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 Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 7:42 pm
There was a small grimace that crossed his expression when Paris commented on how awkward it would be to go to the same place he got his tattoos, the sudden memory of how awkward Paris warned Chris meeting Billy would be... only to find out later that he'd slept with him.
Chris sincerely hoped that was not the case for this situation, but decided to try and pretend as though he wasn't curious. It was better that he didn't know.
"I don't need anything high class," he said with a small wince as well, hoping Paris didn't think that was the only thing that would keep him interested. He didn't care if it was 'high class' as long as the artist would do a good job. Yes, he realized he was spoiled, but he hoped he wasn't that bad...
"Of course you're coming with me... I don't have any idea what to do," he said, lifting his right hand to knead his fingers into Paris's scalp in a gentle massage now that he was so close. The candle light flickered as one of the flames started to drown in its pool of melted wax, but they still had enough light for the time being.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 1:37 pm
Pretending was much better for Paris than trying to explain a situation he was sure Chris might disapprove of. There wasn’t a lot in his past that had ever seemed to shock Chris, nor had his boyfriend ever shown himself to be uncomfortable about some of the things Paris had done or the number of people that used to come and go in his efforts to keep himself entertained, but they’d never had much of an in depth discussion about it. All Paris had told him was the basics, they whys and the hows and a few of the whens.
Any other details were pretty meaningless when all of that was over and Paris had moved on—to something much, much better, though he wouldn’t have thought so in the beginning.
He certainly thought so now.
“You won’t do much of anything except sit there and watch,” Paris told him. “Afterwards you’ll have to make sure you take care of it while your skin heals, but they’ll go over that with you, and I’ve done it twice before so it’s not like I don’t have a clue.”
He shifted again so that he could rest a bit more comfortably against his boyfriend, lowering his head to Chris’s shoulder as Chris’s hand sank into his hair. Sighing contentedly, Paris snuggled close and shut his eyes for a moment, settling into the calm and the tenderness that had overtaken them. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet—not quite a whisper but still soft. It seemed pointless to speak very loudly when they were so close to one another, and the moment seemed to require something a little gentler.
“You just have to be sure that it’s what you really want,” he said. “Don’t get it to please me, or because it means something to me. It has to mean something to you, too.”
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 2:57 pm
"Well, yeah," he agreed, settling against the back of the couch, his arm around Paris and trailing through his blond hair. The storm was still raging outside, but he didn't mind it as much any more. Even with the power out, they were obviously fine without any use of electricity... for a few hours, anyway.
"I figured you'd be there to walk me through it," he said with a small grin, even if Paris couldn't see it from the angle where he'd cuddled up next to him. He would at least be able to hear it in his voice.
There was a small hesitation before he responded, nodding lightly. "I do want it... it means something to me, too," he insisted, knowing it must seem rather impulsive of him to suddenly decide to get a tattoo. But it was different than any other kind of tattoo. This way, he could prove that he was serious about their relationship... more so than he already had.
"I love you, Paris... and this is what I want," he assured him, leaning in to press an affectionate kiss along his boyfriend's forehead. He didn't have to let the whole world know how much he cared for him... just as long as Paris knew, that would be enough, right...?
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 3:17 pm
Paris didn’t respond with words, but then he didn’t need to. He tilted his head up to kiss Chris wherever he could reach—his cheek, his jaw, the side of his neck, nuzzling there with his eyes still closed, yogurt forgotten for the time being as a feeling of utter contentment washed over him.
It was enough.
Maybe before it hadn’t been, but things had been more difficult then. Now there wasn’t that uncertainty anymore. There wasn’t any fear. He didn’t have to worry about what might happen days or weeks or months from now. That strange, distressing in-between period—where Paris was too sure and Chris wasn’t sure enough—had passed and gone to rest with the rest of his lesser appealing memories. He felt confident in them now, perhaps more so than he had earlier in the year because of what they had overcome.
He didn’t need Chris to get a tattoo just the same as he hadn’t needed Chris to buy him a ring. He didn’t require proof of his boyfriend’s feelings because they were already so obvious, but then that wasn’t what this was about, was it? Neither of them had ever needed to prove anything to the other, or to anyone else. There was so much affection there already, so much trust, that a lot of the little things people did to prove their feelings seemed sort of meaningless.
But if it was what Chris wanted, if he felt like taking it and making it his version of the ring he wouldn’t let Paris buy, wearing it in the same way Paris wore his promise ring, and everything that ring was supposed to symbolize—which, to Paris, was what this seemed to be about—then Paris was more than happy to facilitate the idea.
And it was enough.
Much more than enough.
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