#god i'm gonna get a soda. this is horrendous

[moregraceful]

hope everyone who got a creator subscription notif from me today realizes something deeply unwell and bizarre happened to me in march

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 13 - thigh riding @gallavichthings

the ink under my skin

alternative universe w/ tattoo artist! mickey

ian is a goddamn piece of work, but mickey is ready to turn him into a piece of art.

words: 5.2k

"get the fuck out of my store, man," mickey rubbed his eyebrow in irritation at the nuisance wasting his time.

"you said that you tattoo anything!" the man pleaded. pleaded. god this was fucking pathetic.

"i tattoo anything that's not a stupid fucking idea. if you don't leave by the time i turn around i'll chop off your nuts. maybe keep them in a jar next to your dick."

mickey didn't have to turn around to hear the gasp that the man let out. pussy. god, he probably would have passed out under his needle.

he heard the door open and close again as the man left. mickey continued rifling through his sketchbook when he felt a smack to his neck and a shrill voice pierce his ears, "stupid!"

"who me?"

"yes, you!"

"the fuck did i do?!"

mandy glared at him.

"maybe we would actually be booked if you didn't threaten every idiot who wants a stupid tattoo."

"i ain't gonna be responsible for that shit. it's bad advertising."

"i don't see why you couldn't have just given it to him anyways. he was cute."

"i'm not tattooing people just because you want to fuck them."

she paused, smirked.

"fine, tattoo them because you want to fuck them."

mickey choked.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. you're bitchy when you don't get laid and you nearly snapped my neck this morning because you dropped your waffle."

"it was the last chocolate chip waffle, bitch, and you fuckin' know it!"

mandy bit her lip, stifling a laugh as the silence lulled over them for a minute.

after mickey no longer bordered on homicidal over his unfortunate breakfast, he sighed.

"hey," mandy squeezed his shoulder, "show me that new shit you were working on."

---

"ian, you can't be fucking serious!"

"what? it was a good idea!"

"in what fucking world!" fiona flicked his forehead from across the counter before returning to dish duty.

ian sighed, relented. "fine, it may not have been my best moment, but it didn't deserve that reaction! my nuts, fi, my nuts!"

"help me with these dishes or i'll chop 'em off myself," she pointed a spatula at him as threateningly as she could manage. despite the choice of utensil, the look she gave to accompany it was more than enough.

ian brought his plate to the sink and took over. fi leaned against the counter, sipping on her soda.

"you know, i think your heart was in the right place, but please ian, for the love of god, do not get monica's face tattooed on that set of horrendous tits."

---

mickey was halfway through an old client's new tattoo when the door swung open. when he saw who it was he jumped and nearly fucked up his lines.

"what the fuck, mick?" rossi grumbled from the table.

"my bad. take a break, i gotta take care of something."

when a milkovich said they had to take care of something, you knew better than to ask questions. rossi had been around the block enough to know better. he pulled out his phone, eager to avoid whatever confrontation the red-headed idiot was about to endure. poor bastard.

"get the fuck out."

"i just got here?" the man questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"yeah, i know who you are, tits." mickey leaned against the countertop.

"okay, maybe we didn't get off on the right foot, but my name is ian, not tits."

mickey stared daggers into the idiot man standing in front of him, noting how his eyes seemed to look mickey once over from top to bottom and up again. mickey normally would make good on his promises of nut chopping if anyone looked at him the way ian was looking at him, and the urge was real strong, but he couldn't help but give a bit. bend until you break or some type of shit. and he was bending real hard.

"what do you want? another nudie?"

"i see how out of line i was with the whole situation. i thought maybe it would be perfect to commemorate my mother--"

"hold up, your mom?" mickey laughed, more amused than annoyed at this point, "that's fucked up, dude."

"yeah, i thought you were listening to me yesterday."

"nah, man. my brain shut off immediately after i heard the word tit."

a stare-down.

"i wanted to fix the tits." he said at last.

"so the tits are already there."

"yes." ian sighed, exasperated.

the guy reached to pull down his tee shirt, the fabric popping a bit with the stretch. mickey's stomach twisted as skin was being exposed bit by bit... until he saw the atrocity.

"no. fuckin'. way. not only is that an awful sketch, but the technique..." mickey cringed. he's seen a lot of shit, and even though this wasn't his art, he couldn't stand the sight of it on the beautiful man in front of him.

"so? will you help?"

"yeah, we're absolutely covering this shit. gonna have to pay me extra to stare at tits for fucking hours though."

"extra, huh?" ian's eyebrows furrowed again, trying to reason why any straight man would oppose to staring at the objectively decent rack imprinted in his skin. unless.

mickey had grown fidgety. he wasn't for sure that this guy was gay and even though his shop sported a rainbow flag in the front window, he still felt nervous just saying shit like that.

"uh, anyways, got any ideas of what you might want?"

"i was kinda hoping you could help with that."

"i can try, but i don't know your mom, dude. i don't wanna go all therapy in this bitch, but like, maybe we can talk between my appointments whenever you're free?"

ian perked up. was he making a move?

