Page 8 of Spilled Ink

"Yeah." He turned and showed off the back - the books and jewels, gold and bones and furs and shit. A fucking treasure. Ten years of work had gone into it, one session at a time.

"Pretty." He could tell Mark was tracing the skull off on his ribs. Could feel every little dance of that hand.

"Thanks." Oh, man. He did a lot of touching. It was the nature of the job, but touching him? Not unless someone was inking him or it was a blue, blue moon. His skin goose pimpled up, his nipples going hard as rocks.

"Looking good, man. Hot as Hell." That voice was low and gravelly and burning like molten steel.

A moan escaped him, but he managed to get his shirt back down before his prick hammered its way out of his pants.

"You like where the phoenix is, man?" Shit, he hadn't even asked the man to sign the paperwork, pay. Nothing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don't think I need the mirror." Mark looked down, not quite touching the design, fingers hovering around it.

"Cool. You want it all black or you want the flames in color?"

"What do you think? This one's not gonna show like the other two, so you could go all out if you want." Uh-huh. Someone liked being under his needle, for sure.

"I think your skin would show the color like a motherfucker. You'd look like you were on fire." He pulled out reds and oranges, yellows and a deep, dark purple. Yeah, that patch of paler skin would glow. Fucking A.

"Then let's go for it."

"It's gonna rock, man. Trust me." He got the gun, snapped on his gloves and tugged his stool over. "You ready to play?"

"I'm ready. It's not gonna be a problem, is it? Me being all..." Mark waved a hand at his cock, which had gone all hard on them, standing up proud.

He grinned, reached out and cupped Mark's balls, rolling them enough that the sac loosened, then started to draw up again. "No. No, I don't see a problem at all."

"Shit!" All those muscles bunched right up, Mark bucking for him, flushing up pretty. "That's not gonna keep me still."

"Fuck, you're hot. You want to come, before we start?" He wasn't above a friendly hand job, not at all.

Mark thought about that for a long moment. "No. If it gets too much, I'll tell you."

"Okay, man." He pushed his hair back, got his fucking pants from being bunched up, and got to work, starting with a short, straight line. This one was going to be worse and better, all at once. Be hot as hell once it was done though.

A low moan came from Mark, but the guy was a trooper. Only his cock moved. Yeah. The guy was really working it for him. Good man.

He bent right to it, one hand holding Mark still, the other drawing away, pushing the ink in. The phoenix took shape fast, or at least it seemed to go quick, and Mark was moaning by the time he finished the outline. It wasn't pain. No way. It was hot as anything.

He sprayed the black outline with the antiseptic, smiling wide as Mark cried out, ass arching up off the table.

"God... I'm not sure I... I might need a break, man." Yeah, the way he was flushed, panting, and grabbing the table with his hands? Mark might need a break.

"Okay. Okay. You want to back it off a minute or do you want this?" He snapped off a glove, wrapped his fingers around Mark's hard prick.

"That. Oh, Jesus fuck, that." Yeah. Hell, yeah. Mark smelled like salt, musk, and his cock was so hot it liked to burn Rooster's palm.

He grabbed a piece of plastic wrap, covering that fresh ink up, just in case. Then he went to town, rubbing and stroking, giving that long prick everything it needed. Mark spread, feet digging into the table to push up, so those hips could pump. Mark was ready to pop, balls drawn up tight to the base of that sweet prick, that whole body trembling. Rooster leaned down, tongue resting flat against that sac, stealing a touch.

"Christ!" That was it. Mark came for him like nothing going, writhing on his little table, cock pushing against his hand. Every bit of tension drained out of that body.

"Mmm. Better." Rooster took another lick, tongue sliding over the soft, wrinkled skin.

"You got no idea..." One hand unclenched from the table, came up to stroke his hair, loosening the band that held it in place. "You have the best hair."

"Oh." He groaned, throat working. Damn. That was... unexpected.

"This okay, man? Not against the rules or anything?" Okay? Jesus. Mark sat up, turning a little so Rooster's cheek rested on one thick thigh, and that hand combed through his hair. Mark cupped his head, fingers rubbing gently, like a sweet little scalp massage.

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