And he’d mentally blown about a hundred bucks or more when the chances were good he’d discover after one class that it wasn’t for him.
Saving money was
hard
. And so was not drooling over a shirtless Vin, perfect pecs and abs on display. Patrick crossed his legs to hide the growing bulge at his crotch and whimpered as his balls protested.
“Fainting’s okay, but don’t puke,” Jasper said over his shoulder.
“That goes beyond drama queen and into too revolting for words.” Patrick let his gaze wander the small room, trying to think about something other than Vin. A shelving unit stood in the corner, packed so full of books, magazines, and collectibles it was a wonder it hadn’t collapsed under the weight of them. The second shelf from the top was kind of bowed. “What’s all the stuff for?”
Jasper didn’t look up from his work. “What stuff?”
“On the shelves.”
“It’s inspiration.” Jasper seemed capable of carrying on a conversation; Patrick assumed he’d be told to shut up if he was being too disruptive. “Sometimes people bring something with them to show me what they’re thinking of, then leave it as a souvenir for me. Sometimes I pick things up at flea markets.”
“Oh, I love going to those!” He’d picked up an incredible assortment of treasures from the one closest to his place, including a mailing tube, bought for a dollar, containing a dozen vintage movie posters. He could’ve sold them, but he’d used them to brighten up his walls instead.
The intermittent buzz of the needle made Patrick want to swat at whatever bug was hovering, but it was soothing after a while, Jasper finding a rhythm that worked for him. The outline appeared on Vin’s chest, clear and dark, and Patrick, fascinated, watched it blossom.
As the minutes ticked away, he started to wonder if Vin’s whole Zen thing had something to do with this. Not the pain, but the hypnotic sound of the machine. The humming changed pitch as the needle pressed into Vin’s skin and moved away again, and Patrick found his eyelids getting heavy, his breathing slow as he watched the picture come to life. It would be hidden behind a smear of ink—how could Jasper see what he was doing?—then appear again when Jasper wiped Vin’s skin clean.
“Five-minute break,” Jasper said, turning off the machine and stripping off his gloves. He flexed his hand like it was cramped. “Bathroom’s down there on the right if you need it.”
“You okay?” Vin stretched and yawned.
“Yeah, fine. How are you?”
“Good. It hurt a lot at first, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I always think the darker ink is worse, but there’s no real reason that would be the case, right? Gotta be psychosomatic.”
“The way you go for black, I’d think you’d like it better.”
“Good point.” Vin seemed intrigued by Patrick’s observation, pursing his lips as he gave it some thought. “I love the purity of black, how it just is, you know? People get freaked and think I worship evil or shit like that, but I tell them evil’s not black. I see it as this swirl of negativity.”
“Like a giant pool of puke,” Patrick agreed. His stomach lurched as he pictured it. “Gah. I grossed myself out.”
To distract himself, he went over to Vin, peering down at the dragon and heart. “It’s going to look spectacular.”
“In a week or so when the soreness dies down.” Vin sighed deeply enough that the dragon’s wings seemed to beat. “Riley won’t like not being able to touch me there. Sorry. You don’t want to hear about our sex life.”
“I’ve inflicted the details of mine on you plenty of times. Not that there’s anything to share these days. I’m following your example.”
“What do you mean? You’ve got a boyfriend? Someone you’re serious about?” Vin didn’t sound too pleased about that, though he tried to hide it, tacking on a smile and a perfunctory, “Which would be awesome.”
“How could I have met Mr. Perfect without you knowing? No, I’ve tied a knot in it. No sex, no hookups. Just me and this.” He held up his right hand and wiggled his fingers. “Plus lube and my favorite nine-inch—”
“Stop right there.” Vin grinned at him, close enough that Patrick got a whiff of sweat and skin. It made his nose tingle and his cock follow suit. “How can you make no sex sound so raunchy?”
“Talent and practice.”
“You’re not serious. No more sex? Ever? I might believe until the end of the year.”
“That’s only like ten days, tops! You don’t think I can hold out longer than that?” Patrick wasn’t offended, but it was fun to tease Vin.
“Sure I do. But what brought this on? It’s one thing to try to get a handle on your finances, but that doesn’t mean you have to become celibate.”
“Celibate? This one?” Jasper came back into the room and gave Patrick a doubtful look. “He doesn’t strike me as the type. No offense.”
