"Ink" - Excerpt

by Isabelle Rowan

Another fractured line streaked across the skyline, followed almost immediately by drawn out rumbling. The air crackled with electricity. He could smell the first drops of rain as they hit the hot asphalt road and turned to steam. The humidity seemed to suppress the noise and subdue the normally exuberant inhabitants of Chapel Street.

Dominic knew this street well; he had watched it change over many years. These days the geography of the street housed two very distinct cultures. Closer to South Yarra, Chapel was all trendy, up-market boutiques and sushi bars where pretty young things with glitter sprayed on their skin and too-high shoes hobbled their way into clubs and cocktail bars. Dominic always found the run-down Windsor end more interesting. Café culture was only beginning to intrude, and you could still see shop fronts with bondage corsets and adornments for the pierced next door to white orthopaedic shoes for lawn bowlers.

A tramcar rattled past and gave its warning ‘ding’ to an errant pedestrian; Dominic looked up to watch its progress. Tonight, like many other nights, he sat at the outdoor table of a small café where he could see the passing parade of people coming out of the Tattooist with their small patches of cling wrap taped to arms or ankles. Even when it wasn’t visible, Dominic could smell the newly broken skin. It sent a wave of hunger through him, but he ignored it … not tonight, tonight was for other pleasures.

He paid for his coffee that, as usual, sat untouched and walked to the painted windows of the little shop across the street. Nothing could be seen from the outside; the entire shop front was a montage of demonic creatures and skeletal dragons, the name ‘Ink’ taking up an entire glass panel. Dominic pushed the door open. Inside, a man flicked through a photo album while another checked out the designs on the wall; both glanced at him but quickly looked away.

Dominic stood quietly at the counter until a woman came out from the back room, sporting a kaleidoscope of colour work on her arms. She smiled at him and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment,” Dominic answered quietly.

She frowned, but reached for the appointment book. “I don’t think so. It’s almost closing. Scott is with someone and I’m sure Michael is finished for the night.” She opened the book and checked under each name that affirmed what she’d just said.

“Look again,” Dominic said and pointed to a blank time slot. “There’s my name.”

This time she could clearly see the name printed next to Michael’s, although the moment she looked away she had forgotten what it said. “Oh, I’m sorry … I’ll get Michael,” she mumbled in a confused voice and called out to the back room, “Mikey, you have a customer.”

A young man walked through the curtained doorway. “Hey, sorry, I thought I was done for the night. Come through.” He turned and bid Dominic to follow him.

The back room had obviously been part of a previous owner’s home at some stage in the distant past. The picture rail managed to cling to most of the crumbling plaster and the disused fireplace now housed an odd selection of movie action figures and battered lunchboxes. The walls of the room were painted a dark purple, although they were all but hidden by screen-printed posters advertising obscure industrial bands. The two work spaces were a sharp contrast to the carefully composed chaos of the décor; the bench space was organised and clean.

Michael walked to the second workstation and sat on the small vinyl swivel stool. He indicated for Dominic to sit in what looked a lot like a dentist’s chair draped in a sheepskin. Michael usually made small talk at this point to put customers, particularly first timers, at ease, but there was something about this man that stopped him. Instead he just asked quietly, “What exactly is it you want?”

Dominic almost laughed at the question. What is it I want? But he answered simply, “A design on my left arm.” Almost as an afterthought he turned his face, stared directly at Michael and added, “I’ll let you decide what.”

Shaken, Michael looked down to the location of the intended tattoo and said a little too quickly, “No, man … are you sure? Um, maybe something tribal would look good, you know … black work.” His eyes flicked briefly up to Dominic’s before he swiveled the stool around to the workbench, where he could focus his attention on preparing his tattoo gun. His fingers fumbled with the elastic band and it took him several attempts to get it correctly placed and slot in the needle. He took a breath, deep enough to calm his nerves a little, but not enough to let the man see he was rattled. Settle down, Michael, it’s just another inking job.

