Spilled Ink

Spilled Ink by Rob Knight

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2007 by Rob Knight First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Mark Spencer checked the address, to make sure he had the cross streets right. Honest to God, it didn't look like there should be a tattoo studio on this street, but whatever. Halfway down there was a neon chicken, right? So that had to be the Cock's Crow. His fucking therapist had recommended the shop, of all people. He hoped to God the guy was as good as Andy said he was, because he needed this tat. The place he'd gotten his first one, when he joined the force, had closed down, and he needed someone solid. The little bell above the door made him jump when it went off, but he supposed this late at night it was good to know people were coming in. Smart even. "Be right with you." He couldn't see who was talking, but a well-inked hand waved from a black-glassed office. "Goddamnit, Rita. Either fucking work or don't. I don't give a fuck, but quit being a cunt and make up your mind. I got people who want a chair." Mark's eyebrows tried to crawl into his hairline. Shit. Maybe this wasn't his kind of place. "Sorry, man. I got this chick, she keeps not showing up for her clients. If you ain't got your reputation, you ain't got shit." A tall, lanky guy unfolded from a desk chair, long silver and black hair in a braid over his shoulder. There was ink on the man's neck, near his ears, even on his fingers—it was a riot of color and pattern. Amazing. "What can I do you for?" "I'm looking to get an armband. Kinda like this one in size and shape..." Mark rolled up his sleeve to show off the sort of 3

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stylized, almost tribal, handcuff armband on his left arm. "But it's a memorial." "That's nice work, man." The guy grabbed Mark's arm, looking closely. "You want it on the same arm?" "No, on the other, I think. I'm not about angel wings and shit. Pete was my partner. Like in cops, you know? So I want something sort of cop-themed, but all him." "Cop-themed." The man had the lightest colored eyes. "Okay. Okay, I can work with that, probably. You have anything specific you want? His badge, maybe?" Mark nodded. "Maybe his badge number? If you can make it kinda tribal." That would be less obvious, less likely to get him more admin leave. "I can see that." A piece of paper was pushed over to him. "Write it down so I can sketch." "You got it." Mark knew the fucking thing from memory, but he pulled out his wallet and checked, just to be sure. He had it written on an emergency contact card. It would suck to get it inked on wrong. "So, what happened to him?" The tall guy straddled a stool, grabbed a pencil. Mark's throat closed right up, and he had to clear it a few times to get the words out. "We surprised a couple of guys in the middle of a convenience store robbery. All he wanted was a lousy cup of coffee, you know?" "Jesus. That sucks." The paper was eased out of his fingers, the long braid thumping to the counter as the guy started drawing. "Did you get hurt?" 4

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"I took a shot to the leg. Nothing serious. Pete ... It was messy, you know? Real messy." Every night when he closed his eyes he could see Pete's staring eyes and the bloody pulp that had been the side of his fucking head. "A shot to the leg isn't a walk in the park." The words were said like somebody who knew what he was talking about. "Yeah. I lived." Swallowing the bile, Mark pulled his mental socks up. He was here to give Pete the memorial he deserved. Then he could move on. He got a soft, wry chuckle. "Like that's the easy part." The pencil started moving, Pete's numbers getting all spiky, tough-looking. Mark kinda stared at the man's eyelashes, almost lying on those lean cheeks. It was like the guy understood, like he really got it. Fucking got it. Hell, maybe he did. "Yeah. Oh, I like that." "Are you wanting color? We can do a blue, if you want. Solid black." "I want it to match the blackwork on the other arm." Not that he was a balance freak or anything. Seriously. But it would look nice. "Sure, man." The guy added some shadows, some depth. "Did you work together long?" "Six years. Day in and day out. We were buds." Sometimes more than buds, up until Pete got married, even if he wouldn't tell a soul. "Longer than I was with my last lover, for sure." "Ouch. You want his name in here, too?" 5

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"No." No, he never figured it was good to get names tattooed on your body. God knew, just the fact that he'd mourned his best friend and partner had driven Johnny away. "Okay." The paper was turned around, shown to him. "What do you think of this? It's masculine, strong, but you'll know what it means." It was fucking perfect. "You're a genius, man. I love it." "It's a gift." One long, thin hand was offered to him. "I'm Rooster, by the way. You wanting to do this, then?" "I am. Definitely." Mark shook on it, grinning a little. "Rooster, huh? You're not little and banty." "Nope. I'm not red-headed either. I do, however, have the most evil mother on earth with an addiction to John Wayne movies." "Oh. Yeah, okay, I get that." Rooster Cogburn, huh. That lady would have to be pretty evil. "So can you do it tonight, or do I need to come back?" "Well, you can see the line going out the door." Those pale eyes glinted, then Rooster winked. "Tuesdays are dead." "Yeah. Andy said you shouldn't be busy. You remember a guy named Andy Resnick? He got a sacred heart." And a few others, too, he guessed, but Andy had only shown him the one. "I remember everyone I ink." Rooster started filling out paperwork. "I need your driver's license. Andy's got a sacred heart and a milagro." "He seems like a good guy." Pulling out his wallet, Mark handed over the license. You kind of expected a therapist to 6

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be all touchy feely and chin stroking, but Andy was more ... hands on. He'd suggested the memorial tattoo for closure. "He's a brilliant man, even if he reads Kerouac." "You got a hate-on for Kerouac?" Somehow that amused him more than anything had in weeks. Mark snorted, chuckling under his breath. "I have a hard-on for Burroughs and Irvine. If I'm going to read about drug culture, I'll go with one I can appreciate." Fuck, he only vaguely remembered reading Burroughs, and only because it was like, mandatory gay college reading. Kinda nasty. "I have to admit I'm more likely to read Mickey Spillane." "I like him, too. And Dean Koontz. It'll be two and a quarter." "Cool." Mark paid cash. He knew from the last time how much these guys appreciated that. He got a receipt and a copy of the 'how to care for your new ink' pamphlet. "Come on, then. Lose the shirt and then we'll get to work. What kind of music do you like?" "I'm good with anything that's not Lawrence Welk." His grandma had really taken an unnatural fascination with that old fart. His childhood was indelibly scarred by bubbles... "Dude, this is a tattoo shop, not the fucking old age home. You got a choice of Elvis, alt. country, or metal." "Let's go with country." Metal made him aggressive, and he didn't need any more of that at the moment. Not a bit. "Works for me." The front door got locked, then the radio went on. "I'll get my shit out of the autoclave." 7

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Well, that was a good sign, yeah? Pulling off his shirt, Mark got settled where Rooster had waved him over, checking out the shop. The whole fucking place was a madhouse of art work and posters, painted tiles and picture after picture of ink. It should have been crazy-making, but somehow it fucking worked. And what was a tattoo place supposed to look like, anyway? If a man was ashamed to show off his art, it would make Mark a little nervous. There were three other chairs and a little upraised dais with a curtain with a shitload of piercing rings. "Betsy's got Tuesdays off, if you're looking for metal. I recommend a Prince Albert. Cops get nipple rings torn out." "Uh. Not really looking for that. No need." Damn his fickleassed ex anyway. "No? Shame. It's hot as hell." "Yeah?" He kinda looked at the guy in a new way. Not that liking a Prince Albert made the man available. Girls liked them on a guy, too. "You know it." He got a wink, a quick grin. "Big black chair's mine. Let's get this situated." "Okay." He remembered this from the first time. Stencil, placing, all that stuff. Rooster was good, though. He got it right the first time, and Mark approved the placement. "Looks good." "You're easy. Have a seat." The little cups came out, bottles of black and white and a deep blue.