“None taken,” Patrick assured him, retaking his seat. “Not celibate as in I’m never having sex again. I’m waiting for someone I’m serious about. No more casual sex.”
Vin relaxed as Jasper put on a fresh pair of gloves. “That sounds okay.”
“Okay, which I’ll point out is not the same as fun.” Patrick shrugged. “I’m good with it.”
“Hey, whatever works for you works for me.” With a warm smile for Patrick, Vin settled back into his zone, lying as still under the insistent beat and prick of the needle as a dedicated sunbather on a beach.
Patrick gave Vin’s crotch a surreptitious peek, but if Vin was getting off on the experience, it didn’t show. Not that he wanted Vin to pop a boner with Jasper hovering over him. Embarrassing for everyone.
Well. Almost everyone.
Getting a tattoo of the size and detail Vin had chosen took kind of forever. Patrick hated to think how long a full sleeve would take. By the time it was done, Patrick didn’t feel anything but bored. He did appreciate how the new tat looked on Vin’s chest once Jasper had wiped it clean and coated it with a thick layer of shiny ointment.
“It’s beautiful,” Vin said, gazing into his reflection in the hand mirror Jasper gave him. “You’re a Picasso.”
Jasper snorted. “Aubrey Beardsley, maybe. Picasso’s a little too cubist for me, unless you want to talk about his blue period.” He taped some gauze over Vin’s new tattoo, his fingers deft.
Patrick hoped they didn’t need to talk about any of it. He was too old and broke to go back to school now, and even if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have considered an art degree. If he was going to change his life, he needed something practical. Business, accounting, that kind of thing. Once he could figure out what it was that would earn him a decent living without making him want to die of boredom.
Vin slipped his shirt back on, and Patrick trailed behind him out to the front desk.
After paying, Vin turned to Patrick. “Back out in the cold?”
“Yeah. I have a couple things I need to do before I go back to the bar.”
“I could drop you somewhere?” Vin offered.
Patrick shook his head. He didn’t want Vin knowing where he was going, not yet, not until he knew how it turned out. “No, I’m good. There’s a bus stop half a block from here.”
“Okay.” Vin hesitated, then hugged him, keeping their chests from touching. Oh, yeah, Riley wasn’t going to like those kinds of hugs at all. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome,” Patrick said. He didn’t let himself give in to the temptation to hang on longer than he should. “See you later.”
“Don’t forget Ben.”
“Huh? Oh. No.” Shit, he had. Totally. He had time, just, but it was going to be tight.
He considered it a good omen that the bus pulled up within a minute of his arrival at the stop.
And ignored the rush-hour traffic that had it crawling along. That wasn’t an omen. That was the insanity of the season.
Knocking on Riley’s door was difficult. Not the action itself but the knowledge that once his knuckles hit wood, he’d have to follow through. The woman he’d accompanied into the building to avoid being buzzed in had lingered in the hallway, giving him a suspicious, I-have-911-on-speed-dial look, so he threw her a smile and rapped loud and clear on the door.
Riley had a frown going even before he saw who was disturbing him. With no buzz to alert him, he probably expected a neighbor with fruitcake and holiday cheer or something equally annoying.
“Yeah?”
“Most people start with ‘Hi.’”
Riley smothered a burp and slouched against the door frame as if it were a bed. He smelled like he’d been drinking. “Most people can bite my fucking ass.”
“Well, I guess the sun’s over the yardarm somewhere in the world.” Patrick pushed past Riley with zero problems and headed for the kitchen, blithely ignoring Riley’s startled protests. He’d blown three bucks on bus fare coming here. It wasn’t going to be for nothing. “Coffee for you— OMG, you have Jamaican Blue Mountain? I hate you. Coffee for both of us.”
“I don’t want any coffee.” Surly but not actively hostile. In fact Riley looked puzzled more than anything.
“And I don’t want to have this conversation with a drunken you, but I’m working against the clock. The coffee won’t sober you, but it’ll stop you from drinking anything else, and I need one to warm up. I just walked two blocks in the snow. You have terrible bus service out here, you know that?”
“People who live here have cars.”
“Even the cleaners and janitors? Lucky them.”
“Look, I’m not being rude, but why are you here?” Riley was standing in the kitchen doorway like standing in doorways was his new hobby.
