maskormenacelogs | Got you stuck on my body,

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Got you stuck on my body,

WHO: Hermann & Newt
WHERE: Tattoo Parlor
WHEN: Backdated to- July 6th and others
WHAT: Hermann's getting his first tattoo.
WARNINGS: mention of needles, blood

They've come here once already to talk to the artist about the design he wanted and to schedule his appointments, but still the parlour loomed and his nerves refused to settle. Taking a deep breath, he worked to try to relax and recall the reasons they were doing this.

The tattoos would supplement his abilities. He'd have numbers carved into his skin, and there might even be a chance he'll retain them in their home world, which could unlock so much potential when compared to the opening of the Breach.. The pain of it would be temporary, but more concerning was the thought of getting terribly nauseous and ruining the work.

Hermann squeezed Newton's hand.

"..Well, we'll be late for the appointment if we spend too much more time out here."

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Newt looked up at the parlor's sign, the perfectly ordinary and totally not looming storefront, and gave Hermann's hand a playful swing.

"Its fashionable to be late, but you'll lose your deposit."

Still, he took a moment to roll up Hermann's shirt sleeves like it was a grand gesture, a ritual, like carrying him over the threshold of their home, and Newt caressed the bare, pale, soft skin of his forearms with loving and tender familiarity.

"Come on," he insisted, making no move for the door, "before one of us wusses out."

Honestly it was a bit embarrassing. Technically his forearms likely wouldn't be inked today, but Newton's physical ode to his bare skin still reminded him that soon, they'd be filled in with black inked equations.

He cleared his throat and shoved the door open, motivated by the thought of losing their deposit if nothing else. They didn't have a great deal of money to spare these days.

"Hermann Gottlieb-Geiszler- yes. Thank you."

They followed the artist back, and his nerves made their appearance again as the chair he'd be occupying for the next several hours came into view. Set near a few tables and supplies looking a touch like medieval torture devices rather than modern-day technology. But the artist must have sensed his apprehension, because she was quick to strike up easy conversation.

"Yes of course, you did lovely work on the signature tattoo. Newton wouldn't shut up about the line-work actually. All but insisted, really.."

He shrugged out of his jacket, then much more slowly unbuttoned his shirt. It was difficult not to be incredibly self-conscious, though he knew that tiny discomfort would likely vanish about the time she set the needle gun to his skin.

Newt let Hermann attempt conversation to settle his nerves, then picked up the in betweens to keep it flowing. He knew that his babbling, however mindless Hermann accused it of being in the past, did wonders to focus Hermann's attention and divert it from stress.

"Hermann tries to play it off like he wasn't totally enamored with your linework too, but like I told you during the session, he is one hundred percent in love with that tatt."

He laughed when she accused Hermann of loving the signature tattoo for reasons completely unrelated to the craftsmanship and took the time to fold Hermann's discarded jacket and shirt in his lap.

"Sure, seeing his name branded on my skin probably helped him warm up to tattoos, yeah. ...you know, yeah, maybe I AM offended he's not getting MY name on there too."

Handing his cane over to Newton and trying not to feel ridiculous, Hermann eased himself into chair.

"Well it's not an impossibility," he rejoined. "But we'll have to see how this goes first.."

Newton's name on his skin? He'd be lying to say he hadn't briefly considered the idea even if he'd thought Newton a bit daft for doing so to begin with. But first he needed to make it through this..

Hermann set his arm where she wanted it and tried very hard not to feel like this was the worst idea he'd ever had. Watching her prep the needle gun, it was suddenly difficult to follow the conversation.

"Breathe, babe."

Newt wasn't going to lie. Part of the reason he tried to convince Hermann to wait on this tattoo until his powers returned was, yes, because the pain was kind of euphoric and he wanted to share this experience with Hermann through the Drift.

The other main reason was so Hermann could test it before committing, because, ok, maybe Hermann's influence meant Newt looked before leaping sometimes nowadays.