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Mark settled, breathing in and out, knowing this was gonna sting like a fucking bitch. He needed it, though. Needed the proof on his skin that Pete had been there. "If you need to stop, you just let me know, okay?" The rubber band on the machine snapped, that horrible fucking buzz filling the air. "I got it." Last time he'd had to stop once. Hopefully this time he could make it all the way through. "Cool. So why'd you become a cop, man?" His skin was stretched, then the sting started, making his muscles jump. "Uh." He had to think a minute before he could talk without jostling anything, his nerves singing from the repeated sting of the needle. "I guess I had some mumbo jumbo about helping people when I started out, but I gotta admit, it was more the adrenaline than anything I think." "Yeah? I can believe that. Hell, I miss the rush like nothing else." "Different stuff, same idea, huh?" Of course, tattoos kinda gave a man the same rush of endorphins. "Shit, I did the happy crystal meth dance. Miss it like a broken tooth." "So why'd you stop?" And wasn't he glad the man had? Because well, he'd've noticed that... "Guy I was living with bought us some bad shit. I had a heart attack at twenty five. Gave it up. He didn't. Gave him up. Some of your co-workers found him in the river about three years ago." Well, that was worse than Johnny leaving him because he was a basket case. "That'll do it, huh? Sorry, man." 9

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"Hey, you do what you gotta do. It ain't the smack's fault my body wasn't strong enough for it." Another long line got burned into his bicep. Damn. His eyelids fluttered shut, his head tipping back a little as he fought the urge to squirm. It was weird, kinda, talking to an admitted drug user. Former one. In his world, you tended to think of those guys as the bad guys, but Rooster seemed okay. Just a guy. "Breathe, man. You don't gotta fight it so hard. Ride it." "Sorry. I'm trying." It wasn't that painful. It was just. Mark sighed, breathing, letting his chest rise and fall slowly. "Yeah. You're holding him so tight, your skin's fighting the ink." "Sorry," he said again, letting go a little. Trusting the guy with the needle. That was what Pete had told him he had to do. Fuck, Pete could sleep through a tattoo. "s'okay. You want to talk about him, I don't mind." That heavy braid got pushed back—damn, at the base it was thick as his wrist. That hair was fascinating. In a world of short, buzz cuts, that kind of hair didn't even show up on the girls. Mark let himself watch it while he mumbled. "He was my best friend, you know? You don't work fortyeight hour shifts with someone and not get to love or hate them. I miss the Hell out of him. He always made me laugh." "He was a good cop? He liked what he did?" "Yeah." Pete hadn't had Mark's problem with questions. He'd been better at taking orders. But he'd also been better at really caring. "Yeah, he was." 10

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"That's cool. How 'bout you? You like it?" Those long hands moved his arm, wiping the blood away. "I did. I'm not sure now." He laughed, the sound harsh, almost raw. "Man, I am the king of feeling sorry for myself, huh?" Goddamn, that man had the weirdest fucking eyes, almost too-pale. "Not the king. Prince, maybe. You haven't cried or threatened to kick my ass yet." He got a quick, sharp-edged grin. "'Course, I'm not done yet." "I guess you hear this shit a lot, huh?" Kick his ass? Nah. That was a nice ass. A little skinny, but nice. "I hear a lot of shit, yeah. Some of it cool, some of it fucking awful. I got one guy—lost all four of his kids to uh ... some fucking disease. Cystic something. Four of 'em—names all inked in his arm. I hate to see him coming." "Oh. Man." Mark figured he could get selfish bastard inked on his arm after that. And then that made him think he was playing martyr, and that had him laughing again, this time more real. "There you go." Rooster leaned back, grinned at him. "Ink's good for you, man. You're outlined. You mind if I take me a smoke break?" "Nope." That would let him get his shit together. Hell, he might have one himself. He'd only quit a million times in the last month. "You want one? There's a sweet little bench in the back." A pack of Camels appeared from one deep pocket, along with a lighter shaped like a dick. 11

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"You bet." He stared at the lighter, wide-eyed. That was ... wow. "Cock-lighter. You know, Rooster? Cock? Come on, honey. I promise not to blow you on the bench." "Damn. That I could use." It popped out before he could stop it, but he rolled his eyes at himself and went on out back, lighting up the smoke Rooster handed him. Rooster chuckled, letting him have the bench as the man lit up, leaning against a brick wall. "Oh. Better." Dragging the smoke in deep, Mark nodded. "Yeah. So what's been your favorite job, since you say you remember them all?" It took a second to answer, but then Rooster grinned. "There was this old lady—I mean, eighty five, easy. She came in with her great grand-daughter and they got matching ink— little pansies on the insides of their wrists. Christ, that old woman was something else. Full of life." "Yeah? That's too cool." He tried to imagine his mom getting ink, and he just couldn't. That had him laughing again. Fuck if he hadn't laughed more in the last hour than he had in weeks. "See? She rocked with her tissue-paper skin and her fake teeth. You don't even have to see her and you're laughing." "I am. Thanks, man." Ink and comedy. That was a bargain. "I needed that." "Not a problem. It was your question." Rooster lit another one up, blowing smoke from his nose.

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"Yeah." Of course now they were quiet and he was starting to feel twitchy again. Maybe he needed to get out more, like Andy said. It didn't take Rooster but another minute to finish the second smoke. "Okay, man. Let's get back to work." "Cool." Fuck, he was completely off balance for some reason. Rooster kinda fascinated him, and he kept finding himself staring at that hair, those weird-assed eyes. "You fucking know it." Rooster gave him another look as he settled. "Tell me about the coolest case you've ever worked, man." That had him taking a long moment to think. "There was this one robbery. Completely incomprehensible. Like one of those old locked room mysteries. Or something you'd see on fucking CSI, you know? Serious jewelry gone missing. Turns out the three-year-old had put the necklace and shit on the dog..." Rooster pulled the gun away from his arm, laughing good and hard. "Oh. Oh, fuck. Fancy fucking poochie, huh? So you do burglaries and shit? That's gotta be hard as hell." "I've worked B and E, vice, and I did a short, short stint on Homicide. Pete always wanted to try for the prestige, but we both found out we were better at the methodical shit than the big game." "Yeah? Dead bodies stink and shit, so I can't blame you for that. You go to school to be a cop?" Fuck, the fill in was worse, a deeper itch.

