy hanging out with you. Unfortunately, becoming friends with a client, or getting this tattoo, makes conflicts of interest an issue. If I bring in someone else, then they can point out when I’m acting biased or take over if needed.” If all that was left of Nate’s crumbling self-control vanished completely and things between him and Sean fell apart.
“Oh.” Sean looked thoughtful. “I didn’t realize that could be an issue.”
“Better safe than sorry, right? I called a few folks this week, but so far I haven’t had any luck.”
“Is it really that bad of a case to tackle?”
Nate shook his head. “Nope. Most tort attorneys would gladly sign on, especially since they probably wouldn’t have to do anything. Their reluctance is my fault.”
“I doubt that,” Sean said dryly. “The asshole from your dad’s firm?”
“My father’s acting like an asshole, so that’s fair.”
“Your dad’s sabotaging this?”
“He’s got most of the firms and practicing attorneys I know convinced that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and that I’m refusing to bring the firm in out of sheer spite. No one wants to agree to work on this because they think they’d be butting in to the middle of a family feud, and no one would dare do anything to put themselves in Emmitt Delany’s crosshairs.”
Sean’s eyebrows rose. “Did he seed that idea, or did it just grow on its own after you quit?”
Nate chuckled. “I’ve no doubt he’s behind it. He hates it when he’s not in charge or when things don’t go his way. He wants me to go crawling back and beg him for help. I’ll find somebody, though. There are thousands of lawyers in the Houston metro, and I’m sure there’s plenty who don’t even know my dad’s name.”
“Dude, I’d heard of your dad,” Sean pointed out. “I’m sure there are people who’d care more about the money than pissing him off, though.”
“That’s a safe bet. Anyway, with the hearing coming up on Monday and Thanksgiving at the end of the week, I figured this might be the best chance I’ve got to get this started. You free?”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Oh, I think I can find a couple hours in my busy schedule.”
“Cool. I know I should have called, but you said you weren’t going to be busy. Is it just you tonight?” he asked, looking back at the door Tonya had just locked.
“Yeah. Hawk took off a couple hours ago, and Tonya’s been here since this morning,”
“You look happy,” Nate said as he approached the counter.
Sean offered him a hesitant smile. “I’m doing better. I guess it’s a stupid thing to get excited about, but with the brace and crutches my therapist gave me, I managed to stay upright for almost an hour this morning. That was the goal I was supposed to reach before I get to actually start using the prosthetic they’ve been fitting me for.”
“They’re finally going to let you try it?” Nate asked, basking in Sean’s excited smile. “That’s fantastic. I remember you seemed worried that it would never happen.”
“Yeah, it seemed like it. When the prosthetist started measuring everything and designing it, I figured I’d be able to use it right away, and it was frustrating to be told I still wasn’t strong enough even though I keep working my ass off. But she said I can go in first thing on Monday.”
“Monday?” Nate deflated. “Oh.”
Sean winced. “Yeah. I know the hearing thing is Monday, but it’s in the afternoon, so I think I can make it after the prosthetist’s office in the morning.”
“It’s okay,” Nate insisted. “Oral arguments on the motion are just that. It’ll be me presenting the same arguments that are in the written motion. You can be there, but you don’t have to, and the prosthetic is what you’ve been waiting for. That appointment should be your priority on Monday.”
“But everything hinges on this hearing, doesn’t it? I mean, the judge can just throw the entire case out if he rules in their favor, can’t he?”
“She. And yes, she can, but I really doubt it’ll happen. Filing a motion to dismiss is obligatory—every defense attorney does it. Half the time it’s only done because it means the trial is pushed back until there’s a hearing on the motion, so everybody’s got more time to prepare. It’ll be fine. I can call you as soon as it’s done and let you know how things went, okay?”
Sean nodded. “I’ll still try to make it. Thank you for being cool about this.”
“I know it’s important to you, so….” He tried to keep himself from wringing his hands. “I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of nervous.”
“You’ve watched the line work and most of the shading for my octopus,” Sean said, his tone light again. “If you’re not comfortable doing this, we don’t have to.”
He looked away, determined not to become overfocused on the lines of Sean’s new tattoo peeking out from beneath his Godsmack T-shirt. He spotted the familiar “Choking Hazard” picture on the wall. “You advertise this one?” he asked, pointing to it.
“No, that’s the official list. Everything inside the blue painter’s tape is shit we don’t do.”
Nate strolled over and studied the collage of reckless, stupid, offensive, and obvious tattoos, chuckling occasionally. Interspersed through the pictures were signs that looked like they’d been made and printed on a spur-of-the-moment basis. One sign, complete with three exclamation points on the end, caught his eye. “What the hell is a pubic-hair stick figure?” he asked, staring at the sign.
Sean’s face scrunched up in an effort not to laugh. “Oh, God,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “Two to the left, and down one row from the ‘Choking Hazard’ guy.”
Nate bent to look at the picture. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s a stick figure,” Sean said, “with a stick-figure lawn mower.”
