extent | duplicitynet

No I won't.

( said with a lovely sweet smile, naturally, and he leans back only enough to let oliver tug off his shirt before he drops another quick peck on his cheek. and then he's off, rooting through the drawer next to the bed until he comes up with a few items.

(the positioning of the tattoo equipment just feet from his bed more or less explains why so many impulsive little designs appear on nick, but that's neither here nor there.)

he has to rearrange them a little to get comfortable — which mostly just involves knocking oliver's legs together to straddle his thighs instead, tossing down paper towel, a tattoo gun next to them that only looks like a good idea because it's not just a sewing needle and setting a bottle of ink down on the bedside table with an awful lot more care. very unprofessional--very unsanitary, but nick has been successfully circumventing that with magic for a while now.

nick's smile doesn't quite falter, but it fades a little when he plants his palm on oliver's chest, right about where he's thinking of putting a symbol. this doesn't actually help. knowing where oliver is, stamping his presence on his body, these things don't actually achieve much, but it's something. for now. he still wants to do it which matters more in the end. )

You want to see what I'm thinking first, or do you trust me?

Dick. ( said, affectionately, but nick's still being cute so he's not protesting. instead, he's moving his legs as nick demands, moving both hands back behind himself to rest his weight on his palms as he lets nick struggle to get himself comfortable. watches, because it is cute.

the point of this is so he can turn around and mark nick in return. a panic button, he'd offered. it's better than nothing. and given how fucked up he's discovered a significant amount of people here are, he'll take it. so he tips his head back, looks into nick's eyes as he finds his place. )

Go for it. If I hate it, I'll just ask you to remove it.

( he trusts nick not to draw dicks into his skin or anything else particularly stupid, so oliver's not going to be losing out here any. and he's trusting nick to remove it if he does do something stupid that he wasn't expecting, which is a brand of trust. )

Always thought semi-permanent marks were a way more fun brand of friendship bracelets than just the bracelets themselves. Feels so disposable. You know?

( this is also how people end up with names tattooed on their bodies in embarrassing places and have to find someone to cover it up with something slightly less embarrassing, but who cares about those kinds of details. )

I could make you a friendship bracelet too.

( he's flippant about the response, but that doesn't stop nick from distracting himself with idle thoughts of how cute that would be. they could weave little charms into them. maybe that's something to explore later, actually, a way of loading oliver up to the teeth with protective gear, until someone can't even think a bad thought about the guy without suffering the consequences.

but this is a good enough start. nick drifts a palm across his chest, grazes a thumb over his nipple while he thinks about placements, and he pinches lightly before he taps a spot roughly centre-left, more or less where a heart sits. it's a little cringe. nick doesn't really care. )

Here okay?

( like he's not already picking up the gun and dipping it carefully in the ink. it's not a professional machine by any means, a jerry-rigged handheld thing that runs on spelled batteries and with the only benefit that it runs a little faster than poking it by hand. they should have done this at the theatre, with actual equipment, this is only really supposed to be for when nick feels the need to tattoo stupid things on himself at two in the morning--but he likes the thought too much to suggest anything different. oliver, in his bed, with a mark that nick put on him. )

Lie down, if your arms give out halfway it's going to fuck with my work.

( he could make nick a friendship bracelet. fill it with enough curses and charms to keep people from fucking with him, william included. and logan. because fuck that guy in particular. he's got a few studs packed with protection charms that'd work well, but they're not--well-hidden. he'd have to offer first, ask nick if it's fine. spell them specifically to nick, his emotions. which is a whole other project for later that he can work on.

for now, he's--focusing on nick, on his fingers over oliver's chest. he bites into the inside of his cheek when fingers pinch his nipple, offers nick a smarmy grin as he drops down to lay on the mattress. pulls one of the pillows over to put it under his head. )

If I get a hard-on, it's your responsibility. Watch where you put your fingers man. But there's fine.

