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It was the tattoos that got to Blake. That was all, the weird unsettling nature of Adam’s tattoos. He couldn't not look at them. They seemed to mutate and grow every time he saw Adam. Had there always been a tiger on Adam's arm? Or had it been a leopard at some point? Blake was sure that he remembered spots. And were those really flowers and feathers covering Adam’s skin? Blake couldn't wait to hear the story behind that. If there was a story at all. Who knew with Adam?
There was a guitar mixed in there too, wasn't there? And wasn't the tiger crouching over a 'Mom' heart, wrapped up in spiked shapes like autumn briars? That was a real cowboy tattoo. Okay, so maybe Blake spent a little too much time with his eyes fixed on Adam and his weirdly-liquid ink.
Miranda never failed to point out just how much staring he was doing. “You might want to stare a little more. I don’t think everybody’s noticed yet.”
“I’m really not feelin’ the love right now.”
“Then you’re doing it wrong,” was Miranda’s smile-filled reply.
She was still laughing when she hung up on him. Damn it.
He should stop staring. He should stop staring and just look up pictures of Adam’s tattoos online to satisfy his more-than-healthy curiosity. That was all it was. Those damn tattoos. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the man who wore them. Nope. Nothing at all.
“Denial,” Miranda sang down the phone.
She’d found several different ways to sing that one word over the past few weeks. She’d told him that she’d turned viewings of The Voice into a drinking game – take a shot every time Blake stares at Adam, another if Adam stares back, finish your drink if the flirts turn verbal, finish someone else’s if it gets physical. She’d said that every week she and her girlfriends had gotten plenty drunk. She’d thanked him for that, before hanging up on him.
Adam had been staring at him? Sure, for the cameras, for the fans, for the fun. That was all. Right? Blake tried to convince himself, but it felt like there was a burr under his skin now, an itch that he just couldn’t scratch. Adam had been staring at him?
And of course the next time that Blake was in the same room as Adam, it was for a photo shoot and Adam had no problem changing clothes in front of everyone. Blake raised his voice in jokes about Adam’s other career as a stripper and asked how many bills he’d have to cram into Adam’s skinny-girl-jeans to get the full show. Adam told him whip-quick that for Blake he’d take off his clothes for free, if Blake returned the favor. His eyes were darkly serious when he said it.
The heady sensation that went through Blake in that moment was better than whiskey. It caught him stickier than syrup and as darkly sweet as treacle. It had a ring of the familiar to it. Like something Blake had seen real close up somewhere before. It hit him sideways when he stared into the bathroom mirror a couple of days later. There it was.
“Oh, Blake.”
Miranda’s sigh was like a summer breeze and she texted him a picture of pale sinewy skin that he recognized quicker than instantly. There was also a tattoo – a pin-up girl with a coy body clad in dark underthings. The words with it teased him in Miranda’s voice: Name the owner.
Blake remembered back to the photoshoot, Adam turning around to chat to a wardrobe girl. On his back had been a pawprint and that self-same pin-up girl. He didn’t text Miranda back on principal. But her pictures kept coming – that pawprint, the shark that swam down Adam’s right-hand ribs, the ‘Los Angeles’ scrawl on his shoulder.
You’re not funny at all, Miranda.
Adam thinks I am.
Well, there was a sentence to chill the blood. Blake’s gaze darted immediately to Adam – who was sprawled out on a couch backstage, iPod earbuds jammed in. Blake’s eyes roamed him, always hungry for more of the ink lines, for how they curved and melded with Adam’s body, like a second skin. The canvas the ink was on, that was just a canvas, a good-looking canvas of course. But just a canvas. Just Adam.
Adam turned his head, catching sight of Blake. A slow smile drawled across his face and something seemed to light up inside of him. Blake couldn’t help smiling back. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that reaction, or the first time he'd felt the warm sly feeling that came with it. Shit. He was slipping. Blake buried his face in his hands.
Miranda was going to crow so loudly.
Blake liked a good tattoo. He liked them more when Adam was wearing them.
Weirdly though, Miranda didn’t call with triumph in her laugh. She didn’t reply to his messages either and there were no more photographs of all-too-familiar tattoos sent his way. The backdrop on Blake’s cellphone had been one of her photographs for a while now – the explosion of detailed flowery black ink on Adam’s right collarbone. It also featured part of Adam’s chin and all of his mouth. It never failed to make Blake smile. Damn it.
He was concentrating so hard on his phone, scrolling through messages, trying to work out why Miranda wasn’t taking his calls, when Adam clapped him on the shoulder, kicking the trailer door shut behind him. It was a regular thing, hanging out during the show, eating each other’s food. Nothing strange at all. Nope. Adam scooped up a fistful of salted peanuts and clicked away on his own phone. Blake felt that warmth again, like always, and let his gaze settle on Adam, on how his trim body moved, how his lips were always saying something…how close he now was to Blake.
Adam touched his forearm, no, touched Blake’s tattoo. Damn. Blake’s heart slowed right down. Talk about a mood killer. Oh God, here it came.
“Are those ladybugs?”
Adam was definitely laughing at him on the inside. Blake was definitely reconsidering his fascination with the guy. Okay, he really wasn’t. But ladybugs? Again. He sighed, letting his irritation shine right through.
“It’s supposed to be deer tracks, you know, from tracking and hunting? Only I drew it and it turned out crappy.”
Adam’s lips were twitching, probably with laughter. His fingers traced the ink and Blake’s heart beat way too hard in response. “The barbed wire doesn’t look too bad.”
“Yeah, that was added later, to try and make it look more manly.”
Adam snorted, but kept his hand right where it was. The heat inside Blake only increased. “I’ve always wondered what it was.”
Always wondered? Like he’d spent a lot of time puzzling over Blake’s crappy tattoo. Blake smirked and turned his arm so that his hand was palm up. A tantalizing little kicker for Adam to take head-on if he wanted to. If not, then Blake could play it off as more of the fun and games between them.
Adam stared at Blake’s hand for a second, then looked up at Blake’s face. Blake’s other hand rose to rest against the intricate collarbone design that he knew so well from his phone. He rubbed his thumb against thin cotton and warm skin. If he moved his hand a little, he’d be able to hear a real interesting pulse. How fast would it be?
“You’re not the only one who’s wondered.”
Another chunk of ambiguity. Dealer’s choice. Only Adam was sliding his fingers down Blake’s arm to grasp his hand and his breath was warm and inviting, smelling like chocolate candy, soda, and salt. Blake leaned into it. Adam didn’t stop him.
When their mouths met, Blake felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was probably Miranda. Her sense of timing was unreal.
Adam made a sound, pleased and hungry, and the kiss deepened, Blake’s teeth sinking into Adam’s bottom lip. Denim rubbed against denim and Blake got eager in his exploration of ink lines, using both fingers and tongue.
His phone went unanswered for a real long time.
-the end