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"No. I went the hard way, applied at the academy. I went to school to be an accountant." Yeah, and that had worked so well. "No shit? That's fucked up, man. You could be a suit." "No, I couldn't." He grinned over. "I'm really bad at the nine to five. Really. I mean, there are a lot of rules to being a cop, but it's never boring." Rooster nodded. "Well, you can tell, I'm suit-material, through and through." "Oh, yeah. That hair would look great with a black pinstripe." Well. Rooster might actually look oddly hot in a suit, but only if it was sort of Harley style. "They don't let speed freaks with sixth-grade educations wear suits, honey. Trust me." "Looks like you got a good thing going here, huh?" Somehow he thought Rooster was glad to be different. Not in the rat race. And he'd never met someone with a sixth-grade education that read Burroughs. "You know it. I just hit my sixteenth year of doing ink, my eighth year of owning this place." "Well, then here's to not wearing suits." Man, it was weird how all of a sudden the itch backed down, becoming this low level high. "Yep." Rooster leaned in close and he could feel the man's breath on his arm. "Looking good, man, you keep breathing into it. Your man have any ink?" "My man? You mean my ex, or my partner? Pete had a few. One really terrible barbed wire thing that he got in Cancun..." 14

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"Oh, man. I don't have to do those anymore. No butterflies on boobies, no bullshit armbands for drunk frat boys." Rooster grabbed another paper towel, the gloved fingers black. "Yeah. He always meant to get it covered with something else, but never got around to it." "It's shit like that that'll eat at you, man. That all of a sudden weirdness." "Yeah. I never thought of it that way." Oh. That almost felt *good*. Fuck, that was weird, huh? How it felt less like pain, more like a good buzz. "Uh-huh. You're feeling it now, just let it happen. You're cool." The bottom of Rooster's braid brushed his leg as Rooster switched colors. That little touch sent ripples through him like the needle couldn't begin to. His breath caught, his chest rising sharply. Fucking A. "Mmm..." Fuck, that was a hot sound—sexual and horny and satisfied as hell. "Uh-huh." Mark agreed. Wholeheartedly. Suddenly he was tingling all over, his cock rising in his jeans. It was sort of what the fuck and all hot. "You think this is hot, you ought to feel it in a hot spot. It'll drive you out of your goddamn mind." Shit, he could feel Rooster talking, breath brushing him. "A ... a hot spot?" Shit, was that him stuttering like an eighteen-year-old with his first piece of tail? Jesus. But he was into it, jonesing on the sting and the heat and the blood singing just under the skin. 15

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"Mmhmm. Right behind the balls, the webbing between your thumb and forefinger—those are good. The best for me was behind my left knee. I shot like a virgin." Oh, Jesus. Rooster almost purred the words out, like a fucking phone sex operator. Swallowing, he waited for Rooster to ease back and change position before shifting on the seat, trying to ease the ache. Goddamn. He'd thought he was dead from the waist down. "I'm going to highlight with some white now." Those rubber gloved fingers stroked the inside of his elbow. Mark shivered, his nipples hard as stones. "Okay. Go for it." "You got it." Fuck, that grin was ... naughty. Of course, that fucking needle wasn't. That burned, so fucking good. Okay, how could something go from ow to oh so damned fast. Jesus Christ he was burning. Needing. Something, anything. "Okay. I'm going to spray you down, now. It's my favorite fucking part." That spray bottle squirted, the burn going icecold, his nerves screaming with ... Pain? Pleasure? Something. Whatever it was, he didn't remember it from his last ink. Oh, Mark was sure it had happened, but not like this. Not with Rooster's voice grating over his nerves and his cock thumping in his pants. "I can fucking smell you, man. Let me see?" Those toopale eyes dared him, pushing him. 16

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"I ... see?" His poor, overheated brain ... shorted out a little. It couldn't quite process that. His body, though, it was willing, leaning back in the chair. His knees spread wide. "Uh-huh." One rubber glove came off with a snap, those fingers on his thigh, helping him spread as they headed north. Moaning, he arched his hips, pushing up toward that touch, fucking fire shooting up his spine and bursting in his brain. "Please." "Yeah. Yeah." His package got cupped in Rooster's hand, just enough for him to feel, then his zipper came down. Oh, shit. Rooster's hand was on fucking fire. His cock pushed right out and slapped into Rooster's palm, his skin on fire, his flesh pulsing. God. He hadn't ... it had been forever since he'd been this fired up. Like, years. He'd never been this needy with Johnny. Never. "There. Fuck, yeah. Ride it, man." Rooster's voice got deeper, lower, the words pouring over him, filthy and needy and hot as fuck. "Jesus..." His voice sounded raw, like it was scraping over broken glass. His cock was gonna explode. Boom. He thrashed, trying to get more: more feeling, more heat. "Come on." Rooster's lips brushed his ear. "You need this more than anybody I've ever fucking met, man. Give it up." Body going into a tight bow, Mark shot, his come spattering his jeans, his bare belly. "Oh. Oh, fuck." "Yeah. Hell, yeah." That touch eased, stroking him through one aftershock after another. 17

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He finally flopped back against the chair, his breath slowing, the sweat drying on his skin. "I. Damn. Should I apologize?" "Only if you were faking it." Oh. Asshole. Mark laughed weakly, his cock still twitching in Rooster's hand. "Then I'm not sorry. Messy, but not sorry." "Life is fucking messy, man." Rooster chuckled and handed over a roll of paper towels. "No shit, man. That is so true." Mark mopped up with the towels, already thinking about his next tattoo. He wondered what Rooster would be able to do if he really hit a hot spot. **** He leaned back in his chair, filling out more paperwork for the health department. It wasn't his favorite part of the job, but it kept him out of trouble and shit, so Rooster did it religiously. Especially when the college was having fucking rush week and twelve zillion big-tittie girls came to get matching hearts and stars and flowers on them. Christ, he'd heard nothing but squealing and giggling for hours. Now he heard the little bell over the door, but no giggling or cheap perfume came with it, just ... silence. He didn't bother looking up, just called out. "If you're gonna rob the joint, I've already closed the safe." "Does that mean you don't have change if I pay cash?" Oh, now. That voice rang a different bell, somewhere in the back of his head. 18

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Oh. Cop. Gay. Sad. 5633. "Hey, officer. How's the ink?" Rooster angled up, headed out to the counter. "Good. Real good. You do fine work, man." Those pretty eyes wouldn't quite meet his. The guy had been a little skittery after what they did the last time, all but running once he recovered. "I do. Let's see it. You have a new partner yet?" He pushed his hair back, looking Mark over. The man looked fine, healthier, stronger. "Yeah. Younger than me. More of a go-getter. But he's okay." Mark finally met his eyes, smiled, not near as awkward as he'd thought. "You like him. Good." Rooster grinned and winked. "Sucks working with assholes." "Yeah. So true. Anyway, I was thinking about some new ink. To commemorate it, you know?" "Yeah? You got a concept?" His fingers started itching for paper and ink; he could so get into that skin again. "I was thinking of something." Those eyes cut away, then back. "It might be cheesy, but you're so good I figure you can make it better." "Hey, man. I swear, no cheese. Tell me." He'd done everything from lips around a man's asshole to Speedbuggy. "I was thinking of a phoenix. Something a little abstract, so it fits with the rest of my stuff. Someplace a little more private than the arm bands, but not ... super ow. You know?" That look was a lot less tentative, a lot hotter. Reminding him of last time. 19

