Skin - 1. Skin

Niran stretched and belatedly tried to cover his lion-like yawn with one hand. Just as he started to get out of bed, Rudy snaked a pale arm out from under the covers and wrapped strong fingers around Niran’s wrist

“Don’t go.” He followed the pattern of the koi fish’s scales up Niran’s arm until he found his shoulder and pulled him bodily back into the bed. “I hate it when you go afterwards.

Niran frowned at the ceiling. Rudy almost always came to his house, stayed, snuggled, kissed him in the early morning, and made himself at home in Niran’s sparsely equipped kitchen. Niran hadn’t even been aware he’d owned the correct tools to make pancakes before Rudy had come into his life and made everything bright and shiny as a new pin. Now he turned back to his boyfriend and kissed a line from neck to ear lobe, then bit softly, making Rudy purr in pleasure. He wanted to stay, but he also didn’t want Rudy changing his mind at four in the morning.

“Babe… you know if I stay, someone will see me leaving in the morning.”

“I don’t care.” Rudy already sounded grumpy, “It’s none of their business.”

“Since when has that stopped anyone round here?”

Niran remembered the first time he’d come to collect Rudy. It had been their third date, and he’d waxed his mustang and polished the car until it shone. He’d shaved the sides of his head down to the number one and styled his hair, worn his good jeans and a collared shirt over his wife-beater. Rudy had grinned like the luckiest man on earth when he’d seen him. Niran had brought him flowers, and as he’d handed them over, he’d known he was being stared at. There was a tutting, and Niran followed Rudy’s slightly guilty expression to see his neighbour, a middle aged woman with very big hair standing on her porch watering her plants. She didn’t seem to notice her potted geranium was overflowing as she was much too busy scowling at Niran and his tattoos.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rudy muttered, but he couldn’t help his embarrassed expression from showing. “Let me go get a jacket.”

Niran had never been under any illusions about how he appeared to other people. Either you liked the hard highly inked look, or you didn’t, and clearly Rudy’s neighbour thought he was some kind of violent reprobate.

“OK, let’s go!” Rudy had taken is hand with a grin, and whooped when Niran had opened the door of the mustang for him. It had been the best third date Niran had ever been on, but he knew when Rudy got home again he would be vocally judged on the company he kept.

“Just stay, OK?” Rudy burrowed in against him until Niran shifted his arm to allow the young man to snuggle against his chest. He wrapped himself around his lover, dragged the duvet over them both, and settled back to sleep.

*

The day they’d met, Niran had stood in a bar, cotton, gauze, and plastic wrapped over his throat, trying not to wince every time he swallowed. Throat tattoos hurt like a bitch, and Niran had already spent eight hours on a total engine rebuild when Chris had called to tell him he could fit him in right then. Niran had almost asked him to wait until another day. He was supposed to have been going to see his accountant at the bank. But instead, he’d left his colleagues to shut the shop, settled back in Chris’s tattoo chair, and let the black-work master do his thing. He’d wanted to get the underside of his chin and his throat done for ages, and now he had a bold geometric mandala right down to his clavicle.

Chris crossed the bar and started showing off the photos he’d snapped of Niran’s neck before it had been wrapped up to the rest of the studio crew and their associated friends. Niran drained his glass, ordered water with tons of ice, and was just about to go and join them when a presence along the bar distracted him.

To say the young man looked out of place was an understatement, and while he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, he hardly looked like he belonged surrounded by tattooists and bikers, rock chicks, and guys with guitars on their backs and Mohawks up top. He looked… clean; and Niran had never watched anyone so closely in his life. The young man ordered a beer, fumbled with the loose and crumpled notes in his wallet, then leaned on the edge of the bar with his elbows and peeled the label from his bottle with deliberate slowness. Only then did he lift the beer to his lips in order to drink, and saw Niran staring at him. Niran smiled, tried to say hi, and ended up coughing loudly and painfully into his hand.

“Are you OK?” The young man with the smooth tanned complexion had appeared at his elbow, a concerned frown marring the smooth skin between blond eyebrows.

“Fine,” Niran croaked, “thanks.” He sipped his iced water and swallowed painfully. “Jeez, I sound like I smoke three packs a day.”

