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Gerry has a lot of tattoos, he knows that. He gets looks from old women on the tube if he’s wearing short sleeves and looks from children in the street, and he’s running out of empty space on his torso, but he likes tattoos. Every time he spends a little more of his late mother’s money on a new design it feels like a fuck you to her, and he revels in it.
(So, he may have one or two issues still to work out. He’s fine!)
Unfortunately his last artist (a rather difficult old woman named Gertrude, who gave the impression of someone who would crochet doilies, not give tattoos) just moved to the states, and now he has to find a new one, and he doesn’t like change. Or people.
It’s proving kind of difficult. Most of the artists just aren’t what he’s looking for, and maybe he’s picky but they will be sticking needles in his body, so he feels like he’s allowed.
A couple of months after his artist moved he walks past a new tattoo shop on his commute home from work. He knows it’s new, because he’s been to pretty much every shop in London by now and he’s never even heard of this one.
It’s called The Archive, and he doesn’t have time to stop by now, but when he gets home he pulls it up on the internet.
The website looks like a myspace page from 2002, but the examples look pretty good, and it’s close enough that he might as well check it out.
The site doesn’t say whether you have to make an appointment or not, and it’s new enough that Gerry guesses probably not.
He has time at the weekend, so he makes a note to drop in and then pushes it to the back of his mind and gets on with his life.
He’s forgotten about it until his phone dings with the reminder and he realises that he might as well go now. If it doesn’t work out it’s just another thing to cross off the list.
The shop doesn’t look like much from the outside, but there are some designs stuck up in the windows that weren’t there before, and the sign says open, so he pushes the door open and goes inside.
The person behind the counter is hot. Like off the wall hot. Button up shirt rolled up to the elbows and hair that somehow manages to look soft hot, and Gerry nearly turns around and walks right back out, because he’s definitely going to make a fool of himself if he stays, but the person has already noticed him.
“Hello,” they say, standing up a little straighter. They’ve got vines twisting up their forearms. “What can I do for you?”
“Hey,” Gerry says, and takes a few cautious steps further into the shop. “This is a new place, right?”
“Yes,” the person says. “We’ve, uh, just opened. Already had a few complaints from nearby old women.”
Gerry huffs a laugh. “I’m not surprised.”
The person nods. “Yes, it’s … it’s fine. Sasha usually deals with it; she’s very good at speaking to old ladies.”
“Sasha?” The name is familiar, and Gerry wonders vaguely if it’s the same Sasha who used to work for Gertrude. He kind of hopes so, because it would be nice to have a familiar face around. They hadn’t exactly been friends, and he hadn’t yet figured out where she’d gone when the old shop had closed down.
“Yes,” the person says. “She’s … one of the other employees. I’m Jon, by the way. My pronouns are he and they, and if you have a problem with that this isn’t the place for you.”
It sounds almost rehearsed, like he’s anticipating people who do have a problem, and Gerry kind of gets it.
“Great,” he says, perhaps a little too eagerly. He hasn’t met a trans artist before, but he has met several who have been weird about his top surgery scars, and honestly it’s a relief to know this place is trans-friendly. “I mean … that’s nice. To know. I…” He is making a real hash of this. It’s Jon’s fault for being so goddamn hot. “I’m trans too,” he manages, running a hand through his hair.
“Ah,” Jon says, and they’re smiling a little. “In that case, what can I do for you?”
Gerry shrugs. “Are you free now?”
Jon nods. “Yes. As long as what you’re hoping for won’t take longer than a few hours.”
“I don’t really have anything in mind,” Gerry admits. “Maybe you could come up with something for me?”
“Alright,” Jon says. “You can come into the back with me. I’ll get one of the others to watch the desk.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Tim!” Jon calls, and a moment later a tall man in a frankly hideous shirt pokes his head out of the door behind the counter.
“Yes, boss?”
“Could you watch the desk for me?”
“Sure thing. Who’s this?”
“A customer,” Jon says, giving Tim a withering look.
“I’m Gerry,” Gerry says, walking over to the door Jon is beckoning him towards.
“Right,” Tim says, waggling his eyebrows. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Jon glares at him again and ushers Gerry through the door.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, sighing deeply. “Tim can be … a bit much sometimes.”
“He seems great,” Gerry says, smiling a little. “Horrible sense of fashion, though.”
“I’ll tell him you said that,” Jon says, lips twitching upwards. “He won’t believe any of us.”
“You do that,” Gerry says.
Jon nods quickly. “Anyway. Do you want to sit down?”
“I can do,” he says, wandering over to sit on the bed. “You wanna see the stuff I’ve got already?”
“That would probably be best,” Jon says, stepping a little closer.
Gerry shrugs his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head, showing off the patterns over his chest and arms.
“Wow,” Jon says, and he sounds honestly impressed. “I hate to think how much all that cost you.”
Gerry laughs, leaning back on the bed. “A lot,” he says carelessly. “My mother’s money, though. I imagine she’s rolling in her grave.”
