Page 7 of Spilled Ink

"I have a few in places." He chuckled at himself. Shit. He had more ink than a printing company. "There's something about someone tracing one, though. It's hot as hell."

"I'll have to remember that." The throat clearing and the sound of Mark shifting from foot to foot told him how hot the idea was, how it was working through that whole fucking body, not just Mark's head.

He finished up the design, held it up. "What do you think?"How soon can I get you stripped of those jeans so I can shave you a little and place it?

God, he loved his job. Had he already had that thought?

"I think it's perfect." That was no lie, either, no sweet bullshit. He could see the admiration in Mark's eyes. The approval. Pretty, pretty.

"Cool. How do you want to do this? You can strip down and I can give you a sheet, you can pull your shirt up and your jeans down..."

"What's easier for you?" Those square, scarred hands went to the waistband of Mark's jeans, fingers pulling the button open.

Rooster licked his lips, eyes on that promise of skin. "I'm a big fan of stripping you down. The door's locked."

"Fucking A." The jeans slipped right down over narrow hips and long legs, the boxer briefs going with them. Then Mark took off his shirt, standing naked, hands relaxed at his sides.

"Mmm..." He couldn't hold back his appreciation, the man fucking hit every one of his buttons. "Up on the table, man. I'll get you a sheet so you won't get cold."

"Thanks." Fuck, look at that ass. Mark turned to get on the table, and Rooster had to stop and stare. Muscular, tight, about three shades paler than the rest of Mark's body, it was a fucking work of art.

"Man, how many hours a day do you work out?" It was fine enough that he didn't want to ink it.

"Huh?" Looking over his shoulder, Mark flushed hot, but grinned. "I do a lot of stadium running. Helps when I have to do PT tests and shit. We’re required to work out."

"That is a fine fucking ass. I have butt envy."

"Thanks." Was that a little extra wiggle? Why, he'd bet it was. Someone was begging for it.

Rooster stole a touch on his way to get the razor. Firm and fully-packed. "I'm going to have to shave the area, man. I'll save as many of your short and curlies as I can."

"No problem. It'll grow back."

By the time he got set up, Mark was on his back on the table, looking like a visual feast. Heavy thighs, nice cut hipbones, and a ripped belly were all there for the taking. He got a little bit of cream and spread it over Mark's hip and lower belly, the white foam grazing the mass of dirty blond curls darker than the ones on Mark’s head. Shifting a tiny bit, Mark spread for him, then stayed still, breath going in and out.

"So, what all have you been up to?" Rooster started shaving, short little strokes over that fine skin. Man, Mark smelled good.

"Been working, mainly. We had to go to training and shit." The man quivered, but managed not to move too much, managed to keep it to a dull roar. Except for that sweet looking cock.

"Cool." He let the backs of his fingers brush Mark's prick, encourage it to feel, then he got back to work, whistling a little under his breath.

"Uhn." That sound could keep him going for days. But Mark didn't accuse him of teasing, or squirm or anything. Nope, the guy was into it, watching his every move.

"Yeah." He got that skin cleaned off, then dried it, blowing across the bare edge of Mark's hip. Two hours from now, that skin would never be the same, his ink pushed right in.

Goosebumps rose up, the sharp sound of Mark's gasp working right under his skin. "That's bizarre, man. Feels fucking naked."

"You never shaved yourself? I mean gone all the way?" He tugged a soft curl, grabbed his Speed Stick to transfer the image.

"No. It always seemed kinda silly, and Johnny... he was my last lover, he liked the hair." The little pull had Mark jumping like water on a hot skillet.

"I'm easy. I mean, depending on the guy, on the situation. I'm bare because of the ink, but the curls work for you." He set the transfer down, the curve of the bird following the curve of Mark's muscles. Cool.

"So what kind of ink? I mean I can see you've got all kinds..." Mark was kinda peering at him, bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was fucking cute.

"On my cock? That's one of the feet of my dragon." He leaned back, tugged his t-shirt up so Mark could see the body of his baby. The big green beast covered his stomach, wings carefully furled, the head over one shoulder. One paw covered his nipple, one ended under his arm. The back legs were splayed, one around his hip, the other gripping the base of his prick. The tail slid around one leg, all the way to his ankle.

"Jesus, that's huge. And glorious, man. Really." One hand came up to touch, tracing the line of one wing.

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