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“Hey,” Stiles said, a bit uncertain still. But, to hell with it, it was his twenty first birthday tomorrow, and he was going to get himself something , even if it killed him.
“Well, hello there,” said the guy behind the counter. The desk had a glass top, showing off all the different piercings for sale. The place was pretty dark, but there were small spotlights aimed at the impressive tattoo designs on the wall.
The Hale Ink was a bit creepy, but Stiles was pretty sure that that was true to every tattoo parlor. Not like he’d been to many of them.
“Um, hi.”
The guy was very good looking - blue eyes, dark hair and a little goatee that made him look like a very handsome comic book villain. He rounded the counter and offered his hand to Stiles, standing a bit too close.
“Peter Hale, at your service,” he said, smiling.
Stiles shook with him.
“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. Hi.”
He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that. Out of all of his friends, he’d always been the one to blend into the background. Forgettable. Having those sharp, blue eyes focused him like that was making him feel naked. Maybe that was why he didn’t notice it right away that Peter wasn’t letting go of his hand.
The man - still holding onto him - pulled the sleeve of Stiles plaid shirt up, looking at his exposed arm with and expression he couldn’t understand.
“You have amazing skin,” he said.
Okay, that was definitely creepy.
“Um.”
Peter let go of him, his fingers brushing across the inside of his wrist like a whisper.
“Sorry, occupational hazard. What can I help you with, Stiles?”
He turned around like nothing out of the ordinary happened, making Stiles feel like he missed a step on the staircase.
“Well. I haven’t actually decided yet. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I was thinking about getting a tattoo or a piercing. Or something,” he said, feeling sheepish. He rubbed the back of his head, stepping up to the counter Peter was thankfully behind again.
His eyes widened a bit as he looked at the jewelry. More importantly, the pointy bits of the jewelry.
“Are you okay? You seem a bit pale,” Peter told him. He had a nice voice. Smooth and almost hypnotic.
“Ugh, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just not a big fan of needles,” he admitted. What the hell was he doing here, again?
Peter chuckled.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but both tattoos and piercings involve an abundance of needles.”
Stiles didn’t know if his body was trying to go pale or to blush. He kind of felt like an idiot.
“Yeah, I know. I just want something… something small. And hopefully painful.”
Peter hummed under his breath, opening a notebook.
“I see. Well, I have a full day tomorrow, but if you come by before opening, I’m sure we can figure out something. Do you have any ideas?”
Stiles did think about it, though he hasn't exactly made a decision yet.
“Maybe… maybe my mom’s name? Claudia - in very, very small letters somewhere?”
Peter smiled in encouragement.
“That sounds lovely, I’m sure the ink will look wonderful on you,” he said. “I’m opening at ten. If you can swing by around eight we can work something out.”
***
Stiles woke slowly. For a few seconds he wondered why he didn’t wake to his alarm as usual… Then he remembered that he did wake to his alarm. In the morning. And then… Then he went to… to do something.
“Good morning, beautiful,” said someone from right beside him. He wanted to jerk, he felt like he should be jerking away, but he couldn’t.
It took him a few extra seconds to pry his eyes open, and he didn’t like what he saw. He was in some kind of basement, staring at the ceiling. Or, more like the very bright light shining from the ceiling.
“Don’t worry, you feel better in a few moments,” Peter - because it was Peter, the tattoo guy - said.
Stiles tried to look around, brain still fuzzy, but couldn’t turn his head. There was some kind of strap going around his forehead keeping him in place. Now that he could concentrate a bit better, he could feel more of them around his body, making him completely immobile.
His breath was coming fast. He didn’t understand what was going on, he only knew that the last thing he remembered was walking into the parlor at eight… and then nothing.
Peter leaned over him, smiling. Suddenly his smile seemed terrifying.
“There’s no need to be scared. We have all the time in the world. I closed the shop for… a few weeks, maybe. Depends on when we will finish.”
What. He wanted to ask what he was talking about, but all he managed was a garbled moan. His mouth was open, kept like that by something metal. A gag.
Peter must have still understood him.
“You see, I was overdue for a vacation. I mean, I can go a long while without time off because my job is my passion, but when you walked in yesterday… I have to tell you, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
His eyes were very bright, shining with something dangerously close to obsession.
“You… Stiles, you are a canvas and your skin… Your skin spoke to me.”
Stiles shuddered. This couldn’t be happening.
Peter smoothed his warm palm over his exposed chest - oh god, he must be naked - and send a shiver down his spine.
“I couldn’t let it go to waste. You are a piece of art waiting to be finished, and I will make sure that you will be.”
Stiles swallowed, feeling his eyes filling with tears, but Peter just smiled.
“Now let’s get started.”
