The tattoo shop was a little hole in the wall place located in a well maintained strip mall, bearing a simple lit neon sign to let patrons know it was open and its hours. Unlike its brethren, it was not gaudy in nature or situated by a bar. Unimpressed by the plain yet tasteful façade, Gilbert reminded himself that he had heard good things about the shop. Even better selling point, he liked the look of all the art coming from it, even if the place looked like it doled out manicures rather than potentially bad life decisions. From what he had seen though, the owner of 'Moose Tracks' had a nice touch for skin and the application of steel and ink into it.
Luddie and Feli had been coming here for years, and even Romano had had the balls to walk in and get pierced though he was refusing to admit where to anyone. His on again, off again boyfriend Antonio wasn't giving up the location either, no matter how many drinks Gilbert and Francis poured down the Spaniard's throat.
For all his leather and attitude, Gilbert's pale skin was virginal in a sense, meaning that not one piece of steel or drop of ink gracing his surfaces. He was looking to fix that today, and 'here' was just the place to do it. Like most of his decisions, Gilbert was feeling rather awesome about this course of action until he stepped foot in the shop.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Gilbert snapped upon entering, his excitement deflating upon finding someone he didn't expect there.
"I work here, you asshole." The bored blonde behind the counter shot back with a wide grin of too white teeth, all his many piercings glittering in the shop's generous amount of lighting. Gilbert had to give it up to the owner as he looked around. MooseTracks was cleaner than some hospital rooms he had visited in the days of his hazardous youth. Gleaming white tiles and surfaces backed by bright red accent walls was the running theme, a floating maple leaf motif that started at the door and looped around to the back rooms linking everything together nicely.
Leaning behind the counter reading a comic book was none other than Alfred Fucking Jones, with his all American boy next door good looks of honey blonde hair and bright blue eyes. That ideal was marred(or improved upon depending on who was looking at him) by all the steel imbedded in his flesh. Star shaped studs made up a tiny earthbound cosmos on his person, a nebula floating most generously in his ears. A Milky Way graced his eyebrows, cheeks, lips, tongue, and to Gilbert's extensive knowledge and Alfred's total lack of shame, went all the way down to his nipples, belly button, and dangly bits.
"Since when?" Gilbert said, done rubber necking for now to glare at the man openly ignoring him.
"If you bothered to pay attention to anything besides your chick and your dick, you would know I'm the piercer here. Or do you think all this perfection happened naturally?" Alfred said, doing a full bodied gesture to encompass all his awesome.
"That's not what Arthur calls it." Gilbert snorted, recalling several drunken conversation with the Englishman. It was a blessing and a curse that he'd always had a better memory for the minor details while shitfaced, such things alluding Arthur who had the bad habit of talking to thin air when he was inebriated. That or go on long rants about his boyfriend who was usually the one to come and collect the useless drunk much to everyone's relief.
"Lies and so jelly it's ugly on you. I don't get any complaints in receiving or giving. Have you ever had a blowjob with something like this?" Alfred said as he stuck out his tongue to show off the three star studs in it. "Or been fucked by…"
"Al, keep your pants on, eh." said a soft yet firm voice from behind them, keeping Alfred's well adorned cock in his pants. Gilbert wish he could say he had never seen it before, or admit to ever wondering how Arthur felt about having all that metal thrust into him on a regular basis. Now that he was thinking about it, the Englishman probably got off on it, the kinky fuck.
The owner of that voice was obviously Alfred's twin, though there were differences between the two. The twin's hair was longer and a touch paler in blond tone, his skin lacking the tan that seemed to perpetually exist on Alfred's own all year long. His eyes were more lavender than bright blue, his facial expression softer in intensity as he openly regarded Gilbert with such a thoughtful expression, the albino felt himself beginning to blush.
"And who are you?" Gilbert purred, letting his husky accent do most of the work for him as he leaned up against the counter to display himself. He knew he looked good, dressing in all black and shades of darker reds that made his pale skin and silver hair glow.
"Seriously, Gil? Don't eyefuck Mattie in front of me." Alfred groaned, having seen the self-proclaimed Prussian in action before.
"Mattie?" Gilbert rolled the name around his mouth to find it didn't quite fit with the man in front of him.
"Short for Matthew. Matthew Williams at your service." The man corrected with a roll of eyes.
"I hope so." Gilbert said, not missing a beat or a chance as his scarlet eyes memorized Matthew's features, from floating head curl to his preference for layers upon layers of plaid.
"Ew, ew, ew. That's my little bro, dude." Alfred avidly reminded Gilbert that he was not alone with his new conquest.
"By two minutes. You need to let that go." Matthew sighed, looking as annoyed by the intrusion as Gilbert.
"Never. It's my duty as a hero to protect you from people like him." Alfred said, throwing his comic book at Gilbert's head who ducked in time.
Middle finger up in answer for making him expend the effort, Gilbert smirked at the American's ire. "People like me?"
"Yeah, assholes."
"This asshole has cash in his pocket and would like to get a tattoo from anyone but you." Gilbert pointed out, pulling the roll of bills from his pocket.
