phone sex ❥ luke hemmings

01: "Fuck you, Lucas Robert."

✎
SOPHIE
HAYES
"Fuck you, Lucas Robert."

"You're getting another tattoo?"

Luke smiles, the ring in his bottom lip glinting in the studio's harsh light as I walk around the stool to face him. It spins, and I wish I would have taken note of that before plopping my butt down on the leather. I almost fall off trying to look casual.

Sitting opposite him is Michael, his mouth containing bright blue bubblegum. I watch as he chews and smacks it with as much nonchalance as someone with a tattoo gun in hand can, even going so far as to blow a bubble that pops on his nose.

"I am," Luke nods.

"Stupidly," Michael adds.

The blond rolls his eyes, "Paying you, ain't I?"

"D'you drink before you came here?" Michael questions, ignoring the statement with a smirk.

Cliff Ink isn't the oldest parlour in the city, yet it definitely isn't the most unpopular; Michael gets about fifteen customers a day and counting, given that he has time for them all. It's a family owned business and Michael, a family orientated guy, absolutely adores the place, and it's not hard to see why.

"A bottle of water and a fizzy lemonade,"

"I meant alcohol, you dummy,"

"Nah," Luke shakes his head.

"That's a first," Michael notes. Again, Luke ignores him, and I watch as our friend opens up a small plastic packet to reveal a brand new needle. I try not to cringe at the sight of it- years of blood tests and donations have made it so that it's second nature, but I still wouldn't go near the thing if I didn't have to.

Michael's history with tattooing isn't difficult to understand, but it's a difficult story to tell. He's had a needle in hand since sixteen and a license to tattoo since about three months ago- not that he tells anyone this, though. He's very very very talented- and undeniably skilled in the skin-marking department- but not quite enough to surpass a strict law on age restriction. The rest of the group are sworn to secrecy. Even Ashton, who's horrible at keeping secrets but somehow manages to hide this one time and time again.

"Anyway, enough about you," Michael states, half playfully, half without a single care left to give. He hands Luke a clipboard with a form attached, before spinning around in his stool to face me, "What's up, lil H? You after anything?"

"Not really," I shrug, taking a seat on one of the free tables, "I'm just bored,"

"So you decide to come here," Michael chuckles.

I smile, "I like it here. It brings back memories,"

"Yeah, of you doing shitty stick 'n pokes on Calum in the corner of the room and Ashton fainting every time he saw you wipe the needle," Luke snorts, nudging Michael. We all laugh as he hands the clipboard back, "You've come a long way since then, Clifford."

"I feel like you're being sarcastic, but that's okay because at the end of the day I'm the one with the power to ink a fat dick onto your arm,"

Instantly, Luke puts both of his hands up in the air, "Apologies."

"Mhm,"

"What d'ya think, babe?" he then asks me, holdin a piece of paper with an intricate looking design out in my direction.

My eyebrows raise as I take it from him, knowing fully well that Luke Hemmings thrives off of one thing and one thing alone; not giving a single "flying fuck" (his words, not mine) about anyone elses opinion except his own. Not to say that it's a big deal that he's asking me what I think at all, but yes, it's a very big deal that he's asking me what I think.