Chapter 30 #3
“I have a setup in mind.” I’ve already picked up on his penchant for exhibitionism. I dunno if I’ll ever be okay with going full throttle on that one, but I came up with what I think’ll be a happy medium.
He nods, still sporting the adorable fucking shyness he gets just for me. “I wanna do it. Will you get something for me?”
“Still want my dick tattooed?” It would fucking hurt, but I’d do it for him.
He laughs. “I do, but I don’t want someone else touching your dick, so we’ll have to talk about it.”
“Would you settle for the idea I had in mind? I was gonna get something here to match yours.” I place his hand on the lowest curve of my torso. Somewhere innocent, but also somewhere everyone can see it if he ever lets me take my shirt off in public again.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
The bell rings when we walk in the door. Mike’s eyes land on Dirk, lighting up. “This is him? Nice, Trav.”
I scowl. Maybe if I put a fucking collar on him, people would stop looking at him like that.
“Whoa, sorry, man. We got you set up in the back,” he says.
Theresa races out, her black boots clomping, metal jewelry jangling. “Ignore him, Dirk.” She whacks Mike upside the head.
“Ow! But Trav says he wants to—” Mike shuts the fuck up when Theresa and I double team him with “we’re about to fucking murder you” glares.
“C’mon. I’ll show you what we set up for you, and keep him chained to the desk where he belongs.”
Dirk laughs, leaning into me. “She’s terrifying, but, like, with kindness.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
We walk past the row of stations, with other regulars getting work done.
They wave, recognizing me, and know better than to talk to Dirk.
I’ve never gotten intimate about my past with anyone here, but besides the fact that I look like the poster man for bikers everywhere, some of the people in here have pasts of their own that connect them to the old world I used to live in.
And others are UBC students, wanting to memorialize Homecoming Weekend.
Theresa takes us to a semi-private station that’s typically used when someone wants to pierce the special places of their anatomy.
But all that stands between us and the rest of the parlor is a thick, black curtain.
Every sound, every smell still permeates this space, offering little separation.
It’ll just be me and Dirk back here. He’ll obey all my directions so prettily—always gets me hot, watching him bend, fluttering those lashes like he’s innocent, even though he’s fucking not.
He knows what his blue eyes do to me, and he uses them against me.
“You should have everything you need. Holler if you don’t,” Theresa says.
“Get in the chair,” I demand when she’s gone.
It comes out as if I’m on my last thread of patience, as if I’m the one who’s been edged by him all day.
Didn’t expect this to affect me as much as it is, but fuck, my heart’s racing, sending all the blood to my cock.
The rational side of me has left the building, and what’s left is the predator who’s usually forced to wait his turn until we’re alone.
I wanna sink my teeth into him. Always. Taste his skin.
Dirk sits, the rise and fall of his chest losing the smooth rhythm it’s used to. I perch on the rolling stool—has he figured it out yet?
“What do you think so far, baby?”
“My dick is weeping, Trav. Are we gonna … here?” he says, gesturing beyond the curtain.
“I’m not gonna fuck you here, no.”
He groans, tossing his head back, then slaps a hand over his mouth, remembering that everyone can hear him. I snap on a pair of black gloves.
“Are you gonna do the tattoo?”
“Yep.” His brow pinches together. “I can’t do anything elaborate—yet—but I can do what I’ve got planned.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
The sadist in me perks the fuck up, shining through my face. There’s a lot for him to be worried about. “Smart, because there’s a good chance my free hand could slip, accidentally touch something it shouldn’t. I’m not a very professional tattoo artist.”
Everyone’s been instructed not to come back here upon penalty of death, but Dirk doesn’t know that, and it’ll up the arousal factor for this little kink of his if he thinks someone could walk in at any time.
“Let me get this straight, your plan is to brand my ass with a tattoo—personally—while sexually torturing me in the middle of a tattoo parlor?”
I shrug. “Yep. We good?”
He laughs. “We’re good. Torture away, babe.”
“Lie back.” I adjust the chair until I have him like I want him, rubbing a hand over his hard cock, still cruelly trapped in his jeans.
He hisses, and I pop the button, taking the zipper down slowly.
There’s a nice wet spot through his gray boxers.
He helps by lifting his hips, and I shimmy his boxers and jeans down enough, exposing him to the cool air.
