A/N: This is my other entry for the Twilight Kink Fest. Huge-mongous thanks to LyricalKris for beta-ing. Hope you enjoy!
Original prompt: Politician Peter has a secret fetish for being tattooed and struggles to hide his boner every time. When his tattooist retires and Jasper replaces him, P. has a bigger problem than ever.
I relax into the leather below me, the buzz the only thing I hear, and the light pressure of Leah's hand with the burn of the gun the only things I feel. My concentration is focused down to that singular point of pain. All my worries, all the things that keep me up at night, fade away. I can almost disappear when I'm getting inked.
This space of weightlessness is like a drug: soothing, warming, addicting... arousing. Luckily, this time I'm laying on my stomach as she adds the final touches on my back piece, but I can feel my erection pressing into the unforgiving table beneath me. I shift my hips subtly and can't control the soft groan that escapes my mouth at the friction.
Suddenly the buzz cuts off, and I relax as I feel a coolness swipe across my skin as she cleans away the ink. Her warm hands press gauze to the new ink, taping it into place.
She pats my back when she's done. "You awake, man?"
I hum in response, and Leah laughs.
"I think you might enjoy this more than I do."
I open one eye and see her looking down at me. "What are you talking about Leah? You love inking people."
She laughs again. "I do. Just don't get as much pleasure out of it as some." She winks at me, and I know I haven't been as discrete as I wanted to be.
"I'll meet you up front, okay? Take your time."
I look up at her as she puts away the unused ink and gathers her instruments. "Thanks, Leah."
She smiles and slips through the door to the front of the shop, leaving me alone to collect myself. Sitting up, I shift to sit on the table, my toes just touching the ground. I brace myself on the edge, my fingers curled around the leather and wood. Taking deep breath in and out, I attempt to calm myself, to feel the relaxation part and not the completely turned on part of the experience. Eventually, my racing heart slows and my erection subsides, at least enough that I can leave without embarrassing myself.
I stand, slipping my shirt on over my head, covering the beautiful art Leah has worked so hard on, hiding the ink just as surely as I hide myself. I shake my head and take a deep breath, willing away the tightness I already feel forming between my shoulder blades. I breathe out, stand straight, and plaster on my most winning, public smile. Grabbing my jacket and opening the door, I finally feel ready to face Leah and the rest of the world.
It's almost eight months later by the time I can schedule another tattoo. And after the last week spent in Washington, trying desperately to get our new bill passed the committee, I need this release. My skin has been itching, my muscles already tightening in anticipation of the stinging burn of the needle. My cock hasn't been this hard in months.
As I open the door to the shop, my body already is starting to relax and respond to the familiar scent of ink, metal, and blood. The tall, lean, muscular blond leaning on the counter flipping through an ink mag is not helping my situation. He looks up as the door shuts and smiles. It's more of a tilted smirk of invitation, and I resist the urge to smirk back, especially as he obviously gives me the once over.
When he finally meets my eyes again, his smile is softer. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I have an appointment at eight with Leah. I believe my secretary called in."
His eyes widen for a moment and then he lifts one hand to rest his chin on it. "Leah is taking some time off. I'm Jasper, and I'll be doing your ink today."
I swallow, my first thoughts of panic at how I'll react, if I have any hope of being able to control myself, with him touching me. It's painfully apparent that I won't, but I need this session so badly. It's been too long since my last time, and my body can't take much more restraint.
I nod and open my case to get out the drawing I've picked. I hand him the sketch, proud that my fingers are only trembling marginally, and he lays it flat on the counter, scanning it for a few minutes before nodding.
"Let's go to my work space and take a good look at this." He leads the way down the hallway, and I can't help but watch the way his ass moves inside his jeans, the way the muscles of his shoulders flex when he reaches for the door. He gestures for me to enter the familiar room, and then shuts the door behind us with a soft click. "You're the last client tonight, and Rosie will tend the front desk," he says by way of explanation as he gestures to a chair and sits in the one next to it.
