Author's Note: Just a little fluff piece I thought would be cute. I also paid homage to Nellie Veitenheimer, my favorite TGP contender. It would mean the world to me if you would take the time to let me know what you think (I love compliments and also appreciate constructive criticism)! Thanks to SkewedReality for mentoring me. As with anything on this website, I do not own Glee nor the characters involved. This story does not necessarily reflect the sexuality/relationship of Rory Flanagan and Sam Evans (we can only dream) or the actors who portray them. Enjoy! :)

Rory Flanagan tugged gently at the end of his boyfriend's sleeve. "Are you sure you want to do this, Sammy?"

"Rors," Sam Evans said, his nose crinkling as he smiled, "I'm a thousand percent sure."

The Irish boy bit his bottom lip, concerned. "But it's forever! You'll never be able to take it back. What if—"

"'What if' nothing." Sam took a step towards the brunet so that they were toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest…close enough that the tips of their noses touched. "I've made up my mind…just like I have about you. About us—forever."

Rory toed at the ground nervously. "Okay."

Sam grinned and took his boyfriend's smaller hand in his own, squeezing gently for reassurance. "Here we go."

The smaller boy allowed his eager boyfriend to lead him along as they pushed through the door and into the shop.

Rory felt somewhat intimidated. The large space was decorated with heavy metal posters and strange drawings that looked vaguely satanic. A pair of nude mannequins stood against one wall, spray-painted fluorescent pink and adorned with a cascade of silver piercings. The furniture that cluttered the shop was made up of an eclectic mix of Victorian, gothic and modern. Products were displayed on shelves fashioned out of old skateboards, and a neon sign buzzed quietly in the front window.

Though Sam had assured him that he had conducted thorough research on the place, the Irish boy still felt out of place in the tattoo parlor. He made sure to stay behind his taller boyfriend, worried that something might pop out from behind a chair or table at him.

"How goes it?" Asked a rake-thin girl with bubblegum pink hair from behind the battered front desk. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with tedium.

Sam flashed a charming smile that exuded pure confidence. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm supposed to have an appointment with Nellie."

"You're her one o'clock? Sam Evans?" The girl asked, her eyes narrowed as they traveled the length of his body—scrutinizing the well-fitted jeans, plain V-neck and neat haircut—and she wondered what a guy like him was doing in their shop.

"Yup," Sam replied, unfazed by her inspection. He turned halfway around and reached for Rory's hand, towing the brunet forward. "This is Rory. My boyfriend."

"Sam," Rory protested weekly as his boyfriend wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders.

"Aw," the girl said slowly, with a slight smile. "You guys are too cute together."

Rory blushed a deep red and Sam leaned down to peck him on the cheek.

"M'kay, cool. I'll take you over to her."

The receptionist, who was surprisingly short when standing, crossed the shop to the far corner. There was a leather swivel chair, not unlike one found at the hairdresser, placed next to a wooden desk that held an array of equipment. Rory was relieved to see that everything was shiny and clean and protected by plastic wrap.

"She'll be out in a sec," the receptionist said. Then to Rory, "just grab one of those folding chairs for yourself."

Rory did as he was told and parked himself off to the side while Sam sat back in the chair.

"Hey guys," came a cheerful voice from behind them. A woman with close-cropped brown hair and a friendly expression pushed through the door from the back room. She wore a white T-shirt with a faded leather vest and a pair of simplistic black leggings. Her arms were laced with subtle tribal designs in black and red. "I'm Nellie, great to meet you."

"I'm Sam Evans," the blond said cheerful.

Shyly, Rory mumbled. "Rory Flanagan."

"My boyfriend," Sam announced proudly.

"Well then come here, honey! You can't very well comfort your guy from over there, right?"

Rory smiled thinly and dragged his chair over to be next to Sam.

"So," Nellie sighed, "what are we doing today?"

The blond grinned. "I want a shamrock. Simple, just plain black."

"Where are we putting it?"

"Right here," Sam said, touching the inside of his right wrist. "Facing me. So I can always see it."

"And what's the significance of this tattoo?" Nellie asked, her eyes flickering over to Rory.

"My wonderful luck," Sam said, "of finding my perfect Irish boy."

"Lovely," Nellie said. "Let me go draw something up and I'll be back in a few minutes. Cool?"

oo00oo

"Are you ready, Sam?"

"Totally."

"Okay."

Rory cringed as Nellie started up her needle, the buzzing a disconcerting sound. He was acutely aware of Sam's hand holding onto his…and the way that it clenched tightly when the tip of the needle touched his skin.

"Sammy," Rory whispered softly.