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"Hmmm." He couldn't stop his grin, couldn't help licking his lips. "Okay. You want it on your shoulder? Your calf?" He reached out, fingers sliding down the cop's belly, stroking that little hollow made by hip and belly. "Here?" Mark jumped for him, the man's breath catching. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be a good spot. It's not one I want questions about." "Let me lock up and draw it out." Tuesdays were his slow night; Mark had remembered. He turned out the lights, locked the front door and went for his pens. God, he fucking loved his job. Wandering a little, Mark looked at all of the drawings and photos on the wall. "So, how's business?" "Good. Always busy. Tattoo Expo's coming up. I'm showing a few models. You?" Okay, fire. Flames. Bird. "Business is always booming for me, too." He got a short, sharp laugh. "But I'm not on admin leave, so it's all good." "Yeah, guys like you need things to occupy yourselves. What's the new partner's name?" He worked up grasping claws, a hooked beak. He could remember how Mark smelled when he came—all male and musky. "Donny. He's ambitious as hell, but not obnoxious about it. Works his ass off, to give him credit." Warm breath stirred his hair, Mark leaning over his shoulder a little. "You're damned good." "It's my job." The temptation to lean back and rub was fairly high on the urge-scale. "You work nights, usually?" Chest pressing briefly against his back, Mark nodded. Rooster felt the motion against his cheek. "Yeah. I mean, we 20

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work whatever they give us, shift-wise, but ninety percent of that is nighttime." "It's a different world in the dark, man." The urge to reach back, grab onto one thigh and squeeze teased him, but he waited, leaned back a little. He'd get his. He knew it. "Mmmm." The sound vibrated against his neck, the guy not really all over him, but so close, so hot. Watching the fiery bird take shape. "Oh, I like it." "Yeah? Nice and spiky, with some motion. It'll feel like heaven, somebody running their tongue over it, after." Mark jerked, moving back so nothing jostled his drawing. "Yeah? I've never had one in such a sensitive spot." Yeah, but the man wanted it. Bad. "I have a few in places." He chuckled at himself. Shit. He had more ink than a printing company. "There's something about someone tracing one, though. It's hot as hell." "I'll have to remember that." The throat clearing and the sound of Mark shifting from foot to foot told him how hot the idea was, how it was working through that whole fucking body, not just Mark's head. He finished up the design, held it up. "What do you think?" How soon can I get you stripped of those jeans so I can shave you a little and place it? God, he loved his job. "I think it's perfect." That was no lie, either, no sweet bullshit. He could see the admiration in Mark's eyes. The approval. Pretty, pretty.

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"Cool. How do you want to do this? You can strip down and I can give you a sheet, you can pull your shirt up and your jeans down..." "What's easier for you?" Those square, scarred hands went to the waistband of Mark's jeans, fingers pulling the button open. Rooster licked his lips, eyes on that promise of skin. "I'm a big fan of stripping you down. The door's locked." "Fucking A." The jeans slipped right down over narrow hips and long legs, the boxer briefs going with them. Then Mark took off his shirt, standing naked, hands relaxed at his sides. "Mmm..." He couldn't hold back his appreciation, the man fucking hit every one of his buttons. "Up on the table, man. I'll get you a sheet so you won't get cold." "Thanks." Fuck, look at that ass. Mark turned to get on the table, and Rooster had to stop and stare. Muscular, tight, about three shades paler than the rest of Mark's body, it was a fucking work of art. "Man, how many hours a day do you work out?" It was fine enough that he didn't want to ink it. "Huh?" Looking over his shoulder, Mark flushed hot, but grinned. "I do a lot of stadium running. Helps when I have to do PT tests and shit." "That is a fine fucking ass. I have butt envy." "Thanks." Was that a little extra wiggle? Why, he'd bet it was. Someone was begging for it. He stole a touch on his way to get the razor. Firm and fully-packed. "I'm going to have to shave the area, man. I'll save as many of your short and curlies as I can." 22

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"No problem. It'll grow back." By the time he got set up, Mark was on his back on the table, looking like a visual feast. Heavy thighs, nice cut hipbones, and a ripped belly were all there for the taking. He got a little bit of cream and spread it over Mark's hip and lower belly, the white foam grazing the mass of dirty blond curls. Shifting a tiny bit, Mark spread for him, then stayed still, breath going in and out. "So, what all have you been up to?" Rooster started shaving, short little strokes over that fine skin. Man, Mark smelled good. "Been working, mainly. We had to go to training and shit." The man quivered, but managed not to move too much, managed to keep it to a dull roar. Except for that sweet looking cock. "Cool." He let the backs of his fingers brush Mark's prick, encourage it to feel, then he got back to work, whistling a little under his breath. "Uhn." That sound could keep him going for days. But Mark didn't accuse him of teasing, or squirm or anything. Nope, the guy was into it, watching his every move. "Yeah." He got that skin cleaned off, then dried it, blowing across the bare edge of Mark's hip. Two hours from now, that skin would never be the same, his ink pushed right in. Goosebumps rose up, the sharp sound of Mark's gasp working right under his skin. "That's bizarre, man. Feels fucking naked."

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"You never shaved yourself? I mean gone all the way?" He tugged a soft curl, grabbed his Speedstick to transfer the image. "No. It always seemed kinda silly, and Johnny ... he was my last lover, he liked the hair." The little pull had Mark jumping like water on a hot skillet. "I'm easy. I mean, depending on the guy, on the situation. I'm bare because of the ink, but the curls work for you." He set the transfer down, the curve of the bird following the curve of Mark's muscles. Cool. "So what kind of ink? I mean I can see you've got all kinds..." Mark was kinda peering at him, bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was fucking cute. "On my cock? That's one of the feet of my dragon." He leaned back, tugged his t-shirt up so Mark could see the body of his baby. The big green beast covered his stomach, wings carefully furled, the head over one shoulder. One paw covered his nipple, one ended under his arm. The back legs were splayed, one around his hip, the other gripping the base of his prick. The tail slid around one leg, all the way to his ankle. "Jesus, that's huge. And glorious, man. Really." One hand came up to touch, tracing the line of one wing. "Yeah." He turned and showed off the back—the books and jewels, gold and bones and furs and shit. A fucking treasure. Ten years of work had gone into it, one session at a time. "Pretty." He could tell Mark was tracing the skull off on his ribs. Could feel every little dance of that hand. 24

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"Thanks." Oh, man. He did a lot of touching. It was the nature of the job, but touching him? Not unless someone was inking him or it was a blue, blue moon. His skin goose pimpled up, his nipples going hard as rocks. "Looking good, man. Hot as Hell." That voice was low and gravelly and burning like molten steel. A moan escaped him, but he managed to get his shirt back down before his prick hammered its way out of his pants. "You like where the phoenix is, man?" Shit, he hadn't even asked the man to sign the paperwork, pay. Nothing. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don't think I need the mirror." Mark looked down, not quite touching the design, fingers hovering around it. "Cool. You want it all black or you want the flames in color?" "What do you think? This one's not gonna show like the other two, so you could go all out if you want." Uh-huh. Someone liked being under his needle, for sure. "I think your skin would show the color like a motherfucker. You'd look like you were on fire." He pulled out reds and oranges, yellows and a deep, dark purple. Yeah, that patch of paler skin would glow. Fucking A. "Then let's go for it." "It's gonna rock, man. Trust me." He got the gun, snapped on his gloves and tugged his stool over. "You ready to play?" "I'm ready. It's not gonna be a problem, is it? Me being all..." Mark waved a hand at his cock, which had gone all hard on them, standing up proud. 25

