Conal

“You know, I never thought the day would come when I’d let you near me with a sharp object. And now it’s almost routine.”

Frank grins. “I’m a professional. It didn’t hurt any more than it had to.” The grin turns a little feral. “Mostly.”

My brothers, Rafe and Bron, and I are at Beasts Ink to get tattoos from Frank, Zeb, and Griffin, the three artists who live with Hazel’s sister Ember. The women are off enjoying some quality time together while we get inked.

Frank pretends to consult a sheet of instructions. “Let’s see, the center of the tattoo is where it should say ‘Kick Me,’ right?”

I just fold my arms and smile at him. Frank and I didn’t form the best first impression of each other—I hit on Ember once, well before I met Hazel, and he reacted, um, poorly—but we get along well these days, and our squabbles are of the mostly-friendly fraternal variety.

He gives up the charade and offers me a genuine smile. “I think we can finish it all this session, but it’s still going to take a while, so let’s get started.”

We’ve needed several sessions to complete my tattoo. One of Frank’s specialties is traditional Japanese tattoos, and the one he helped me design—not truly a traditional style, but inspired by and indebted to it—covers most of my back. I’ve had to remember to keep my shirt on at all times when I’m at home, because I don’t want Hazel to see it until it’s finished.

Rafe and Bron don’t know what I’m doing, either, and I don’t know what their designs are. We’ve all agreed to surprise each other. Their designs are smaller, so today will be their first and last sessions in addition to my final one.

I peel off my shirt and straddle the backward-facing chair Frank indicates, leaning forward and resting my folded arms on the padded table in front of me, my head on my arms. I’ve got water and snacks, and I’m prepared for a lot of patient sitting.

Rafe

My tattoo’s going on my left arm. Zeb specializes in hyperrealistic tattoos, which is perfect for what I want. I think it will make for a really dramatic effect when it’s finished.

“Cool design,” Zeb says. “You’re gonna love it.”

We’ve already done the preparatory steps: finalizing the artwork and its placement, and getting my arm sterilized and prepped.

“Ready?” he asks.

I make sure I can reach my water and snacks without having to lean over or otherwise disturb my left arm. “Ready.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Bron

We made the reservations for these tattoos months ago; these Beasts Ink guys are in demand, and we didn’t want to claim any special privileges to jump the line, even though we’re family, more or less.

As it happened, Frank had enough flexibility in his schedule to let Conal get a head start on his. We’ve all tried to catch glimpses of it, but my brother’s been vigilant about keeping it hidden.

“We need to schedule another dinner soon,” I say to Griffin while he gets set up. He specializes in the new school style, which is ideal for my design.

He grins at me. “That’d be awesome.”

We’ve done a few dinners now with Ember and her men, sometimes at their place and sometimes at ours, and we always end with a jam session. If we’re at Ember’s, we keep it mellow and acoustic in the back yard; if it’s at our place, we can rock out in the soundproof studio we included when we built the house.

Griffin’s gotten over his initial nerves about playing with us, and really gets into it. He’s good enough that we’ve told him if he ever gets tired of doing tattoos, he could easily make a living as a session musician. For now, he enjoys playing with some local bands and jamming with us.

“All righty,” Griffin says. “Sit right here, put your arm on that padded cushion right there, and I’ll apply the stencil.”

I’m having my right arm done. Since we aren’t coordinating our designs, I can only hope it’ll bookend well with whatever Rafe is putting on his left arm.

“Let ‘er rip,” I tell him, and we begin.

Hazel

Ember and I decided to visit a botanical garden right in the heart of Las Vegas. It has so many different sections dedicated to different types of plants and ways of gardening, and there’s even a butterfly habitat. I’ve been taking a gazillion photos, and Ember is going wild wanting to plant everything she sees at her own home.

“You’ll need a bigger property,” I tease.

She sighs. “I know. Maybe I can do miniature versions of all these, though. The cacti and succulents, the vegetable garden—Zeb and Griffin would love having fresh vegetables to cook with! We need herbs, too. And I want to put in an area dedicated to plants for pollinators.”

“That would be great. Here, let’s take a selfie.”

We pose by a grouping of colorful roses, smile for the camera, and send the picture to our mom and younger sister.

A few minutes later, we get back a photo of the two of them with a fairy-tale castle in the background. They’re at Disneyland, a trip that wasn’t an option when Ember and I were growing up.

“I love that Mom doesn’t have to worry about money anymore,” Ember says softly.

“Me too.” I love my men for so many reasons, but them paying off Mom’s mortgage was life-changing. As a single mom, she’s never been free of financial strain, until now. And we’re both so happy that our sister can do some of the things we couldn’t at her age.

“Have you gotten a peek at Conal’s tattoo yet?” Ember asks as we wander among the roses.

“No! It’s driving me crazy. He and Frank have been working on it for months, but he even keeps his shirt on in the shower and in bed.”

“No scratching his back, either,” Ember says with a smirk.

“Seriously, though. The t-shirt is a good visual reminder, but … you know how it is once you get carried away.”

“Oh, yes, yes I do.”

“I told him to stick to doggie style, and he said no, it was okay, Rafe and Bron could just keep my hands busy.”

I blush even as we laugh together. I’m thankful that Ember is also in a poly relationship; we don’t share a lot of intimate details with each other, but it’s still a relief to have someone I can say things like that to without having to worry.

