by L. A. Witt
Below that, a thin line of hair below his navel pulled Colin’s focus down to the front of Daniel’s jeans. For the first time in his career as a tattooist, Colin realized how convenient this chair would be for other things. Perfect position, perfect height—just unzip Daniel’s jeans, lean down, and take all the time in the world to give him a blowjob. All without getting a stiff neck.
Now do your job before you get a stiff something else.
He turned away to finish setting up his ink cups, reminding himself that the health department would have a fit if they caught him blowing a client in here. Daniel might object to it, too, especially with his shipmates hanging around.
Colin took his own seat on a small stool beside the reclined chair, and touched Daniel’s elbow. “Let your arm hang straight down. Relax your hand completely.”
Daniel obeyed again. “Like this?”
“Yep.” Colin’s head spun. He’d done this a million times, and he’d never been this tuned in to the presence of his client’s arm dangling between his legs. If anything, he was usually aware of it because a badly timed jerk or spasm could mean a smack to the balls. He’d just never noticed before tonight that this put a client’s arm—Daniel’s arm—a twitch away from brushing his inner thigh.
In theory, he could have had Daniel put his arm on the armrest, but for a tattoo on the pec, this position kept the skin good and taut. And besides, Colin leaned on the armrest himself. Through a lot of trial and error, he’d found this was the most comfortable way, even if it wasn’t what the other guys in the shop did. It just wasn’t usually this awkward.
He cleared his throat. “Is that comfortable?”
“It’s fine.”
“Okay.” Colin put on his gloves and picked up the tattoo needle. “You ready?”
Daniel gulped again, but nodded. When Colin leaned in closer, Daniel’s entire torso tensed up.
“Relax.” Colin pressed his elbow onto the armrest and flattened his hand on Daniel’s chest. “Remember—no ink at first. If it’s too much, we can stop.”
Eyes still shut, jaw still tight, Daniel nodded.
Colin knew damn well they wouldn’t be stopping. Not even if it was too much. He knew how military boys were. This could be the single most excruciating thing Daniel had ever experienced, and he wouldn’t make a peep about the discomfort in front of his buddies. He was probably reminding himself over and over that tattoo pain was temporary, but the shame of whimpering would follow him around until he transferred to another base. It was all macho bullshit as far as Colin was concerned, but it was what it was.
He pressed his hand a little harder on Daniel’s chest, preemptively keeping him still, and brought the needle to his skin. The tip grazed flesh, and as expected, Daniel jumped. Lips pressed together so hard they were turning white, he grunted. If it had been just the two of them, Colin suspected he would’ve let a “Fuck!” fly, but with his boys watching, he bit it back.
Colin lifted the needle away. “You okay?”
Daniel nodded, though his lips were still tight and bleached.
Colin applied the needle again, this time with the kind of pressure he’d have to maintain to lay down the ink.
Daniel groaned.
“Keep going?”
“Yeah.” Daniel swept his tongue across his lips. “Let’s do this.”
“All right. Here we go. This time with ink.”
Daniel took a deep breath, then nodded again.
Colin dipped the needle in the cup of black ink. He leaned forward, ignoring the soft denim-filtered brush of Daniel’s forearm against his inner thigh. He kept his right hand in the middle of Daniel’s chest so he could use his thumb and forefinger to hold the skin tight on his pec. The rubber glove muted the contact just like his jeans did, but there was no barrier between his forearm and Daniel’s warm, bare chest.
Focus, dude. You’ve done this before.
He glanced up. “Is this okay?” Why is my mouth dry? “Having my hand right here?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“If it’s not, say so.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He opened his eyes and looked down at Colin, and beneath Colin’s palm, his heart sped up.
Colin cleared his throat. “You sure?”
“Do we have any other options?”
“Not really. Not with where the tattoo is going.”
“Okay.” Daniel looked up at the ceiling and released a breath. “Go for it.”
“If you’re not comfortable . . .”
“No. I’m good. I’m good.” Daniel closed his eyes as he swept his tongue across his lips. “Just nervous.”
“No problem. If you need a break, holler.”
Daniel just nodded.
“Here we go . . .”
Chapter 6
Oh. Fuck.
Can’t do this. No way. Can’t . . . oh my God.
It was like having a cat sharpen its claws on his chest. And the claws were bee stingers. And they were on fire.
Can’t—
Have to.
There was no turning back now unless he wanted to have a pitifully unfinished tattoo staring back at him for the rest of his life.
And here, his internal narrator would remind him, is a little abstract bullshit to commemorate the day you thought your balls had dropped.
He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He could do this. If he could survive all those long, miserable weeks of boot camp, two full years in the Middle East, and six months deployed on a ship, he could handle ninety goddamned minutes of this. Hell, he’d already made it this far.
While Colin was putting some more ink on the needle, Daniel looked at his watch.
They were four minutes into it.
Four.
Four.
Nausea rose in the back of his throat, but he forced it back down. Tried to, anyway. It reminded him of when he’d rolled his ankle really bad playing football in high school, and it had hurt so much he’d been sure he’d puke. Then his coach had prodded it to see how bad he’d fucked it up, and he had puked.
