Page 65 of Dukes of Peril

Nodding, I press the trigger on the gun, carefully dipping the needle into my ink. “Stay still,” I whisper, poised over the area. Before the needle touches him, however, I glance up, feeling skeptical.

He never even asked me what I’m going to draw.

It could be anything.

But he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t even look concerned, forearm tucked behind his head as he waits, eyes dark and penetrating. He twitches at the first touch of the needle. I don’t stop, because I understand it’s not pain, but merely surprise, his body greeting the sensation with a littlehello.

I’m positioned right over his thigh, my elbow held awkwardly to avoid grazing his cock as my wrist works the gun, when he touches my hair. Gently, he winds a lock around his forefinger, the weight of his eyes on my every move.

“Is the light always this bright?” he asks in a bizarrely slurred voice.

I dip the needle again, glancing up at his dazed expression. “Yes.”

There’s a beat where nothing but the buzz of the tattoo gun surrounds us, his fingers pulling shivers from my scalp as he strokes the hair. Softly, he offers, “Maybe I’ll blindfold you next time.”

The needle pauses over his skin, but I recover quickly, hearing the statement for what it is. I know from reading Sy’s textbooks that someone with Remy’s condition might be prone to making promises they can’t keep later.

This isn’t a promise, though.

It’s a dream.

I hear it in his voice, the wistfulness of wanting everything to be better, and that’s the only reason I agree. “Okay.”

I get lost in the task for a while, letting his gentle caresses of my hair lull me into a singular focus. Even though the design is small, I can still feel the responsibility of it heavy in my chest. This is something he’ll have forever, my victory immortalized inside his skin. Maybe this new leaf he’s turning won’t last. Maybe he goes off his meds again, or falls back into Scratch, or just gets sick of wanting me.

But this moment, the knowledge that at one time, we fought for it, will last until his decay.

I’m already mostly done when I glance over, startled by the sight that greets me.

His dick is rock-hard.

I look up into his hooded green eyes, exasperated. “Seriously?”

Remy chews his bottom lip, bucking his hips ever so slightly. “Never knew it was like this,” he rumbles, his cock giving an enthusiastic twitch, “feeling someone else do it to me.”

I cut my eyes at his dick again, watching a thin pearl of precum fall onto his belly. “Just a little more.”

When the needle touches his skin again, he lets out a deep, gravelly groan, cock surging. “Fuck.” His fingers twirl my hair, a stark contrast to the urgency of his voice. “Is it as purple for you as it is for me? Every nerve in your body begging to be touched?”

I can feel his heel behind me, grinding hard into the table. “Yes,” I answer honestly. “But this needs to be sterile. No shenanigans.” He looks like he might argue, but then the room goes silent, the tattoo gun ceasing. “There,” I say, carefully wiping down the skin.

“Already?” He pushes up on his elbows to finally look, his eyes so glassy that he might as well be half drunk. He stares at the shape for a long moment, fingers reaching out to ghost around the red edges of the crescent moon.

A somberness falls over us like lead gossamer, and I know we’re both remembering the sky that night.

“When we jumped,” he whispers, looking transfixed, “I wasn’t scared. I knew I couldn’t be, because I had you with me.” His eyes jump to mine, brimming with energy. “I wanted to be strong for you, Vinny. Like Nicky and Sy. Like steel. Like a Bruin.” He touches my face, fingers tracing a tender scratch beneath my temple. “I wanted to hold on to you, Vinny, but the river tore us apart. I knew where you were, even in the dark. My guiding star.” The curve of his grin is mocking and bitter. “But when it mattered, I couldn’t hold on.”

I search his eyes, knowing he’s not only talking about the river. “The first thing I saw from the water was this moon,” I say, eyes fixed to the new ink beside his hip. “And then you were there, dragging me to the shore. Because stars guide the way, but moons–they wax and wane, always revolving.” I pitch closer, willing him to hear me. “Youwerestrong, Remy. You were lost in the darkness, but you revolved back to me when I needed you. You saved me from drowning.”

But he’s clawing his fingers through his hair, face lined with misery. “My colors didn’t come with me. They got so lost in the pills and the black, and now I can’t make anything.”

“Hey.” I tug his fingers away from his hair, wincing at how hard he’s pulling. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “I let you go.”

The red rimming his eyes makes my chest throb. “I didn’t hang on, either,” I insist, remembering how impossible and hopeless it felt. “The current was stronger than us.”

He gives the tattoo another assessing stare, knitting our fingers together. “Not anymore.” When he meets my gaze, his eyes are as bright and alive as the moon. “I won’t let you go again, Vinny.”

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