“And that’s pubic hair?”
“Unfortunately. It started with one girl a couple years ago who wanted that tattoo over a shaved patch. It was novel and funny, so I said okay. Two weeks later we had a dozen of her friends in here, and each one wanted something like it, and they all expected me to come up with some cute and original version. One chick got pissed when Hawk took a look at her and said even a stick figure with a jungle hat and two machetes would get lost in her… uh, yeah. Never again.”
“You must love your job,” Nate said, laughing.
“It does get fun,” Sean conceded. “It’s not what I planned to do after college, but it has its moments. Especially seeing the things that I draw become real. Knowing my work is out there, a part of someone else forever”—he gestured to the endless pictures pinned up around the waiting room—“that’s pretty damn cool.”
Nate noticed the drawings on the counter for the first time. He stopped chuckling and stared at the drawings, his eyes wide. The nautilus shell had been redone and looked like a printed photograph, but it had been drawn smaller than Sean’s first sketches and with more depth. It had been beautiful before, but now the degree of perfection was surreal. “Are those for me?” he
asked.
“I told you my sketches were rough. One with red, silver, and mother-of-pearl shading,” Sean said, gesturing to the first drawing. “And one with blue instead of the red. I like the red and silver more because it’s truer to the real shell.”
“They’re amazing.” Nate looked over each drawing, stunned. “Damn, I wish I could get both,” he whispered, spinning the drawing pad so he could see the image right-side-up.
“I’ll be the first to admit that ink is addictive, but I think you should wait and see how you like the first one before you start building a jacket.”
“Jacket?”
“It’s just jargon,” Sean clarified. “It means solid tattoos over your torso and arms, front and back.”
Biting back the urge to declare that definitely wasn’t for him, Nate had to admit being covered in Sean’s art had a certain appeal. “Just the nautilus first,” he said.
“Come on back,” Sean said, leading him back into the semiprivate room. “It’s just us, but if you want to close the gate and the curtain, feel free.”
Nate tried not to stare as Sean used his arms to hoist himself out of the wheelchair, balancing on his right leg, then settled back onto a round stool.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, feeling like a jackass for checking Sean out again.
“Go ahead and take your shirt off,” Sean said, rolling the stool around the tight work area to gather tubes, needles, and gloves, and to half fill Dixie cups with various shades of gray and sepia ink.
Nate pulled his tank top off over his head and wiggled his shorts down far enough to expose the area he wanted tattooed.
“Have you….” Sean’s voice trailed off as he looked up and down at Nate’s chest.
Nate couldn’t help smirking now that he knew Sean’s reaction the day Nate had interrupted his workout wasn’t a fluke.
“Shaving isn’t going to be an issue, then,” Sean noted, staring at the smooth, freshly shaved skin above Nate’s groin.
“Just trying to help,” Nate announced, thrilled by the way Sean’s cheeks and ears grew darker.
Sean turned his attention back to the ink and his equipment, not looking at him again.
“Shall I?” Nate asked, gesturing to the chair.
“Yeah. Lie down.” Sean grabbed a couple of blue nitrile gloves from the box on the counter and then pulled over the rolling cart he used as a work tray.
Nate settled himself into the reclining chair, his long arms and legs draped comfortably over the thick plastic-lined padding.
Sean took the stencil and held it over Nate’s stomach, centering the design over his navel. He shifted the elastic of Nate’s gym shorts down a couple of inches to make sure there was enough room. A small tuft of black hair was peeking up from beneath the elastic, but it looked like it wouldn’t be in the way. Sean folded up the edge of the paper and checked the spot with a clinical eye.
“Guess I should have been a bit more zealous with the shaving,” he said apologetically.
Sean set the stencil aside and retrieved a blue plastic squirt bottle and a paper towel from the bottom of the cart. “It’ll be fine. First things first, I’m going to wipe the area down with some Hibiclens to kill anything nasty on your skin. It can leave a weird tint, but it’s soap, so it’ll wash off. Then I’ll apply the stencil I put together to transfer the outline to your skin. After the stencil is dry, we can get started, okay?”
When Nate nodded slightly, Sean drizzled some of the antiseptic onto the paper towel and swabbed the whole area around his navel with the cleanser. The rough pull against his skin almost tickled, but he made sure to hold still.
“That is a funky color,” he admitted, examining the bright pink goo on his skin.
“Yeah, I have no idea why it’s this color. But it makes it easy to tell if I’ve missed a spot.” He slowed down as he neared the elastic of Nate’s shorts.
The last thing Nate wanted was to sit through a two-hour tattoo session with a hard-on, but it was difficult not to imagine Sean slipping his fingers beneath the waistband. Nate had been so turned on by the idea of sitting there with Sean’s hands all over him tonight that he’d had to jack off before he left the house. He’d felt like a pervert thinking about Sean while he rubbed one out, but not jacking off would have meant he’d be sitting there at full attention, like he’d been every other time he’d been close to Sean in recent weeks. But there was no chance Sean wouldn’t notice, since he’d be using a tattoo machine about four inches from Nate’s cock.