For the next minutes, while he prepares the stencil and we talk about the design, a Celtic cross, I watch his hands move, watch him bite his lip in concentration, and I remember why I never had a male artist before. Leah was safe. I could indulge in my fantasies, feeling her touch on my skin, knowing the entire time that she is definitely not my type. But here, with Jasper, this decidedly good looking, very male Jasper, I'm worried about staying in control.
I'm in the middle of watching his tongue lick his lips for the hundredth time when he clears his throat. I look up to find him looking at me with a subtle smirk. He doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward. "So where do you want it?"
I stare at him in shock. "Um..."
He laughs then, a loud, free laugh. "The tattoo, my man. Where do you want the tattoo?"
Oh. I carefully remove my button-down shirt, placing it on the desk next to Jasper. "Here," I say pointing to the left side of my chest, just below my collarbone.
He reaches forward, and I can't breathe as the rough pads of his fingers run over my skin. When he finally looks up at me, there's a fire in his eyes, and I sit back to break the contact, both too excited and too worried to have him continue touching me.
"Sorry, man. I thought..."
"No, it's okay." I look up into his now worried expression, and I steel myself for what I'm about to do. "Let's do this."
His eyes widen for a second, but then he smiles. I watch as he prepares his work station, setting up the ink in a little tub and mixing soapy water, wrapping the gun in plastic and removing the needles from their sterilized pack. When everything is in its proper place, he faces me with a rag and uses it to moisten my left chest area.
"You know the drill, but I want to make sure this is perfect."
He places the stencil against my wet skin and presses, his warm fingers smoothing the paper. When he peels it away, he tilts his head and then nods. "Go take a look."
I walk to the full-length mirror, noticing how well the placement balances the Gothic cross on the other side. I catch his eye in the mirror. "Perfect."
"Good. Now get over here so we can ink you up."
I walk back and see that he's moved the chair I was sitting in and has pulled his work table close to the reclined leather chair. I settle into the chair, finding the most comfortable position as I know I'll have to be still for a while.
Jasper moves the lights and his instruments just so, swiveling on his stool to make sure they are in the right places. Next he puts on gloves, dips the needles in the ink and leans close.
I nod, and he smiles. He braces the edge of his right hand against my skin, and the familiar buzz of the gun starts. Seconds later, I feel the burn in my skin as he begins the outline of the design. I stare at the ceiling, carefully avoiding watching him work, and concentrate on the feeling.
This is what I've been missing for months. My cock, which hasn't really been anything less than half hard since I entered the building, stirs again, and I can feel the weight of it pressed between the cloth of my jeans and my skin. I sink into the rhythm, the pull of the needles across my skin, the swipe of the cool cloth Jasper uses to clean away excess ink and blood, and the press of his left hand stretching my skin tight.
Soon, I'm drifting, lulled by the calm that I crave that comes with getting the tattoo. I come back to my senses when the silence stretches, and I feel Jasper's warm hand rest on my chest.
Opening my eyes, I find he is leaning close, seemingly inspecting his work. "I don't mean to disturb you, but the outline is finished so I need to change needles now."
I nod and close my eyes again, willing my body to ignore his presence. I feel him lean closer, and his bare skin brushes along my chest as he reaches across me. I hear a small whimper I know didn't come from me, and my eyes snap open.
Jasper's body is stretched across mine, his t-shirt discarded on his desk chair and his inked torso on full display. My gaze wanders over the lines of his body, both muscle and tattoo, and I can't help but wonder what the feel of his skin would be against my fingers instead of the less sensitive skin of my chest.
Then I remember he is still touching me. Looking up, I find him intently staring at me as if gauging my reaction. I shift, and my erection brushes against his arm, distracting him for a moment.
"Well, well, Peter." He turns back to me, that same fire in his eyes that I saw earlier. "Does tattooing turn you on?"
I'm at a loss for words, never having had to admit this to anyone but myself. I feel my face heat, but I nod.