***
Stiles fainted almost right after it began. He wasn’t proud of it, but when he saw Peter lifting a… a huge needle to his face, he just. He was gone.
When he came around, his head hurt, but not like a headache. It felt like someone shot him in the face with a shotgun. He could taste blood in his mouth and his tongue felt swollen and numb.
He must have made a noise because Peter was talking again.
“Back with me? Good. I know it was a bit too much at first, but sacrifices have to be made. You will get used to it, I assure you,” he said, confidently. “You are going to love it, by the time I’m done with you.”
It sounded like a threat.
Peter’s face swam into his vision again, blurry through his tears. He was smiling.
“I would show you a mirror, but truth be told, piercings don’t show much before the swelling goes down… But I can tell you what we did so far.”
Stiles wanted to shake his head. He didn’t want to know. Peter apparently didn’t care.
“I gave you five eyebrow piercings - two on the right side, three on the left,” he said, gently poking at them as he spoke. It hurt. “This is a bridge,” he explained, touching something foreign and solid at the bridge of his nose. Stiles went cross eyed with it, and yes. Yes, there was something there that was not supposed to be.
Peter grinned, like he was opening christmas presents.
“I have also given you a septum piercing,” he tugged at it, making Stiles’ eyes flood with new tears. “I started with a small one, but we can stretch the hole later, put in a bigger, thicker one. It will be beautiful,” Peter said, sounding almost dreamy.
“And then there are the pretty snake bites. One on both side. You have absolutely unbelievable lips, Stiles. It was time someone drew attention to them.”
He rubbed his thumb over them lovingly, uncaring of the way it made him moan in pain.
“And of course, as you might have noticed, you have three cute tongue piercings. They will look amazing when the swelling goes down, and let me tell you, I can’t wait to feel them on my cock.”
Stiles closed his eyes.
***
He was drifting in and out of consciousness while Peter worked on his ears. He couldn’t see what was going on, and after a while the pain was radiating all over his face, making it hard to tell where Peter was punching holes into him. He was sure that on one side there were small rings all the way up the outside of his ear. The other side was even worse, with Peter putting in piercings into the inside of his ear, the pain of it flashing so bright that it made his vision go grey.
The man was humming all the while, tuneless and absentminded. Sometimes he would reach out to turn some of the jewelry he started with.
Everything hurt.
When he was finished Peter held a small bottle to his face and Stiles watched as the world faded out around him.
***
He had no idea how much time passed by the time he woke up. He was still hurting, but it was more of a dull throb than before. It had to have been hours.
“Hey there, beautiful,” Peter said, cheerily. His voice sounded farther and there was water running too.
“I just shaved you in preparation for the next part. We will have to keep you hairless from now on to make sure that you are at your best.”
Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated. His chest felt weirdly naked and a little wet.
Peter stepped back to him, running a rubber glove covered finger down his pecs.
“We wouldn’t want anything to dimm the beauty of my work.”
Stiles was surprised to find that he could turn his head again, the ties holding his head in place gone. He still had the gag in, but at least now he could watch what Peter was doing. The man pulled a small chair closer, along with a cart that had - what he assumed to be - a tattoo machine on it.
Peter was watching his chest intently. There were strong, leather straps holding Stiles’ body in place, he couldn’t even take a deep breath, never mind move away from the scrutiny.
“I have to say, I just love the beauty marks you have scattered all over. It’s like… Like a connect the dots. Or a mysterious coloring book just waiting to be filled with magic,” he said, voice low and adoring. He ran a rubber covered finger around Stiles’ left nipple.
“I’m going to put piercings in this. A lot of them. I’m going to make this little cutie permanently aroused, pebbled up and ready to be played with.”
Stiles whined, throat closing up with nerves.
“But first, I’m going to start to fill your canvas with color.”
His body tensed up when the tattoo gun started buzzing, like an insect ready to suck his blood, to make him sick without a cure.
Peter smiled, not even looking at him.
“I’m going to do this freehand… Oh, Stiles, I can already see it, everything is already unfolding in my mind’s eye. You will be beautiful. You will be a masterpiece. My masterpiece.”
Tattooing hurt. It wasn’t as bad as the piercings - or at least a different kind of bad. While that was a stab of sharp pain that flashed all the way across his body like a shock of electricity, this was… a process. An insistent burn that lit his nerves on fire and just… just wouldn’t stop.
It hurt more when he tried to tense up. Peter started around his nipple, leaving his areola free and working outward from the edge of it, slow and steady and constant. It was driving him insane. He couldn’t look down - didn’t have that much movement - and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Tattoos could be removed, right? They had to be, he’d read about it.
But, as the minutes trickled away slowly, like the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead he started to be less and less sure.
It felt like Peter worked for hours, never stopping, never giving him a moment of rest until Stiles’ head was empty of anything else, other than the buzzing and the pain resonating in his tissues.