The blond looked over at his boyfriend with a tight smile, a slight wetness twinkling in the corners of his eyes. He grunted, "I don't feel a thing."

"Macho man," Nellie piped, her head bent in concentration.

"Yeah," Rory laughed nervously. He peeked over at Sam's wrist; Nellie was through with the outline of the very plain, three-leafed clover, now moving on to filling it in. Every few seconds, a small puddle of ink would collect on the surface of Sam's skin and she would dab it away with a piece of paper towel. Every time, the blackness would cover more of Sam's wrist. It was hardly a big tattoo; maybe a little larger than an American quarter. But still, Rory reflected on the fact that it would be on his boyfriend's skin forever.

He also thought of the gesture behind it. The promise. And he started to tear up.

"Hey," Sam said, frowning. He brought up his free hand to gently wipe Rory's tears. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…you're getting a tattoo for me! It's sweet, you haven't any idea, but I'm just…I'm only—"

"Only nothing, Rors. You're everything. And this is something I've thought through. Because I love you, baby. And I know I always will."

Rory nodded and smiled and leaned his head on Sam's shoulder. While Nellie worked away, the Irish boy whispered, "I love you, too."

oo00oo

"It's been a pleasure, Sam. Best of luck to you; both of you." Nellie beamed as the young couple headed off.

Sam's wrist was bandaged with a square of gauze and he had received specific instructions on how to care for the tattoo.

Rory was deep in thought, as they checked out with the receptionist and Sam paid. Nestled so comfortably under Sam's protective arm, Rory couldn't dream of being anywhere else. He felt the same as Sam did. He was in it forever.

While Sam retrieved their winter coats from the rack by the door, Rory's eyes fell on a stack of papers on the front desk. They were printed with a lot of information and had blank spaces at the bottom. The title of the document read: Underage Consent Form.

As discreetly as he could, Rory pocketed one and hurried to leave.

Two Weeks Later

Sam was at his wit's end. He was deeply troubled, pacing his bedroom frantically.

Rory had been so distant for the past couple of weeks. Sure, they went through the motions of the couple that they were: ate lunch together, held hands in the halls, spent time together after school…but something was missing.

Sam fretted at the thought that maybe getting the shamrock tattoo had been a horribly bad idea. Had he frightened Rory away with his intensity? Maybe it had been too sudden, too drastic.

Everybody else had thought it looked cool. Those who knew how deeply the meaning went for Sam thought it was hopelessly romantic. Staring down at his bare wrist, the blond was still glad as ever to see it.

Rory himself had even said, on numerous occasions, that it had turned out beautifully.

So then…what? What was wrong? Why did Rory shy away from Sam's touch. Why had their late-night cuddle sessions ended? Why did Rory never so much as take off his sweater?

The ringing of the doorbell shook Sam out of his worries. He threw open his bedroom door and thundered down the stairs, eager as always to see the face that sent away the clouds.

Rory hurried into the house and kicked off his boots. "It's freezing out there!"

"I'll go make some tea for us," Sam offered readily.

"With—"

"A 'splash' of milk and a teaspoon and a half of sugar. I know you, Rors."

Sam took his boyfriends coat and hung it in the closet, noting with surprise that Rory was wearing a T-shirt. He stood with a bright smile and his hands jammed deeply into his pockets.

Leading the way into the kitchen, Sam wondered if Rory's distant days were behind them.

A few moments later, and Sam held two steaming hot mugs of tea. Rory was seated at the table and thanked Sam as he reached out with his left hand to take the mug and—

"What is that?" Sam demanded, bewildered.

"What is what?" Rory said with a cheeky grin.

Setting down his mug, Sam pointed to his boyfriend's wrist. "That!"

It was something completely out of place on Rory's usually creamy and unblemished skin. A startlingly black, utterly simplistic, star-shaped tattoo!

"Surprise," Rory exclaimed.

Sam took his boyfriend's hand in his and examined the design. It was indeed a star, even and black…the same size and placement as Sam's own tattoo, but on the opposite wrist.

"But you aren't old enough."

"Brittany's folks. Easy to convince," Rory laughed.

"Why'd you get it?" Sam asked, not unhappily. If he were to be honest with himself, he was relieved that this had to have been what was on Rory's mind…and also quite impressed.

"It's for you. A star because you're my perfect American boy…and the brightest light in my life."

Stroking the soft skin, Sam was at a loss for words. "Rory…I—"

"I love you too," the brunet said.

"Yeah," Sam said. He and Rory slowly gripped one another about the forearm, so that their tattoos were touching. "That sounds about right."