WHO: Adam, Gansey, and Ronan WHAT: Adam & Gansey get their tattoos! WHERE: The Barns WHEN: Sunday afternoon, March 21st WARNINGS: PG for some swearing (and dick jokes)!
“-- So, essentially, because of putting a ban on cats and comparing them to Satan, Pope Gregory was partially responsible for the spread of the Black Plague in the 13th century.” It was probably risky, bringing up historical stories of a Pope that was a dick (though, historically speaking, that was most of them) when Ronan was leaning over Gansey’s bare back, brandishing a tattoo machine in hand, well into the ink being applied to his shoulder.
Gansey had his shirt folded and put under his cheek, and was thankful for the fact that Ronan had spent time setting up a proper booth, sterile and at a temperature where he wasn’t shivering. He did wince though, as the needle went across his shoulder blade. If he kept quiet and powered through it, he’d just end up wincing more, which was one of the driving forces to Gansey rambling about history on and off since they’d begun. “Was it the Pope story? Should I talk about Lord Byron’s pet bear instead?”
He paused, and there was the reminder of the search results, and everything being a bit more adult than usual, before Gansey finally clarified and pressed the side of his now-blushing face into the table. “That isn’t a euphemism.”
Adam was sitting just outside of Gansey’s eyesight, switching his attention between Gansey's wincing and Ronan's single minded focus. He didn't want to make Gansey go first, but there was something about expecting pain versus it surprising him that made Adam not immediately undress for the tattoo. Adam had lied about his taking longer and not wanting to psych Gansey out by having to wait through Adam's. It was mostly a fool proof plan, until his knee had started unconsciously and anxiously bouncing.
"We know it wasn't a euphemism," Adam clarified, as he scooted closer, and reached for Gansey's hand. The position was a little awkward, and Adam hunched to get down into Gansey's view. He knew what Gansey was doing, rambling about historical facts for distraction. Little did he know, it helped distract Adam too.
"And keep going on about the Pope. If Ronan gets stuck with a hardass customer in the future who talks blasphemy about religion, he's going to have to practice tuning shit out to stay professional," Adam said, flashing a grin to Ronan, teasing just enough, before turning back to Gansey. "We're helping, on multiple levels."
And okay, curiosity was getting the best of him, and Adam lifted his face once more to steal a peek at the tattoo. "Almost done?"
“Don’t rush perfection, asshole,” Ronan growled cheerfully. He wasn’t distracted by Gansey’s prattling or Adam being practical and supportive. He was too focused on not permanently disfiguring his best friend. It was important that this looked good. He couldn’t afford to be thrown off by shit like having his face so close to Gansey’s bare skin or the way he could see exactly when Gansey took sharp little inhales from the pain. Ronan definitely couldn’t look at Adam or he’d start thinking about his tattoo and how the idea electrified his blood – for innocent reasons and not so innocent reasons.
Really, this whole thing was an exercise in patience and focus, two things Ronan Lynch wasn’t particularly known for. They were lucky he cared about them too much to fuck it up.
“I wanna hear the bear one,” he said, swiping away blood with gauze and tattooing another small line. “Not cause I care about you heathens talking crap about popes, but just cause pet bear sounds hilarious.”
Gansey tried not to move his shoulders when he huffed out a laugh, but in truth he was thankful for Adam’s anchor. He wouldn’t have asked for it, may have hinted at it and longed for that physical touch, but wouldn’t have asked. He wasn’t sure if Adam could see the thankful little smile that crept up with it, but it did make him instantly relax for a moment.
The pain wasn’t unbearable, just there, coupled with the constant vibrating hum that would have made him grit his teeth if he wasn’t trying to focus on other things.
“Lord Byron was probably a dreamer,” Gansey teased, the smile growing a little. As much as he appreciated Adam’s hand to squeeze - which he did - he had a vested interest in keeping Ronan happy right now. “Dogs were banned at Cambridge, so he found a loophole, and brought his tame bear to the university. He even argued it in front of the board, as they didn’t have a rule about no tame bears. He won, and would take it on walks across the campus.”
It was an unconscious gesture—Adam squeezing back—as if they held hands in support all the time. If someone told Adam years ago that he would freely give affection to people, he wouldn't have believed it. Now it seemed that it was the easiest way to express his feelings; words were messy and complicated, and his were often too sharp or too keen, overwrought with overthought. Comfort was a different beast all together, and this sort of contact was better, honest.