He couldn’t focus, eyes staring at the light blindly. The sound of the gun was a white noise in his ears, filling him up. His blood felt sluggish in his veins and too hot to contain.
When Peter stopped it was almost a shock.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked, almost teasing. His voice was weird, melodious after the mechanical buzz.
Stiles moaned, eyes closing for just a second. His eyes were wet.
“And now, I’m going to take this little darling in hand,” he said, smug. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about and then jerked as much as he could when Peter took his cock in hand.
He was hard. It should have been impossible with the pain he was in, with the way his brain kept going flatline, but it was true.
“It’s fine, beautiful. Some people have that reaction to tattoos. I told you you will love it,” he said.
Stiles clenched his eyes shut when Peter picked up a piercing needle.
***
He lived in the basement now. He had a mattress in the corner, there was even a toilet he could use. That was good, because Peter had to keep him cathetered at first, and he didn’t like it. Well, no. He liked it. Peter told him he liked it, when they started to play with sounds last weeks.
Maybe he started to like it later? Stiles didn’t know.
He was wearing mittens, because Peter didn’t want him to scratch the art. That was bad, because the art was important, it made Stiles beautiful.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, blinding him for a second. Unless Peter was working, it was dark in the basement.
“Hello, beautiful,” Peter said, coming down with a tray of food. Stiles grinned, getting to his feet gingerly. They did his calves last, and it hurt a bit to move. But it was good too. It was a familiar hurt and Peter taught him how to love it.
He was fed by Peter, one spoonful at a time. It wasn’t very tasty, but that was okay. As long as Peter was there it was fine.
Stiles looked down at himself while he chewed. His body was covered in art; colorful shapes, plants and animals and everything Peter wanted to put on him. There were a lot of wolves and purple flowers everywhere. And a lot of silver.
Almost everything was healed, except for his legs, but those would be good in a few weeks too. He knew the drill by now.
His cock still felt weird sometimes. There was a lot of metal in it - a prince albert, an ampallang, a row of dydoes all along the rim of his cockhead and a ladder on the underside. They were heavy, because Peter kept changing them to ones with bigger barbs, pulling his cock down.
He didn’t like to remember how much they hurt going in. He screamed. A lot. It was okay though, because Peter had the basement soundproofed, and told him that he could scream all he wanted.
Peter was amazing.
“Last one,” Peter said, pushing the spoon into his mouth. Stiles licked it clean, fluttering his lashes like he’ve been told. Peter liked to see that he was grateful.
The man put the tray away, sitting down in front of him, and cupping Stiles’ face.
“Now, my pretty little canvas, we are almost finished,” he said.
Something fluttered in Stiles’ chest, though he couldn’t say what. It made no sense to be nervous.
“Tell me, what is the last touch of the artist on a masterpiece?” he asked, smiling that smile that Stiles knew so well by now. It never changed, and it never stopped making his insides quiver.
“T-the signature?” he asked, unsure. Peter didn’t much care about his opinions, he couldn’t even remember the last time he spoke.
“Yes, exactly,” the man told him, eyes glinting. “Come now, it’s time for me to sign you.”
He was led to the chair and obediently hopped up, waiting for instructions. He didn’t want Peter to strap him down. That wasn’t nice.
“Part your legs,” the man said, rolling his chair closer. Stiles did.
Even the insides of his thighs were tattooed. On one side, there was a sign - looking like an old poster that said ‘Kick me’ with an arrow pointing up to his balls. The other side had a red tattoo of a bite. Peter bit him hard and then carefully tattooed it there; the redness of his skin, all the little indents his teeth made. It looked like it was completely new, even though it happened a long time ago.
Peter turned the gun on, just to check if everything was in working order. The mere sound was enough to get Stiles hard. He wasn’t allowed to come - Peter told him that he could only come after he was finished, and he didn’t know what to do with himself now that it was close to happening.
“Can you guess where it’s going?”
Stiles shook his head, turning the piercings in his tongue. His nipples pebbled up, pulling tight around the metal bars and rings in them.
Peter grabbed his cock in a gloved hand, pulling it down, rubbing over the top of the shaft with his thumb.
“Right here,” he said, making Stiles shiver. “Because this, my beauty, will never be touched without my permission again.
He shook, skin feeling oversensitive all over his body.
Peter grabbed a sharpie from his tray, pulling the cap off his with his teeth. He pulled Stiles’ cock out, scrawling his signature on it.
The tough of the pen was cold, but Stiles already knew that the needle of the gun would heat it up, would burn it into his skin forever. He was crying. He was always crying when Peter started.
“Hush now, let me work,” he man told him without looking up, talking the machine in hand.
At the first touch of the needle on his cock he threw his head back and screamed.