Clearly finding his reticence amusing, Link leans forward over folded hands, eyes twinkling. His interlaced fingers are smeared with color, and Ashton has the odd urge to suck them into his mouth, one by one. For no other reason than to see if, on Link's skin,redandblueandgreenmight have different tastes.
What a ridiculous notion,he thinks, that reality not changing in theleasthis desire to do so anyway.
“Alternatively,” Link suggests, “I could chain you up in the basement until we’re finished. The Soul-arium, the bunker it’s in? This place has a whole-ass dungeon one floor down. Hidden doors, chains, arm and leg irons—the whole nine yards.” Link wiggles his eyebrows and secretly, Ashton thrills at his blatant flirting, at how obvious it is that the attraction he feels isn’t one-sided. Despite that, he resists overtly crossing the line—it would be reckless. He’s done it before with much lower stakes, and look at what it wrought. That mistake was ahugepart of what brought him here.
“Sounds messy,” he replies instead, and Link laughs.
Perhapsafter,when this piece is done and the tension between them isn’t riddled with painful memories and regret from Ashton’s past—maybe then they can explore what’s between them, see where things go. If Link remains interested, of course. If this flirting isn’t merely an elaborate ploy to gain Ashton’s trust and make him vulnerable.
Notthat he’s sincerely entertaining that being the case. Not that he would be anywhere near the Soul-arium right now if he considered that anything more than a passing intrusive thought, but nonetheless. His intuition, his innate sense of who is worthy of his love, his faith, his trust—it’s failed Ashton before.
Oblivious to the internal turmoil he’s experiencing, Link keeps talking. “So, if you’re good with that—the plan for the ink, not the… chains in the basement thing—then there’s only one thing left to do.” Tipping his head back, Link tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth before slowly letting it be pulled back out.
Mesmerized by the gesture, Ashton just nods, fairly certain he’d happily agree to damn near anything Link proposed while looking likethat.
“Show me,” Link says gently, and those two little words are like a bucket of cold water poured directly over Ashton’s head.
Right.
It’s not as if this request is some sort of revelatory concept, or even anything he wasn’t expecting. Of course, Link has to see the whole canvas. Has to visualize the blank slate and all of its moving parts before he can get to work.Of course.
Up until this point, the work and the planning has been a strictly over-the-shirt affair. Link had no issue with using a measuring tape and some traced lines to come up with relative proper dimensions that would be usable for his sketches. He’s been wonderful—so careful around Ashton, so sensitive, thoughtful. He’s never pushy, never suggests that Ashton is overreacting by wanting to keep his ink disaster under wraps for as much and as long as possible. Link seems to perfectly and completely understand the way this entire mess amounts to so much more than color and blood and skin, and Ashton is grateful.
That actually reminds him to bring up what Link deserves in return, which is the entire world, but he’ll have to settle for hazard pay.
“Wait.” Ashton quickly derails the previous train of thought and the way Link is visibly preparing himself to catalog his skin. “Payment. We didn’t discuss… ” He clears his throat. “I’m aware of your going rates, but this particular piece is extremely labor-intensive. You should increase your hourly and charge for the extras, it’s what I would do.”
The corner of Link's lip quirks up as he narrows his eyes and nods once, leaning back in his chair with both arms folded across his chest. “You’re askin’ me to charge youmore,Ash? Usually, I get people in here begging for the opposite.” Link's tone is teasing, and Ashton rolls his own eyes in response.
“I’m treating you the way that I would want to be treated as the artist in this situation,” he persists, not failing to notice the way that Link chews on the cap of his pen, twisting it around in his mouth without using his hands. Somewhat nonconsensually, Ashton experiences a rapid stream of thoughts regarding how much he wouldloveto be that pen, but this is not the time.
“Very sexy of you,” Link replies cheekily and around the cap, which does not help.
Ashton ignores him. “I appreciate both your kindness and care, but I’m a client. You are a talented artist providing a specialty service. The fact that Ilikeyou as a human being only bolsters my desire to ensure you receive the compensation you deserve.”
The cap-less pen gets twisted around Link's fingers. “Well, when you put it likethat,” he begins, and then adds, “I’m still going to say no.”
“Link—”
With a dismissive grunt, Link drops said pen onto the table with a clatter, tapping his foot against the floor. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, hand reaching out across the table, palm up,trust me. “Come work with us, here. At Soul Survivor, with me and Sam. Let me put you on the website, brag on how the great Ashton Andrews is taking clients at the Soul-arium these days. I know you need a job, and we could sure as hell use the fresh blood. If you’re worried about being under me—”
Here, Link stops and snorts, shaking his head briefly before continuing, because apparently, some jokesareentirely too low-hanging fruit, even for him. “We can work it like a contractor position. We use your name, you use the space, bring your own gear or pay me for mine—whatever you want. I’m flexible,” Link finishes with a wink. “You might even say,easy.”
Ashton squints, skeptical. Link isn’t wrong about the whole “needing a job” thing, but he can’t quite parse what Linkand the Soul-arium would get out of this deal. In exchange for employment and a complex tattoo cover-up with the potential to reverse a severe depression spiral, the Remingtons gethim?
“Seems wildly uneven,” he replies reluctantly, but Link just blows a raspberry and waves a dismissive hand.
ItisLink's prerogative, and the more Ashton considers the offer, the more he thinks he’d be a fool to turn it down. While he does have some savings, living off of them in perpetuity isn’t exactly a solid gold plan. Plus, he actually does have a list of loyal clients who went Jerry Maguire on Sainted Angels in the wake of his departure, and many are waiting to book appointments for both works-in-progress and new pieces alike. He’s been trying, but tattooing sporadically out of his living room isn’t doing his reputation any favors.
While Link waits patiently for his answer, Ashton scours his head for a good reason—anyreason, really—why he should say no. He comes up empty.
In the end, Ashton wishes he could say that it’s his need to make money, or even his interest in getting back to work in a meaningful way that has him reaching across the table to shake Link's hand and seal their gentlemen’s agreement. Frankly, though—and not that Ashton is admitting this to anyone—having a valid reason to spend additional time at the Soul-arium is averyenticing proposition. It’s an excuse to be around Link more, and against his better judgment, that is something Ashton isveryinterested in.
“Welcome aboard,” Link says, squeezing his palm, and for the first time in quite a while, the prevailing feeling Ashton has when he thinks about his future ishope.
After that, there’s no more stalling to be done, so Ashton relinquishes the lingering prayer that his luck will never run out. Pushing back from the table, he stands, glancing first around the library and then out into the foyer-slash-reception area that Link and Sam seem to conveniently and accurately call “the atrium,” checking for any lingering souls.
It’s late. Ashton stopped by to see Link long after the shop’s business hours finished, but he’s learned that doesn’t necessarily mean that the Soul-arium will be empty. Earlier, when he first arrived, Sam and some friends were hanging out in the atrium, drinking and playing card games while Ashton and Link adjourned to the library. While he only interacted in passing, guided through the room with Link's protective hand between his shoulder blades, everyone seemed friendly, and the vibe was joyous.
