“It's not that.” Michael pulled away. “I just… Sometimes I don't like the memory of getting it.”
“Really. Did it hurt that bad?” Tristan slid up Michael's body.
“It hurt, but…I got it because someone wanted to mark me, and it just isn't the best memory,” he sighed, running a hand over Tristan's hair. “Such beautiful hair.”
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Michael,” Tristan growled. “There's a story behind that tattoo, and I want to hear it. Please?” Tristan kissed Michael, catching his lower lip between his teeth and teasing him with his eyes. “Come on, baby, tell me.” He smiled.
“I'm still not sure what the story is. I was going out with Ron when I was young, younger than you.” He preempted Tristan's outraged snort. “I was legal, only…just barely.”
“Hm. I'll bet you were just a baby.”
“Well, yeah, I guess. In terms of relationships? Yeah.” He tried to think back to what he felt, the confusion, the fear, and also the love. “I thought I loved him. He was good to my mom and me. He'd been a friend for a long time.”
“At least he waited. He did wait, didn't he? Till you were of age?”
“Yeah. He never made a move till I was old enough…but maybe I just wasn't.” He bit his lip, thinking hard. “Anyway, he wanted the ink to symbolize ownership, I guess. Ron is into BDSM and Master/slave relationships. He liked doing scenes. He could make it seem so exciting. He liked things rough and kinky, but he never got it about me. I didn't want to be hurt. I didn't want to be degraded. I took it all so seriously. I didn't mind being controlled; I just didn't want the pain. I still don't see how that could be a game.” He lifted his ankle and turned it, looking at the simple tribal design around it. “It confused him as much as it confused me, and to this day, I think he wonders what happened.”
“That's sad,” said Tristan. “His loss, Michael. You know I get it, right?”
“What do you get?” Michael wrapped his arms around Tristan and kissed his temple.
“Well, it's about safety, isn't it? I don't think you'd want to be really
controlled
by someone. You just need a safe place to
give up
control for a while. Maybe with someone you trust who won't hurt you. That's not a Master/slave thing, that's just…what lovers do. Right?”
“Oh, Sparky,” said Michael softly. “You have a very special heart, do you know that?”
Tristan responded by licking a long line up his jaw and kissing him sweetly. “Just common sense,” he mumbled into Michael's lips.
“Not common at all, love,” said Michael. “Hey!” He sat up suddenly.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he said, getting off the futon with enough energy to make Tristan fall back in a heap.
“Where?” Tristan pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I thought we were going to spend the day in bed?”
“No, I have to do something first, come on.” Michael was already walking back to the bedroom to dress.
“Oh, hey, well…all right.” Tristan fumbled off of the floor and looked for his duffel. “Let me get dressed.”
In minutes, Michael came from his bedroom dressed casually, with his hair combed and smiling a minty fresh smile. “Ready?”
Tristan was hopping into his drawstring pants. “Uh, no, I gotta brush my teeth and comb my hair.” He headed for the bathroom, muttering, “Like some damned morning person when you wake up.”
“Come on. We've got to go see Meghan.”
“Who's Meghan?” asked Tristan as he finished up in the bathroom and followed Michael to his truck. “Does this Meghan come with coffee?” He got into the passenger seat as Michael was already firing up the engine.
“Of course. Maybe even food. We'll see.” The truck was moving before Tristan had even settled back against the seat.
They pulled into a parking lot in the downtown area of Fullerton, behind some of the newer, trendier restaurants, and got out of the truck. Michael seemed to know where he was going, and Tristan followed along, certain that coffee would be forthcoming eventually. They walked along Harbor Boulevard a ways until Michael led him into a boutique-looking place called “I.N.KD.”
“Hey,” said Tristan, looking around at all the pictures on the walls of people showing off body art. “Michael?” He looked around at the mostly empty place. Apparently people didn't get tattoos much the day after Thanksgiving.
A man came out from behind a curtain in back, and as soon as he saw Michael, he smiled and walked faster. “Officer Mikey!” he cried as he took Michael's hand and clapped him on the back. “What can I do for you today?”
“Sparky, this is Jim; he owns this place.” Michael returned the handshake and gave Jim a hug.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Tristan.
“Likewise,” said Jim. “You're here in your civilian clothes, what's up?”
“Is Meghan here?” asked Michael, looking around. “I need her to touch me up.”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, she's getting coffee. You thinking of getting inked again?”
“I just want to change my band a little,” said Michael.