But also...

Also it was for This.

Seated on the opposite side of the chair, away from the artist and the arm being worked on, Newt took Hermann's other hand. He settled into populating their Drift with calm thoughts--a safe, mental walk through of their shared homes (starting with their lab, then their apartment, finally their house); he thought about Liebling and the soft brush of her fur under his fingertips when her pet her. Newt thought about Hermann looking adorable and attractive next to him in bed.

But when the needle gun whirred to life, he thought mostly about the black inky vastness of space, of limitless possiblity and expanding universes, stars and moons, and a pretty planet ringed in colorful bands of gas and space dust.

It did help, and Hermann breathed, grateful Newton was there to distract him from his nerves and worst-case scenarios. He loved their lab and their house, their wonderful cat, just spending time together--

The needle touched his skin and it took significant willpower to keep his focus on Newton. His skin prickled, registering a new constant source of pain and his nerves spiked again, certain that he'd be in agony.

..Until he realized that he wasn't actually, and he could focus on Newt's thoughts about the universe and Saturn, and yes, it was mildly painful but it wasn't really all that bad. Certainly not nearly as bad as he'd feared and that itself was a comfort.

Hermann slowly relaxed his unconscious grip on Newton's hand and the rest of him followed. He tipped his head back and breathed, blinking up at the dark ceiling and imagining the stars. Relief, strong and swift, coursed through the Drift, and yes, he decided, he could manage this.

He turned a soft smile on Newton, feeling much better now that he wasn't in significant pain. And if he focused again, he found he really only felt something of a continuous scrape of sensation that was certainly uncomfortable, but perfectly manageable. So long as he didn't look at it, he'd probably be fine.

"Really," he mused, "I'm still shocked this was my idea and not yours. Terrible influence."

"You mean amazing influence. I am really expanding your horizons. Besides. Think about how convenient this will be for you now. All these numbers ready and at your fingertips. You'll probably love it so much, you'll want another one...or five."

The drone of the needle gun was a familiar melody over the sounds of the tattoo parlor's stereo. His attention flicked up from where he was watching the artist ink the numbers and symbols in carefully according to the transfer that she'd applied earlier. They couldn't afford for this to be wrong--but he gave Hermann a warm grin and had trouble looking away.

Hermann's pupils were wide, his expression pleased, if a little tense from holding still and from an occasional pinch or poke. With his shirt off, there was a wonderful expanse of pale chest and a nice, sharp collarbone on display--it would be kind of sad to lose all that pretty skin beneath color or text. Newt liked it on himself, but he had mixed feelings about a marked-up Hermann.

"The endorphins getting to you yet? Some guys pop boners in the chair because of the high. Not me, of course, but you know. Some guys."

The artist laughed.

They were. He felt almost a little drunk- pleasantly buzzed until Newton's words gave him a jolt of panic. God, that would be utterly mortifying and Newton would laugh for an eternity and he'd never want to do this again. The poor girl did not need that, though he imagined she'd politely ignore it, he'd still be mortified.

But no, there didn't seem to be any danger of that so long as their thoughts didn't stray into explicit territory.

"Well, you'd know. But I think you may be right about a few more if this doesn't take a turn for the worse. Not to your extent, and certainly nothing colored.. I do like the clean lines, however."

"Aww, you mean we can't be matching Kaiju groupies?"
When the artist pulled away to refill on ink, he leaned over the arm of the chair to press a kiss to Hermann's cheek.

The Drift was rosy with a pleasantly drunk feeling and it settled back in after that jolt, once their artist returned to her task.

After this, he was taking his newly-tattooed bad boy husband out for a milkshake or something. And kissing him. A lot. And maybe more, but that was something he needed to not think about when the drift was as vibrant as it had been, giddy and high with elation, standing there on a Hong Kong street corner, offering Hermann a watch and his heart.

"Just planning on your arms?"