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He grinned, reached out and cupped Mark's balls, rolling them enough that the sac loosened, then started to draw up again. "No. No, I don't see a problem at all." "Shit!" All those muscles bunched right up, Mark bucking for him, flushing up pretty. "That's not gonna keep me still." "Fuck, you're hot. You want to come, before we start?" He wasn't above a friendly hand job, not at all. Mark thought about that for a long moment. "No. If it gets too much, I'll tell you." "Okay, man." He pushed his hair back, got his fucking pants from being bunched up, and got to work, starting with a short, straight line. This one was going to be worse and better, all at once. Be hot as hell once it was done though. A low moan came from Mark, but the guy was a trooper. Only his cock moved. Yeah. The guy was really working it for him. Good man. He bent right to it, one hand holding Mark still, the other drawing away, pushing the ink in. The phoenix took shape fast, or at least it seemed to go quick, and Mark was moaning by the time he finished the outline. It wasn't pain. No way. It was hot as anything. He sprayed the black outline with the antiseptic, smiling wide as Mark cried out, ass arching up off the table. "God ... I'm not sure I ... I might need a break, man." Yeah, the way he was flushed, panting, and grabbing the table with his hands? Mark might need a break. "Okay. Okay. You want to back it off a minute or do you want this?" He snapped off a glove, wrapped his fingers around Mark's hard prick. 26

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"That. Oh, Jesus fuck, that." Yeah. Hell, yeah. Mark smelled like man, musk, and his cock was so hot it liked to burn Rooster's palm. He grabbed a piece of plastic wrap, covering that fresh ink up, just in case. Then he went to town, rubbing and stroking, giving that long prick everything it needed. Mark spread, feet digging into the table to push up, so those hips could pump. Mark was ready to pop, balls drawn up tight to the base of that sweet prick, that whole body trembling. Rooster leaned down, tongue resting flat against that sac, stealing a touch. "Christ!" That was it. Mark came for him like nothing going, writhing on his little table, cock pushing against his hand. Every bit of tension drained out of that body. "Mmm. Better." Rooster took another lick, tongue sliding over the soft, wrinkled skin. "You got no idea..." One hand unclenched from the table, came up to stroke his hair, loosening the band that held it in place. "You have the best hair." "Oh." He groaned, throat working. Damn. That was ... unexpected. "This okay, man? Not against the rules or anything?" Okay? Jesus. Mark sat up, turning a little so Rooster's cheek rested on one thick thigh, and that hand combed through his hair. Mark cupped his head, fingers rubbing gently, like a sweet little scalp massage. "It's my place, man. I make the rules." Don't stop. Please. Every nerve in Rooster's body was zinging.

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"So pretty." He could feel it when Mark pulled his hair up and rubbed it over that cut belly. Could see it out of the corner of his eye. He reached down, slipped his zipper. "You cool if I..." His balls might explode if he didn't. "Shit, yes. C'mere. Or should I come there? Will the table hold both of us?" Pulling him up, Mark worked at getting him where they were face to face, worked at getting into his pants. "It'll hold. Careful of your ink." He scooted and shifted, sort of stunned but fucking needing it with every fiber of his being. "Not gonna ruin your work." Those eyes twinkled up at him a moment, then Mark put his head down and got to work, hand closing around Rooster's cock nice and tight, thumb rubbing up the underside. Rooster made this noise like he'd been hit with a line drive, his hips rolling and jerking, pushing right into that rough hand. Calluses. Damn. He hadn't expected. Uhn. "That's it, man. I can smell you. Fuck." That voice was like another kind of touch, with its heat and need and hint of awe. Mark's other hand slid behind his head, pushing into his hair and grabbing a big handful to pull his head back. Then the hottest mouth he'd ever felt settled on his throat. "Yeah. Fuck." He humped, hands on the edge of the table, giving him something to brace against. Those lips burned against his skin, sliding up and down, from his collarbones to his chin. All the while, Mark worked him, stroked and squeezed, stopping only to trace the 28

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dragon's claw. It wasn't going to take him long—it had been a while and he hadn't been so revved up since he'd been a meth-head. He could hear himself, talking, growling, running off at the mouth. "Uh-huh. Oh, God. Come on." That hand was gonna pull everything right out of him. And when Mark licked along the head of the dragon on his chest... Rooster shot so hard his eyes rolled, his cry echoing through the shop. "Someone needed that as bad as I did," Mark said, kissing his lips finally, a short, damp touch. "You fucking know it." He grinned down, flying, relaxed deeper than he'd been in weeks. "Better than a smoke break?" Laughing, Mark patted his thigh. "Though I could go for that right now." "Way better, but we don't have to choose." He eased himself up and off, cleaning Mark up and helping him get the sheet around his waist. "Thanks." They both washed up a little before heading out back to have a smoke. Damn, the man looked good in a sheet. Rooster leaned back against the wall, lit one up and offered it over. Nodding, Mark took the smoke and leaned next to him, quiet and not near as jittery as he'd been. That was something else, what they'd got up to. They smoked nice and easy, Mark's fingers coming back to his hair, again and again. Fucking cool. 29

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"Guess we should finish up, huh?" He got a sideways grin. "Can't wait to feel what color does." "Oh, man. I'm hoping you want me to stop between fill and highlights." Rooster grinned over, winked. Yep. Fucking loved his life. **** They got the call about midnight, and since he and Donny were the closest to the address, they took it. The code was armed robbery, and the address was a business. It niggled at him, but Mark didn't realize it was Rooster's place until they got there, because dispatch hadn't given them a business name. Shit. Holy shit. The car had barely rocked back on its springs before Mark was out of it, reminding himself forcibly to check his danger areas and fucking act like a cop. Not to go rushing in there, just in case. "You want the front or the back, man?" he asked Donny, vibrating in place. "I'll take the front." Donny had his piece out, was already out of the car and moving, keeping away from the windows. "Give me ten seconds." He needed to be in place. They'd rehearsed this a million times, had done it in real time twice so far. They worked well together. Just follow the rules, asshole, Mark told himself. Just follow the rules. He wandered around to the back of the shop, moving into the little courtyard, the gate's lock busted and hanging. By the time he'd counted to ten, Donny was announcing them, clear and sharp, like they were trained to do when the 30

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suspects had left the premises before the call was made. "Seaside Police! We're responding to your call." The 911 operator should have told Rooster or whoever was on duty to lock all the doors until they arrived, and to let them in. Mark hoped like hell everyone was okay and that Rooster could let them in. "It's about motherfucking time." Rooster's voice was close, right near the back door. "Let them in, Betsy." The back doorknob turned, the door swung open. "And whoever the fuck's still back here, I'm gonna fucking bash your head in like a baby seal." A bent and bloody bat appeared, along with too-pale, furious eyes. "Just securing the scene, man." Mark stepped out of his concealed position, meeting those eyes. "Just me." "Oh." There was blood all over Rooster and that bat didn't lower as Rooster stared a minute. "They came in from back there." "Then stay out of the area for now. I saw the broken lock, but we'll have to do an extensive search. Can I come in?" Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rooster couldn't be hurt. "Yeah. Yeah. Come on. I need to check Jimbo out." "You all right?" The little back hall didn't look too gory, so the damage must have been done out on the floor. "Fine enough to make those little fuckheads pay." Rooster turned and headed toward the front where a big man was holding a rag to one arm, blood pulsing from his arm. "You holding up?" "Yeah, man." 31

