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Alair emerged from the shower dripping wet, grabbed a towel from the rack, and handed another to Pierce, who stepped out behind him.
"I need to stop letting you shower with me," Alair said, quickly drying his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist. "Check this out." He extended a hand to reveal water-pruned fingers.
“Letting me?” Pierce scoffed and started to towel himself dry. “Like you weren’t the one who grabbed my ass and whispered, ‘come fuck me in the shower’ while I was just minding my business.”
Alair chuckled. “Maybe that happened—but I never told you to do it twice.”
"That ain’t how I remember it, either." Pierce leaned in and kissed Alair’s neck, his lips warm against the cool, damp skin. "You were begging for it the second time."
"I guess I was." Alair ran his wrinkly fingertips against the droplets on Pierce’s chest. "That’s what happens with an unlimited supply of hot water and you looking… so fucking good."
Grinning, Pierce placed his hand over Alair’s. He lifted it to his lips, kissed the knuckles, then studied them with a curious expression. He grazed his thumb over a black skull tattoo. “You know… I’ve heard all the stories behind your ink except for these.”
Alair yanked his hand away reflexively.
Pierce touched his shoulder, “Hey, man. Sorry. We can just—”
"No, it’s okay." Alair met Pierce’s eyes, and his chest tightened at the concerned gaze he found there. "I’ll tell you."
“You don’t have to.”
"I want to," Alair said firmly. That reassurance only confirmed his decision to share the story, though he’d never told another soul. He swallowed and stared down at the four black skulls on his hand. "This tat was my first ever. I, uh, got it after my mom was killed."
He paused, and felt Pierce lean in and brush a kiss against his temple. “I wanted to get something in her memory. But I started looking at the designs in Rusty’s Needle and I saw this one. Four skulls. And all I could think about was revenge. I knew it was the one I had to get… right here.” Alair’s hand curled into a fist, and he pointed at it. “On the hand I was gonna kill them with.”
After a momentary silence, Pierce prompted, “Them?”
Alair’s throat prickled and his eyes stung with the ghost of tears from twenty years past. “The cops didn’t have shit. No witnesses. Street camera just barely picked up four guys, but it was too dark to see anything but their shirts. It was all I had to go on. Four guys. I got one skull to represent each of them…”
Pierce’s gaze was full of questions, but he said nothing as he wrapped both arms around Alair and pulled him into a tight embrace. Alair buried his face in the crook of Pierce’s neck, and remained there for a minute before pulling back.
"Never found any clues to track them down. But in the video, they were all wearing red."
"Shit. They were Carnales?"
"I think so. After I became a Saint, every fucking time I got my hands on one of the Carnales, I wondered…hoped it was them. That I was avenging her.” Alair glanced down at his fist again. Poking at that old wound was unpleasant, but sharing it with Pierce after so many years also felt like a weight off his shoulders.
Pierce lifted Alair’s hand to his lips and pressed another kiss against his knuckles. “You took out damn near allthose motherfuckers with this hand.”
"Yeah, I did." Alair sighed. "It wasn’t enough, but it was something."
"I didn’t mean to dredge all that shit up. I’m sorry," Pierce said, releasing his hand.
Alair shook his head. “Nah. Don’t be. I’m actually… glad you asked.” He smiled. “Now you know the story behind every mark on my body.”