“Ah,” Jon says. “My condolences, I suppose, though you don’t sound as though you miss her.”
“I don’t. I was thinking here, for the tattoo?”
Jon wisely doesn’t ask any further questions about his mother, just comes over to see the patch of skin he’s referring to, over his left ribs. They ghost their fingers very gently over his skin, and he can’t help but shiver a little.
“Alright,” they say, finally. “That seems reasonable. I doubt I need to warn you that it will hurt?”
“Nope,” Gerry says. “I don’t think I’m capable of feeling pain anymore.”
Jon laughs quickly. “Great,” he says. “I’m sure I can come up with something for you.”
He moves away from Gerry (to his disappointment, though he’d never admit it) and over to a desk, getting a pencil and a sheet of paper and scribbling away for a while.
Gerry is content to sit quietly and look around the room. It’s almost empty, just some basic equipment and one or two designs. He supposes that the shop hasn’t been open long enough to collect stuff.
“How many customers have you had?” he asks, after a while, and Jon looks up.
“Two, including you.”
“Huh,” Gerry says thoughtfully. “How long have you been open?”
“Two weeks.”
“Not bad.”
Jon smiles. “No, it’s not. Would you like to see what I’m working on?”
“Alright,” Gerry says, and gets up, walking over to Jon’s desk.
“Here,” they say, offering him the paper they’ve been working on. “I thought it went well with your whole … aesthetic.”
Gerry takes it to look over, and they’re right, it does fit his aesthetic. A book, flames curling over the pages. His mother, with her immaculate libraries, would hate it.
“It’s perfect,” he says, and Jon smiles.
“Thank you.”
“You can do it now?”
Jon nods, waving him back towards the bed. “Yes.”
“Awesome,” Gerry says, and goes to sit down, pleased with himself. This was definitely worth it, and he thinks he’s going to be coming back.
Jon takes a moment to pull gloves on and gather up his equipment. He’s humming to himself, Gerry thinks, and it’s … kind of adorable. Not that he would actually say that; Jon strikes him as the kind of person who might take it as an insult, and that’s the last thing he wants.
“Alright,” Jon says, finally, and comes back over. “Could you lie down for me?”
Gerry complies, biting back the joke that immediately springs to his lips. He doesn’t know anything about them, really, and he doesn’t want to get kicked out for making an off-colour joke.
He’s more than used to getting tattoos by now, and honestly it’s pretty relaxing. Especially since Jon’s hands are stroking gently across his ribs, and every time he hisses involuntarily they say shh, shh, and he really likes that.
It takes just over an hour and a half for the tattoo to be finished, and it’s rather sensitive by the end, but Gerry expected that. He has tattoos on all his joints, and those hurt way worse than down his ribs.
“Right,” Jon says, finally. “I’m finished.”
Gerry opens one eye and looks up at him, pulling his gloves off. “Great.”
“You were very good to work on.”
Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”
“Yes,” Jon says, their cheeks going a little red. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Gerry says, sitting up and waving a hand. “It was nice to have you working on me.”
“Will you be coming back?”
Gerry grins. “You want to see me again?”
The colour in Jon’s cheeks gets a little darker. “I … well … I suppose so, yes.”
“You could have just asked me out.”
Jon exhales, a little shakily, and Gerry prays he hasn’t misstepped. It will really suck if he scares him away by being too forward.
“I…” Jon stutters, seemingly trying to compose themself. “I didn’t want to assume anything.”
“You can assume if you want,” Gerry says, smiling a little. “So, are you going to ask me out?”
“If … you would like that. Then yes.”
“I would like that,” Gerry says. “Do you want my number?”
Jon nods quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and offering it to Gerry. Gerry saves himself as cute goth <3 and hands it back. If Jon wants to change it they can, and he thinks it’s funny.
“Right,” Jon says, and he’s smiling as he puts his phone away again. “Thank you. I … will message you.”
“Cheers,” Gerry says. “I look forward to it.”
He gets up and stretches, wincing as it pulls on his sensitive skin.
“Hold on,” Jon says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me cover that for you.”
“Alright,” Gerry says, pleased, and stays still as they care for the very fresh tattoo with careful hands. He’s definitely not going to complain.
“Right,” they say, once they’re finished. “That’s all, then. I’ll message you.”
“Thank you,” Gerry says, leaning in to kiss them on the cheek, almost without thinking about it. He pulls away very quickly, realising he hadn’t exactly asked if he’s allowed to do that. “Shit, I’m sorry. Is that okay?”
“It’s okay,” Jon says, looking almost as though he’s trying to hide behind the waves of his hair. “I don’t … it’s okay. Thank you.”
Gerry smiles, relieved, and does it again. “Alright. Good.”
He really does have to leave now, but he really doesn’t mind. Got a new tattoo, and gave the very cute artist his number.
Not bad going. Maybe he’ll even forgive Gertrude for moving away.