Ember says, “Today’s the final session, though, right? So you’ll get to see it soon?”

“Yes, Frank told him he thought they could finish it all this time. Fingers crossed!”

“I’ll cross mine, too.” She slings her arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go see the butterflies before we leave.”

Conal

Frank sits back and lets out a breath. “We’re done.”

We’ve taken a few five-minute breaks, but other than that, we’ve powered on through for the last several hours. Frank situates some mirrors so I can see my back.

“That looks amazing,” I tell him. “Fucking incredible. I love it, man.”

“Thanks.” He tries to look modest, but it’s great work, and we both know it.

“You get in the zone when you’re working, the way we do when we’re recording,” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, once I get going it’s total concentration.”

Frank photographs my finished tattoo and applies ointment and bandages, while I text our security guys to come pick us up and watch from across the room as my brothers finish. We’ll wait until tomorrow night to unveil the final results.

We shake hands with Ember’s men, thank them again, and head out. “Hazel’s going to be so impatient for the next twenty-four hours,” Bron says.

“Yeah.” I grin. “We should do a big reveal party or something.”

“I like it,” Rafe says. “She’ll get all excited.”

We chuckle. All of us appreciate the results when our wife gets excited.

Bron

Hazel is sitting in the center of the couch, Rafe and Conal on either side. I’m standing in front of them, ready to do my best version of an upper-body striptease.

We waited the required twenty-four hours before removing our bandages, washing our tattooed skin, and applying more antibiotic ointment. So now, we can finally show our wife—and each other—our tattoo designs.

Hazel is practically bouncing on the cushions in her eagerness to see them. “Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask.

“Bron,” she growls, and I laugh. Then I nod to Rafe, who starts the music. It’s one of the numbers off our recent album, the one that Hazel suggested a different time signature for. The music sounds like snakes winding around each other, sinuous and sensual.

I’m wearing a button-down shirt, and I slowly undo the front as my hips gyrate to the music. Hazel watches me with her mouth partly open, her eyes going half-lidded. I start to get hard and tell my cock to behave. We’ll get there.

I turn to the side and let my shirt slide slowly down my arm until my tattoo is revealed. At that point the spell is broken, as everyone jumps off the couch and crowds around me to get a better look.

“Oh. My. God,” Hazel says. She’s blushing more than she has in months, and actually flaps her hand by her face to cool it off.

Rafe and Conal both start laughing.

My tattoo shows, in rich, saturated colors, an apple-spice muffin, the first kind Hazel ever baked for us. It’s split open, and in its center is a warm, gooey patch of melted butter.

Surrounding the muffin, looking down at it salaciously, are three black pythons.

Conal claps me on the shoulder, still laughing. “That’s perfect.”

“I’m never going to be able to eat a muffin with a straight face again,” Hazel says.

I grin at her. “Then my work here is done.”

Rafe

“I didn’t go for humor,” I say.

“Of course you didn’t,” Bron says, only half joking. “You’re our serious guy.”

I start to unbutton my shirt. “You’re not doing the striptease?” Conal asks.

“Nah. Bron makes a better stripper than I do.” I get my shirt undone, and like Bron, I turn to my side—the other side—and let the shirt drop.

Hazel gasps. She looks like she’s going to cry.

“Wow,” Bron says softly.

On my arm is an angel. It’s Hazel, of course, and since it’s Zeb’s work it looks exactly like her, on the day we married her. Her gown is the same, and she has on the same tricolor belt and the same jewelry.

The only difference is the wings protruding from her back. That, and her halo.

Which is made up of three glowing, intertwined black pythons.

“It’s so beautiful,” Hazel whispers.

“It really is,” Conal agrees.

That’s certainly what I thought when I designed it, but I’m glad they agree.

I look at Conal. “Okay, big guy. Your turn.”

Conal

The only problem with having a tattoo on my back is that I can’t look down and see it whenever I want. Frank sent me the photo he took, of course, and I have the design committed to memory.

The outer portion of the piece is a riot of vines and flowers. The vines and leaves are the same green as Hazel’s eyes, and the blossoms are the rich auburn of her hair. In the center, three large black pythons are woven together in the shape of a triangle, a protective shape in traditional Japanese designs.

In the center of the triangle is another flower, green and auburn. And in the center of the flower, surrounded by its petals, is a hazelnut.

Rafe whistles. “Holy shit, brother.”

Bron says, “Showoff,” but I can hear the smile in his voice.

Hazel doesn’t say anything.

I turn to her, but before I can speak, she’s in my arms. “I love it,” she whispers. “I love it so much. I love all of you so much.”

Hazel

“We love you too,” Conal says. He lifts me in his arms and carries me to our bedroom. “And we have some ideas of where you could put a tattoo.”

“Oh, is that right? Where were you thinking?”

In no time, my men have me naked. “Maybe here.” Conal nuzzles the underside of my breast, then takes my nipple in his mouth.

“Or here,” Rafe adds, stroking along my outer thigh, before giving me a light pinch.

Bron nips at my inner thigh, then soothes the spot with his tongue. “Or here.” His voice is a sexy rasp.

“We can talk about that later.” I moan as their efforts intensify. “Just don’t stop.”

© Stephanie Brother