That does not bode well for tonight. Oh God.
Colin stopped and dabbed the tender skin with a paper towel. “You all right?”
Daniel nodded. “Just, uh . . . kind of intense.”
“Yeah, they’re like that.”
The needle touched his skin again, and he bit down on a curse.
“Come on, ya pussy!” Reuben’s voice jarred him. “It’s not that bad.”
Daniel glared at him.
“How many pec tats do you have?” Colin asked without looking up from the line he was carving into Daniel’s chest.
“Uh . . .”
“That’s what I thought.” Colin lifted the needle away and dipped it in the ink. As he did, he smirked at Reuben. “But if you want to put your money where your mouth is, I don’t have any appointments after him.”
Reuben’s eyes widened. “Um . . .”
“Oh, he’s throwing down!” Potter elbowed Reuben. “Come on. You gonna do it?”
Daniel didn’t catch the comments that came after that because Colin put the needle back on his skin, and the fresh wave of fiery pain pulled his focus away from anything else. The flaming bee stinger cat claws were really pissed off now.
Colin’s voice cut through it, though: “You’re doing fine, by the way.”
Then why do I feel like I’m gonna be sick?
“I am?”
“Yeah.” Colin paused to work on a line. “You’ve barely moved, and you’re not cussing me out.”
Daniel laughed. “Guess that’s something, right?”
“Yep. Just hang in there. It’ll be worth it when we’re done.”
Daniel closed his eyes again, and he held onto that—it would be worth it when they were done. He looked over the design, which was propped up beside him, opposite Colin. Yeah, it would be worth it.
As Colin kept working, the pain did get more bearable. It was still intense as fuck, but didn’t s
eem quite as bad now unless the needle hit an especially sensitive spot. His chest seemed to be a minefield of sensitive spots, and Colin seemed determined to put ink on every single one of them, but at least Daniel could catch his breath in between those oh fuck moments.
The more his focus broke away from the pain, the more aware he was of sensations he had absolutely not expected. Every now and then, when the buzz of the needle had numbed his skin enough to make the burn a little more bearable, his other nerve endings would wake up a little. Like, say, the ones that registered Colin’s body heat where he leaned in close or where his arm rested on Daniel. All the ones that could remind him, again and again, that the hottest man he’d laid eyes on in a long time was so close to him right now.
This was insane. It wasn’t like he’d never been touched before. He’d even been touched by incredibly hot men before. There was Lieutenant McEnroe, for one. And technically, the sexy corpsman who stitched his hand last summer counted.
Except Daniel hadn’t gone to medical after spending the previous night jerking off to thoughts of that corpsman. Last night, he’d stealthily rubbed one out while his mind was full of Colin, Colin, Colin, and now Colin’s hands were on him. He had to lean in close so he could see what he was doing. Did he know what that did to Daniel’s blood pressure? Or how easy it was to sneakily check out his eyelashes, cheekbones, lips, and jaw? Or the way his neck stretched when he tilted his head to focus on something? What were those tattoos on his neck, anyway? Obviously they could only be seen if Colin took off his shirt.
Oh God.
Shirtless Colin.
Yes, please take it—
The needle buzzed over an extra sensitive spot, and Daniel grunted.
“Try not to move,” Colin said quietly.
“Trying.”
“You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”
Daniel closed his eyes and breathed. The pain turned out to be a blessing, actually—right about now he was pretty sure it was the only thing standing between him and one hell of an awkward hard-on. That was just what he needed. Especially with his coworkers still milling around.
They were still here, right?
Yeah. There they were. Distantly, like they were across the parking lot and not ten feet away, he could hear Reuben and Potter shooting the shit about something. He couldn’t quite grab onto the conversation enough to follow it. Not with his chest on fire and Colin sitting this close to him.
“How’s your arm doing?” Colin asked after a while.
“Uh.” Daniel opened and closed his fingers, and realized they’d started falling asleep. “Tingling a bit.”
“Go ahead and stretch a bit.” Colin sat back and wiped the needle with a paper towel. “Shake it out. Whatever you need to do.”
“Thanks.” He did, shaking it a bit and rolling his shoulder. He stretched a few more times, and then let his arm hang again. Colin got back to work, and Daniel went back to trying to ignore the pain. Funny, now that he’d stretched a little, he was hyperaware of how tired his arm had become. His fingers had fallen asleep, and his shoulder ached. Gingerly, he opened and closed his fingers some more, and tried to flex his wrist and elbow as much as he could without grazing Colin.
He didn’t dare move more than that, though, or look to see just how close his arm was to Colin’s thigh or his crotch. At least then if they somehow bumped or grazed, he could plead ignorance. Awkward, mortifying ignorance.
This was not how he’d imagined tonight playing out. Of course being around Colin had been guaranteed to drive him insane. No surprise there. And he’d fully expected the tattoo to hurt, though maybe not quite this much.
But he hadn’t thought about having Colin’s arm resting on his chest. Or his own arm hanging between Colin’s legs, for God’s sake.