Michael’s reactions were obvious to Dominic, but he was used to people’s discomfort around him. He looked around to the other workstation, where a teenage girl’s skin was broken as her tattoo was started. Even from this distance Dominic could smell her blood, and his senses twitched at the sharp tang the ink added to the normally rich, earthy smell. He wondered absently how it would taste if he slid his tongue over the newly tattooed shoulder, red and black colouring his mouth. He felt the hunger rise, but denying himself felt good.

The sudden touch of Michael’s fingers through the linen of his shirtsleeve pulled his attention back to the young tattooist. “I’ll get you to roll up your sleeve and you can show me how big you want the design.”

Dominic carefully folded the fabric to the top of his arm and waited for Michael to begin. It had been a long time since Dominic had felt nervous and it surprised him that he could still feel the flutter of anticipation. He watched Michael closely, not willing to let any part of the experience escape unnoticed. So intent was his focus on the movement of Michael’s hands that he was startled when the fingers actually made contact with his bare skin.

Over the years Dominic had grown accustomed to his heightened senses of sight and smell, but voluntary touch was almost forgotten. Generally people avoided any form of physical contact; it was as if a primal survival instinct made them cringe away when he was close.

He closed his eyes. It was such a simple touch, just fingertips marking out the boundaries of the proposed tattoo, but it sent a deep shiver through Dominic’s long neglected body and sparked a different hunger.

Michael felt Dominic shudder, but shrugged it off: more nervous than he looks. He lay his palm flat on Dominic’s arm and spread his fingers. “How about this for size? From the tip of my thumb to the end of my little finger?”

Dominic didn’t look … he merely nodded and said softly, “Whatever you want.”

Michael frowned. “Okay man, it’s your arm.”

When there was no response Michael shook his head, picked up the black marker pen and began to sketch out a design directly onto Dominic’s arm.

The cool tip of the marker skittered over Dominic’s skin. With eyes still closed he felt every slide and stop it made. He tried to see the image as it was drawn through touch alone, but was constantly distracted by the heat of Michael’s hand and the puff of his breath as he leant in to check his work. Dominic opened his eyes and looked down at Michael. The young tattooist was totally engrossed in his work. A slight frown of concentration creased his brow and he chewed lightly on his bottom lip. While he drew the gently curving lines his thumb stroked absently over the sensitive skin of Dominic’s arm.

It had been so long since he had been this close to someone that Dominic found the rush of sensations overwhelming; the warmth radiating from Michael’s unblemished olive skin, the smell of mint shampoo, cigarette smoke and sweat. Human smells without the sharpness of fear.

Suddenly Michael felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and he looked up to meet Dominic’s gaze. As he stared into the pale blue eyes his fingers wrapped around the cool skin of his client’s arm and tightened their grip. It was only when Dominic broke the connection and looked down at his arm that Michael was able to murmur, “Is this the kind of thing you want?”

Dominic’s voice was soft, and Michael thought a little sad, as he said, “That’s what I want.”

Michael sat and looked at Dominic for a lot longer than he intended, then gave himself a mental shake and turned to the workbench. He carefully finished setting up the gun and pulled on a pair of fine latex gloves. Dominic smiled at the care the young man was taking; unnecessary … I would catch nothing and pass nothing on.

“The outline usually hurts a bit, but your skin soon gets numb,” Michael said while he gently laid a steadying hand on Dominic’s arm.

The first touch bit the edges of his flesh. Dominic watched the point of the gun slide along a section of the hand-drawn outline while excess black ink bubbled out the edge. The pain was minimal, but it was enough to remind Dominic of sensations long absent.

Michael lifted the needle and wiped away the ink to check his progress. He glanced up and asked, “You doing okay?”

Dominic considered the question seriously and answered, “Yes, I’m okay, thank you.”

Michael was a little surprised at how carefully Dominic had answered what was a standard question. He blushed a little when he realised he was smiling at Dominic’s response and dipped his head to get on with the tattoo.

Normally Michael chattered in a continuous stream while he worked, partly to distract the client but mainly because it was his nature. With Dominic, however, he barely spoke … there was something about the man that silenced him. He was too aware of the smoothness of Dominic’s skin, the rise and fall of his chest and the way his eyes made him feel locked in place.