He turned his attention back to Ronan, curious and intense. His free hand itched to touch him too, but that was a distraction Adam didn't want to add. It would be a reward at the end, for everyone's patience.
"Are you sure Ronan hasn't heard this story before?" Adam asked, in a voice that signaled he was moments away from being a shithead. "I thought that was the excuse he was going to use if he got caught when he would bring Chainsaw to school. There's no rule that bans corvids." Adam paused, reconsidering, his burgeoning lawyer brain kicking in. "The mascot is a raven, they'd have a hard time arguing against it, actually."
Ronan snorted, finished another line, and swept it clean. The gloves were still an adjustment, but everything was getting easier by the second. The two nerds being nerds probably helped.
“You’re giving me way too much credit. But if Gansey knew this shit back then, I’m sure he’d have tried to save me from expulsion. Maybe you’d have helped if I hadn’t pissed you off too much that day, huh?” He looked up at Adam from under his eyelashes and smirked before he rolled his seat back to get a full view of the tattoo. “Getting close, Gansey. How is all that delicate hippie skin holding up?”
Adam was dangerously close to making Gansey laugh again, and he had to smother it with his shirt into the table once more, trying to stay as still as possible for Ronan. If the best friend with a needle gun - is that what that was? - could be on his best behavior, so could Gansey. Even when Adam was being a shithead.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have given you both a chance to keep me trapped here under you.” Gansey retorted back, before putting his face back so he could breathe properly again. He could at least eyeroll without moving, and it was his reaction to delicate hippie skin. “It’s seen more daylight than your pale irish ass has.”
He realized it wasn’t an answer, and it still ached, which made him keep a hold on Adam’s hand. But he did clarify, a little more softly. “It’s okay, Not as bad as I expected.” And to Adam, “Does he have the coordinates right?” Gansey had left a sheet next to him, printed from the computer so his handwriting couldn’t be used against him.
The look Adam shot Ronan was both affectionate and a non-verbal way to fondly say fuck you. He had to fight his own bird battles. But Adam's expression changed, lifting a brow impressed as Gansey roasted Ronan right back. The tattoo must not have hurt that bad if Gansey could still crack a joke, or they were doing a good job of providing distraction. Adam thought it might be a little bit of both.
"You should probably rethink the words trapped under you, Gansey. Someone might get the wrong idea of what we were doing in this barn," Adam said, as he grabbed for the paper to reassure Gansey that Ronan was not taking artistic liberties beyond the boundaries of the sketch he provided.
A complete and total asshole might say something like is one of the coordinates supposed to be sixty-nine? or kind of looks like a dick. But Adam wasn't, instead he made a soft oh, taking in the design his boyfriend so adoringly needled into Gansey's back. "It's—wow. I didn't expect it to be bad, I knew you'd pull it off, I just. It looks really good."
Ronan visibly preened at the compliment, as much as he tried not to show it.
“Hey, this pale irish ass sat through way more hours of this,” He squeezed the back of Gansey’s neck for a moment and then got back to work on the finishing touches. He didn’t mention that he’d been very drunk when he’d gotten his tattoo and that he’d bled like a stuck pig, or that the artist had been shady as fuck because that’s what it took to get a tattoo when you were an obviously fucked up sixteen year old. This was a much better memory already.
“Let me know if you need a minute. That’s gonna go double for you.” His glance to Adam was brief but warm, the compliment about his work still buzzing nicely along his skin. Though if they kept talking about Gansey being trapped under him, he was the one who was going to need a minute. “There’s no rush. I’m charging you by the hour, not by the minute,” he teased.
Adam’s lack of actual confirmation, but breathy oh immediately made Gansey want to sit up and find the mirror that was somewhere in the room, but the squeeze to the back of his neck kept him there, burning with intense curiosity. And a little pain to go with his blush that lingered, but the curiosity was winning out.
“You didn’t actually say if the coordinates were correct,” he pointed out from his spot, unable to really do much or see much, which was slowly driving him a little crazy. He’d also lost Adam’s hand in the shuffle, and was two seconds away from fidgeting himself off the table if he didn’t find something to ground him. Something that wasn’t a reminder of the days he’d put ointment on the freshly done work on that pale irish ass, when Ronan had come home with it, drunk and in pain.