They stood there in silence, Tristan looking at the design boards on the wall.
“See anything you like, Sparky?” said Jim.
Tristan looked at Michael then, his cheeks pinking up. “Oh, yeah,” he smiled shyly.
Jim barked a laugh. “You're trouble.”
“You got that right,” said Michael, smiling.
The door chimed, and a woman came in carrying two coffees. Tristan thought she looked like a younger, darker version of Michael's mother. They both had an otherworldly vibe that, in Emma, took the form of mismatched bohemian clothing and layers of jangling jewelry. On Meghan, it manifested itself in ink. All over her body, from her head to her toes, she had tattoos.
“Meghan, you have a visitor,” Jim said, taking his coffee and returning behind the curtain.
“Michael!” she said, coming over to give Michael an extraordinary, full-body hug. “Hi, baby.” She stepped back and put her coffee to her lips, taking a sip, cursing softly when it burned her.
“Hi, Meghan, I need my band touched up,” Michael said, smiling.
“Something fading?” she asked, looking down at his ankle, which was bare.
“No,” he said, in such an odd way that Tristan looked up to see what was on his face. “It's not that. I just want to put something over it.”
“You mean change the whole design?” she asked.
“No, just add a name. I want you to put a name over it and make it part of the design. Can you do that?” asked Michael.
“Sure,” she said. “Let's do it.” She looked Tristan over, giving him a dimpled smile that said she was curious, but not going to ask.
“Good, do you have time now?” Michael asked.
“Sure.” She motioned him to a table. While they worked out what he wanted, Tristan looked over the various types of tattoos and piercings available. It was true he had a tongue piercing, but he'd never cared much for the other kinds. He thought of his tongue as a kind of secret weapon now, knowing how Michael responded to being teased by it, and he got an erotic thrill every time he used it to pleasure him. He'd thought about tattoos, though, and especially after seeing Michael's, he'd considered getting one like it. Tristan didn't want it to be something that reminded Michael of his time with Ron though, and he wondered what Michael was going to do to his tattoo, now that he was here.
“Sparky?” said Michael, pulling his wallet out. “Do you mind going to the bakery around the corner on Commonwealth and getting us some coffee and something to eat?”
“No, of course not. I'll go.” Tristan collected the cash and gave Michael a squeeze on the shoulder. “Do you want anything in particular?”
“Amuse yourself,” said Michael, smiling. “This might take a while.”
“Okay,” said Tristan, leaving the small shop. He walked down the busy street, looking in the windows, painted now with snowmen and wreaths and all kinds of holiday designs.
Tristan had been on this street a thousand times, but everything seemed new this day and a little too shiny. He'd been screwed so completely he could still feel it. His legs rang with little shocks as he put one foot in front of the other, and the light of day seemed overly bright. The traffic moved a little too fast for him. He found things he normally took for granted confusing, as every cell in his body vibrated with an electric sexual energy that he was afraid spilled out of him and bled into the street. He found it frightening to take in the whole of his life at once and had the absurd urge to run back…to reconnect with Michael…to touch him as though he were the only true and safe thing in the world.
Someone was trying to get his attention. “Hey, did you want something?” asked the girl behind the bakery counter.
“Hm, what?” Tristan said, startled out of his thoughts. “Yes, oh. Yes, I'd like two large coffees and some of the cheese Danish, please. And two cinnamon rolls.” He paid as if on autopilot and gathered his coffees and the bag of pastries. The idea of going back into that boutique where Michael was having jets of ink drilled into his skin didn't appeal, but he squared his shoulders and started back, because strangely, he was beginning to panic. Something about even the air crackling around him seemed foreign and different and fundamentally changed as he made his way back to I.N.KD.
If his breathing remained deep and even, Tristan found he could keep calm, even in the face of the disorientation. Michael was safety. Michael was equilibrium. Michael was home. He focused on Michael as he walked back into I.N.KD and saw the man getting work done on his ankle. Tristan sat beside him, and something on his face must have given away his unease, because Michael looked at him with concern.
“Something wrong?” he asked. He watched as Tristan put sugar and creamer in both coffees, adding quite a lot more to the one he handed over with a smile.
“No,” said Tristan. “Well, I was feeling…different. Like I've seen everything before, but it felt more vivid today. I don't know.” He looked around the small shop and spoke softly in Michael's ear. “I just felt like I had to get back to you or nothing would make sense anymore.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Stupid, huh?”