It was difficult not to smile when Newton was being sweet and reminding them both of Hong Kong- the day they realized their love for what it is. Though really, Hermann mostly remembered crying in a taxi after Newt essentially professed his everlasting love for him.

"For now, but perhaps a model of the Breach along the spine- and of course your name, though I'm having a difficult time imagining a good place for it at the moment. Or perhaps just your initials.. That would be simple enough."

"You know you're not obligated to get any part of my name on your body just because I did it, right? We are permanently entangled just like we are."

The artist was finishing a line of the code and twisted Hermann's arm ever so slightly for a better angle at her next line of text. Newt examined the stark black text lined in irritated red skin as it stood out against Hermann's pale arm. This equation might be only a few years old for the two of them, but here was a sample of Hermann's life's work and passion, permanently etched into his skin, a mirror of Newt's own tattoo work.

And beneath their skin, buried deep into their cerebral pathways, was their other work and passion of the last decade. Newt couldn't quite tell people about THAT--not like he could the Kaiju on his arms--but at least he could hint at it, with the ring on his left hand, with the name on his shoulder, and the one appended to the end of his own last name.

"If you want to, though, I won't say no. If you want to keep with the number theme, if names or initials aren't to your taste, you could always do the coordinates for the location of our meeting in Anchorage, and-slash-or our ...thing in Hong Kong."

"Yes, I know."

Permanently entangled.. Perhaps it was the endorphins, but he found the phrasing and following thought process incredibly sweet.

"I have nothing against letters however, and I like the idea of your initials rather than your signature. Something small but meaningful, and neat. I'll just have to consider where."

He chanced a glance over at his arm, heart stuttering to see the needle etching over his skin, rather more keenly aware of discomfort. But there wasn't the blood he anticipated as she kept the area clean, and there were dark numbers inked into his skin, living as though they'd always been there, part of him. Captivating.

And so very much worth every ounce of discomfort and prickle of pain he's endured so far.

"You're wonderful," he told her without thought, awed by the work already.

Hermann was so incredibly drunk on stimulation here, and the feedback Newt received was turning into a warm pleased feeling settling into his limbs, tingling head to toe.

"Hey now," he teased, running his fingers through Hermann's short hair. "Don't think you can flirt with her just because you're feeling all lovey dovey drunk right now. You're still a married man, Doctor." He lightly tapped Hermann on the nose.

"You ARE wonderful, though," he agreed, talking to the artist. "I might have to come up with more tattoo plans."

Hermann tipped his head into Newton's fingers, bemused. "I promise I'm quite happily married."

But the direct connection to Newton threatened to throw their feedback loop into dangerous territory, so he pulled away from his husband's touch, faintly concerned.

"Newton, you're covered in tattoos already. Where on Earth do you have room for any more?"

"Um. My hands? Maybe my face?"

Their artist piped up and mentioned that hand tattoos tended to fade quickly. Newt nodded.

"Work with me here. I'm trying to freak him out. You know, tell him I'll get his name tattooed across my forehead or something. Anyway, I have some space at my wrists. Maybe there."

"You're not marking up your face," Hermann grumbled, though not quite as cross as he'd usually be sober. "Wrists don't sound bad, however. I could put your initials there easily enough."

And still cover them with the cuffs of his sleeves if necessary to maintain professionalism. Though really, if it was on the underside of his wrist, it would hardly be seen regardless.

"Should we schedule it with the next appointment? Seems a bit unnecessary to schedule another for what will only take a few moments."

"Ehh, not for me. I need to consider this a bit more. Space is at a premium so I'm going to have to decide just what to commit to before setting an appointment. Maybe a bit of coding around the wrist, or otachi's tongue up my neck. Maybe some coding related to our little jury rigged contraption ...right here."

He tapped the back of his neck along the spine, as if to suggest something to do with the spinal cord...or perhaps the brain.

"Not sure yet."

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Got you stuck on my body,

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