“Do you smoke?” The impertinence of the question and derisory tone were lost on Niran as he recovered from trying to swallow, breathe, and speak at the same time, all with a fresh throat tattoo.

“No,” he coughed, and felt oddly better. “Some tats hurt way worse than others.” Niran recovered himself enough to stand up straight, and was almost surprised he and his new companion were of equal height. The blond man’s shoulders weren’t quite as wide, and he wasn’t as beefy, but Niran wouldn’t put it past him to still bench press two hundred pounds. “Hi,” He offered his hand to the clean looking young man, “I’m Niran.”

“Rudy Jacobs.” The hand that clasped Niran’s was strong, but not smooth. Rudy obviously worked hard for a living. “Do you come here a lot? I’ve never been before.”

“We practically live here after hours,” Niran grinned, “The shop is just round the corner.”

“The shop?”

“Smith Street Engines, our garage. What do you do?”

“I sell John Deere tractors.” Rudy spoke softly, like he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or not.

“In Austin?” Niran queried.

“No. I live in Taylor.”

“Seriously?” the heavily tattooed man raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t it… tiny?”

“It could be worse. I had to make a delivery out in Thrall the other week. That’s nothing but ten streets and a school.” Rudy shuffled his feet nervously. “You’re a mechanic. That’s cool.”

“Thanks. I mean, I think so. Mostly I do classics and muscles cars.” Niran sipped his water and decided he needed to put the bar’s visitor at ease. “If it’s your first time here, why don’t you come join us?” he jerked his head towards his circle of friends, “I’ll introduce you to some people.”

Rudy, the clean, blond, blue eyed tractor salesman from out of town chewed the side of his lip, then moved his hand across the bar and held onto Niran’s tattooed knuckles. Niran watched e, n, c and e vanish from view.

“I would,” Rudy said with a grin, “but I kinda like standing here talking to you.”

Niran blushed. If any of the guys from the shop had seen, they would have ribbed him about it for weeks, and never before had Niran been so pleased with their absence. He hadn’t gotten, and didn’t intend to wear, tattoos on his face, and Rudy’s smirk let him know the other man had noticed the way his skin had flushed pink. As their hips touched, it confirmed Rudy liked what he saw.

“So tell me about your cars,” Rudy went back to smiling in an innocent adorable way, and Niran had the sinking feeling he was falling hard and fast for the boy who could clearly play him like a well-tuned engine. “I’m assuming you’re not someone who services the average Japanese import?”

“My first car was this beaten up practically dead-in-the-field Dodge Dart my grandfather helped me get running. I drove it around for probably two years with pieces falling off all the time. I literally used to stick it back together with duct tape.”

“What happened after two years?”

Niran smiled at the boy who seemed to show a genuine interest in his passion. Gear heads tended not to move in the same romantic circles as him, and it was nice to feel someone cared.

It helps that he’s totally checking you out at the same time though, his inner voice smirked.

“I got an apprenticeship at a big mechanic shop in Houston, and I had some money saved up. I spent every hour after the garage closed doing it up until the damn thing was as new and shiny as the day it’d rolled off the factory floor.” Niran sighed wistfully. “I loved that car.”

“Did you sell it?”

“Nope. Had it finished for about a week when it got ploughed into by some drunk redneck in an HGV.” It had been one of those freak accidents which had made city wide news at the time. Niran had walked away with only minor bruising, a touch of whiplash and a graze on one elbow, but the car had been completely totaled. It had been the last time Niran had cried in public. “I had insurance, but it’s not the same. I never even got to take it to a rally or a display and show it off.” Niran tried to shrug it off, like it was natural to still be a bit upset about a car over a decade later. “So what do you drive?”

“Um...” Rudy looked guilty. “A Chevy pick-up. An old one.”

“Now didn’t I just say there was nothing wrong with a beat up car?” Niran drained the rest of his drink and smiled at his new friend. “Another?”

“I can’t. I gotta drive.”

Niran grabbed Rudy’s wrist and worked down to his hand, lacing his fingers with the boy’s own. His skin was so smooth, fresh and clean. Niran knew already he wanted to see more of it, and that he wanted to talk to Rudy. The two things coincided rarely enough in someone Niran fancied to make him bold.

“Can I see you again?”

