klancepride with cal

day 7- draw on skin

It was late July and the tattoo parlor was sweltering. Keith groaned loudly as he reclined on one of the sofas in the waiting room, positioning the fan directly at his face as he tried to cool down. Shiro walked into the waiting area, wearing a cropped tank top that showed off his abs and tattooed biceps, and plopped down onto the couch next to Keith. 

"It's warm out," he understated. Keith glared at him. 

Shiro rolled his eyes, "I'll tell you what. Let's fit in one more client and then we can close shop early and go get ice cream from MickyD's."

Keith scowled, hitting Shiro with a pillow. He knew that Keith was lactose intolerant, he just liked to tease him. Shiro tossed the pillow back to Keith and chuckled, "The machine's probably broken anyway. But I'm not kidding about the first part- I'll close up early if we can grab one more client."

As if on command, the little bell on the door to the parlor suddenly jingled happily, alerting the two to a new customer. Keith and Shiro immediately stood, not wanting to look lazy, and tried to look busy as the patron walked into the waiting room.

Keith looked up at the young man with sparked interest. He was tall, tan, and around Keith's age. He had shaggy brown hair and wore sunglasses, but when he pushed them up to the top of his head, his eyes were a brilliant blue. He looked at Shiro and Keith and smiled pleasantly, meandering into the parlor nervously. 

"Good afternoon," Shiro said in his low, smooth voice, smiling at the young man. "What can we do for you today?"

The man bit his lip. "I'm not really sure, actually. I lost a bet to my friend and my, uh, punishment is to get a tattoo- I turn 18 today- and you guys had the best reviews in a 30-mile radius so... here I am."

"Absolutely," Shiro said, nodding. Keith pretended to vigorously fluff a couch cushion. "What did you have in mind? Also, if you could give me your name, I'll put you down in the schedule." He turned to a whiteboard where a list of the tattoo artists of the parlor ran down one side of a large graph and time slots labeled the other. 

The young man laughed dryly. "The name's Lance. And I'm not really sure, actually."

Shiro glanced up at the clock and wrote down 'Lance' in the 2:30 time-slot next to Keith's name. "My bud Keith will take care of you- he's the best artist to go to for that kind of thing."

"Yeah, sure, I can do you," Keith said dumbly, then blushed furiously and corrected, "I can do that,"

The client laughed, eyes sparkling, his eyes lingering on Keith's tattoos, which climbed up his arms before being obscured by the sleeves of his t-shirt. Keith felt insecure under the scrutiny of someone so blissfully untouched by the ink and coil of his craft. 

Shiro, who was trying (and failing) not to laugh, swept his arm out, inviting Lance into the back rooms where he and Keith and the other artists did their work. Keith followed closely behind Lance, shooting Shiro a 'please kill me' look, Shiro responding with a happy shrug. 

Keith directed Lance into his own room, busying himself with preparing all of the instruments he'd need. Lance quietly sat down in the black, reclining chair looking a little awkward and a lot nervous. 

Keith paused what he was doing and sat down on the stool next to Lance's chair. He hefted a huge binder out from under the chair and handed it to Lance. "This is my portfolio- you can flip through it and figure out what you're lookin' for if you want. I can answer any questions you have now, as I'm sure you have some."

Lance winced, "How bad will it hurt?"

Keith shrugged. "How high's your pain tolerance?"

"Decent, I guess. Maybe in the middle?"

"Hmm," Keith mused over this for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached forward and took Lance's wrist in his hand. Slowly, he dragged his index finger up the warm skin on the back of Lance's arm. "Well, the places with more nerve endings and less fat definitely hurt more. He stopped just below Lance's elbow. "Your outer arms don't hurt too bad, neither do your shoulders or your thighs." 

Then, he turned Lance's arm over to expose the light skin of his forearm. Keeping eye contact with a nervously blushing Lance, he slowly brought his finger back down to Lance's wrist, saying, "Places that hurt more are your inner arms, the backs of your legs, and your feet." Keith let his fingers drop into Lance's palm before pulling away. He stood from the stool and finished preparing his work station. 

"Which of yours hurt the most?" Lance's question surprised Keith. He frowned, thinking, then cast a sly look over his shoulder at Lance. 

"Wanna see?" Lance nodded. 

Keith reached for the hems of his shirt and slowly peeled it off his torso. It felt nice to rid himself of his sweaty clothing and he sighed in relief as the cool breeze of the fan at his station blew over his torso. Lance stood, eyes walking over Keith's tattoos with interest. 

His sleeve flowed from sailboats on a classic Japanese-style ocean to a dense forest with a pack of wolves running from his shoulder across his collarbone, then melting into flower petals on his opposite shoulder. There were a few constellations dripping down his side and ribs and some hexagonal structures with vibrantly yellow bees on his back. There were a few others- small and meaningful, scattered across his chest and back as well. 

Lance stepped forward and Keith shivered involuntarily when he traced his fingers over the running wolves, his fingertips dipping down between Keith's pecs to his abs, but Keith had a feeling that the blue-eyed beauty was no longer looking at the tattoos. Their eyes met and Keith offered the client a small, wry smile. He took Lance's wrist and guided it up to his ribs where a red lion sat contentedly. Lance traced the outline of the lion softly. "That one hurt the most," he answered. 

Lance met Keith's eyes and nodded. "Surprise me," he whispered. Keith raised his eyebrows.

"Really?"

Lance nodded and turned, situating himself on the chair and leaning back. Keith sighed, crossing his arms. And then, he got to work. 

...

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"You can look now."

Lance opened his eyes and looked down. There, inked right where his thumb met his wrist, was a small, minimalistic wave. 

Lance swooned. "I love it!" He said happily, looking up at Keith with delight in his ocean-blue eyes. "How much do I owe you?"

Keith grinned and walked his fingers to Lance's palm, letting his fingers fall to intertwine with Lance's. "A date?"

...

disclaimer: im 16, ive never gotten a tattoo, so i have absolutely no idea what getting a tattoo or a tattoo parlor is actually like i just researched some shit lmao