The artist is moving, slow and methodical, rolling his shoulders, and Natsume watches like he's in a trance as the muscles in the older man's neck ripple, bringing his intricate, hypnotic tattoo to life. It shivers, moves, something dangerous and forbidden, a creature from a world that nice boys have no idea exists. Natsume should look away, should avert his eyes, should stop his mind immediately from going to all manner of delicious, wicked places.
He doesn't. He watches the artist lift the needle he's holding, dark ink bright at the tip, watches his dark eyes travel up and down Natsume so intently that it's like a physical touch. The teenager's mouth is completely dry, and he knows he's blushing to the tips of his ears, but he can't stop staring. He's never seen someone move like that, unhurried and absolutely calm, but undeniably powerful. It's nothing like the overeager, performance behavior of every other boy he knows -- including Nishimura, who's settling into a seat nearby, moaning about how nervous he is.
Natsume isn't listening. The artist is asking him a question -- that question, and he's answering it unconsciously in the way his breath catches and his eyes flicker away for a moment.] E-Excuse me? [He manages finally, unable to keep from staring for more than a moment.] That's -- a very p-personal question, sir.
[The last word slips out without Natsume being really aware of it, and embarrassment makes his toes curl inside his shoes, even as he imagines saying it again -- yes sir, no sir, oh god please sir--]
Choso wonders idly if it's the first time anyone has looked at him like that before. His brothers insisted girls looked at him all the time like that, but he had never really noticed.
This time he notices. It's impossible not to. The way color fills his cheeks and up to his ears. Choso slides his tongue out briefly, a glimmer of silver at the tip, and then it's back inside of his mouth where it belongs. The stammering and the response has Choso grinning in earnest, offering a soft, breathy laugh himself to counter the laugh Natsume had given him earlier. His eyes travel down to the piece he was working on and he wipes off some excess blood with a paper towel.)
I meant for getting a piercing.
(His mouth quirks up even further at the corner and he spares Natsume another look, his eyes glimmering with restrained laughter.
Sir.
So polite. He was so polite in such a place that never cared for manners of any kind and it was so, so sweet. This kid didn't belong here in the slightest. Another once-over and he drags his eyes reluctantly back to the guy he was working on.)
If you wait a while after your friend there gets popped, I can do you after.
(Choso, stop being so cheeky with how you're wording all of this!)
[Honestly, Natsume isn’t sure himself if he's ever looked at anyone like this. He's had crushes before -- fleeting, soft things, gentle thrills of curiosity and warmth that fill his stomach with butterflies. He's thought about twining his fingers together with the nice boy in his class, daydreamed about hands cradling his face, lips pressed to his.
This is different. This is an immediate, magnetic draw, this floods Natsume's whole body with heat, prompts him to absently tongue at his lower lip in an echo of the artist's. He catches sight of that bit of silver in the man’s tongue, and the resulting thrill is enough to make his knees weak.
Silly. Stupid. This tattoo artist has no time for starry-eyed boys with forbidden daydreams. It's enough that he's even indulging Natsume in conversation. That'll be enough. He can think about that flash of silver later, alone, and let it be enough.
The explanation makes a sort of embarrassing sense, and Natsume nods, still red-faced.] Oh, I see. I-I didn't know it was called that. You -- might have a bit of a wait.
[This is said with a brief eyeroll towards Nishimura, who's now babbling about how earlobes are perfectly fine, to a snickering Kitamoto and an exasperated piercer.] Do you...also do the piercings? Not just the tattoos?
[Softer, earnestly:] You do beautiful work. The yokai almost looks alive.
(Choso wasn't sure if he had ever really had a proper crush before. He had noticed the occasional beautiful young man. He remembered being entranced by his choir teacher growing up. This boy had that same elegance, that same ethereal quality.
Maybe he had all of the time in the world for starry-eyed boys gripping a fake ID like it's his only lifeline.)
Sometimes we call it that. (He begins to tattoo again, methodical and careful, just finishing off the edges.) But for you, it seemed especially relevant.
(Another look, a wider grin, and then he's focused back on his tattoo.)
I mostly do tattoos, but I know how to do piercings as well.
(Annnd...There. He wipes the tattoo down again and proceeds to let the client check it out. Even though the client is happy, always a good thing, he somehow winds up caring more about the boy's approval. After a soft thank you to his client, he begins to wrap the tattoo with steady hands.)