Gansey wasn’t one for pausing when something was nearly accomplished though, and the hand Adam had previously been holding went up into the air, thumb up. “Excelsior. I planned on tipping you anyway.”
Adam could have kept looking at Ronan forever‚ as ridiculous as it sounded. He was lost in the way the simple act of being appreciative of Ronan's work did to his mood. While Adam thrived on praise, it was rare to find that same need reflected back. It made him feel less alone in his wanting. But he shook his head, charmed, "No, I'm good. I'm sure I'll need a minute later, I'll save it."
And okay, maybe Adam was a little bit of an asshole, noticing Gansey was getting twitchy. Adam grabbed the hand giving the thumbs up, to still him. "The coordinates are right, but is it supposed to look like a dick?" There was only a beat, just enough for a split second of panic, before Adam added in, "You've made it this far, you can wait in suspense for a few minutes more. It will be worth it."
He scooted back then, giving them both space, so Adam could go back to observing them in quiet contemplation. A thought occurred, the thread of the previous conversation finally snagging in his mind. "Did you ever think you'd switch places? That you'd have to give Gansey tattoo aftercare?"
Ronan rolled his eyes at Gansey’s tip comment. Any money they actually gave him was going right into the house fund, but he wasn’t dumb enough to pick a fight while he had a tattoo gun pressed to Gansey’s skin. Adam would make some killer argument and he didn’t have the spare mental energy to meet him on an even playing field. He finished the last few strokes and snorted at the dick joke instead.
“He’s fucking with you,” he said, pressing a hand to Gansey’s head to keep him from twitching. “Beautifully, but still.” He flashed a smile at Adam and pulled back to look for the handheld mirror he’d tucked away in his supplies. There was a standing mirror a foot away from the end of the table. “If you’d asked me if I thought Gansey would ever get a tattoo when I got one, I’d have said fuck no. But I had my head up my own ass back then.” He put the mirror down next to Gansey’s head and tried not to sound nervous. “It’s done. Take a look before I put antibiotic ointment down and slap a bandage on there.”
Gansey made a noise in response to both Adam and Ronan’s torment, struggling to keep still with a dick joke just floating in the air. Even if he knew Adam was being a shithead, he had the burning curiosity even still.
“Back then?” With the mirror laid down and Ronan’s hand off of him, Gansey shifted, pulling himself into a sitting position on the table so he could give them both a really? look before he picked up the mirror. He was slow, for all his need to see it, lingering before he lifted it up so he could use the standing mirror to see the reflection. “Oh,” It was an echo of Adam, but Gansey wasted no time to scoot a little closer so he could see it better-- his glasses were off somewhere, abandoned -- “Oh-- Outstanding.”
The pain was forgotten, the tattoo was exactly as he’d pictured it, far better than he’d roughly sketched it, and more meaningful to him than he’d expected. Which was silly in retrospect. But all of the shithead teasing took a backseat in an instant, and Gansey’s grin blossomed. “Truly outstanding, Ronan. Bandage me up, I’m looking forward to Adam’s even more now.”
Adam shared a sly grin with Ronan. Adam was a tightly-wound asshole on any given day, but most of his perfectly aimed shitheadness was from being in proximity to Ronan. Luckily for both of them, Gansey wasn't as slow on the uptake, and had a perfectly aimed jab right back. That made Adam smile wider.
He admired Gansey inspecting his tattoo and having the same reaction he did. Ronan's art—now permanently inked on his best friend—was mesmerising. Adam's obsession had been spawned by the one on Ronan's back, and his gaze drifted to the sharp black hook peeking over the collar of his shirt now, his mouth going dry. "It's really something, right?" Adam said, squeezing Ronan's knee in appreciation.
Even if Ronan was the tattoo artist. Adam wasted no time in gathering up the ointment, bandages, and plastic wrap as a dutiful assistant to hold while Ronan finished. He picked up Gansey's glasses and handed them over and he stepped up beside him. "Don't get too excited. I didn't come prepared with history anecdotes to talk through with mine. You better have more up your sleeve or it's going to be a very long and awkwardly quiet session."