Jasper leans closer, his arm not-so-accidentally rubbing against my jeans. "Does me inking you turn you on?"
I close my eyes, both from pleasure and embarrassment, but I cannot deny it, cannot deny him. I nod again.
"Do I turn you on?"
At this I open my eyes. He is hovering over me, his arms on either side of my shoulders, his gaze intent on my face, my lips, my eyes. I somehow find my voice. Answering this question is easier than any of the others; no one would deny that he is sexy. "Yes," I whisper, and his eyes darken.
"I think we'll have to do the fill on your second appointment," he murmurs.
I have a moment to wonder why he won't finish it tonight before his lips crash into mine, one hand grabbing onto the back of my neck as his tongue pushes past my lips. My wanton moan fills the air, and I finally reach my hands up to run along his ribs. He shivers beneath my touch, and I grow more brave, digging my fingers into his skin and pulling him toward me.
Jasper's fingers press into the skin next to my new ink, and I hiss, pulling back to find his eyes searching mine. Hesitantly, he reaches down and places his hands on the button to my jeans. "May I?"
I answer by scooting up in the chair to make it easier for him and reaching for his own fly. He pushes away his work table and climbs off of me, eagerly toeing off his shoes and sliding his jeans down his legs, revealing nothing but skin beneath.
I pause in my effort to remove my jeans once I see his entire body, the designs in ink spiraling from his abdomen and down his legs. His body a complete work of art. His erection twitches under my inspection, and he palms himself roughly.
"Like what you see?"
I can't speak because my mouth is literally watering for him. I want to taste and lick every inch of him, to devour him piece by piece.
"You are so hot even you're looking at me. I can see your desire, your want of me, on your face." He steps closer and rids me of the rest of my clothing in two moves.
As soon as he's close enough again, I reach for him, tracing my fingers over his abdomen and hip to the ink that curls around his back. He shudders under my touch, and I feel the small hairs rise beneath my fingers. I lean forward and run my nose up his ribs to his chest, wetting his skin with my tongue. His scent and taste inflame my desire, and I push him up until we're both standing.
I bend slowly, touching my mouth only to the colorful skin, skipping the pristine parts for now.
"Got a thing for ink, my man?" he asks, breathlessly, his fingers tightening in my short hair.
I continue worshipping his skin, loving that he's allowing me to do this and enjoying every shudder and moan. "You have no idea."
Too soon, his hands pull me back to my feet. "I just might," he says, attacking my mouth with his own once again. He pulls me against him, the still raw edges of my new ink occasionally rubbing against his skin, the rest of me in full contact. My erection brushes against his, and I can feel his length slip wetly against mine.
He reaches between us and holds both of us together, slowly running his tight fist up and down. I moan into his mouth, and he lets go suddenly, spinning me around to face the chair.
"Hands on the chair," he whispers into my hair. "I'm going to fuck you over it."
My head snaps up, and I notice I'm looking straight into the full-length mirror. I can see him and all of his ink as he runs his warm hands down my spine. The heat, the ink, the high I still feel from the tattoo all blend together into this overwhelming ache. I have been missing more than just that chain in the last few months, and here he is willing and ready.
His hands never pause as he waits for a response, but they stroke harder, deeper into my muscles, and I arch my back in pleasure. He hisses when my ass rubs against his cock, and his fingers dig into my shoulders. He looks up at my reflection, and I can see the pleading in his eyes.
He wants this just as much as I do.
That look makes my answer easy. "Yes, please. Oh, fuck." The last word comes out like a groan as he thrusts his cock against me, and I feel the first smooth slide against my skin. "Please."
He rubs his hands back and over my ass, squeezing once before letting go, and I immediately miss the heat of him. He returns quickly, the pop of a cap getting my attention, and in the mirror I watch him coat his fingers with lube. Placing his left hand on my back, he slides his other fingers through my crack, circling my hole lightly. I press back against him, willing him to move faster, push harder, but he continues his maddeningly slow pace.
