Don't Plan to Stay

by Kaje Harper

  We were off and running. Getting a tattoo. I realized I’d clamped my fingers over my forearm and forced myself to relax. My choice, this time. I’d planned on this. Doing it with Adam in the next chair? That turned a mess into an adventure. The kind I’d missed so damn much.

  I kept quiet through the drive, and Adam didn’t push me to talk, just kept the tunes coming. We pulled in at a little strip mall half an hour later. I’d never been to this particular part of town, but we used to come over this way a lot, for stuff Tallbridge didn’t have. It was generically familiar. A bit shabby but not really hard core. Adam’s kind of place.

  When we went in, a young guy with sixty million piercings took our names and told us to wait. “Do you want a book to look through? We’ve got lots of options. Skulls, dragons, fluffy kitties. Name your poison.”

  “Roses?” Adam asked.

  “Sure.” He stood, showing off a skinny body in the tightest black jeans known to man, and brought over a thin ring binder. “Check these.” He looked at me. “How about you?”

  I shook my head. “Gonna talk to the artist.” I’d figured out what I wanted. Whether she could manage it? That was the two hundred dollar question.

  “Okay.” The guy asked for ID, giving my state card a bit of a squint, then gave us each a clipboard with a form to fill out and sign. “Pass these back when you’re done.”

  Adam leaned toward me to share his book. “I want a rose. Over my heart. Black outline, a little yellow.”

  My eyes stung. I grunted something approving. God, I miss her too. I watched as he flipped through the designs.

  The curtains to the back of the shop opened ten minutes later, and an older guy with full sleeves and a chest-piece came out. He eased into a flannel shirt, shoulder motions stiff. A small purple-haired woman behind him said, “Now, I don’t have to remind you about aftercare. But this one’s hard for you to see, so make sure you keep checking it, right?”

  His voice was a deep rumble. “Yours always heal clean. Thanks, Maggie.”

  She turned to us. “You’re Adam and Donnie?”

  “Adam Lindberg.” He stood and held out his hand.

  She shook it and gestured. “You two want to come on back?”

  The back room had three stations, big chairs like a dentist might use, with extra armrests. One was folded down like a bed, and a younger woman was wiping it clean. She glanced up as we came in.

  “This is Lori,” Maggie said. “She’s my partner. In every way.” She seemed to be waiting for a reaction. I guess some guys don’t want to have a lesbian working on them. Probably best to know in advance.

  Adam said to Lori, “Hi. That’s Donnie, and I’m Adam. I appreciate you taking the time for us on short notice.”

  Lori shrugged a shoulder. “We had an opening. It works out. What are you boys getting?”

  Adam showed Maggie the page he’d picked out. “This. About three inches high, here.” He touched his chest.

  “That’s a good starter piece, sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll get any more.”

  She smiled at him. “Right. We’ll see. What about you, Donnie?”

  I was suddenly reluctant to show her. “I, um, need to talk it over with you.”

  She frowned. Maybe she thought I was backing out. “Well, before we get into that, let me run through the process.” She gave us a long talk about tattoos and how they were permanent, and how aftercare was important, complete with a couple of pictures of nasty infections that would scare a faint-hearted person right out of the room. “You might think this is overkill, but my tattoos are art. I don’t want them on someone who will regret it or get scared halfway through or will let it get wrecked. I have plenty of customers. I don’t need that crap.” She looked right at me.

  I pushed up my sleeve, kind of rough, to show her my forearm. “I want to fix this.” His initials showed through the hair on my arm, dark and a little crooked. HH. Three inches high. His mark.

  She looked at it and her expression softened. “I bet you do. Come sit, and let me see. Lori, you want to take Adam and his rose?”

  “Sure. You guys want a curtain drawn, or you want to see each other?”

  “See. Please,” Adam said.

  “Your first tattoo?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She chuckled. “No time like the present.”

  Lori got Adam’s shirt off and shaved his nearly-hairless pec. Maggie guided me to the next chair and raised up a support under my arm. “How long ago did you get this?”

