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It would be fine, until the itch set in. To him, the itch was the worst part.
Stripping the gloves from his hands, he tossed them to the nearest garbage can, easing the paper towels and wells of ink inside before tossing the half-dozen needle tips he’d used into the sharps bin.
When he’d ventured out on his own in the tattoo world, he’d been nearly certain that he would never make it. His personality rarely matched that of other artists, and his style was different, to say the least. His old place with the neon sign and the constant drama had been easy to leave.
A few clients had turned into dozens, and it had spiraled as word spread of his work. His clients were like walking billboards, and everyone who asked them who their artist was inevitably ended up on his website or his doorstep.
He still couldn’t believe it, really. He didn’t think he was that good, no matter what his clients said about it. He just loved art, and the people were pretty damn awesome, too…for the most part.
Now he was booked up for two years, and only working three days a week in a shop of his own where the overhead was the only thing that kept him from knocking it back to two. And when he wasn’t working, he had his side business that was more for fun than anything else.
His phone hummed against his desk along the far wall, the buzz shattering the endorphins that had started to build. Usually, he turned the thing off when he was working, but today was technically his day off. He hadn’t been able to resist trying out his new favorite baby when it had shown up in his email as delivered. He’d rushed into town, kicking off his shoes as he’d torn the package open.
Giving his hands a wash, and failing to get most of the splatter off, he grabbed his phone by the time it started its second round of ringing, putting it to his ear.
“We have a problem.”
Scotland chuckled, shaking his head as he wiped his arm over his forehead. “Hey, Maddy.”
The sadist had wormed his way into Scotland’s heart as soon as he’d started going to Unkinked. He was the strangest mix of shy and social butterfly, dipping into gossip only to tilt his head in confusion a moment later. He also seemed to have the strangest mission lately, not that Scotland minded at all.
Not when his crush was the prize.
“I’m serious,” said Maddy, no hint of humor in his voice. “Clint fell this morning.”
“Shit.” Scotland dropped his hand towel, the fabric falling from his fingertips unchecked. “Is he okay? Did you need a doctor or something?” He knew a few. Hell, he’d tattooed one’s sub, and they were part of the community.
“Uh—no, he’s not that old. He didn’t break a hip or anything,” said Maddy, completely deadpan. Confusion was laced in his voice, so pure that it broke Scotland’s heart. “I think he was dropping.”
Scotland blinked in surprise. “But Clint hasn’t scened with anyone in forever.” Watching didn’t count—not when you were doing it without a real partner or aftercare.
“Well, he did once, but that was a while ago,” said Maddy. “And no one is supposed to know that…”
Well, it was news to him. Terrible fucking news. Or maybe it wasn’t so bad. If Clint hadn’t gone back for seconds, then he couldn’t have gotten too attached.
“Why do you think he’s dropping, then?” He reached for the hand towel, scooping it off the ground and tossing it toward the laundry basket under the sink. He hated the crunchy feeling towels got after he used them more than once, so he always kept an ample supply.
“He looks exactly like I do when I drop,” said Maddy, letting out a little huff. “He can barely sleep and wanders around like he doesn’t even know where he is sometimes. He smiles, but it’s not real—not if you truly know him. And he didn’t just fall… He just collapsed like all his strings had been cut. If I hadn’t been there, I doubt he would have bothered to get up.”
Okay, that’s worse than I thought. “What did he say?”
If anyone would know about a drop, Clint would. He was the local king of kink, for Christ’s sake.
“That he tripped,” said Maddy, scoffing. “But I saw it. He did not trip. He’s dropping.”
He scratched his scalp before dragging his fingers along his chin. He’d shaved that morning and he’d be good for another two days before he got any hint of scruff. He’d tried to grow a beard once, but after two weeks of a five o’clock shadow, he’d given up.
“I know you’re worried, Maddy, but I think you’re reading into this too much. Clint is tired. He has been since I’ve met him.” He couldn’t recall seeing him in any other state, even though he was always sexy as hell. “Maybe he just needs a vacation.”
He wished he could do more, but Clint had made himself abundantly clear on multiple occasions. He wanted nothing to do with Scotland, and there was no power on earth that was going to change that. That didn’t mean Scotland couldn’t obsess over him a bit—or a lot.
“Tired people don’t scream in their sleep and cry when they think no one else is there,” said Maddy, his voice rising. “They don’t hug and rock themselves when they think the door is locked. There’s something wrong—really wrong.”
Scotland bit his tongue, clenching his hand into a fist. If he had his way, he’d be at Unkinked right now with Clint in his arms. He had a feeling that ship had sailed, though.
“Maybe he really needs a vacation?” That excuse sounded weak, even to his own ears. “What do you want me to do?” Everything—anything, and I’m there.
Maddy let out a long sigh, his breath muffling against the phone. “I don’t know. Derreck didn’t have any input, either. He respects Clint too much to force him into anything, but I can’t see how there is any other way.”