“Well sure,” Rudy’s voice dropped an octave and took on a suggestible tone, “I’m gonna have to see what’s under that bandage, aren’t I?”

*

Niran groaned as he woke, and fumbled around in order to still the incessant beeping of Rudy’s alarm. Eventually he threw it onto the rug in frustration, even though he knew it would lead to Rudy’s eventual departure from the bed. As soon as Rudy shuffled the covers and made to get up, Niran wrapped both arms around his naked hips.

“No.”

“Babe...”

“Don’t.”

“Sweetie...” Rudy ruffled his hair, and Niran felt like a sulky child or recalcitrant puppy. “I have to go to work.”

“Call in sick.” Niran’s voice was muffled as he tried simultaneously to burrow himself into the duvet, the mattress, and his boyfriend. “They don’t need you like I need you.”

“True, but they need me nonetheless.” Rudy managed to extract himself from the bed, and turned to look down at his prone lover. “You know I gotta go.” Niran sighed. He hated having to start his day super early because Rudy had to leave. “You don’t have to get up though. Just stay there.” Niran felt the covers raised off him for a moment as his boyfriend visually appreciated his naked form. “Good god I’mma lucky guy. You stay right there.”

Niran was only too happy to sink back into a fuzzy sleepy state, only vaguely aware of the nagging feeling which meant he was going to have to get up soon. What seemed like only moments later, Rudy was back.

“Here, take this.” Something hard was dropped into Niran’s waiting hand. “I had it cut for you last week. Stay as long as you like.”

Niran felt the object in his hand.

“You’re giving me your house key? Babe...” Niran made to sit up, so he could thank his boyfriend properly, but found Rudy’s hand on his sternum, pushing him back into the sheets.

“If you get up now, it defeats the purpose of leaving a super-hot guy in my bed.”

“Oh.”

“One, who I might add, is incredibly talented at that thing you did last night.” Rudy kissed him hard enough to bruise his lips. “See you tonight?”

“Hell yes.” Niran smiled, and watched his lover swish his hips as he walked out the door. The boy moved unfairly gracefully considering the obscene things Niran had done to him scant hours before hand. Once he’d heard the click of the front latch falling into place, Niran relaxed back into the bed, and allowed himself fall asleep for several hours.

It was his day off. Niran allowed himself to laze around in Rudy’s bed for a while before he finally got up, had a short hot shower, and changed the sheets before getting dressed and making the bed up with fresh linen. Tattooed or not, Niran’s mother had brought him up to be polite and respectful, and she would have been proud, without wanting to know the specific details, that he’d made his boyfriend’s bed and tidied up around the house as he’d moved through it. Niran had never pretended to be able to cook, and he found half a lost box of Pop Tarts in the back of Rudy’s cupboard. Holding one in his teeth and the other one between two very warm and careful fingers he let himself out of the house, locked up with his brand new key and turned to look at his car sitting gleaming in the driveway. Only once he’d crunched through his jam-pastry-frosting combination breakfast did he realize his other keys were still sittng on the worktop next to Rudy’s. With a growl, he fumbled for Rudy’s house key - his key as it now was – and was disturbed by something in his peripheral vision.

“What are you doing?” One of Rudy’s neighbours was standing in his front yard looking at Niran like he wasn’t fit to scrape mud off his boots.

Niran frowned.

“Getting my keys?” Niran couldn’t help but make it into a question. What business is it of yours? It would be too rude to glare and just stalk off, but that didn’t mean Niran didn’t want to.

“You should get out of here.”

“What?”

“I’mma call the police,” the guy crossed his arms over his plaid shirt, trying to look tough. It was hard because he was shorter and lankier than Niran, and the tattooed man’s bicep swelled against his shirt as he flexed his arm and opened the front door. “You’re breaking into my neighbor’s house.”

“Seriously?” Niran found the frayed end of his politeness and tried to hold on with both hands. “Did you not just watch me use my key?”

The other guy glared at him.

"You must’ve stole it,” he barked gruffly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Niran threw up his hands in despair, and walked back in to get his car keys. They were right on the surface where he’d left them. Unfortunately when he turned back to the open doorway, the neighbour wasn’t exactly where Niran had left him. He stood the front porch and his derision for Niran was clear as the distance closed between them. “Could you move?” Niran no longer had the courtesy left to add ‘please’.