At the first hint of pressure from his finger, I moan in relief, my arms shaking with the effort to keep me upright.
He stands, bending over me and wrapping an arm around my chest as his finger pumps in and out of me. "You are so fucking hot."
I look up to find him staring at me in the mirror. Our naked skin, a riot of color and patterns, is pressed together, beautiful and dark. I can't get the image out of my mind even when my eyes close as he adds a second finger. He stretches and twists his fingers until I am gasping and begging.
"Tell me exactly what you want, Peter," he says as he stands straight once more and pulls his fingers from me.
"You. Please, I want you."
I drop my head, unable to even think past the twin aches in my groin and in my chest. The need to be touched by him in any way he is willing is almost a physical pain. "Jasper," I whisper, and I hear a soft sigh behind me.
"Here. God, anywhere."
He chuckles then, and I finally hear the tear of the condom wrapper and feel his fingers on my hips. He repositions me, and then I feel the first press of something larger at my entrance, and I want it. So badly I want it.
He uses small thrusts to push into me, slowly inching his length inside of me. I want to scream, to slam myself backward, but his firm grip on my hips and the constant "so good, so good" from his lips prevents me. Finally, I feel his thighs against mine and I look up, finding his eyes locked with mine in the mirror.
Finally he starts a strong rhythm, smooth deep strokes that are good, but not hard enough, not deep enough.
"More. Jasper, please more."
He squeezes my hip once. "Okay. But you might want to hold on to something for this."
I do as he suggests and brace one arm on either side of the chair. As I do, his thrusts increase, his muscles cording beneath his tattooed skin as he pumps into me, his whole body rocking with the effort. I push back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
I can feel the building tension deep in my belly, that twisting coil waiting to explode. As if he can sense how close I am, Jasper reaches around with his lubed hand and wraps it around my erection. The firm slide of his fingers is all it takes and I'm spiralling out of control, my orgasm painting the leather chair as my entire body contracts.
A few more thrusts and Jasper is cursing and straining behind me, one hand curled into my hip as the other presses into my abdomen. For a moment or two, there are only the sounds of our heavy breathing in the room.
And then he steps back.
And I am empty once again.
I watch in the mirror as he pulls his jeans back up as I am still wasted, bent over the chair and catching my breath. Fucking great.
I straighten up slowly, retrieving my clothes as nonchalantly as I can. I have my jeans on and I'm pulling on my shirt when I hear Jasper sigh.
Once again he's sitting at his desk, jeans on but no shirt. "It's such a shame that you keep all of that amazing ink covered up."
"It's part of my profession."
"Yeah, I can imagine, but it's still a shame."
I look up at him, the first time I've actually looked at him in a good hour. "What do you care?"
His eyes widen, and there's a brief flash of hurt there as he quickly brings his hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm sorry, man. I thought we might have had something going."
Now it's my turn to be surprised. "Something going?"
"Yeah. But, you know, I'm sorry I read you wrong."
"You read me wrong?"
He leans forward, trailing a single finger down my arm. "I thought you were interested in more than just my ink."
I'm so stunned I'm speechless. This guy has just seen me at my most debauched, knows my deepest secrets, and he hasn't run away?
"This doesn't freak you out?"
He looks up at me again. "The fact that you get off on ink?"
I shrug. "Yeah."
"Why the hell would that freak me out? It's a huge turn on that you get off on something that I do for a living and plan to do for a long, long time." He smiles widely. "In fact, that sounds like a good reason to keep you around."
I stare at him, unsure what to believe, but hoping my luck has perhaps turned. "How about we do this slow."
He snorts. "I think we've passed slow already, but okay. How about I take you to dinner in a couple days."
"I think I'd like that."
"Good, it's a date then." He stands, pulling me with him, and plans a quick kiss on my lips before smiling cheekily. "And for dessert, I think I'll be finishing your cross."