Relief eased the tension out of Ronan’s shoulders. He had eyes; he knew it looked good to him. And he knew Adam would have hesitated if he had any issues with it. But it would be on Gansey’s skin forever now, so what he thought didn’t matter for shit. He stood and took the supplies Adam collected.
“I’m gonna want to do a touch up in like two or three months,” he said, not asking, just telling. His hands moved quick and sure with the last steps to covering the tattoo with a bandage, but he was bummed to see it disappear from view. He had to remind himself that he’d probably see very little of it, period, until summer when shirts became a lot less frequent around the barns.
“I have--” He turned away to pull out a small card with tattoo care instructions on it from under the sketchbook on the counter. “Here, in case your old man memory is going.” He slapped the card against Gansey’s chest and then nodded at Adam. “Take off your shirt.”
Gansey accepted his glasses and the card, set the mirror aside and grabbed his shirt, but didn’t move to put it on just yet. The slight burning reminder of the tattoo and fresh bandage made him wince slightly, and hold off. “Two to three months, got it.” Gansey clapped a hand on Ronan’s shoulder in thanks and squeezed briefly, before patting the table for Adam to take his place.
“You’re in luck, I have dozens of history anecdotes in here--” Gansey knocked the side of his head and slid into the chair that Adam had been. He glanced away and down, to read the tattoo care card Ronan had handed him, even though he was sure Ronan would give them both reminders as needed. “I’ve got a few more about Lord Byron if you want them. He led a truly ridiculous life and was outrageously bisexual.”
It was happening so fast, and a strange sort of panic started to well up inside of Adam—as if he was just being told surprise, you get a tattoo now! and that he hadn't had the opportunity to spend the entirety of Gansey's session preparing himself for it. But Adam, cucumber-cool, wouldn't betray that unease. He didn't want Ronan or Gansey getting the wrong idea. It was anxiousness, nerves, excitement.
So Adam slipped out of his shirt, almost as if he were timid to be shirtless in front of people who had definitely seen him without one on before. He took his time folding it and draping it over a chair in the corner, before climbing—albeit hesitantly—into the table that Gansey helpfully patted. "My threshold for ridiculousness is high, Gansey. You'd going to have to do better than pet bear on campus and bisexual. That could just be me tomorrow at school."
Adam shifted and squirmed in an attempt to relax, but it was difficult not to immediately want to disassociate for the impending pain. Instead he put his arm up, down, awkwardly over his chest. Nothing seemed to work to give Ronan the most access while not being horribly uncomfortable. And the small frustrated noise that came out of him was unexpected.
"I don't know where to put it," Adam said, in the way that said he needed help.
Ronan laughed at them both, sounding a little more carefree now that one was done and nothing terrible had happened. Everything about this set-up was still distracting as fuck, but he’d done it. He could do it again. Hopefully they wouldn’t even be able to tell how stupidly eager he was. How his hands itched. He gave Gansey one more pleased little smirk and plopped back down to his spinning stool. The tray of gauze and ink stained materials were set aside and the clean materials he’d laid out for Adam slid into place.
“Here.” He took Adam’s arm, stroked his hands down his forearm soothingly, and held it out to Gansey. “Bring that other stool over here and pretend to be a table, Gans. You can whisper nerdy bisexual nothings in his ear all you want.” With that order in place, he eyed the canvas of Adam’s ribs and pressed his free hand along the edges of the space he meant to use. “Any last minute changes, Parrish?”
Gansey echoed Ronan’s laughter, chuckling even as he was moving in close to where Ronan had gestured. He couldn’t even deny Adam’s joke, because Cabeswater would find it hilarious to send him to school with some kind of forest bear, and he knew it. The pleasure behind that thought coursed through him, thrumming at his veins with the reminder of their close proximity.
“I won’t whisper,” Gansey promised, as he took hold of Adam’s forearm, to rest it in a comfortable position that was out of the way. He tried to angle himself so he wouldn’t be in Ronan’s way, twisting slightly, but had just enough morbid curiosity so he could watch what was going on.
“But I think it’s fun that your boyfriend is giving you an out and thinks you’re the kind of person to make last minute permanent changes to an already thought out plan.” The corner of his mouth twitched in Ronan’s direction. “I can butcher some latin for it if you need inspiration.”