Thank you. (For the compliment. The client pays Choso and heads out. Which brings Choso to his feet and, ah, yes. He towers over the boy too. Something else that has him smiling.)
I do appreciate beautiful things. (The "like you" goes without saying.)
[Logically, Natsume knows he's being teased, but it doesn't grate on his nerves or make him angry. If anything it feels -- nice. Like the artist is paying him genuine attention, not dismissing him like he might a little kid. There's a touch of flirting laced with the teasing, and Natsume glances up with soft, warm golden eyes as the man finishes his work.]
Oh? Why's that? [He knows why. He also knows this is silly, it can't possibly go anywhere. This man probably has countless starry-eyed people throwing themselves at him. What would a scrawny, nervous kid have to offer?
The movement of the cloth wiping the blood and excess ink draws Natsume's gaze back to the tattoo, and genuine awe fills his expression. He hadn't been exaggerating -- it was beautiful, bright and vivid and gorgeously detailed. He's almost sad to see it covered up.] Are you as good a piercer as you are an artist?
[And then the man is standing and Natsume is looking up and up, and he normally hates feeling delicate or small, but this is different. The artist has black gloves on, a softly curious expression, metal glinting in his brow and ears and tongue. Natsume unconsciously licks his lower lip again, tongue lingering there before he asks:] If you are, I don't think I'd be a bit nervous. Do you -- have a specialty? For piercings?
(When Natsume asks why, Choso can hardly keep his smile from widening. He looks up again at Natsume, his gaze warming, and he raises a brow.)
You know why.
(He did have quite a few star-struck clients, it is true, but Choso was actually painfully oblivious to most of them. It was rare that anyone ever caught his eye. Actually, he wasn't sure if anyone ever really had before the way this boy has.
Maybe it was some part of him wanting to keep this kid safe from the world around him. Maybe it was that blonde hair or those sharp, golden eyes. The way that he was so effortlessly expressive. He thinks his brother would find Natsume cute too.)
I like to think so. (There's a joke about penetration somewhere in there, but Choso, god bless his sweet soul, would never.)
A specialty? You mean a place I prefer piercing...or...?
[Natsume's subconscious, on the other hand, is raptly involved in creating every possible joke about penetration. It's silly -- he usually rolls his eyes when his friends make dirty jokes or exchange innuendo.
But then again, they aren't making suggestive comments about a quietly intense man who's all big hands and muscles and soft dark eyes. If they had been, Natsume would definitely have been more interested. He realizes that his breath is coming shuddery and quick, his heart throbbing in his throat, feeling the artist's eyes on him like a physical touch.
Natsume Takashi is the textbook definition of a good boy, but he'd get down on his knees right there and then if this man told him to.]
S-Sure. Your favorite. One you think looks the best. [Natsume knows he's too skinny, eyes too wide and oddly colored, movements too awkward to appeal. But maybe if he has something, something to keep, something this hypnotic stranger thought was beautiful...that would be enough.]
He snaps one black glove off after the other. Slips on fresh gloves. He steps up close to Natsume, staring levelly at him, and then reaches out to touch his hand against the side of Natsume's face. Rests his thumb against his cheek and tips Natsume's face up.
Then to the side.)
A simple earring would look flattering on you. Even just one.
(Fingers drifting loosely through Natsume's hair and then to his ear.
But then his fingers are on Natsume's chin, and he turns his face again, this time guiding him by his chin.)
An eyebrow piercing would be nice on your face too. I think the beauty of a piercing depends on the beauty of the person wearing them. You have a lot of beauty to work with. Even a piercing here...
(Thumb pressed against the side of Natsume's mouth, tugging down lightly at the side of his lip.
[Well, this is it. This is how Natsume dies, incinerated from the inside-out by the pure force of his own dirty thoughts. What a magnificent way to go.
He's barely aware they're in a tattoo parlor, that his friends are just across the room, carousing and chattering. The entire world has narrowed down to the big gloved hands on his face, gently prompting him to turn, so warm he can feel the heat of them through the thin latex. Normally Natsume is much twitchier and resistant to being touched, but this feels -- good.
It feels nice, the way the artist examines his face like it's one of his art pieces, gentle and firm and fearless. Natsume doesn't resist, let's the man look him over, feels a shivery curl of want coiling low in his stomach.] You're the expert, I suppose. I think...you could do anything you wanted to me and I'd like it.