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"Cool. Betsy?" A pierced and inked Betty Page wannabe blinked over from where she was talking to Donny, mascara running. "I ... I'm cool. I'm cool, honey." "We need to get you some medical attention, sir," Mark said to ... Jim? Jimbo. "No. No, Rooster'll sew me up." "Shit, man. I'll pay. That fucker cut you bad." Rooster pushed his hair back, a cut at the temple starting to bleed a little, the skin around it bruising. "I'll check on their ETA," Donny said, patting the chick on the shoulder. "Betsy here says she mentioned there was injury." "Okay." He watched Donny leave the building before turning back to Rooster. "Sit down, man. Get something for that head of yours and you, Betsy? Are you hurt? If not, come help Jimbo put pressure on that cut." "I'm not. I'm not. They said they were going to..." Betsy's hands started fluttering and Rooster growled, hand slamming on the counter. "They wouldn't because me and Jimbo were right here, goddammit! Quit it and go fucking help!" Fuck. Someone needed to defuse Rooster, and fast. He grabbed one of the ever-present roll of paper towels and pulled a huge hank off, handing it over the to poor gal. "Here. Fold this over and hold it right here." Leaving the shaking girl to it, Mark stepped in front of Rooster, cutting off his view of the other two. "Tell me what happened?" 32

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"We'd just finished for the night and were cleaning up. Four kids came in, wanting ink and I told them no—I don't do gang shit, you know? We locked the front and three of the little fuckers broke in through the back." Rooster looked like he was going to explode. Boom. "One of them had a gun, two had knives and we went to town." "Looks like it. Your head and Jimbo's arm the only injuries on your side?" A lot of that blood had to belong to the suspects, man. A huge fucking lot of it. "I took a couple pops, nothing serious." Those pale eyes flashed. "Nothing like those little fucks took." "Might not be a good idea to put that on the official statement, man." Hell, it was perfectly acceptable to defend yourself, but Rooster didn't need to borrow trouble. "Yeah. Yeah. The one kid got a case of jewelry; Betsy'll have the inventory. I need a fucking cigarette." "Okay. As soon as Donny gets back in we'll go out front. Away from the building, okay?" He'd take one, too, and Donny would look the other way. "I ain't scared. I'll smoke in the back. You can do your job." Rooster looked down at the bat, still in his hand. "I got this." "No. They came in the back. You can't screw up the scene, okay?" Mark looked at the bat, too, gauging whether it would get him whomped to take it away. "Here. Let go, man. Look, there's Donny. Come on." "I can't." Rooster looked a little stunned, really. Donny glanced over, jerking his head toward the front door, and Mark nodded. "Okay. Well, let me help." All he had 33

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to do was grab a glove out of Rooster's box to hold the bat and then pry those tight fingers off. Shit, the man was cramped up like a high school football player's Charlie horse. "Th ... thanks. It has a reverb, hitting someone so hard." "No problem. Okay, let's go. Smoke time." He needed to get Rooster out where he could talk to the man like a friend, or whatever he was. Not a cop. The ambulance was around the corner as they headed out, Rooster going the opposite way of the lights. Jimbo needed the help first anyway. He shook his head, following right behind. "Where are your smokes, man? I could fucking use one, too. Scared the shit out of me when I realized where I was going." "No shit. I. The little fucker with the gun, fucking waving it around and shit." Rooster scrabbled at his pockets, pulling out a pack, that cock-shaped lighter. "You held your own, man. Could have been a lot worse." Trite as hell, but true. "They didn't do any damage to your ink. Or your hair." That was important somehow. "No. No, I'll have a couple bruises and my head is fucking killing me, but I'm good." Rooster pulled hard on the smoke, the cherry flaring a bright red. Grabbing the pack, Mark lit one up, feeling like he'd mainlined about a gallon of fancy espresso. "I bet. We'll get you looked at." "You ... how's your ink?" The end of the Camel shook like crazy. 34

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"Good. You should see it now that it's healed." Mark didn't admit that he'd been looking for a reason to come back. Because these were not the circumstances he had in mind. "I should. I bet it's hot as hell." Rooster sucked down another drag. "What happens next, man?" "We take your report. We check the scene. Start looking for a trail. All that shit. The odds aren't in your favor. Are you insured?" "Yeah. Sort of. I think?" Rooster pushed his hair back. Christ, head wounds bled. "Here, let me..." It was an excuse to touch. And he needed one. He rubbed some of the blood away, pressing against the wound gently. Those too-pale eyes closed, Rooster leaning into his touch, just a bit. "H ... hey." "Hey. This is gonna take awhile. But I need to see you after..." Deep down, all of a fucking sudden needed it. So bad he was shaking with it. "I. Yeah. Yeah. You ... my place?" "Yeah. Where is that, man?" His palm cupped Rooster's cheek, his fingers stroking lightly. "You see that big blue house? I got the top floor, yeah? Number three." Rooster's eyes closed, the quickest little kiss pressed to Mark's palm. "I'll be there. When the shift is over, which ought to end with you." They were shaded by a big old tree, the lamp out up the way, and Mark took a chance on taking a kiss, needing to feel Rooster alive and well. Then he stubbed out his smoke 35

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and nodded toward the shop. "I need to get back to work. Come let the EMTs look at you." "I. Yeah. Yeah, okay, man. Glad it was you, huh?" "Me too. Breathe, yeah? It'll be done soon. You want me to call a locksmith for your back gate and door?" Business. He had to get the job done. "No. No, I'll chain it up good tonight and have one of the other guys come down and watch for me." "You sure?" His hand wanted to stay where it was, but he straightened up, moving back. "I can check it one more time before I come over." "I'm sure. Go and work, detective. I'll be waiting. After." Mark nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets so he'd resist any more touching. "You fucking know it, man. You fucking know it." **** He hadn't had a hit in eight years. Eight. But he would get on his knees and beg for one right now. Rooster slugged back another swig of Jack, pacing from front door to balcony. He had butterfly stitches in his temple and a bruise on his ribs and... Fuckers. Breaking into his goddamn shop. Thinking they could fucking threaten him. Rooster growled, spinning and slamming his fist against the wall. 36

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He thought for a minute that he was hearing echoes of his hit, but it was someone knocking on his door. Rapping hard. "I. Yeah. Yeah. Coming." He opened up, looking out into worried eyes. "Detective." "Hey." Mark was right there, shifting from foot to foot, dark circles bagging under his eyes. "Okay if I come in?" "Yeah. Yeah, man. Please." He stepped back, let Mark in. "You okay?" "Huh? Oh, yeah. I been worried about you." Mark moved right into his space, one hand settling on his hip to hold him still while that hot as fuck mouth met his. The bottle fell from his fingers and he pushed into the kiss, tongue fucking Mark's lips. Oh, shit. He needed this. Needed Mark. Right fucking now. Mark kicked the bottle out of their way and started tearing at his clothes, his loose shirt going first. The kissing never stopped, and it kind of amazed him, how they'd never done this before, never kissed like this. He managed to get his hands off Mark's body long enough to get the shirt off, let Mark get to skin. Let Mark touch him. Those rough fingers traced his tattoo, top to bottom, lingering gently on his sore ribs. "You sure you're up to this, man?" Mark gasped between kisses. "Don't want to hurt you." "Please." He needed to feel, needed to be touched. Now. "Oh, thank God." Mark pulled him even closer, trying to crawl into him. Looked like someone else needed it, too. Rooster groaned, fingers ripping at Mark's fly, Mark's buttons. "Bed? I got one. Clean sheets." "Show me." Taking his hand, Mark stumbled with him, cloth hitting the floor every time they stopped for a grope. 37