I fondle his balls and run my gloved hand along his cock in a possessive way. “Mine. You’re all mine, baby.”
I leave him like that, hard and weeping, while I check out my setup and prepare his bare skin with some green soap. I pull out the stencil I had Theresa prep for me, transferring the purple outline where I want to put it.
Then I spend a little time, teasing and stroking his desperate cock. “Remember to be quiet, you don’t want everyone to hear you, do you?”
“No,” he breathes, swallowing. “Fuck.”
Having this much of his anatomy on display is overkill, but it’s so he can feel exposed, vulnerable. I want him to enjoy this. “You wanna see? Or you wanna be surprised?”
“Surprised,” he says.
“Mhm. No peeking then.” I dip the needle into the black ink. The machine hums to life like an angry wasp against a window, not very sexy, but the vibrations will feel good. The first prick is always the sharpest, and then the pain will dull into background noise.
Dirk’s eyes flutter closed, and he licks his lips. He’s still rock hard.
“You like that?”
“Yeah. It hurts, but it feels good. Is being addicted to tattoos a thing? Because I might get more of these.”
“Um, hello.” I hold up my arm.
“Right.”
I give him a break anyway, so I can stroke him some more and toy with his balls. His back arches.
He pants. “You’re not gonna let me come, are you?”
“Good guess.” I leave his dick alone for the next little while, returning to the piece. The silence fills with the buzz of the machine, Dirk’s breath, and his restraint as he holds off beautifully, suffering for me.
I wipe it clean a final time, shut off the machine, and remove the gloves. His eyes are glazed over, cheeks pink.
“Do I get to look now?”
I pass him a mirror, with a few nerves lighting up my gut. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I’d do a good enough job, but what if he hates the font I went with?
His pretty blue eyes stare as he moves the mirror at different angles. A smile breaks free—a full one.
“Pretty boy,” he murmurs. “I love it. You did a kick-ass job.”
I made the letters masculine for the most part, but with a touch of gentle prettiness, just like Dirk. I sit back and admire my work, my personal brand on him, and also his gorgeous, miserable cock. I make him lie back again, so I can clean the tattoo one more time and cover it.
Without warning, I swallow down his cock and slide a lone finger inside him. He scrambles, hands clawing the chair as he pushes into my mouth. “Shhhh … No noises,” I whisper. “Or I stop.”
I’m at the side of the chair, so I’m able to slap a hand over his mouth to help him. His abs twist and contract as I suck hard. He’s so close, it doesn’t take him long to come down my throat, and I pull my head off, so I can see how ruined he is.
“You’re such a bastard,” he whispers as an easy smile spreads onto his face, eyes half-lidded, still returning to this realm. I help him get dressed, careful of his new ink, and pull him off the table.
“But was it a good surprise?”
“It was a kick ass surprise. Don’t know how you got them to let you do this.”
“I did them a favor a while back.” It was a long while back when I first moved to the part of the city where I live now.
Back when I still used fists and a baseball bat to solve most of my problems. They were having trouble with break-ins, and the police weren’t doing a whole lot to help them.
So, I did. I never cashed in on the favor.
I catch his lips in a kiss. “A tattoo will have to do until I can make you a Nolan.”
His face lights up, and he wipes a thumb over my lips. “You’re adorable when you pout.”
“I do not pout.”
“You do. I love you, Travis.”
“I love you, pretty boy, and I’m already the luckiest fucker alive, but—”
“Please don’t use ‘but’ after a sentence like that.”
“But I need even more of you. Don’t move in with them, move in with me.” It’s too close to hockey season for us to find something new; we’d have to make do at my place. “And I know what you said about Hunter—”
He twists a hand into my plaid shirt like it’s a hockey jersey, pulling me toward him.
“I was hoping you’d get territorial.”
“I’m not.”
He laughs. “You are, and I love it. I love my friends too, and it would have been fun, but I’m sure I’ll be over there often enough.”
My heart hammers. “Is that a yes, pretty boy?”
“It’s a take me home, Travis, and never let me leave again.”
Well, that I can fucking do. I drag him from the tattoo parlor, without getting my matching tattoo, but I’ll be back tomorrow. He’s my pretty boy, I’m his keeper, and I want everyone to know it.