  “Six years, thereabouts.”

  “Done at home?”

  “Kinda.”

  She ran her fingers over the lines. I didn’t need her to tell me it was crude. That had been the point. Not art.

  “Do you have an idea what you want done with it?”

  “Can you turn it into a bird cage? Opening?”

  “Probably. I’ll take a picture and sketch over it. You want a bird flying free? I have examples of that you can look through.”

  “No, I—” I stopped. It was gonna sound dumber out loud than in my head.

  “No what? You’re going to wear this tattoo forever, most likely. It needs to be what you want.”

  “Um. A caterpillar.”

  “Caterpillar,” she repeated, but not like it was the dumbest thing she’d hear. “What kind? And where?”

  “One of the little green ones. Green and black. Coming out of the cage.”

  Adam turned to me. “Like that summer?”

  “Yeah. Kinda.” I glanced at Maggie. “It doesn’t have to be a particular kind.”

  “Let me pull up some images.” She got out an iPad and started a search.

  Adam’s eyes were still on me, and I think he’d have reached out if the chairs had been closer. That day at the playground, back when I was eleven and he’d just turned ten, he’d been rescuing little green caterpillars from the pavement. Bobby Tyler was trying to stomp on them. I’d protected Adam from Bobby’s fists, but Adam saved a few green caterpillars. I didn’t remember what kind they’d been. I remember him gently lifting one into the bushes with his grubby hands, telling it that it was safe now but to stay away from Bobby. I remember deciding a guy like that was worth sticking close to and protecting. In a way, Adam saved me too that day, although we didn’t know it then.

  Maggie said, “So I found some that won’t just look like a worm. Also the moths they turn into. Mostly moths. Do you care? Would you prefer a butterfly one?”

  I took the iPad from her. “Nah. I’m more the moth type anyway. Plus, you never know what might hatch out.” I gave her my best grin, blinking the shine from my eyes. I focused down on the choices. One had interesting black and beige spots on the green and a horn on its head. The moth was cool too. “This one. Hawkmoth.”

  “Okay. You do know I charge an extra hundred for a custom design?”

  I think I hid my wince. “How much altogether?”

  “Custom piece, fixing damage, five inches, but with a new client discount,” she mused.

  I caught the quick look Lori sent her way at those words, and I wondered if that was a real thing. To get this done, I wouldn’t look a gift discount in the mouth.

  “Three hundred fifty.”

  I breathed out. “Can do.”

  “In advance. In case you run off part way through.”

  “Not happening.” It was a bit embarrassing to have to dig the bills out. Twenty from my wallet, a hundred from my front pocket, the rest from the duct-tape wallet strapped to my shin. But hey, no reason to be ashamed of caution, right? Adam had paid for his with a credit card, like regular folks.

  “You can sit with your friend for a bit,” Maggie told me. “Let me work up your design.”

  I stood and moved over beside Adam, pretending I wasn’t looking at his bare chest. He’d filled out. He still wasn’t built, but lean and smooth, with a fine dust of dark hair over his pecs and around his nipples, and a thicker trail below. Not as nearly much ha
ir as I had, but a man, not a boy. The scars wrapped around his left shoulder, with several neat, tidy ones on his right chest. I made myself look at them, and show nothing on my face of how they made my stomach ache. He says he’s all healed.

  I moved my attention to his face. His eyes had gone darker gray, like he was nervous, but they had that shine, too. He’d looked like that right before we climbed the water tower. Right before we rescued Mr. Bronson’s dog and secretly dropped it off at the shelter. Right before I drag raced big-mouth Kyle, with Adam vibrating with excitement in the passenger seat.

  “Ready,” he said.

  Lori smiled. “I’ll take good care of you. We’ll plan the outline first, and have you check in a mirror. Make sure it’s right. No rush.”

  She did a great job with him, getting that little rose placed where it belonged. By the time Maggie was ready for me, I was more relaxed. I lay back against the chair, closed my eyes, and imagined Harry’s initials fading into Adam’s little green caterpillar. The pain of the needle was the second-best thing I’d felt in a long, long time.

