Max
more easily.
"I like them," Theo admits,
looking back at the tattoos. They're on Max's upper arms and parts of his
shoulders, some almost reaching down to his elbows, and a few of them flow
together so perfectly that it's hard to tell where one ends and another begins.
"Thanks," Max says.
"They'll probably be full sleeves by the time I'm done. Just give me a few
years."
Max sighs contentedly then, and looks at
Theo.
"Maybe we should get you inked
up," he suggests with a mischievous smirk and cocking of his eyebrows, and
Theo scoffs, smiling.
"I don't think so," he says, trailing
his fingers along a tattoo depicting an intricate image containing poker cards,
covering most of Max's right upper arm. "Even if my parents were okay with
it."
"Again," Max points out,
"it's your skin, not theirs."
"Still, though." Theo keeps his eyes
on Max's body, rather than his face, and neither of them says anything for a
few moments.
"You wanna see it?" Max suddenly
asks, sounding just the tiniest bit hesitant, and Theo frowns.
"See what?" he says, and Max
sighs quietly.
"How it's done," he explains.
"The whole tattoo-thing."
Theo looks up at him, looks into those
dark blue eyes.
"What do you mean?" he says, and
Max cocks his head.
"I'm having the wings finished,"
he says. "In a couple of days. You could come along. If you want."
Theo doesn't answer him right away,
surprised.
"You want me to come with you?"
he finally says, disbelieving, and Max glances away for a split second.
"If you feel like spending hours just
sitting there, while I get tortured, then yeah," he says dryly, looking at
Theo. "I guess I could use the company."
Theo swallows, a bit nervously. That's an
odd request. But he immediately feels like saying yes, realizing at the same
time that he just really wants to spend time with Max, even if it does mean
just sitting there for several hours.
"Yeah," he says, nodding.
"Sure."
Max quirks a smile, that trademark
cockiness never really leaving his face, and he plants a quick kiss on Theo’s
mouth.
"Cool."
♦
That Saturday, Max and Theo make their way to the tattoo parlor, for
Max's appointment (which has already been booked about two months in advance).
It's getting colder outside, now, the air crisp with a late autumn chill, and
Theo is glad for his warm jacket. He also weirdly enjoys seeing Max in that
black coat of his, which reaches almost to his knees. It's not a leather coat,
not like what most of Max's friends wear. Instead, it's more of a trenchcoat,
which Theo, personally, thinks looks much better.
The bell above the door jingles slightly
as they step inside the tattoo studio, and Theo looks around. It's a rather
small place, with tattoo designs and artwork plastered all over the walls, and
with a counter that divides the rest of the room from a smaller area, which
houses a tattoo chair. There's no one else there, except for a man, sitting on
a bar stool by the counter. He's sketching something, but Theo can't tell what,
from this distance.
The man looks rather short and stout,
middle-aged, with short, dark hair and scraggly brown stubble bordering on a
beard. He looks up as Max and Theo enter the parlor, and his face breaks into a
smile when he spots Max.
“There he is,” he says. “My favorite
customer.”
His voice is gravelly and low, with a
certain burned whiskey rasp to it, and the British, slightly slurred accent is
hard to miss.
“Kiss-ass,” Max says, making his way over
to the man, who just laughs.
“I’m the one with the needle, boy,” he
says warningly, but with a great deal of affection hidden underneath the
blatant menace. “Don’t test me.”
Max quirks a smile at him, shrugging off
his coat and hanging it over a chair. Then, the man’s eyes wander to Theo,
who’s still standing awkwardly by the door.
“And who’s this, then?” the man asks, and
Max looks over at Theo.
“That’s Theo,” he says simply. “He’s keeping
me company today.”
The
more easily.
"I like them," Theo admits,
looking back at the tattoos. They're on Max's upper arms and parts of his
shoulders, some almost reaching down to his elbows, and a few of them flow
together so perfectly that it's hard to tell where one ends and another begins.
"Thanks," Max says.
"They'll probably be full sleeves by the time I'm done. Just give me a few
years."
Max sighs contentedly then, and looks at
Theo.
"Maybe we should get you inked
up," he suggests with a mischievous smirk and cocking of his eyebrows, and
Theo scoffs, smiling.
"I don't think so," he says, trailing
his fingers along a tattoo depicting an intricate image containing poker cards,
covering most of Max's right upper arm. "Even if my parents were okay with
it."
"Again," Max points out,
"it's your skin, not theirs."
"Still, though." Theo keeps his eyes
on Max's body, rather than his face, and neither of them says anything for a
few moments.
"You wanna see it?" Max suddenly
asks, sounding just the tiniest bit hesitant, and Theo frowns.
"See what?" he says, and Max
sighs quietly.
"How it's done," he explains.
"The whole tattoo-thing."
Theo looks up at him, looks into those
dark blue eyes.
"What do you mean?" he says, and
Max cocks his head.
"I'm having the wings finished,"
he says. "In a couple of days. You could come along. If you want."
Theo doesn't answer him right away,
surprised.
"You want me to come with you?"
he finally says, disbelieving, and Max glances away for a split second.
"If you feel like spending hours just
sitting there, while I get tortured, then yeah," he says dryly, looking at
Theo. "I guess I could use the company."
Theo swallows, a bit nervously. That's an
odd request. But he immediately feels like saying yes, realizing at the same
time that he just really wants to spend time with Max, even if it does mean
just sitting there for several hours.
"Yeah," he says, nodding.
"Sure."
Max quirks a smile, that trademark
cockiness never really leaving his face, and he plants a quick kiss on Theo’s
mouth.
"Cool."
♦
That Saturday, Max and Theo make their way to the tattoo parlor, for
Max's appointment (which has already been booked about two months in advance).
It's getting colder outside, now, the air crisp with a late autumn chill, and
Theo is glad for his warm jacket. He also weirdly enjoys seeing Max in that
black coat of his, which reaches almost to his knees. It's not a leather coat,
not like what most of Max's friends wear. Instead, it's more of a trenchcoat,
which Theo, personally, thinks looks much better.
The bell above the door jingles slightly
as they step inside the tattoo studio, and Theo looks around. It's a rather
small place, with tattoo designs and artwork plastered all over the walls, and
with a counter that divides the rest of the room from a smaller area, which
houses a tattoo chair. There's no one else there, except for a man, sitting on
a bar stool by the counter. He's sketching something, but Theo can't tell what,
from this distance.
The man looks rather short and stout,
middle-aged, with short, dark hair and scraggly brown stubble bordering on a
beard. He looks up as Max and Theo enter the parlor, and his face breaks into a
smile when he spots Max.
“There he is,” he says. “My favorite
customer.”
His voice is gravelly and low, with a
certain burned whiskey rasp to it, and the British, slightly slurred accent is
hard to miss.
“Kiss-ass,” Max says, making his way over
to the man, who just laughs.
“I’m the one with the needle, boy,” he
says warningly, but with a great deal of affection hidden underneath the
blatant menace. “Don’t test me.”
Max quirks a smile at him, shrugging off
his coat and hanging it over a chair. Then, the man’s eyes wander to Theo,
who’s still standing awkwardly by the door.
“And who’s this, then?” the man asks, and
Max looks over at Theo.
“That’s Theo,” he says simply. “He’s keeping
me company today.”
The
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