[He definitely only means that in the context of piercings, right? Except that Natsume's still running his tongue over his bottom lip, and it brushes just slightly against the artist's fingertip. Wide, warm golden eyes flicker to meet dark ones, and Natsume swallows tightly, repeats:] Anything you want.
(This boy had more of a spine than he looked. His eyes glimmer with humor and something else, something deeper and warmer.
Anything you want.
Then that little tongue. Ah...Fuck.
Well, there is a reason he worked in a shady part of town. He withdraws his hand completely.)
In that case, maybe I will surprise you. Come along. Your friend will likely need to wait after his own piercing anyway.
(He looked like a fainter. Absolutely no offense. Choso turns away from Natsume then and leads him a short way down a hallway and into one of the private piercing rooms. It was completely black from ceiling to floor and despite the seedy location of the parlor, this specific space was kept clean and sterile. The moment they are alone, Choso is shutting the door behind them and his finger lightly pushes in the lock.
Just in case.)
Some people prefer privacy for their first time. (He's still being cheeky because he can, okay.)
[Natsume doesn't think before the first couple steps after the artist, though he does after the third or fourth -- about how this could get back to his current set of foster parents, how he could get in big trouble for even being here, much less for following a complete stranger down a dark hallway into a darker room. This is very stupid and risky and dangerous.
He leaves those thoughts behind after the fifth step, thinking of nothing but the lingering heat of the man's hand on his face, the look in his intent, dark eyes, the way that when he stands, he's easily a full foot taller than Natsume is. He thinks about everything he usually thinks about in the middle of the night, alone and unobserved and secret, and by the time the door closes and locks behind them, Natsume feels full of a strange, bright, vibrating kind of eagerness.
The comment gets a soft, slightly shaky laugh, and there's a brief glance around the room. It's clean, private, quiet, and there's a bench to sit on. For a moment Natsume wonders if maybe he's misinterpreted the entire innuendo-laden exchange, and that maybe he's back here just to get a piercing. It's strange that the thought is somehow just as exciting as the potential that he'd been right about the flirtation.]
I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name. [It's in that same sort of breathless, overly eager voice that Natsume can barely hear over the racing of his own heart. He should be calmer, cooler, more in control. He isn't, at all. To give himself something to do, he sits on the bench, hands in his lap, eyes wide and eager and bright.] Um, I'm -- Natsume. That's my name. If -- you're all right with me knowing your name, of course. [It's difficult to speak when every other word is almost can I please take your shirt off and see where your tattoos go?]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
/inhales this
Date: 2022-08-12 05:40 am (UTC)The artist is moving, slow and methodical, rolling his shoulders, and Natsume watches like he's in a trance as the muscles in the older man's neck ripple, bringing his intricate, hypnotic tattoo to life. It shivers, moves, something dangerous and forbidden, a creature from a world that nice boys have no idea exists. Natsume should look away, should avert his eyes, should stop his mind immediately from going to all manner of delicious, wicked places.
He doesn't. He watches the artist lift the needle he's holding, dark ink bright at the tip, watches his dark eyes travel up and down Natsume so intently that it's like a physical touch. The teenager's mouth is completely dry, and he knows he's blushing to the tips of his ears, but he can't stop staring. He's never seen someone move like that, unhurried and absolutely calm, but undeniably powerful. It's nothing like the overeager, performance behavior of every other boy he knows -- including Nishimura, who's settling into a seat nearby, moaning about how nervous he is.
Natsume isn't listening. The artist is asking him a question -- that question, and he's answering it unconsciously in the way his breath catches and his eyes flicker away for a moment.] E-Excuse me? [He manages finally, unable to keep from staring for more than a moment.] That's -- a very p-personal question, sir.
[The last word slips out without Natsume being really aware of it, and embarrassment makes his toes curl inside his shoes, even as he imagines saying it again -- yes sir, no sir, oh god please sir--]
the cockdrunk BLUSH
Date: 2022-08-12 06:02 am (UTC)Choso wonders idly if it's the first time anyone has looked at him like that before. His brothers insisted girls looked at him all the time like that, but he had never really noticed.
This time he notices. It's impossible not to. The way color fills his cheeks and up to his ears. Choso slides his tongue out briefly, a glimmer of silver at the tip, and then it's back inside of his mouth where it belongs. The stammering and the response has Choso grinning in earnest, offering a soft, breathy laugh himself to counter the laugh Natsume had given him earlier. His eyes travel down to the piece he was working on and he wipes off some excess blood with a paper towel.)