The man in the plaid shirt, jeans and work boots spat at him. His aim was poor, and he was short. Niran wrinkled his nose in disgust and pulled his shirt off over his head.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The mechanic shouldered the other man out of the way, turned, and re-locked Rudy’s front door. “This is ridiculous. I know you’ve seen me around before. Piss off outta here.”

“You ain’t welcome here.”

“It’s my boyfriend’s house. I’m pretty sure it isn’t your choice to make.”

“Well we don’t want your type hangin’ around our neighborhood. You filthy degenerate.”

Niran stilled, and his hand curled automatically into a tight fist. Trying to resist grinding his teeth, he turned back to the ignorant prick Rudy just happened to live next door to.

“What did you say?”

“Just look at yourself. It’s disgusting. We don’t want people like you round here; dirty jobless free-loading scum coming into our neighbourhoods, drinking and selling drugs and Lord knows what else. I’d better not see you again.”

Niran looked down past his decorated torso to his knuckles. Patience, he read, and told himself in a smooth voice. Patience. It was why he’d had the work done in the first place. Niran had been all too fond of picking fights in his teenage days, and he didn’t want to become the kind of man who regularly beat people up in back alleys and parking lots. After several long breaths he smiled sweetly, wrapped one strong arm around Rudy’s neighbour, knowing the man was just itching to get away from him, and pointed to where his Mustang sat gleaming on the kerbside.

“See that car? It’s my car. It comes with a seventy-five thousand collar price tag.” He let this sink in a bit. “Now the day you can come and take her off my hands in cash, I’ll let you get away with talking shit about me.” He let the man go and bounced down the porch steps as though he didn’t have a care in the world. When he reached the Mustang he turned back, still smiling. “And yeah, you’d better not see me again, ‘cause the next time I see you, you’re gonna lose some teeth. You have a great day now.”

Feeling every inch the smug bastard, Niran got into his car and drove away.

*

“What on earth have you done?” Niran’s mother had glared at him the day he’d arrived back from Houston after nearly a year away. He’d known her reaction was coming, it was inevitable as the change in seasons, and he’d decided it was better gotten over and done. He didn’t need to ask to what she was referring. “Niran!?”

“Well, I was mowing the yard,” he knew he would pay for his facetiousness later, “and it got hot.”

His mother scooped up his fallen shirt from the lower steps of the porch and strode across the lawn in order to push it at him.

“Cover yourself up! What will the neighbours think?”

Niran stretched as he tucked his shirt into his belt loop and rolled his shoulders. He had already lived with his ink for months, the dark Celtic knot-work spread across his chest, curving around the shape of his muscles, winding over one shoulder to decorate the blade on that side with a wing made up almost entirely of frenetically detailed negative space. It was his first major piece, and Niran adored every inch of it.

“Ma, I’m not gonna wear a shirt every time I work in the yard.”

“But-!”

“But nothin’ Ma. I ain’t hurting anyone: it’s my body. Now are you going to stand there gawping or can I finish the gardening in peace?”

Even though he hadn’t figured he’d won the argument, Niran watched his mother walk back into the house. She’d been raised too well to row in public, but Niran made sure he still wore a shirt when he went in to get iced tea.

That evening he was greeted with hugs and raised eyebrows from his old friends.

“Duuuude...”

“Man you’ve got some stones on you there.”

“No more rooftop suntans for you, eh Niran?” he received a one armed hug and slap on the back combo from his oldest friend, and Niran forced himself to smile at Keith.

“Word gets around, huh?”

“You’re a crazy man Niran.” Keith offered him a beer with one hand. “Did it hurt?”

“Well sure.”

“Why on earth did you have it done? I mean, don’t you wanna get like a proper job ever?”

Keith’s girlfriend poked him in the ribs and tried to apologize for his rudeness, but Niran decided in one sip that he couldn’t let the comment slide.

“What did you say to me?” Niran growled.

“Ah, c’mon man. You know you’re gonna regret that sooner rather than later. I mean, as though it wasn’t gonna be hard enough for you to find a nice guy to settle down with. They’ll all run a mile when they see you looking like that. I mean, who do you think you are, some kind of tough guy?”

