emmuzka

Fic: Symphony Soldier
Author: Emmuzka
Genre and pairing:The Cab, Cash/Singer
Raiting: PG
Disclaimer: Not true in any way.
Summary: Now the put-him-in-my-pocket -small, whip-thin guy, with a face too real for a scene queen, was suddenly sporting subtly buff arms and shoulders, perfect waist and a line down from his navel that Cash kinda wanted to lick.

At some point, when Cash wasn’t paying attention, Singer had discarded his project for the androgynous look. Must have been during the times when they went without a chance for a good bathroom visit long enough for Singer to grow a beard and misplace his flatiron.

Maybe a year ago Singer had been this skinny little dude, who okay, had a nice ass, but that had been about it. Now the put-him-in-my-pocket -small, whip-thin guy, with a face too real for a scene queen, was suddenly sporting subtly buff arms and shoulders, perfect waist and a line down from his navel that Cash kinda wanted to lick.

After that realization, Cash had started his project for marking the skin of the band's last tattoo virgin. Cash had thought that his guy-taste went for boys who looked like girls (and what did that say about his sexuality anyway), but at some point, that had evidently changed. And what a better way to get up close and personal with the dude than trying to turn his head about a tattoo.

Cash thought Singer's tattoo as a personal victory. It's his mark (not that he would tell that to Singer). He didn't get to choose it or anything, but he initially was the responsible for it to ever get done. And as a bonus, he had had a chance to ogle Singer's body for hours when Singer tried to decide the final shape, size and placement of his body art.

Finally they are in Vegas, in their familiar tattoo place. Singer has his people as a moral support, and its not like they would have let him go by himself, anyway. Cash had appointed himself as the actual support, with the hand-holding and all.

They are waiting for their artist to get ready, entertaining themselves with the tattoo pictures littering the walls. Singer has the intended tattoo with him. Cash looks again the paper that Singer holds with a nervous grip.

"But are you like, sure sure?"

Cash can't stop himself from making fun of it; after Singer finally decided go ahead and do it, he vetted the tat through like a million people, including his mom. It was too easy for Cash to change his pestering from "Get it! Get it!" to "Are you really really sure?"

Singer gives him the evil eye. "Yes!"

"Symphony Soldier? What does it even means?"

"Shut up! And we all can't just take whatever is the brightest on the wall!"

“Hey, I have a style!”

“So what is it? Craptastic? White trash?”

Cash knows that his tattoos are pretty much crap, but he aims for a sleeve and changing his style now would be just pitiful. “At least I don't ponder over it for like a year, and then end up with the same thing with that Tokio Hotel singer!”

Way to get Singer fuming. "It's not the same, his says something in German! "

Cash grins at him. Gotcha! “So you have went for his pics, then?”

“No! Well, yes.” Singer looks like he is about to start pouting. “But so did you!”

“Hey, I read OhNotheyDidnt like the next guy, it's not like I could close my eyes.”

Cash had not remembered how fuck long it takes to get a tattoo done, especially when one is only for the ride and not the actual needle victim. Dave, their tattoo artist, is willing to turn a blind eye for both the victim and his chivalry drinking on the premises, and most of them drink from the flask offered around, but both Singer and Cash skip the offer. Singer because he doesn't want to end up with Symphony Solider or something, and Cash because he has plans. Vague plans involving a great amount of wishful thinking, but plans nonetheless. He does actually hold Singer's hand for the whole time.

It's late when they finally end up in their hotel. (and staying hotel in Vegas, when their parents are so close, how unfair is that?) Cash ends up with Singer without effort. Marshall is busy trying to get his net store working (there are actually people like, in Europe, who want to buy his stuff, go figure), and vetoes for the single with a threat of still keeping up for hours. Ian isn't feeling so good and Johnson volunteers to stay and keep an eye on him.

Cash had kept from short distance to no-distance to Singer the whole time after the tattoo parlor. He just can't help himself, but the closeness that he felt with Singer in the parlor? He can't seem to shake it off, he doesn't want to shake it off. He turns to Singer to help him take off his shirt.

"You want me to help to put more cream on it? Or take more photos, you know the fans will eat it up."

Singer tries to look, again, his new work. "Cream, yes, pics, no. It's still red and puffy, maybe I'll take more pics tomorrow when it looks better."

"Okay, bathroom".

Cash puts the ointment on the tattoo, and everything should go back to normal, but it doesn’t. They don't say a thing, but it’s not awkward at all, it feels intimate and relaxing. When he is done, Cash puts the tube down and turns Singer to face the mirror, wraps his arms around him.

"Look at you." The tattoo looks so beautiful, it fits so well to what Singer has become.

Singer averts his eyes. He has no problem on looking his body in parts, but as a whole, just, assessing it? He doesn't like it that much.

"Okay, look at me, then."

Singer turns a fraction to look at Cash, but Cash keeps his hold, and Singer gets the hint, relaxing and turning his eyes to look Cash, to look them at the mirror. He smiles at their reflection.

Cash pushes his face to Singer's shoulder, cheek against cheek. "I want to lick it."

Singer doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking. At least his smile doesn't disappear.

"You can't."

Well, shit. Cash makes a movement to release Singer, but he grabs his arms to keep them where they are, around him.

"I meant, you can't because the cream tastes like crap.” Then hesitantly, “But you could lick some other places?"

Yes! Cash eases his hold on Singer, but this time it is to let him turn around in his arms, for them to kiss.