I meant for getting a piercing.
(His mouth quirks up even further at the corner and he spares Natsume another look, his eyes glimmering with restrained laughter.
Sir.
So polite. He was so polite in such a place that never cared for manners of any kind and it was so, so sweet. This kid didn't belong here in the slightest. Another once-over and he drags his eyes reluctantly back to the guy he was working on.)
If you wait a while after your friend there gets popped, I can do you after.
(Choso, stop being so cheeky with how you're wording all of this!)
down 2 get down right off the BAT
Date: 2022-08-12 01:40 pm (UTC)This is different. This is an immediate, magnetic draw, this floods Natsume's whole body with heat, prompts him to absently tongue at his lower lip in an echo of the artist's. He catches sight of that bit of silver in the man’s tongue, and the resulting thrill is enough to make his knees weak.
Silly. Stupid. This tattoo artist has no time for starry-eyed boys with forbidden daydreams. It's enough that he's even indulging Natsume in conversation. That'll be enough. He can think about that flash of silver later, alone, and let it be enough.
The explanation makes a sort of embarrassing sense, and Natsume nods, still red-faced.] Oh, I see. I-I didn't know it was called that. You -- might have a bit of a wait.
[This is said with a brief eyeroll towards Nishimura, who's now babbling about how earlobes are perfectly fine, to a snickering Kitamoto and an exasperated piercer.] Do you...also do the piercings? Not just the tattoos?
[Softer, earnestly:] You do beautiful work. The yokai almost looks alive.
just immediately "i'll suck ur dick in the back room"
Date: 2022-08-13 03:07 am (UTC)Maybe he had all of the time in the world for starry-eyed boys gripping a fake ID like it's his only lifeline.)
Sometimes we call it that. (He begins to tattoo again, methodical and careful, just finishing off the edges.) But for you, it seemed especially relevant.
(Another look, a wider grin, and then he's focused back on his tattoo.)
I mostly do tattoos, but I know how to do piercings as well.
(Annnd...There. He wipes the tattoo down again and proceeds to let the client check it out. Even though the client is happy, always a good thing, he somehow winds up caring more about the boy's approval. After a soft thank you to his client, he begins to wrap the tattoo with steady hands.)
Thank you. (For the compliment. The client pays Choso and heads out. Which brings Choso to his feet and, ah, yes. He towers over the boy too. Something else that has him smiling.)
I do appreciate beautiful things. (The "like you" goes without saying.)
"I'm not super attached to my friends or my pants, I'll lose them both for you"
Date: 2022-08-13 03:37 am (UTC)Oh? Why's that? [He knows why. He also knows this is silly, it can't possibly go anywhere. This man probably has countless starry-eyed people throwing themselves at him. What would a scrawny, nervous kid have to offer?
The movement of the cloth wiping the blood and excess ink draws Natsume's gaze back to the tattoo, and genuine awe fills his expression. He hadn't been exaggerating -- it was beautiful, bright and vivid and gorgeously detailed. He's almost sad to see it covered up.] Are you as good a piercer as you are an artist?
[And then the man is standing and Natsume is looking up and up, and he normally hates feeling delicate or small, but this is different. The artist has black gloves on, a softly curious expression, metal glinting in his brow and ears and tongue. Natsume unconsciously licks his lower lip again, tongue lingering there before he asks:] If you are, I don't think I'd be a bit nervous. Do you -- have a specialty? For piercings?
a reasonable sacrifice any sane person would make lbr
Date: 2022-08-27 04:09 am (UTC)You know why.
(He did have quite a few star-struck clients, it is true, but Choso was actually painfully oblivious to most of them. It was rare that anyone ever caught his eye. Actually, he wasn't sure if anyone ever really had before the way this boy has.
Maybe it was some part of him wanting to keep this kid safe from the world around him. Maybe it was that blonde hair or those sharp, golden eyes. The way that he was so effortlessly expressive. He thinks his brother would find Natsume cute too.)
I like to think so. (There's a joke about penetration somewhere in there, but Choso, god bless his sweet soul, would never.)