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He had a big bed, solid and sturdy and... "Mark." He arched as those calluses hit a spot on his hip, sending shocks through his body. "Need you. Scared me. I didn't even know..." They hit the bed, their legs whacking it, both of them tumbling ass over teakettle. Mark's mouth slid down his throat, right over the dragon's head at the top of his shoulder. "Touch me. Fuck, you're like the only one who wanted to fucking touch back." One of the few that got under his skin worse than ink. "Want to touch you everywhere." It was true, too. No lie, the man seemed intent on tracing every pattern, from ink to muscle to bruises. "Yes." He leaned and got their mouths together again, needing another one of those maddening, drugging kisses. A low hum was his reward, Mark's hands coming up to sink into his hair, like Mark was intent on counting each strand to make sure they were still there. And the guy was humping against him, too, cock hard, needy. He got one leg wrapped around Mark's hip, both of them rocking faster as their cocks slid together, hot and wet and fucking right. "Fuck, Rooster. I can't ... I was. Goddamn." Yeah, he could feel the fine tremors that rocked Mark's body, could tell that the man wasn't gonna last long. At least not this time. He tried to say something glib and when that didn't work, he shot, his need pulsing from his prick. Mark cried out for him, bucking hard against his body, and damned if the man 38

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didn't come for him, too. Just like that. Hot and wet and good. Rooster let his eyes close, face pressed into the curve of Mark's throat. A soft laugh brushed over his skin. "You still haven't seen my tattoo." "I haven't. I came all over it, though." That tickled him, laughter bubbling out of him. "Does that count as moisturizer or something?" Mark's ribs shook against his, both of them laughing like idiots, loud and raucous. "Oh. Oh, shit. Shit, you're funny as all fuck." He rolled Mark to one side, heading to look at that ink, rub their come right in. Christ, look at that. His ink. Right there. Pretty as anything now that it was healed. "Mmm." He leaned down to look close, cheek rubbing that hipbone, stubble catching on Mark's skin. He fucking approved. "God, that feels good." Stretching, shifting, Mark moved for him, muscles sliding under skin, belly quivering. It did. He nuzzled in, lips moving over Mark's stomach, tongue lapping every now and again. Mark grunted, wiggling to get more of his touch, giving him more skin. And those hands. Jesus Christ those hands. They pushed into his hair, rubbing, pulling a little. He took advantage, crawling over the top of Mark, teeth testing the skin. Mark started working his braid free, his hair pooling on Mark's belly, the muscled chest. 39

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"Fuck, yeah." Man, someone liked that. Those sturdy legs rose up around the back of his thighs, holding him there. And those hands ... Goddamn. They rubbed and pushed and pulled his hair across that skin. It was easy to lose himself, to close his eyes and lick and touch and rub, murmuring Mark's name over and over. "You're okay. Yeah? You're fine." Mark didn't sound like he was trying to comfort Rooster. More like he was reassuring himself. "Fine. I was so fucking pissed." He licked up along Mark's ribs, heading north. "Yeah. I bet, man. I don't blame you." Mark helped, one hand behind his head, pulling him up over those welldeveloped pecs so Mark could kiss him again, melt his brain. He groaned, leaning full-bodied against Mark's heat, giving himself right over to those hands. Please. The man could kiss. Like work of art kissing. Every bit of him got tasted, inside and out, like Mark wanted to eat him alive. They rolled to their sides, Mark cradling his head, fingers barely touching his temple. Mark pulled back to look at him, eyes dark, wide. "They could have done a lot worse, yeah? Jesus." "No. They couldn't. I wouldn't let them. I'm glad you were the one to come." "So am I. I woulda gone crazy if I'd heard it on the band and not been the one to come." Those kisses slid in between each word, soft and slow, then hard and almost bruising.

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"Mmmhmm." His lips tingled, felt swollen and hot. He drew Mark's free hand down, brought it to his hip, his ass. "Touch me." "Want to do more than that, man. Want to ... yeah. Can I?" That hand cupped his ass, Mark's fingers digging into the muscle, squeezing. "Fuck, yes. Please. Please, Mark." He wasn't too proud to beg for it. "You got ... I don't. Shit. There's a condom in my pants, wherever they are." Mark laughed a little, the sound brushing his lips. "I don't bring men here. I haven't in years. Got lube though." Together they had both pieces. Mark lifted him up, sliding out from under him. "Don't go away. I'll be quick. Find the fucking lube." Every so often the cop came out in the man. It was oddly hot, really. He dug around for his tube of KY, pulled it out of his drawer of good porn and tissues. Mark was as good as his word, back in no time, still rock hard and ready, one hand cupped beneath his cock, the other holding the condom. "Got it?" "I do." He waved the tube like a flag, grinning as Mark chuckled. "Fucking A." That big body had the bed dipping, and they traded, Mark handing him the condom, him giving up the lube so Mark could open it. Rooster took his time smoothing the rubber over Mark's prick, stroking the latex on, making sure Mark felt it. 41

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The man shuddered for him, cock pushing into his hand. "Good, babe, that's good. Now come here. Let me get you wet." "You like it hands and knees or face-to-face?" "I like you any way I can get you. But the way we were before is good." Settling back, Mark pulled at him until he straddled those muscled thighs, Mark's cock prodding his belly. Two slick fingers pushed at him, just like that. "This work?" "Yeah." He bore down, let the frisson of burn slide right up his fucking spine, burying itself in his brain. Thick and callused, Mark's fingers pressed in, opening him up. Fucking spearing him. It made him moan, made him want more. And more. His head fell back, throat working as he moved, bounced on those fingers, let them spread him. "Goddamn." Mark breathed it across his mouth, pushing up on the other hand to kiss him. "Fucking hot, babe. Tight. Need more." "Fuck me." He met Mark's eyes, slowly pulled up off those fingers so that he could have more. "Yeah. Please." Lying back, Mark grabbed his hips, lifting him, pulling him up, then down. Broad, hot even through the glove, Mark's cock pushed at his hole, demanding. This deep sound tore out of his throat as he pushed right down, rocking a couple times to take all of that thick prick, let it fill him up. Man, it had been a long time ... But Mark fit. Like the man was fucking made for him. Filled him all the way and then some. Mark's eyes met his, blazing up at him as the man began to move. 42

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He leaned forward, hands landing on the mattress, his hair falling all around them. "Oh. Oh, God." Arching up, Mark pushed into him over and over, one hand coming up to touch his hair like it was irresistible, like Mark had to have a hand in it. He leaned closer, pushing toward that touch. "Feels fucking good, man. So right." "Uh-huh. More." More meant moving, and Mark did plenty of that, starting up a deep, grinding rhythm. Rooster squeezed every time Mark pulled out, every time that prick threatened to pull away from him. It made Mark gasp, hips jerking and shoving back in. Mark's skin flushed up so pretty, begged for bruises and bites. And ink. God, the ink he could put on this man. "Want to touch you, mark you all over." He leaned down, teeth sinking into Mark's skin. "Fuck yes." Going stiff under him, Mark clutched him close, moaning as he bit again. "Want to wear you, man." "Yes." God, yes. He could spend years exploring. Touching. Stroking. Biting. Yanking him down, Mark kissed him hard, hand going between them to grab his cock and start stroking. Yeah. Jesus. More. He cried out into Mark's lips, bucking and arching, driving himself toward that touch. "Fuck, yeah." Mark had lost all finesse, slamming up into him, that cock opening him so wide, filling him so deep, hitting his gland finally, over and over. "Mark!" He screamed it out, coming so hard it hurt, making him throb, all through. 43

