Tattooed Love

Fillin’ Chet-3

Chet took the plunge and called Scott a few days after they met, and they went to a midnight movie playing at the Byrd in Carytown. They sat in the back of the theater where no one could see them and, at some point, Chet stopped paying attention to the film and began to realize Scott’s hand rested high on his leg. He covered it with his own, pulling it toward him. Scott took the invitation and reached across the armrest to cup the crotch of Chet’s khakis.

At the touch, his c**k went from mild arousal to full-blown hard-on. He stared at the screen ahead, no longer comprehending the images flickering across it, and held his breath as Scott slowly unzipped his pants. Yes, he prayed, yes, yes. Fingers fumbled into his open fly, digging into his underwear, to encircle his stiffening erection.

Yes.

Then he was out in Scott’s palm, the cool air of the darkened theater and the thrill of excitement at what they were doing fanning the flames of lust igniting his veins. He gasped as Scott began to massage his d**k, and let himself slide down into the seat a little, his legs spreading farther apart. How things had managed to move so fast between them, Chet didn’t know, but he didn’t dare question it. This was exactly what he’d hoped to get from the evening.

The movie played on. At some point, Scott leaned over into Chet’s lap and kissed the weeping tip of his c**k. The tattoo artist then opened wide and took Chet’s length into his mouth. Chet felt a ball piercing in the middle of Scott’s tongue as it tickled down the slit in his d**k. With one knuckle between his teeth to keep quiet, Chet thrust up into Scott, losing himself in the sensations, the emotions, the moment, the man. Later, when Scott kissed him goodnight, Chet swore he could still taste himself on Scott’s lips.

And that had just been the beginning.

Chet kept odd hours—he went to school during the week, held down the museum job between classes, and spent his weekends copyediting for the newspaper. Scott ran his booth at Tattoo 804 six days a week from noon to eight, taking a break on Thursdays when he got paid. Things moved fast between them—less than a week after they met, they were having s*x in the back seat of Chet’s Lexus. It was much roomier than Scott’s VW Beetle, to be sure. He wasn’t quite ready to invite the guy back to his apartment yet, and maybe that was part of the reason why Scott never brought Chet back to the place he called home.

They didn’t need to, Chet reasoned. The car worked well down darkened side streets or in abandoned parking lots. A few times, he’d snuck Scott into the employee restroom at the museum for a quick fix, and there was a supply room in the back of the tattoo parlor that locked from the inside. Whenever one of them wanted to get off, he texted the other. Want 2 hook up?

Every time Chet saw the text on his cell phone, his c**k began to swell.

He didn’t want more, he told himself. He didn’t need more. Scott didn’t seem interested in taking things further, and Chet was sure as hell not going to be the one to suggest it.

* * * *

Three months later, Chet still wouldn’t necessarily call what they did dating. If he had to put a name to it, he’d call them f**k buddies. Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that he felt something more for Scott. After all, he let the guy talk him into getting a tattoo.

He felt rebellious doing it, more nervous than scared, and almost chickened out twice as he flipped through the racks of flash designs looking for the right one. Finally he told Scott, “Nothing really stands out to me. You decide.”

“Where do you want it?” Scott asked.

It was late evening—Chet had stopped by after class but the tattoo parlor was still open for another hour, so if he wanted to get off, he had to wait for Scott first. As much as Chet would’ve loved to get a tattoo somewhere obvious, like the crook of his elbow or the inside of his wrist, he didn’t have enough courage to so blatantly disobey his parents. “Maybe on my back,” he suggested. “Like partway down the middle where no one can see it unless I show them? What do you think? Will that hurt?”

“s**t,” Scott drawled with a laugh. “It’s going to hurt no matter where you put it.”

Chet winced. “How much?”

“Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle.” Scott gave him a seductive wink that sent shivers down Chet’s spine. “We’ll take it in stages, how’s that sound? Just do the outline tonight, and get you back in here for the fill later.”

The parlor was mostly empty, but Chet still stepped closer to Scott and lowered his voice to tease, “I thought I was here to get filled in the first place. If somebody would just get off already…”

Scott grinned. “What? You don’t want me to wait for you?”