( cringey. but he'll allow it, because nick's base-level is pretty cringe. may as well let him have it this time, and it's not like oliver really dislikes his mark right over his heart. it's cute. )

Long as you let me put mine about there too.

( he knows nick has nate's on his chest, too, but oliver also wants a mark. )

If you get a hard-on I'll call it a job well done.

( but that's not the point of this, even if he is idly thinking about where to take things after this. that's not the priority right now--if he shifts a little in his position over oliver's hips just to see if it gets a reaction that's no one's business but his own. nick is focused, on getting this tattoo right and getting the magic with it right too. )

Where anyone can see? ( like he's scandalised, but nick is already smiling.

he's no artistic talent but something about the shapes of simple tattoos makes sense to him. he traces the idea out faintly with his fingernail, a little sun-moon thing that's not especially complex, with lines that are easy to drip-feed spells into, too. he gives the machine a little buzz — it's slow, in a way that probably translates into painful — and raises his eyebrow. )

Yeah, you can put it on my chest. We can match too, if you like. Hold still.

( nick shifts forward and oliver gives a soft sigh, tipping his head back against the pillow he's claimed but it--doesn't get more of a response than that. they've only just started, after all. plenty of time for that later. )

Someone's going to find them later and tell us we're cringe as hell.

( but he's grinning, hands moving up to fold them behind his head. leaves plenty of space for nick and his makeshift tattoo gun. it does look--slow, but not quite as slow as nick's stick and poke system. oliver will probably bitch if it takes too long, but a needle shoving into his skin isn't like. the worst thing imaginable. he can handle it. )

Have I told you how hot you look yet?

We are cringe as hell.

( the way nick says it, it might as well be the highest of compliments. he runs a hand over oliver's chest again, smoothing over the skin lightly before he uses one to hold the spot taut. the other lifts to the same spot, guides the gun and needle to the place where he can picture a simple little design perfectly.

nick doesn't focus well on a lot of things, but he's focusing on this. he's careful when the buzzing gun comes into contact with oliver's skin, and his eyes don't even move from his chest when he hears the compliment. but one side of his mouth quirks up, bright, because he definitely heard it. )

Not yet. You could stand to tell me more.

( it does hurt. more than an actual tattoo gun, surprisingly more than just a plain needle probably because it's just fast enough to semi-feel like an actual gun but slow enough that it still feels just. like a needle being continiously jabbed into his skin, instead of the scratchy sensation a gun would have. he keeps his chest still as possible, taking small breaths instead of deeper ones.

keeps his eyes on nick's as he focuses. )

You're especially sexy when you have that look on your face. The focus. ( he has to pause for a moment to breathe, but oliver doesn't flinch at least. ) All of it on me. Makes me want to push you over and fuck you until you forget everything else.

Yeah?

( that half-grin becomes an all out smirk that nick is trying his best to smother, because he's working and he's focused — but he's only human, and nick has always been a creature that thrives on flattery. his brows furrow a little as he etches down the dotted line, the pain intermingled with a spreading warmth as nick pours everything he has into it. healing as he goes, as much as he can, but mostly he's just focused on the tether. he can fix up oliver afterwards, but he can't re-lay a spell once it's done. at least, not effectively.

that doesn't stop him from humming out a soft affirmation though, and when he can't hold it any longer his eyes ever so briefly dart up to oliver's and back down again. just for a second, just enough to make eye contact and lose it again just as quickly. )

If you hold still and get through this you can. You going to fuck me and etch a mark on my chest right after Oliver?

No. Ink first, fucking after.

( he likes the feel of nick's magic. its' warmth. how it seeps through his skin, lessens the dull ache of getting stabbed a thousand times while nick keeps working. but he likes the smirk on his face even more, because oliver loves getting a good reaction out of him. he's cute work he's worked up. when oliver manages to pull his attention enough to distract him from what he's working on. if it wasn't a permanent mark in his skin, he might have tried harder to pull nick's attention from his chest to him, but.

not having an awkward line in his skin is just as important. )

You'll have to wait. Be patient. Think you can do that for me?

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