Michael tried to keep himself focused on the task. Ignore the man; it’s just another inking. But when Scott finished his client and headed over to watch, Michael was irritated by his presence. Although it was normal practice for the two friends to check out each other’s artwork, tonight Michael didn’t want him there. He clenched his teeth and tried to push away the feeling that Scott was intruding on something intimate. When he finished the outline he stopped and looked up. “Listen, man, I’m gonna be a while yet … you head off and tell Abby I’ll lock up when we’re done.”

Scott frowned; they didn’t usually operate that way, it wasn’t safe. “Nah, it’s fine, mate, I can hang around.”

Michael was about to argue when Dominic said in a very soft voice, “He told you to go.”

Something about the voice rather than the words convinced Scott that it was indeed time to go home. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael,” he said, but never took his eyes off Dominic until he was out the door.

Michael was also watching Dominic; there was something about him he couldn’t define … clients usually fell into quite distinct categories, but this one was different.

Once Scott had gone, Dominic gave Michael a small smile that instantly sent a flood of heat through his chest and down to his belly. “Um, yeah … the outline is done … it looks good,” Michael stammered while he gently began to wipe the excess ink and smudges of blood from Dominic’s arm. “Filling it in will feel a bit different.” He glanced up and smiled, but quickly dropped his eyes back to the skin. As he ran his gloved fingers over the raised and reddened outline, the burn in his belly spread and he felt his cock twitch within the confines of his jeans. Fucking hell, Michael, get a grip.

Dominic could smell the change in Michael and closed his eyes; this can’t happen … why am I doing this to myself again?  But he knew. There was a genuine curiosity about the effect of a tattoo on his inhuman skin, but the main reason was the desire to be touched … it had been so long.

The pain of the colouring process was less ‘sharp’, it was more like a dull and constant burning on his skin, yet it was no less intense. Dominic let his head fall back against the seat, allowing the smell of the ink, his own blood and Michael to blur with the steady scratch and hum of the gun. He told himself to enjoy the experience, the sensations and his time with Michael, but remain detached. Dominic knew he was no longer part of this world.

Michael forced himself to concentrate and although he took the necessary care, he frequently stole glances at Dominic. Knowing his eyes were shut, Michael took extra time wiping and cleaning the area so his gaze could flick to Dominic’s face and body. He could tell Dominic was older than he was, but other than that he could only guess that Dominic was maybe late thirties or early forties. His clothes were pretty conservative and there were no visible piercings, in fact he could have been one of those people who blend into the crowd unnoticed … except for those eyes.

A trickle of sweat ran down Michael’s back as he filled in a swirl near the top of Dominic’s shoulder. He swapped the already soaked tissue for a new one and wiped away the last traces of ink from the unmarked surrounding skin. The tattoo was finished, but Michael hated to admit it. Even though it was well past their usual closing time, he didn’t want this man to leave. Finally he sighed and said, “It’s done.”

Dominic opened his eyes and looked first at Michael and then the fresh artwork. There was a definite melancholy to his voice when he said softly, “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“Um, that’s okay,” Michael mumbled, suddenly a little flustered. “Here, I’ll, ah … I’ll put some of this on and get it patched up.” He fumbled under the counter until he found the tube of antiseptic cream and carefully smeared a thick layer over the raw inking. He held up the roll of cling wrap and taped on a square, ensuring it was completely covered while explaining, “There, that will keep it clean and protected. Try to leave it on for a couple of hours.”

Dominic smiled at the way Michael had begun to babble and simply said, “Thank you, how much do I owe you?”

Just another fucking job, remember, Michael cursed for letting this man get to him. He told Dominic the cost and they walked to the front desk. Dominic handed over the money, thanked Michael again and headed for the door. Shit, Michael panicked at the thought of Dominic leaving and called out, “Hey … um, I’m heading out for a drink if, ah, if you’d like to join me?”

Dominic stopped and looked around, sadness evident on his face. He reached out to Michael and gently stroked his cheek before walking through the door.

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