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"Mnnhhhh." Like a chain reaction, Mark came, too, thrusting hard into him, body convulsing under his. He slumped down against Mark's muscles, letting Mark hold him. "Got you. Got, you, babe. Nothing gonna happen to you." Those arms wrapped around him so tight, holding him. Fucking keeping him right there. "Stay, yeah?" Rooster asked. Right here. All night. "Gonna. Promise. Got nowhere to go but here." That was what he wanted to hear. That was the perfect fucking thing to say. "Cool." He pulled the blankets up over them both, settling in. Staying. The rest of the world could leave them alone. Mark was getting past his shit. Rooster would get by his, too. Maybe they could do it together. **** Mark rubbed his hands down his thighs, so fucking nervous he could hardly stand it. Tuesday night. The Cock's Crow was deserted but for its owner, and at this point, Mark knew Rooster well enough he shouldn't be jittery. But he was. The little bell over the door jingled as he went through, announcing his presence. "If you're here to rob me, I've already taken the deposit." That voice slid down his spine like hot water. His nipples went hard and his fucking cock perked right up. "Nope. I'm here to pay you to get some work." 44

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"Yeah?" Rooster's head popped up from the office, those pale eyes dragging down his body. "What do you need, detective? What can I give you?" Shifting from foot to foot, he laughed a little, running his sweaty palms over his thighs again. "Well, I been thinking about a new tattoo to sort of ... commemorate something." "Yeah?" Rooster smiled, fingers reaching out, stroking over his arms. "It a happy thing or a sad thing?" "It's a good thing, for sure." His fingers closed over Rooster's when that touch tickled his palm. "Lock the door?" "Yeah. Yeah, man. Tuesdays are slow..." Rooster headed for the door, turning off the neon lights and locking them in. "No," he teased. "Really?" The art on the walls still amazed him, still had him wandering round in awe, looking. Rooster ended up behind him, warm and close, fingers sliding around his waist. "You know what you want? Where you need it?" "Oh, I thought I'd let you figure out where to place it. But I know what I want." He stroked those long fingers, rocking back a little. "Tell me; I'll find you a spot." Rooster's lips brushed the back of his neck, tongue sliding a little. Mark shivered, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. "I was thinking of a rooster..." "Oh..." Those fingers brushed across the small of his back, nails scraping enough to make his toes curl. "Uh-huh. You know, to celebrate the best thing in my life." Because Rooster was. Hands down. 45

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"I could do that. Something spiky and tribal, right here on your spine." Rooster pushed against him, cock hard and rocking against his ass. "Uh-huh. Okay." That was a whole world of yes. Please. His hands went back, grasping Rooster's hips. "I can watch it while I'm fucking you." Rooster pressed closer, teeth threatening the curve where his shoulder met his neck. Shivering, he nodded, feeling the pull of Rooster's teeth on his skin. "You can. You can touch it, look at it..." "Uh-huh. My mark." Mark's fingers moved over the 'M', inked right into Rooster's wrist. "So, do we do it tonight, babe?" God knew he wanted to. But if they weren't going to be able to stay off each other... "Yeah. Yeah, we'll do it." Rooster groaned a little. "You need to get naked for me, huh? I'll draw it right on you." "You got it." A freehand original. Jesus. That was too fucking sweet. Rooster helped him get naked, undoing his jeans while he pulled off his shirt. Rooster's braid kept brushing against him—against his thigh, against his side, against his cock. His prick felt like it was gonna explode. "Might need to take the edge off, babe." "I can so handle that, man." Rooster slid down his body, lips open, tongue sliding over his phoenix. Mark went up on tiptoe, his breath whooshing out. Goddamn, that was good. Rooster knew all his spots, knew 46

Spilled Ink by Rob Knight

how to give him what he needed. All he had to do now was find the end of that braid and untie that little leather cord. He fucking loved the way Rooster looked, all that black and silver hair loose. He loved how sexy it was. He loved that no one—not anyone—fucking saw Rooster like this. Rooster's lips kissed his ink, then slid over to his curls, tugging at them. "Babe. No teasing." No, he was too far gone for that. Way too far gone. He needed to come. "No?" That look was pure fucking need. "I have what you need." Then Rooster's mouth surrounded him, the suction buckling his knees. Hell, yes. That was it. Mark started thrusting, his hips moving fast, in and out, his cock wet from Rooster's mouth. Rooster took everything he had, letting him in deep, letting him in that tight throat. It took maybe two minutes. Then the edge flew off along with the top of his head, and he came hard. Right into Rooster's waiting lips. Rooster swallowed around him, pulling the pleasure right out of him. "Oh. Oh, yeah, that hit the spot. I might be able to hold still through the outline now." Maybe. Possibly. Rooster chuckled, cheek on his hip. "You'll be still. Then, when we break, you'll fuck me over the chair, because I'll need it." "You good to go now? I mean, you know I won't leave you needing, babe." Never that. Not ever. "I'm good." The tip of his cock got a brief, gentle sucking kiss. "Lie down on your belly, lover. I need to make my 47

Spilled Ink by Rob Knight

mark." Rooster stopped, staring up at him. "What are you commemorating, Mark?" "Well, you know how we talked about me moving in with you and I hemmed and hawed and worried about coming out to Donny and shit?" Rooster had been exceptionally cool, but it had hurt. He could tell. Mark lay down and crossed his arms under his cheek. "Sure." Rooster patted his butt, moving around to open drawers, then the man started drawing, marker sliding over his skin. "It's cool. I get it. I told you, an ex-junkie tattoo artist isn't somebody to introduce to the folks, even without the whole gay part." "I told Donny today. He wasn't surprised. I want to come stay, like I promised, babe." God. It came out in a rush, and he held his breath, hoping Rooster would say yes and not treat him like the selfish shithead he was. Rooster didn't say anything for a long time, then a soft kiss brushed the small of his back, tingling. "That's cool, lover. Real cool." "So you think this tattoo is a good idea, huh?" Mark certainly did. He'd gotten the first one for Pete. The second one for getting his shit together and Donny and for getting over Johnny. This one? This one he was getting for him. And for the man who had made it all happen. "I think it's a great fucking idea. I think it's going to be just what you need." "Me, too, babe. Me, too." Mark sighed happily when he heard Rooster's gloves snap into place, when he heard the machine come on. "I got a whole new lease on life." 48

Spilled Ink by Rob Knight

"Mmmhmm." Rooster settled against him, hand steady and sure. "It's going to be perfect, detective. Don't forget to breathe." "You'll remind me." The burn settled right under his skin as Rooster started putting that mark right into it, the ink making it official. When Pete had died, Mark had figured shit was never gonna be good again. These days he couldn't wait to see what happened next.

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