Niran took a deep breath, clenched his fist, and punched his oldest friend square in the center of his face. The crunch of cartilage was strangely pleasing, but seconds later both of them were covered in blood. Keith’s girlfriend was screaming and swearing, which would have made their mothers blanch. Blood shot forth in every direction. Niran didn’t need to be thrown out of the bar, he was already leaving.

Every time he’d come home after that, he’d had new ink somewhere, or a piece halfway through completion, and with every single tattoo had come judgement and suspicion, until Niran had stopped going home altogether.

*

Niran practically skipped up the stairs to his apartment, loaded down with the spoils of his afternoon’s shopping. He knew Rudy would have already gotten off work, and it took him just over half an hour to drive to Niran’s place. Niran wanted everything to be ready for his boyfriend. He stowed the take-out in the oven and turned it on low, which to him was practically a culinary feat in itself, then rushed around the apartment tidying things away, throwing clothes into the hamper and filling an old glass water jug before arranging the flowers. Even people who knew him were always surprised that Niran loved flowers, and adored the surprise on his boyfriends face when the door was opened to reveal him holding a selection of calla lilies and roses in one hand.

“Hey babe.” Niran was rewarded for his efforts by Rudy’s rather girlish squeal and the decidedly x-rated kiss which followed. Rudy hardly managed to get the door shut before they were both shedding clothes and inhibitions. Niran left the flowers on the table, but the rest of his careful tidying went to waste as they dumped shoes, boots, shirts, and jeans wherever they happened to be. Afterwards it took a long while for Niran to remember what he’d wanted to say.

“Thank you.”

“For that?” Rudy arched an eyebrow, “Sweetie, you ain’t gotta thank me for that. I love doin’ it to you.”

Niran tickled his lover mercilessly.

“Thank you for your house key,” he rolled onto hands and knees and kissed Rudy firmly on the lips. “C’mon, food’s been ready for an hour.”

They ate naked on the sofa, and neither bothered much with cutlery, picking the slow barbecued beef apart with their fingers, tearing bread off in hunks to dip in the sauce, and trading sticky kisses as Rudy chatted about his day.

“That girl came back in, you know the one I told you about who competes in rodeo? With the English boyfriend?”

Niran vaguely remembered the conversation; he’d been thinking quite a lot about the shape of Rudy’s lips at the time.

“Turns out he’s gonna stay and work on the ranch, and set up his own business too. I talked them into buying a top of the line eighty-four-hundred tractor with, like, all the attachments. She spent nearly half a million dollars.”

“That’s insane!” Niran’s shock delayed his smile, but only by a second. “Well done babe. That’s awesome.”

“I got good commission,” Rudy looked justifiably pleased with himself. “I’m gonna take you out to some fancy place for dinner real soon.”

“That so?” Niran arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Somewhere with two knives and two forks. Each.”

“You mean we’ll have to be dressed?” Niran glanced down at his own naked self before eyeing up his lover in an obvious and appreciative manner which made Rudy blush.

“You cannot want to go again? You’re insatiable.” Rudy threw a cushion at him with a smile. “Well you’ll just have to wait. Next episode of Inkmaster is on.”

They shuffled around the sofa and Niran tidied up the empty take out boxes before Rudy ended up sitting almost in his lap and lying back against his chest. Rudy traced over the shapes at the leading edge of of Niran’s Polynesian tribal chest piece, then turned to the screen as Dave Navarro began to introduce the day’s challenges. Niran kissed his lover’s clean tan shoulder.

“You should get inked. You’ve got great skin for it.”

Rudy pulled Niran’s koi sleeved arm across his chest and kissed the fish’s whiskered nose.

“I prefer admiring yours. Anyway, I kinda like how different we are,” he paused pensively, “that’s not bad is it?”

“No babe.” Niran hugged his boyfriend harder. “I like having you here.”

“You do like coming to mine though, right?” On screen, flash-challenge outcomes were revealed and they both lost the thread of the conversation by joining the judges in their critique. It wasn’t until the artists were back to bitching at each other in the loft that Rudy elbowed Niran gently in his highly decorated ribs. “Babe?”

“Hmm? Of course I like coming to yours. You have that super massive bed.”