  Chapter 10

  Adam

  Tattoos hurt. Don’t let anyone tell you they don’t. But it was a clean, useful pain, like opening a blister, draining a different kind of hurt and turning it to art. The little yellow rose on my chest wasn’t anything unique, but I loved it already.

  Donnie was taking longer and he’d started after me. Once Lori took a couple pictures of mine and bandaged me up, I pulled on my shirt, leaving it open, and moved to where I could see Donnie’s face. His eyes were closed, but not like it was hurting bad. He looked relaxed, like he was floating. The ugly black tattoo had already been transformed, and Maggie was doing black bits on the caterpillar. I wanted to look closer but didn’t want to jog her elbow.

  I loved that peace on Donnie’s face. Since he’d come back, he’d almost never looked like that. I wanted to know about the old tat, how he got it and what it meant, but if erasing gave him that kind of ease, I’d be fine if he never mentioned it again.

  Lori murmured behind me, “How long have you two been together?”

  “It shows?” I had to shake my head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always? Here, take this chair.” She shoved a rolling stool at me and moved away, wiping and cleaning the station I’d been at.

  It took another half hour before Donnie was done and they checked us out with care sheets and complimentary tubes of ointment. Donnie flipped his tube between his fingers, as we got into the car. “How slippery do you figure this stuff is?”

  “If it’s like Mom’s A&D, it’s sticky.” The echo of her name caught in my throat, like usual. I guess even a rose isn’t magic. “But I have the good stuff back at home.”

  “In your dad’s house.”

  “He’s at work. Hang on.” I called the store. “Hey, Nate, do you need us back to take over from Dad?”

  “Not now.” Nate sounded cheerful. “He’s having a good time. Half the people coming in want to chat with him, and they’re buying extra because they’re happy he’s back. Wait till my lunch break, like he said.”

  “Got it. See you.” I slid my phone into my pocket. “So we have two hours. Clothes shopping?” Yeah, I meant it as a tease, although that’s where we’d go if Donnie wanted.

  “Can’t rub clean clothes over a new tattoo. We might as well go home.”

  “Might as well.” I started the car, but I turned down the tunes just in case Donnie wanted to talk.

  It took twenty minutes on the freeway before he said, “Harry was my cellmate.”

  Harry? HH? “Were you, um, together?”

  He barked a laugh. “Night and day, but not by choice. We had a deal. I did my bit for him, he made sure my time on the inside wasn’t as rough as a lot of guys have it.”

  “Ah.” I felt like I shouldn’t want more details, but I did. What was your bit? How bad was it?

  After another mile, he said, “I was lucky, really. There were much worse guys. He never ass-fucked me. He didn’t like that. He did like betting on fights, though, so I fought.”

  “You were always good at that.” Donnie had a neighbor who taught him some Krav Maga, or as close to that all-out fighting style as a teen boy could learn. Donnie going all out on someone was a scary-efficient thing, which had kept us safe when we finally came out. By then, kids at school knew not to mess with Donnie or anyone he protected.

  “Yep. And it doesn’t show when you look at me. He liked that. Won a bunch of bets.”

  “Betting on you?”

  “Yeah, he’d set it up. Lull them in, thinking they could take me easy. ’Course, I missed out on parole for all the fights I got into.” His matter-of-fact tone dared me to get sympathetic.

  I wanted to. I wanted to hug him and cry, that some bastard he got put in with apparently kept him in prison a lot longer just to win bets. Instead, I blinked hard and kept my eyes on the road.

  “Means I’m out free and clear now, though. I can go to Minnesota if I want. Not like some.”

  “Some?”

  “I told you about my friend Leon? He’s got another six months. Can’t leave North Dakota.”

  “Ah.”

  “Poor bastard. He’s from L.A., and he wants to go back home in the worst way.”

  “Was that why you thought you might go out West? Because he was?”