"As if. I only do steel. Mattie is the inker." Alfred said as he swung himself over the counter to go and reclaim his comic book. From the irritated look on Matthew's face, it was an old argument about why we can't have nice things because people swing their bodies over glass display cases.
"Really?" Gilbert arched a pale brow at the other twin who remained unaffected by it. As far as Gilbert could tell, the tattoo artist didn't appear to have any ink of his own, though Matthew was wearing quite a few layers.
"Really. You can look at my portfolio if you would like." Matthew gave a half shrug, gesturing to several prominent books on a shelf by some couches. From the butt dents in the cushions, people obviously took their time looking through everything, which was a good sign in Gilbert's opinion.
"Nein. Luddie vouches for you and that is good enough for me. Let's do this." Gilbert said with a shake of his pale head, already venturing further into the shop. The front room seemed to exist to display flash and piercings for purchase, and provide a comfortable setting for negotiations in prices and commissions.
"You have to fill out some paperwork, give me some proof of ID, and sign some consent forms for me first." Matthew said, gesturing at Alfred to hand something over to him from behind the counter.
The twin did so with a sigh, a prepared clipboard passed over. "No exceptions, butt nugget."
"Mature, dicklick." Gilbert said, making impatient grabby fingers at the clipboard. He was beginning to lose his patience and that was never a good thing for other people. "Gimme so I can sign my life away."
"Not your life. Only your skin." Alfred grinned evilly, all too white teeth and intent as he leaned over the counter. He was smacked upside his head by Matthew for putting his weight on the display cases below like that.
"You're not touching me, you sadistic fuck. You keep your metal away from my meters." Gilbert snickered as Alfred rubbed the back of his head and pouted, shooting Matthew a reproachful look who ignored it out of old habit.
"What's a meter? Is that like a shortbus way of saying an inch?" Alfred shot back, making the rest of the room regard him strangely.
"Don't look at me. I'm Canadian." Matthew shook his head when Gilbert looked to him for answers. "Getting back to business, what were you thinking of getting and where?"
"I want a black eagle on my back between my shoulder blades with the words 'Suum Cuique' in Latin over it. I got a picture right here." Gilbert said, juggling the clipboard and his ID in his renewed excitement as he fished the printout of the Prussian flag from his pocket.
Taking the picture before someone hurt themself, Matthew quietly studied the black eagle with its unfurled wings while Gilbert finished filling out the forms. "I could do this in one sitting for you if you're up for it. It going to take aboot five to six hours though. Not everyone can handle that. There is no shame in that. Everyone's pain tolerance is different. Otherwise, I can schedule a series of sittings. We can do the outline today…" Matthew started to explain, looking up to be met with a very determined look.
"Nein. We do it all at once or not at all." Gilbert said with a seriousness that startled Matthew.
"That's a little extreme…" Matthew began to find something more than flash and fool in those sanguine eyes. There was a hardness and sharpness there, one that was honed into a soul by the wickeder side of life. Matthew was beginning to realize that underestimating this man would be a mistake.
"It's what I want. I can handle it." Gilbert stated without hesitation or worry catching his voice. "Hear and believe."
"$50 bucks says he pussies out like a bitch after an hour." Alfred said who remained unaffected by such things because his boyfriend was a real badass in his not so humble opinion even if Arthur dressed like an old man half the time, preferring to wear sweater vests and loafers.
"I'm telling Eli you said that." Matthew said with a slight smile, referring to their friendly competition and fellow tattoo artist. The Hungarian woman was a brilliant inker but one with a well-known, quick temper. In cheerful acknowledgement to that temper and her habit for inflicting it upon people who bothered her, Elizabeta had a frying pan tattooed on her right fist. Having been on the receiving end of that fist more than he would care to admit, Alfred paled before ducking his head back into his comic book, ignoring his twin's chuckling.
"You know that pain in the ass too?" Gilbert laughed along with Matthew. He was no stranger Eli's ire, being the cause of it more often than not.
"Yes," Matthew said, studying Gilbert again with fresh eyes now that he had seen something other than the farce. Handing off the paperwork to Alfred, Matthew led the albino to one of the rooms in the back, a neat sterile space filled with his equipment, versatile chairs, and widescreen TV that provided soft background noise and distraction for anyone being worked on. "But if you know Elizabeta, why are you coming here? She can be a little heavy handed but she's one of the best."
"I like your work and I have my reasons." Gilbert said with a slight smile, the expression bordering on more bitter than sweet, a secret living there in the upturn of his lips. His eyes hinted it might be one he would be willing to tell if Matthew proved himself worthy of that sort of trust. "After you give me mine, maybe you could show me yours."
"Fair enough." Was all Matthew decided to say. He had work to do and couldn't afford to become too distracted. There would be time enough for that later. "Take off your shirt for me please."
"Usually I insist on a drink first. I'm not a cheap lay." Gilbert grinned as he started to pull off his clothes.
"Duly noted. Shut up and strip. I need to shave your back."
"Kinky."