“I’m being serious!” Rudy twisted around in Niran’s lap so they ended up face to face. Niran wanted to purr with pleasure, but the frown between Rudy’s eyebrows shut him down. “I want to meet your parents.”

“What?”

“I wanna meet your parents,” Rudy repeated. “We’ve been together nearly a year, I gave you my house key...” Rudy sighed, “I’d invite you to come meet my parents but...”

“It’s a slightly bigger problem when they live several thousand miles away.”

“And they don’t speak to me because I’m gay. Y’know...”

Niran bit his lip for saying something so stupid and hugged Rudy hard against his chest.

“I’m sorry babe. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot Ni. You just forgot how lucky you are to have parents who still want to know you.” He smiled, and Niran knew he couldn’t turn down his boyfriend’s request. He couldn’t say ‘no’ to Rudy if his life depended on it. “So, can I meet them?”

“Sure.”

Niran tried to engage with the tattoo challenges happening on television, but in his head he was busy wondering if his mom would recognize the tattooed man who would show up on her porch, claiming to be her son.

*

The day had dawned blisteringly hot, and despite only being clad in cargo shorts and an orange and blue tank-top, Niran was grateful for the blast of chilly air-conditioning as he stepped into the bank. It was a modern structure, but with enough smooth cold stone and dark wood to still look imposing. Niran let the slick looking receptionist know he was there, and took a seat on a long low leather couch. He balanced the folder of receipts and check stubs on the toe of one shoe, swayed his foot back and forth for a moment, trying to keep it there. He failed, and as Niran scooped up his folder again he realized he was being watched.

His neighbour on the sofa wrinkled his nose in disapproval, but Niran smiled pleasantly.

“Mornin’”

“Good morning,” came the rather terse reply.

In a moment of silence, the girl from the reception desk strode by on her pointy shoes, and on the way back, paused by the sofa.

“It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes wait. Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Thank you ma’am.” Niran smiled to the girl. His mother had drummed into him from before he could remember that manners cost nothing. As he settled back into the hug of the sofa once more, he heard his neighbour mutter under his breath.

“Like anyone would ever give you a loan.”

Niran turned and looked hard at his companion. All the things he could have said rushed through his head, but bypassed his vocal chords. He felt his heart beat faster, his muscles tensed. Once upon a time you’d have pummeled him. Niran knew his inner voice was right. Even the other day you lashed a guy with your tongue over a comment like that.

The other man looked away, but when he glanced back, Niran was still staring at him with hard eyes. He wanted the guy to know, not just suspect, that he’d heard.

Understand I consider you the lowest form of moron, Niran willed the meaning of his words through his gaze alone, You judgmental shit. I don’t need a loan, I run a successful business.

Niran let go of his anger. People who didn’t know him were always going to judge him for how he looked, but as his accountant came striding into view in his crisp suit with a ready smile. Niran’s heart slowed, he unclenched his fist, and stood to greet the man who made financial sense out of the host of paper Niran always brought with him.

“Welcome Mr Myers, so nice to see you again. Shall we?”

Niran gave the small-minded man on the sofa a disarming smile, and followed his accountant further into the building.

*

Niran counted his breaths while the phone rang.

“Hey ma.”

“Niran! It’s been a while since you called. We were all starting to wonder if something had happened to you.”

“Ma...” Niran rolled his eyes, even though he knew his mom couldn’t see him, “I called last week.”

“On Monday, and it’s Friday today.”

“Sorry ma.”

“So, what’s new with my boy?” Niran could hear the sounds of chopping. He could well imagine his mother in the kitchen, peeling potatoes or chopping onions, or slicing peaches to make pie, lemonade, or cobbler. His mother believed there was nothing better than to welcome people into her home with good food and smiles. Niran never told anybody, but one of the reasons he didn’t cook was because he knew he could never make food taste the way his mom did. Rudy’s cooking was the only exception.

“I upgraded the brake discs on the mustang and fitted a new exhaust system.” Niran knew it wasn’t really what his mother wanted to know about. “Are you cookin’ fried chicken tomorrow?”

“It’ll be a Saturday. Sure.”

Niran held his breath, waiting to see if his mom would invite him. He knew it was his job to make amends for not visiting in so long.