And it dawned on him that his buddies knew he had an insane crush on Colin. Every time their voices carried over to where he was sitting, he couldn’t help anticipating some smartass comment that would make this more awkward than it already was. Something about how tongue-tied Daniel had been the last few days, and how they’d all busted Colin checking Daniel out, too.
It had to be his pain-addled brain talking. He knew his friends. They’d rib him endlessly about all kinds of shit, and he’d do the same to them, but they’d always been good about not outing him to people. After all, they’d been there when he’d let it slip to their chief, and they’d been as pissed as he was about the aftermath. When they went out partying, even after they were ten sheets to the wind, they seemed to know that was one card that Daniel and only Daniel could play.
“Hanging in there?” Colin asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Daniel nodded. “It’s not as bad as it was in the beginning.”
“Good. Means the endorphins are kicking in.”
“Do they ever kick in enough to numb it completely?”
Colin chuckled as he gently dabbed the tattoo with the paper towel. “I’d be lying if I said they did.”
“Goddammit.”
“Sorry.”
Colin kept working. Daniel kept breathing.
After a while, he glanced at his watch again to see how far into this he was, and how much more he had to get through.
Thirty-seven minutes.
Not even halfway.
Shit.
Chapter 7
Daniel’s friends milled around for a while, flipping through portfolios in between ribbing him every time he winced. They were getting on Colin’s nerves, probably more than the needle was getting on Daniel’s, but he kept his trap shut. Maybe Daniel needed the support, and anyway, they’d come in with a customer, therefore they could stay as long as they weren’t destructive or distracting.
Finally, though, around the time Colin was finishing up the swallow’s outline, they got bored. They had a training session at the gym soon anyway, so one of them said, “You’re on your own, Moore. We’re gonna go work out.”
“See you back on the boat,” Daniel called after them. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Later!”
Thank you, Jesus, Colin thought.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Daniel relaxed a bit more. “Sorry about them.”
“Nah. I was more worried about you.” Colin reached for the ink again. “Heckling doesn’t really help the experience.”
Daniel laughed. “To be fair, I’ve done the same thing to them.”
“Oh, you’re one of those assholes.” Colin paused. “Hmm. Maybe I should crank this thing up to a ten just to teach you a lesson.”
Daniel’s eyes flew open, his face slack with genuine horror.
Colin chuckled. “Relax. I’m kidding.” He leaned in to continue a line he’d been working on. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”
Daniel released a breath and laughed, but said nothing as Colin kept going.
Now it was just the two of them. Colin continued in silence, trying to concentrate on his number one priority—the tattoo. That normally wasn’t so difficult. Once he’d found his groove as a tattoo artist, he’d learned to shut out everything except the art, though of course he always stayed alert so he could catch any signs that a person needed to stop. As long as the client held still, Colin could work through cursing, gasping, even the occasional crying. He contorted himself and clients into all kinds of positions in order to ink hard-to-reach places. He tattooed on or near all kinds of body parts on all kinds of body types, and didn’t really notice anymore. Nature of the business. Sure, he’d ogle a guy before they sat down. Especially the SEALs. God. The SEALs. But once needle touched skin, he was all business.
Tonight, though, Daniel kept throwing him for a loop. This might as well have been the first time Colin had tattooed someone. Or tattooed them while paying attention to anything beyond lines and shading. Tonight, Colin was tuned in to everything that usually escaped his notice.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had his hand over someone’s heart while he was inking them. Th
e sensation of a person’s pulse pounding under his fingers was hardly a novelty. But with Daniel, he couldn’t ignore it. Every time Daniel’s heart sped up, Colin swore his own was following suit.
Daniel shifted. He grunted softly as the needle grazed a spot that was notoriously nervy.
“You want any music or anything?” Colin asked without looking up. “For distraction?”
“This is fine,” Daniel said through his teeth.
“You sure? Some people don’t like the sound of the needle.”
“It’s okay. If you want to listen to something, go ahead.”
“I’m good.”
Any other night, Colin probably would’ve turned on some music. He usually did even if he and his client were talking, which they often did.
He left it off tonight, though. Maybe it was stupid, but he couldn’t help thinking the stereo would drown out the heartbeat pounding under his hand.
He glanced up at Daniel’s face, trying to remember if there’d ever been another time when he’d been so keenly aware of his nearness to someone. During his apprentice days? No, he’d been too focused on his lines and shading. Too scared of messing up. If anything, he’d noticed his mentor breathing down his neck, but he’d never noticed much of a comfort zone with clients.
Oh, but he noticed tonight. Just like he noticed the sheen of sweat on Daniel’s forehead. That was normal, of course—Colin always worked up a sweat when he was giving or receiving a tattoo—but he’d never really looked before. He’d sure as shit never wondered if this was what Daniel would look like when he was turned on. After all, he was flushed, sweating . . .
Focus, idiot.
“Okay, the outline is done.” He sat back to roll some fatigue out of his shoulders, then switched to a different needle.
“Oh my God.” Daniel eyed the new needle. “What fresh hell is that?”
Colin held it up. “This? This is for shading.”
“It looks evil.”
“Only because it has more tips than the outlining one. The ink doesn’t go as deep with the shading, though, so it’s about the same, pain-wise.”