Lance is hostage of grief and doesn’t seem to get back on his feet, even though weeks have passed since his loss. During one of the long walks he takes around the neighborhood to delay going back to an empty apartment, a store sign reading Tattoo Therapy beckons him. He’s aware asking for permanent ink in his current state of mind is not the wisest choice, but he’s intrigued, and maybe fate has brought him there.
Tattoo artist Jake has always prided himself in being a professional. So what is it about the new client that makes him want to touch and stroke and pinch all the skin he can put his hands on? That’s definitely not like him. And, to top it all, his friend and business partner Joel keeps giving Lance the stink eye. Has the man realized something Jake is not ready to admit?
The three men are going to need honesty and trust -- and maybe some doggy love, too -- to get their chance at happily ever after.
Shit, Jake thought while sanitizing his work station after the last client of the day had gone. What the fuck is happening to me? It wasn’t like him to touch clients and express not so subtle appreciation for their bodies. But he’d done it earlier, when he’d put his forefingers right under Lance’s nipples and had flicked the brown nubs with his thumbs out of pure instinct, just because he wanted -- no, he craved -- to have those beauties under his skin. He couldn’t help it.
He’d already had an inkling that Lance’s nips were sensitive as fuck, if the stiffness of the one he kept stroking was anything to go by, and he hadn’t been able to fight the sudden longing that burned and wreaked havoc in his chest. He needed to touch the erect peak with his skin, without any latex in the way for once, feel its size and shape under his fingertips. That’s why his heart had done somersaults when Lance voiced his request. Piercing his nips had been like heaven on earth, since Jake got to stroke and flick and pinch all he wanted, but it had also been a nightmare because he’d depleted all his self-control trying not to moan or say something that could give away his arousal.
No, that was definitely not like him. He was a professional, for fuck’s sake! He’d tattooed hundreds of gorgeous bodies over the years, yet never had he gotten lost in recalling their details or wished he could touch more -- and maybe do more than touching.
The more he racked his brain, the more Jake felt clueless as to the spell he was under. It could be Lance’s grief or the man’s tears. Maybe it was because Lance’s love for JJ still sparkled in his tired eyes or Jake’s sharing about Missy the calico cat. Or the way Lance had taken the vicious pain from the piercing procedure without even flinching, and then had deliciously stuttered while looking at the rings in his nipples. Or maybe the outline of a fine erection in the man’s groin, but, then again, it wasn’t the first boner he had seen popping during a session, what with two hands on your body and the buzz from the tattoo machine lulling you to a sort of half-sleep.
Jake couldn’t tell what actually made Lance so attractive and already a fixture in his mind. It might just be something unintelligible that ran under skin and beyond words, and that realization made him angry and nervous, for it seemed he wouldn’t be able to shrug off his new Lance-focused self anytime soon. And it wasn’t like Jake would reasonably see Lance again, since he hadn’t pegged the man as the average tattoo junkie. So, basking in the hope of a new encounter was not an option. Definitely.
“Hey ...” Joel’s concerned whisper reached his ears along with a light knock on the doorjamb. “What’s going on, J?”
He looked into his friend’s worried eyes but didn’t know what to say, so he kept putting the cleaning supplies away in the cabinets.
“You look like shit.”
Uh oh. Joel wasn’t going to let him get away with it. When the guy got that stubborn look, there wasn’t much Jake could do to be left alone. “I’m just tired. Haven’t slept much lately.” He took off his disposable gloves and threw them in the bin, keeping his back to Joel. His friend knew everything about him and would immediately call bullshit if he got a glimpse of his face.
Joel seemed oddly fine with his words but, when Jake tried to get out of the room, he blocked the way, an angry flame turning the blue in his irises a darker shade.
“Liar,” Joel spat out, releasing his pent up fury.
But Jake didn’t have the energy to argue or come up with a more convincing lie, as the last few hours had left him drained. So he clenched his teeth and forced his way out, shoving Joel in the process -- something his friend certainly didn’t deserve. Otherwise Jake would have to open up about Lance and all the unanswered questions the guy had left him to deal with, and maybe listen to Joel’s rants and have the memory of Lance tainted by his friend’s jealousy.
No, he couldn’t have it.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
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