This was better, with Ronan's hand on his side and Gansey propping up his arm, both of them unbearably close. The whole set up would be awkward if these were all strangers, but a pleasant warmth settled over his body that Adam—prickly and frustratingly stubborn—had grown relationships with two people that he didn't want to shy away from.
Adam nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm ready. No changes." That was said to Ronan, because Gansey was right. The thought of switching something up permanent on his body was enough to give him a cold sweat. And then to Gansey who offered to butcher Latin (and how distracting that would be to Adam, competitive perfectionist), he said, "Facere non, placet."
He forced his focus on Gansey, despite wanting to watch, to take in all the methodical preparation, to stare at Ronan's determined concentration. Adam didn't want his boyfriend to fuck up out of pressure. "Did Ronan tell you what it is?" Did Gansey know that he was part of the art that was about to be etched on his body? Maybe there would be a last minute change if Gansey didn't like the idea.
Ronan rolled his eyes, even though he appreciated Gansey’s know-it-all confidence at a time like this. “We both know you can butcher latin without any effort, Gansey,” he teased.
There was a standard way of doing tattoos with a stencil; the art was printed out on temporary tattoo paper and put onto the skin and then the artist tattooed using that as a guideline. He had plenty of the paper and a little dreamt printer in the corner that didn’t even need to be plugged in. But he’d pictured these two tattoos over and over, sketched them a few dozen times. They were his own art. He knew exactly where every line would go on Adam’s ribs. At the risk of having Gansey be annoying about it, Ronan leaned over and kissed Adam’s side before he swiped it with antiseptic and prepped the tattoo gun with fresh ink.
“I didn’t tell him shit. I figured you’d want to present him a powerpoint about why you chose it and he’d probably get all weepy before you got thru two slides.” His words were lazy and affectionate. He switched out his gloves for new ones and pressed his hands to Adam’s side.
“Tap me when you need a break. Don’t just try to muscle thru.” He pressed the needle to Adam’s skin.
“I’m expecting a powerpoint presentation tomorrow.” Gansey replied, still confident, still a little smug, and maybe a little hopeful. Not that he’d ever actually admit that part, because Ronan would just use it as an excuse to call him a nerd again, but he liked hearing the reasonings behind choices, even if it was something as simple as “I just liked it”.
He leaned in and propped his forearm up on the corner of the table and up against Adam’s shoulder, continuing to act as a prop. He remembered his first intake of breath, not quite knowing what to expect, and gave Adam’s forearm a gentle squeeze as Ronan went to work. “If you want to get the full Lord Byron experience, bisexuality, bears, battles. He became a Greek hero and fought for them in their war of independence, despite not having any previous combat experience.”
He had picked up the historical anecdote as if they’d never deviated from the topic, rallying a distraction clear as day. Gansey had a wry smile at the next part, looking a little embarrassed. “But with the lack of military under his belt, he mostly just threw money at it to help the rebellion.”
Adam felt settled, that restless energy calming to something that didn't make him want to twitch out of his skin. It was Ronan's kiss, it was white noise of the buzzing tattoo gun, it was Gansey leaning in close to tease him about powerpoints—he maybe had something like one started, to channel all his convincing arguments towards why he should get one. All of it made that first press of the needle feel weightless.
"I don't know if I could follow in Byron's footsteps," Adam said, trying to be casual as he ignored the ache building. He was absolutely going to muscle through, because naturally, Adam couldn't do something without being the most difficult about it, a habit he couldn't seem to break, and that included having his first, and only, tattoo on his side. "I appreciate his bid for Greek freedom, but throwing money at the rebellion seems counterproductive. People could continue to fight forever. Money doesn't solve everything."
He closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp quiet breath, as the needle went over the thin places on his ribs. "I chose this spot because it's easy to hide under shirts," Adam blurted out in a rush, eager to fill the space. "But it's you. It's Ronan too, it's everyone. A leaf for each of the people closest to me." And then, as if remembering an old joke, his voice lightened, "I told Ronan it couldn't go on my ass."
Letting them banter without him, Ronan twisted his head and hands this way and that until the first leaf was a stark outline on Adam’s skin. It felt more real now. Less like something he might accidentally dream into being with how much he’d been thinking about it these last few weeks. That was probably why he clued back into the conversation right at the bit about Adam’s ass.
