Niall smirks, saunters over, and yanks Harry’s shirt up. Harry yelps; hands quickly trying to tug it back down, thinking: what in God’s name is he doing?
Niall ignores him, taking a hold of the waistline of his jeans, and shimmying them down. Harry’s right hip is now exposed as he points at it, the skin a milky-white and free of ink.
Well, for now, that is.
***
The tattoo artist – whose name is James, Harry finds out – dips the needle of the tattoo gun into a tiny cup of black ink. He leans forward, gloved hand gripping the machinery firmly as it inches closer and closer, the shallow buzz radiating from it filling the almost-empty room. Harry takes in a deep gulp of air, eyes screwing shut and toes curling in his shoes in anticipation of the first initial contact of needle and skin. When it happens, he lets out a puff of air and whimpers, wanting so badly to jerk away. It’s an annoying sting, the pain prickling his flesh and spreading over his bones in an irritating ache. He bears it though, but only for the fact that he’s now far too immersed into the situation to back out.
Niall slips his fingers in between Harry’s, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Harry returns it, gasping afterwards when James runs the needle over the part of his hipbone that juts out.
Niall looks down, eyes entranced by the swirls of black ink that coats Harry’s pale skin. Its beautiful, and he wants to reach out and trail his fingertips over it, feel the texture of it on his smooth skin.
After twenty more agonizing minutes, the tattoo artist leans back and stretches, placing the tattooing gun on the table. “You’re finished, mate,” he says, wiping over the freshly inked tattoo to clean it. Both Harry and Niall look down at the tattoo, the words ‘Might As Well’ permanently marked into Harry’s skin in a deep color of black.
“Neat choice of words,” James comments, taking a swig out of his water bottle. Niall laughs loudly, grinning from ear to ear at his pure genius-ness while Harry turns a dark crimson.
“Get outta my shop, you filthy buggers,” he mutters.
***
“Ow, Niall! Watch it, it’s still tender,” Harry whines as Niall accidently knocks his knee against Harry’s hip. Niall immediately jolts back, an apologetic look etching across his face.
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I Want It Bad - Narry
FanfictionHarry Styles was always labeled as the obedient, well-behaved child. Graduated Secondary School with straight A's, now halfway through Uni without so much as an inhale of weed or a drop of alcohol. He thinks it will stay the same, that is, until Ni...
Chapter Eight
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