“Can you cook extra?”

Niran could hear her smile with his mom’s reply.

“We’ll lay an extra place for you sweetie.”

Niran’s chest swelled with pride.

“Lay two.”

*

The bell over the shop door chimed happily as Niran stepped into the tattoo studio. The familiar buzz of the machines and the soothing tones of Maren’s voice consulting with her client at the drawing table made Niran certain he was making the right decision. With all the tattoos he’d collected, he’d never been tempted by anything in the vibrant, bubblegum, new school style. Until now.

Chris’s colleague Tyler was sitting at his station, apparently gazing off into the middle distance, daydreaming. The open bottle of water in his hand threatened to slip through his fingers. Niran announced his presence by kicking the back of his chair.

“Fuck!” Tyler spun and staggered as he stood. “Oh, hey dude.” He looked faintly confused. “You’re not actually here to see me are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Awww yeah!” Tyler looked like he wanted to punch the air and run around with his shirt over his head. “All my hard work finally paid off. Hey Chris! I finally convinced Niran to get a new school tattoo. You owe me twenty bucks!”

“Seriously?” Niran and Chris spoke at the same time. Niran watched one of his favourite tattooists get up from his bench and hand over a crisp folded note.

“You’d better keep our boy here lookin’ good.”

Niran took the seat Tyler gestured to and watched him tuck his winnings away.

“So what are we doing for you dude? Please tell me I get a nice big bit of skin to play with?”

“Sorry.” Niran shrugged, “I’m gonna be one of those walk-ins you hate. I want a key on my foot.”

“Dude, you want a sticker?” Tyler raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Really? With all the beautiful work you’ve got?”

Niran nodded.

“And I can’t talk you into a bigger piece? You’ve got a whole blank shin and calf there bud.”

“Sorry Tyler.”

“It’s cool man. You know what, I’mma still make this look frickin’ awesome.” Tyler grinned to himself. “It’s gonna pop!”

“Oh,” Niran dug around in his pocket, and tossed Rudy’s house key at Tyler. “There’s your reference.”

Tyler was as good as his word, and he didn’t bother with a stencil, just got Niran to sit on the bench, cleaned the top of his right foot, and holding the key in one hand started drawing the design out straight onto Niran’s skin. It didn’t take him long, and by the time we was using a dark blue fine tipped pen to outline a final outline, Niran was totally in love with the design which appeared to be popping out of his foot. He relaxed back against the bench as Tyler set up his ink and fitted out his machines. He’d had enough tattoos, more than enough, to expect the pain, and Tyler worked quickly and efficiently with his liner. As he wiped down the skin he sat back and began to mix some colors for the body of the key.

“You have a particular color you want for this ribbon here?”

Niran thought of Rudy in his uniform, grinning in the sun, and sitting astride a demonstration tractor.

“Green and yellow all the way.”

“Nice! Let’s do that. Shading time!”

Tyler was a professional, so he was fast, but he laid down all the colours nice and smoothly and even with the skin red and traumatized, Niran could tell the tattoo was beautifully saturated. Tyler washed him down and wrapped him up.

“You wanna stick around until the end of the day and come for a beer?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t. I gotta go tell a boy I love him.”

Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Chris was right, you might look like a hard-nut but you’re a soppy bastard.

“You got me!” Niran grinned and bumped knuckles with the hand Tyler offered him before jogging out the door.

Niran knew he would be drawing stares right and left as he walked towards his car. He was more ink than skin. He was certain his mother would tut and mutter and refuse to comment. He could feel the prying eyes of people who were curious, and the fury of those who hated him for things he didn’t even know about. People were always going to think things about him for the way he looked, and whilst there would be fewer nice thoughts for him than there were about the car he drove, Niran decided for now, and hopefully forever, he didn’t care.

As he drove towards Rudy’s, imagining the man he loved grinning in the parking lot of the John Deere dealership, he knew his boyfriend was right. It was nobody else’s business what they did, or what Niran looked like, because Rudy was the only one who looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. Niran knew he had a decent drive ahead of him, and he planned to spend the whole of it thinking about the awesome kiss he was going to give Rudy the moment he saw him.

The sun was up, the afternoon was long, and it was a good day for kisses.