“Wandering the streets of our fine city was starting to get old, so I figured I’d come back here again, see how the place looked when it wasn’t packed with pretty young things, and make sure you weren’t getting anyone drunk against their will.”
“That wasn’t me,” Riley said quietly, and Patrick sighed.
“I know. Sorry. That wasn’t fair.” He leaned against the countertop and stuck his right hand into his coat pocket. “Vin got a tattoo today.”
Riley’s face was impassive. Patrick wondered if he would have let something show if it had been someone else standing there in his kitchen, like a friend or a boyfriend. “Did he now. And how do you know? Let me guess. He texted you as soon as it was over.” But apparently Patrick’s expression wasn’t nearly as difficult to read. “Oh. You were there.”
“He wanted you to be,” Patrick said, then could have kicked himself. He wasn’t here to piss off Riley; he was here to make things better between them. “I went to keep him company.”
“I’m surprised he went through with it.” Riley was watching him carefully, and Patrick was definitely the mouse, not the cat.
“Because you didn’t want him to?” Patrick shook his head and tried to focus the love he felt for Vin into what he was saying. “Listen, he’s crazy about you, but you’ve got to give him a little space to breathe. He’s still his own person.”
“And he’s making bad decisions. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I sat back and let him? If he was shooting up or pouring vodka on his cornflakes or planning to join a cult and I was trying to stop him, would we be having this conversation? No, we sure as shit wouldn’t, because you’d be there with me.”
The image of Riley on his team for anything was disconcerting. Behind him, the expensive coffeemaker was brewing a half pot with discreet burbles and hisses, filling the air with fragrance. Patrick hoped he’d get to drink a cup. He was chilled to the bone, and even being in the toasty-warm loft wasn’t thawing him.
“Yeah, I would. But this isn’t the same thing. A tattoo is body art. He goes to someone safe, he knows the risks and accepts them, and he loves the result.”
“Do you?” Riley asked point-blank. “You don’t have any tattoos, and as far as I know, the only piercing you have is in your ear.”
Patrick fingered the stud in his earlobe. “Yeah, well, different strokes. And when I see someone covered in cheap, crappy designs or with a face full of metal, it doesn’t do much for me, but Vin, well, it works on him. You’ve got to see how hot he looks.”
“Will they look so hot when he’s sixty?”
“God, we’re in our twenties. Like sixty even exists! It’s all about the now, and I’m telling you, back off on this or you’ll lose him. He’s a sweet guy, but you can’t push him. Do you think no one ever tried to persuade him to have sex? They did. I did. Got nowhere, and his hormones had to be screaming for him to give in, but he wouldn’t.”
“Because he was waiting for me.” Riley rubbed his hands through his hair as if he were trying to scrub away the fog from drinking in the daytime. “I thought that was romantic when he told me. Now it feels like it’s a lot to lay on me. I’m the reason he did it, but I never asked him to! I never knew he—”
“Existed?” Patrick finished.
“No. I always knew he was there, and I admired him for knowing who he was and not being scared of it, but more like you’d admire a character in a book.”
“Well, I’ve got news for you,” Patrick said slowly. “He’s a real person. You can’t treat him like he’s some kind of fantasy doll for you to dress up. You don’t get to take off his shirt or his tattoos to see if he looks better to you like that. He loves you, so he’s trying to figure out how to put up with it, but he shouldn’t have to, and I don’t think in the long term he will. Sooner or later you’re going to push him too hard, and he’ll be out of here. Is that what you want?”
“I’d think it would be what you want.” Riley was blunt. Patrick could appreciate that.
“I want him to be happy. He loves you. Don’t screw this up; that’s all I’m saying.” Patrick shrugged helplessly. “He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to see him hurt. I’d like it, and I think he’d like it, if you and I could figure out a way to be, uh…”
“Friends?” Riley sounded doubtful.
“Probably not that,” Patrick agreed. “Civil? We don’t have to hang out all the time or anything, but chances are we’re going to be at some of the same parties occasionally. It’d be nice if we could exchange a few words without shooting daggers at each other.”
Riley studied him, his eyes for once free of the vague distaste they always seemed to hold when he looked at Patrick. “Okay,” he said. “So I guess the civil thing to do would be to tell you the mugs are in the cupboard behind you, and I take mine black.”