A specialty? You mean a place I prefer piercing...or...?
no subject
Date: 2022-08-27 04:48 am (UTC)But then again, they aren't making suggestive comments about a quietly intense man who's all big hands and muscles and soft dark eyes. If they had been, Natsume would definitely have been more interested. He realizes that his breath is coming shuddery and quick, his heart throbbing in his throat, feeling the artist's eyes on him like a physical touch.
Natsume Takashi is the textbook definition of a good boy, but he'd get down on his knees right there and then if this man told him to.]
S-Sure. Your favorite. One you think looks the best. [Natsume knows he's too skinny, eyes too wide and oddly colored, movements too awkward to appeal. But maybe if he has something, something to keep, something this hypnotic stranger thought was beautiful...that would be enough.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-27 05:30 am (UTC)He snaps one black glove off after the other. Slips on fresh gloves. He steps up close to Natsume, staring levelly at him, and then reaches out to touch his hand against the side of Natsume's face. Rests his thumb against his cheek and tips Natsume's face up.
Then to the side.)
A simple earring would look flattering on you. Even just one.
(Fingers drifting loosely through Natsume's hair and then to his ear.
But then his fingers are on Natsume's chin, and he turns his face again, this time guiding him by his chin.)
An eyebrow piercing would be nice on your face too. I think the beauty of a piercing depends on the beauty of the person wearing them. You have a lot of beauty to work with. Even a piercing here...
(Thumb pressed against the side of Natsume's mouth, tugging down lightly at the side of his lip.
Good luck, Natsume.)
no subject
Date: 2022-08-27 01:12 pm (UTC)He's barely aware they're in a tattoo parlor, that his friends are just across the room, carousing and chattering. The entire world has narrowed down to the big gloved hands on his face, gently prompting him to turn, so warm he can feel the heat of them through the thin latex. Normally Natsume is much twitchier and resistant to being touched, but this feels -- good.
It feels nice, the way the artist examines his face like it's one of his art pieces, gentle and firm and fearless. Natsume doesn't resist, let's the man look him over, feels a shivery curl of want coiling low in his stomach.] You're the expert, I suppose. I think...you could do anything you wanted to me and I'd like it.
[He definitely only means that in the context of piercings, right? Except that Natsume's still running his tongue over his bottom lip, and it brushes just slightly against the artist's fingertip. Wide, warm golden eyes flicker to meet dark ones, and Natsume swallows tightly, repeats:] Anything you want.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-31 10:56 am (UTC)(This boy had more of a spine than he looked. His eyes glimmer with humor and something else, something deeper and warmer.
Anything you want.
Then that little tongue. Ah...Fuck.
Well, there is a reason he worked in a shady part of town. He withdraws his hand completely.)
In that case, maybe I will surprise you. Come along. Your friend will likely need to wait after his own piercing anyway.
(He looked like a fainter. Absolutely no offense. Choso turns away from Natsume then and leads him a short way down a hallway and into one of the private piercing rooms. It was completely black from ceiling to floor and despite the seedy location of the parlor, this specific space was kept clean and sterile. The moment they are alone, Choso is shutting the door behind them and his finger lightly pushes in the lock.
Just in case.)
Some people prefer privacy for their first time. (He's still being cheeky because he can, okay.)
no subject
Date: 2022-09-01 02:29 am (UTC)He leaves those thoughts behind after the fifth step, thinking of nothing but the lingering heat of the man's hand on his face, the look in his intent, dark eyes, the way that when he stands, he's easily a full foot taller than Natsume is. He thinks about everything he usually thinks about in the middle of the night, alone and unobserved and secret, and by the time the door closes and locks behind them, Natsume feels full of a strange, bright, vibrating kind of eagerness.
The comment gets a soft, slightly shaky laugh, and there's a brief glance around the room. It's clean, private, quiet, and there's a bench to sit on. For a moment Natsume wonders if maybe he's misinterpreted the entire innuendo-laden exchange, and that maybe he's back here just to get a piercing. It's strange that the thought is somehow just as exciting as the potential that he'd been right about the flirtation.]
I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name. [It's in that same sort of breathless, overly eager voice that Natsume can barely hear over the racing of his own heart. He should be calmer, cooler, more in control. He isn't, at all. To give himself something to do, he sits on the bench, hands in his lap, eyes wide and eager and bright.] Um, I'm -- Natsume. That's my name. If -- you're all right with me knowing your name, of course. [It's difficult to speak when every other word is almost can I please take your shirt off and see where your tattoos go?]