  “Maybe? Partly.” Donnie ran a hand over his head. “It’s good to have friends, y’know? But me and Leon have too much old business between us. A clean break would be smarter, really. Although I still like the sound of somewhere warmer than fucking Minneapolis.”

  “Minnesota’s warm. In the summer.”

  “Drive, Pollyanna. We’ll find another way to keep the chill off.” He reached down and cranked up the music.

  We tumbled in the back door of the house, complaining about the cold, laughing. Little shivers ran over me, and I wasn’t sure if it was chill or anticipation. Willow came to greet us as we kicked off our boots. Donnie stooped to rub her ears, but after a moment she trotted back to the chew bone in her bed.

  “Ditched for food,” he muttered.

  “We really don’t need her kibitzing. Come on.” I led the way upstairs.

  We paused in the hallway. “Bathroom first,” Donnie said.

  “Meet in my room. First one there bottoms.” I meant it as a joke, but I heard Donnie take a breath. “If they want to,” I added quickly.

  “Don’t strain yourself.” He headed to the main bathroom.

  I ducked into the master bath, pretending I didn’t just cross through Dad’s room to prep for sex. The tattoo on my chest felt tight and sore, and I dug through the cabinet for ibuprofen before finishing up. The temptation to pick a corner of the bandage loose and peek was strong, but I reminded myself I had better things to do.

  When I got to my room, Donnie was sprawled out on my stripped-down bed, still mostly dressed. He’d pulled the curtains, and the room was shadowed, but enough light seeped through to show the shape of his biceps stretching the sleeves of his white T-shirt, the line of his flat stomach, and the bulge below it.

  “You snooze, you lose.” He sounded hoarse.

  “I don’t call topping you losing. Although we don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, we do.” He sat up and pulled the T-shirt over his head. “Come on, Adam, show me what you’ve got.”

  I stripped as smoothly as I could, with my hands shaking, because Donnie was getting naked. God, he looked good. He’d always been more muscular than me, stronger, with darker skin and more hair. The year and a half between our ages meant nothing now, but he was still my ideal. Furrier than before, more bulked up in his chest, but still narrow in the waist and hips, above strong thighs. He said he’d lifted weights, but it hadn’t taken away from his lean, functional look.

  As he shucked his boxers, his dick sprang free, pointing at me. I shoved my boxer briefs down my thighs and stepped out of them. My own cock aimed where it wanted to go. The r
oom was warm, with the way Dad cranked the heat lately, and just looking at Donnie made me sweat.

  He lay back and patted the bed beside him. “Come on.”

  I didn’t need asking twice. I slid onto the bed and leaned over to kiss him. As our mouths met, he ran his hand over the back of my head and cupped my skull in strong fingers to hold me close. We kissed slow and deep, mouths dragging against each other, tongues stroking, lips plucking. Donnie caught my lower lip between his teeth. I gasped, and he let go.

  I couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  I braced on one elbow to be sure my sore chest didn’t hit his, and ran my free hand over his left shoulder, then down to play with the nipple poking up from his fur. I caught it between my thumb and palm, tweaking it as I tried to mound his hard pec in my hand and failed. He was solid muscle.

  “Found something you like?”

  “I like everything.” And wasn’t that the truth? I wanted to luxuriate in Donnie as he was now, all stretched out for my enjoyment. I squirmed over to lie between his legs, and he spread his thighs to let me. I gave him a few more deep, slow kisses, before I sat back on my heels.

  Donnie grabbed an extra pillow and stuffed it under his neck to see me better. “Now what?”

  “Shush.” I stroked the line of his jaw and the cord of his neck, sliding a finger around the hollow of his collarbone. Moving my left arm pulled on the tattoo, so I went one-handed, tracing between his pecs, down his abs and around his navel to the treasure trail below. He twitched as I reached the base of his cock.

  I bent to kiss him, and that hurt my chest, too. “Dammit. We should have done this before the tattoos.”

  “Sore?”

  “Yeah. A bit.” My dick had flagged to half mast.

  “Here.” He eased his legs from around me and sat up. “You lay down and take it easy.”