Sean quickly finished and turned the paper towel over, using the dry side to mop off the antiseptic. He held on to the towel as he pulled one glove off, then pulled the other off over the first. He retrieved a new pair and the stencil, flipping it over so the thick grease-pencil outline he’d filled in over the pencil lines was facing Nate’s skin. “Hold still,” he said, placing it carefully and smoothing the image from the center to the edges.
A tiny thrill sparked through Nate as he felt the warmth of Sean’s fingertips against his stomach, but he forced himself to hold still.
Sean peeled the paper away, checking the transferred lines to make sure everything was in place and balanced around Nate’s navel, then turned away quickly. “That okay?” he asked, getting another set of tubes and needles.
“Looks perfect. Are you really going to be able to make it look like the drawing? Like it stands out?”
Sean glared at him. “You’re doubting me now? How many tattoos have you watched me do?”
“Eight.”
“It’s exactly the same. It’s just a shadow effect.” He filled more Dixie cups with lighter colors, making sure Nate could see what he was doing. “Light gray for the line work toward the top and front of the shell—then I’ll darken it and add some sepia for the line work on the main body of the spiral, and darker still for the bottom and around the base. It’ll pop, I promise.” He grabbed the tattoo machine and inserted the new needle and tube before connecting the power supply. He dipped the needle in the lightest color and pressed the foot pedal beneath him. The needle buzzed in the ink.
“Is that going to hurt?” Nate asked, glancing down at the pedal.
“Yes. Just try not to flinch.”
“I meant is it going to hurt you,” he clarified. “The pedal motion, you said it hurts.”
Sean’s gaze stayed fixed on the end of the needle as he dabbed off the excess ink onto a paper towel. “Yes, it will. My leg cramped like a bitch when I first tried it again, but it’s gotten steadily better. I’ve only had two other clients today, and aside from therapy and a workout, I haven’t done much this weekend. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be okay.”
“You sure you want to do two hours all in one go?”
“Yup. Unless you decide it hurts too much. Because it’s going to hurt you too. But after a minute or so, everything tends to go numb. Ready?”
Nate gripped the arms of the chair and nodded quickly. “I usually don’t have a problem with pain.”
“So long as it’s not a major turn-on, it’s fine,” Sean mumbled. After a moment, his eyes grew wide, as if he’d just realized what he said.
Nate laughed. “Not a kink you’re into?”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the stool back. “That’s not what I meant. We have a girl who comes in here for all of her tats and piercings, and she gets turned on every single time. The more it hurts, the louder she gets. She left a puddle when I pierced her nipples.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nate said, shaking as he tried not to laugh.
“It’s not funny. She comes to me because she knows I’m not into women. Too many times, people have gotten the wrong idea, so she’s not comfortable going anywhere else. But she’s not the only one. It happens. It’s not actually a big deal, it’s just weirder for me if it’s a hot guy.”
Nate grinned, surprised Sean would come right out and say he thought Nate was hot. He’d done it before, but now Nate was pretty sure it was intentional. He leaned back and set his h
ands on the armrests again, less worried about keeping his cock from betraying his interest.
Sean scooted the stool back toward the chair and the pedal, leaning over his stomach. Nate caught Sean’s wrist before the needle could touch his skin. “It is one of your turns-ons, then?”
Sean’s gaze turned to Nate’s hand. His skin was warm under the thin film of the glove. “If you want me to do this, I’m going to need you to let go.”
He released Sean’s wrist in an instant, regretting the question. “Sorry. I suppose that wasn’t the most appropriate thing to ask.”
When Sean leaned over him again, Nate saw a devious glint in his eyes. “It’s your tat that’s going to be fucked-up if you keep grabbing me,” he said, touching the needle to one of the outside lines. With a loud buzz, he began to trace the faint lines, laying down a thick line of ink as he went. Nate tensed beneath the pain, but he managed to sit still. “The line work is the worst,” Sean said sympathetically.
Once Sean was focused on the tattoo, it was easy to forget about the pain and just watch him. He was fixated on his work, wiping away blood when there was enough of it to obscure the lines and chatting aimlessly about the process. He’d seen Sean do enough tattoos to know that he described everything he was doing, and it seemed to put his clients at ease. Nate hardly heard a word he was saying, taking the opportunity to study the tentacle winding its way around Sean’s neck and down his arm.
When Sean finished the outer spiral, he buzzed the needle in the cup of clean water, wiped it off, and then dipped it into the white.
“Are you hungry?” Nate asked, watching Sean watch the needle.
He stopped the needle and turned back to the line he was inking beneath Nate’s rib cage. “I could eat.”
“Maybe we could go somewhere and get dinner after this?” Nate suggested nervously. Sean glanced up at him. Worried he’d surprised him, Nate grabbed his elbow, gently steadying him.