Enemy Fire ➸ Stiles Stilinski

01. It's Like That One Movie With the Birds

"Thank god you drew me a picture," the bearded tattoo artist said sarcastically, turning around to trace what Emerson had drawn on a light table for a stencil.

Emerson chuckled over-sarcastically in return, diverting his attention to the sudden lighting up of his phone screen. It was a text from Danny, reading along the lines of "why did you thinky this was a good idea" and "your dad is definitely going to kill you if he finds out"; that was pretty much how the conversation between them has been going for the past twenty five minutes, when Emerson snuck out of his house and biked all the way to the tattoo parlor, resisting a panic attack the whole ride. He responded to Danny with, "lol he's not going to find out and aren't best friends supposed to be supportive" just as the tattooist pulled the tracing paper from the light table.

He pocketed his phone after he set it to silent and walked over to the black padded chair before he pulled off his t-shirt, balling it up as he climbed onto the chair, sitting so he could wrap his arm around the back of the chair. The tattooist eased into a rolling chair, moving forward and pressing the series of circles he had just traced onto Emerson's left shoulder. Quickly he peeled off the paper, leaving the outline of five blue-ish, interlocked circles on the boy's skin.

Emerson rested his forehead against the vinyl of the chair as the needle whirred to life behind him, the muscles in his shoulder tensing up when the needle entered his skin, feeling like someone was rubbing their fingers around and pressing down on a patch of severly sunburned skin; it was painful to say the least. But in a matter of a few minutes the tattoo was complete and the tattooist was taping a piece of guaze to the freshly inked skin. 

"All set," the tattooist said as he wheeled away from Emerson to dispose of his gloves and the used needle.

Emerson pulled his head up and spun around in the chair, pulling his shirt on with some difficulty. As he was in mid-trying-to-put-his-shirt-on-with-minimal-pain, the bell on the door sounded. He turned around once he had his shirt fully over his head to see Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski - the latter of the two he had developed a crush on in freshman year that hadn't really gone away and had just grown from just thinking he was cute to full-on admiring from a distance, trying not to blush or get an accidental boner when he accidentally watched Stiles changed into his lacrosse gear when he hangs out in the boys locker room with Danny before cross country practice, and trying to subtly flirt with him every chance he gets, although Stiles is quite oblivious - enter the tattoo parlor, both of them seeming a little skittish. Well, mostly just Stiles. Not that Emerson was staring or anything, it's just that this was the first time he had seen Stiles since the last day of school last year, and he was looking better than Emerson remembered. He had grown his hair out, he looked more lively and healthier, and Emerson was having a minor heart attack seeing him in the flannel he was wearing with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His clothes definitely fit him better than they had last year, Stiles probably growing some muscle over the summer, probably from practicing lacrosse with Scott.

"Got the same idea, huh?" Scott asked Emerson upon seeing him slid off the vinyl chair, one of Scott's "puppy dog" smiles (as Danny called them) spreading across his face.

"Uh, yeah," Emerson replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his head with his left hand before wincing and lowering his arm awkwardly, momentarily forgetting that he had just gotten a tattoo and stretching the muscle hurt. "Well," he drawled as he shuffled away from the chair and towards the door, "see you guys tomorrow."

They both replied with the same phrase, and as Emerson left the tattoo parlor he causually checked out Stiles's butt, a small, guiltless smile on his face.

+ + + + +

Emerson rubbed his hand as lightly as he could against his shoulder, his tattoo itching like crazy. He knew he shouldn't be touching it or rubbing it but the thing was just so goddamn itchy. At least he had worn a tank top so the raw skin could get some air instead of last year's cross country shirt like he was originally planning on wearing today.