“This tattoo session would be a lot less nerdy if you hadn’t.” He gave Adam a once over with his eyes, to check for any obvious signs of intense pain or tension. Satisfied, he started back in on the second leaf. “There’s a sketch in my back pocket,” he said to Gansey. “But you’re just gonna have to wait to see it for real. It’ll be better that way.”
Gansey wouldn’t make Adam agitated enough to get annoyed or snap at him, during this, when he needed to be keeping steady breaths and staying still for Ronan’s sake as much of his own. But his nose still wrinkled and he had an argument worked out in his head for the times when money did solve things.
He shelved it, for now, the wrinkle in his forehead stuck there until he huffed out a quiet laugh. He was very tempted to pull the sketch out, to peek at it, but the thrill of getting to see it the same time as Adam was in the forefront. “If it went on your ass, you wouldn’t be able to show it off, and I doubt I would be allowed to watch, but-”
Gansey glanced over at Ronan, as if to peek towards where the sketch was tucked. But only for a second. “I’m only declining going into your back pocket because I don’t want to cause a distraction. I can wait.” And back to Adam, “Do you think Cabeswater will appreciate it? The aesthetic?”
Because Adam had nowhere else to contrate on besides Gansey, he caught that shift in his face, raising a brow in their own non-verbal language that said save it for later. Adam wanted to hear that argument, if only to debate him back. Adam liked a challenge.
He tried not to snort about not being able to show off his tattoo, and squeezed awkwardly at Gansey's shoulder. "You're right, this is better. You being here. Next one though..." That was said as a tease to Ronan, to see if he was paying attention or wholly wrapped up in the needlework.
"And, I hope Cabeswater likes it, because there's no going back now—" And oh, right there that hurt, but Adam took it in stride, exhaling rather loudly until the pain passed and it returned to be a numbing ache. "It's a plant, from in there." This felt like a secret he hadn't meant to spill. Even when Ronan was sketching and making adjustments, Adam explaining the shape of leaves and growth, saying it outloud, confirming what he was doing, made it feel right.
There was a pause, before Adam said to Ronan, "Pressure's on. You have to impress the forest too."
Ronan felt his eyes heat up at Gansey talking about reaching into his pocket and Adam threatening the next one. All of this was definitely distracting enough, even without him being the only one with a damn shirt on. He ignored them both for a moment just to finish the outline of the second leaf.
“I think Cabeswater already knows it has a permanent mark on you. On both of you.” He tossed a dirty wad of gauze onto his tray and claimed a new clean stack. “And I think even if I fucked this up, it would just change itself to match. But...” He eyed the leaves he’d done so far and pictured the whole finished tattoo in his head for the hundredth time. A soft smile flickered across his mouth. The tattoo gun started to buzz again and the vibration of it helped him focus on starting the third leaf. “...I think I fucking love it so Cabeswater probably will too.”
It wasn’t easy to see, without crowding into Ronan’s space, but Gansey peeked. He leaned in ever so slightly, and his hand squeezed Adam’s forearm before making it’s way further down his arm to squeeze his hand. He knew that it was similar to his own feelings on the matter - Adam wouldn’t ask for the comfort, so Gansey nudged his way gently into the comfort bubble.
He paid attention to cues to back off, just in case, but he was also being nosy about the tattoo, and watching Ronan work. He’d watched countless videos on the internet of tattoo techniques, for research, but there was more of an appreciation of it when it was Ronan.
“I think you’re right.” He didn’t often tell Ronan he was right, but he put forward a push of confidence with it. “Plants, Adam embracing the loved ones around him, plus Ronan’s art?” Gansey looked all around fond of all of them, but looked down at Adam again. “Do you want me to describe the leaf dick in detail?”
Adam was smiling despite himself. He appreciated the warm certainty of Ronan loving his tattoo, therefore Cabeswater would. And he couldn't help but admire the way Gansey recounted all the facts behind the why of it, while squeezing his hand. Adam Parrish was not so unknowable, and it wasn't a terrifying thought anymore. Especially not to the people who matter the most to him.
His sight was limited from his position, but he could still catch out of the corner of his eye Ronan's good mood, and he definitely could see Gansey's building interest in what he saw. Adam had to stop himself from laughing at his best friend's attempt to throw the dick joke back in his face.
"I know what it looks like," Adam said, coolly, nonchalant, trying to catch Ronan's eye, just for a second, like a warning, because he didn't want to distract Ronan with the next words out of his mouth, when he had the needle pressed to his skin. "That one is yours, I had Ronan sketch it first. I thought it was fitting, metaphorically speaking."
Gansey’s geeky interest in the process pleased Ronan, and his agreement even more, even if he had to keep ignoring him for the most part. He did laugh at the dick joke though, and nudged Gansey in the side to show his approval.
“You two really have dicks on the brain,” he joked dryly. He kept his face close to the tattoo, partly to nail a detail on the current leaf and partly so the heat in his face would be less obvious. “Don’t get too excited about being first, Gansey. They all pretty much look the same.” That wasn’t entirely true and the fact that it instantly felt like a lie made him exhale his annoyance at his own predictability. He had to correct himself. It was a fucking must. “..But I guess yours might be a little bigger than the rest.”
With that admitted, he dug in to finish the leaf and the next one too, which was noticeably smaller. “How are you doing, Parrish?”
Gansey’s brain short-circuited. He could’ve made a joke right back, there was an opening, right there, in front of him, and instead a ruddy blush moved up his neck and to his cheeks. He wanted to ask why his was bigger but the question was stuck on his tongue, too nervous to make it’s appearance.
So he fidgeted, unknowingly. His knee bounced a little, thumb rubbed against the outside of Adam’s hand, nervous energy building up. “I would have just assumed first was because I met him first. I’m not ridiculous enough to think we have rankings.” That was true, and Gansey had assumed immediately that rankings would have caused multiple people to have hives. It wasn’t Adam’s style, anyway. He cleared his throat quickly. “If I need to come up with more fun historical facts, just say the word, Adam.”
Despite the obvious fact that he was the one getting the tattoo done, Adam felt the attention drawn to him now. Did he need a break? Did he want Gansey to rattle off more historical facts? Adam, notorious observer and consistent planner, didn't think that far ahead. What he truly wanted in this moment to watch Gansey and Ronan continue to banter above him, distracted by them without the need to participate.
His eyes flicked to Gansey's bouncing knee, and he wondered if they needed to pause. And sure, his shoulder was going a little numb resting on it, and the needle was starting to lose its dull pain and become sharper again, as if his body revolted in falling into a false sense of security. He swallowed hard, and nodded a little.
"I could use some water. Unless you're close?" Adam asked, but not hopeful. He knew Ronan was precise and precision did not skimp on time. "I promise I won't look until it's complete, if you're worried." Even though he wanted to, wanted to take that art that was committed to memory and see it permanently against his skin. If he felt a little dangerous and a little reckless with the choice, Adam kept that to himself.
"Gansey also looks like he wants to ask me about rankings," Adam said, smiling cheekily from his sideways position. He was well-read on both of them. "And I'm wondering if I should keep up the lie or admit it's not true to put you out of your misery."
“I’m not even done with the outline, Parrish. I told you this was going to take longer.” Ronan cleaned Adam’s skin with gauze and set the tattoo gun on the tray. “Wouldn’t mind a break from the buzzing myself.” He discarded his gloves in the trash bin under the table, squeezed Adam’s hip, and then rolled his stool over to the mini fridge. There were a few waters inside. And yogurts, in case the maggot ended up keeping him company one of these days. He pulled out two water bottles and lobbed them at Gansey and Adam respectively.
“You were first, Gansey,” he murmured quietly, opening a third bottle for himself. “But you were also just the one who made sure any of this could fucking happen. I’d have ran him off like a fucking idiot.” He took a long drink, stretching his right hand at his side to give it a rest.
Gansey caught the water bottle with his free hand, and dislodged from Adam after so he could open it. His face was still a little flushed, but now he could slump more casually, stretch a leg, move. That gave him an outlet for his nervous energy, and more than a second to compose himself so he wasn’t being distracting.
“I like to think we all would’ve made our way to each other one way or another,” Gansey finally settled on, confidently. He had that stupid little smile on his face that he got when he was thinking about their days in Henrietta.
He held his bottle out as if to clink it to Adam’s like it was a champagne glass. “Onward and upward. New tattoos, continued friendship, and sticking together when it matters most.” His smile went over to Ronan for a second. “And to putting up with each other even when we’re fucking idiots.”