"but i'll be here. always here."

--

ian came into the shop a couple times. okay 'a few times' was maybe laying it casual. he was there everyday. sometimes twice a day. bringing mickey snacks for his breaks after learning that the man's healthy eating habits were practically non-existent. he shuddered at the thought.

ian had learned to look past the menacing front that was the threatening man with a tattoo gun. he saw mickey in his element, quiet and thoughtful. passionate and precise.

the more time that ian spent there, the more he understood that the messy décor of the shop wasn't simply clutter. it was clean and homely, in a way that felt very distinctly mickey.

mickey's sister, mandy, was there most times when he came in. she exclusively did piercings and bookings, so she didn't need to be there quite as often. usually whenever ian came in, she accepted whatever drink he brought her with a smile and a lingering touch before disappearing into the backroom for the remainder of the time.

ian didn't know much about businesses, but it assumed she was running numbers or some shit. he couldn't really care less.

mickey seemed to genuinely want to know about monica, asking about her life and their favorite times together. it was so odd to talk about her so freely with someone who had no prior judgement or hatred. he realized how deeply he missed talking about her. mickey occasionally made eye contact, looking up from whatever task he had busied himself with, eyes soft.

a few times, they had met out back, lighting up two cigarettes and sitting in relative silence. mickey looked like he had a million thoughts twisting in his head, but sometimes ian just being there seemed to calm him. towards the end of these breaks, mickey would stub out the remains of his smoke and indulge ian into a bit of his brain's workings from 'my brothers are idiots.' to 'what the fuck am i doing here?'

ian was too busy admiring mickey's profile that he didn't notice his cigarette burn to the end of the filter, slightly burning his fingertips. he dropped it with a yelp.

mickey's head snapped towards ian's then, eyes panicked before he saw ian cradling his hurt finger. he shuffled his boot towards the butt of the cigarette, crushing out the smoke, and in a move that completely shocked ian, he grabbed ian's hurt hand. mickey studied the fingers, bending them and straightening them again before kissing his fingertips. once. twice. he stood and wordlessly headed back into the shop while ian was left breathless leaning against the concrete.

--

at first ian had told himself that he was stopping by so often just to check in to see if mickey was there -- making good on his promise of being always here, though ian was growingly feeling dependent on whatever it was that they had going. something that felt caring and natural. something that brightened up his day.

and mickey had mostly held through on his original promise, but once ian just ran into mandy, his eyes lingering towards the backroom.

"he left early."

"you don't even know who i was here for."

mandy sighed as she laid herself across the counter, boots stacking on top of each other. "ian, you're not slick. you're a love-sick idiot. i know you wanna bang my brother."

ian's face flushed. she wasn't wrong, but he also didn't expect this kind of confrontation today.

"actually, i just thought about an idea for my tattoo and wanted to run it by him."

"phones exist?"

oh my god, ian didn't even have his phone number.

"uh, right. what's his number?'

mandy pointed to the sign with their business numbers. she smirked. "don't worry, it's his cell. can only afford one line and fucker wanted to look 'professional'." she put air quotes around the word.

"right," ian tapped the number into his phone, setting the contact name as 'mickey 🔗🥀' and then continued staring at the poster like mickey himself would just pop out of it. wondering if he would make fun of his for that contact name. wondering if he would even save ian's number.

"ian?" mandy called, halfway to the backroom already, leaving him alone in the shop.

"yeah?"

"text him!"

"right."

"fuckin' men," mandy muttered under her breath. "idiots can't even think for themselves."

ian smiled. she reminded him a bit of fiona.

--

[unknown number]: hey mickey. mandy told me to text you

[unknown number]: this is ian btw

mickey 🔗🥀: why the fuck is my sister telling you shit?

mickey 🔗🥀: what did she say?

ian 🚬: just that i could text you if youre not in the store. i came in today and you werent here

mickey 🔗🥀: shit yeah sorry man smth came up

ian 🚬: i need to see you

mickey 🔗🥀: oh?

ian 🚬: i think i have an idea

ian 🚬: for the tattoo thing

mickey 🔗🥀: i dont trust you. meet me at the shop later

ian 🚬: what time is later?

mickey 🔗🥀: i'll text you

--

ian paced in front of his cell phone for the next few hours. checking and double checking that his ringer was on. maybe he should just wait across the street from the store. no, then that would seem desperate. they were just talking. but who just talked after hours? oh no.

mickey 🔗🥀: ready now

ian was out the door so fast that the doorframe rattled and he heard something clang off the wall. that was a problem for later.

--

the front door to the store was unlocked, but the only light that was on was the one in the backroom. ian followed the trail of low orange light to a more private room that looked like if a teenager decorated an office space. which, in truth, wasn't too far from reality.

ian knocked on the door and mickey looked up with a smirk.

"suddenly had a tattoo revelation today, huh?" mickey questioned, walking closer to where ian was leaning in the doorframe.

"totally." ian cleared his throat and stared down at mickey's icy blue eyes.

"what was it?"

"what was what?" ian pushed off the frame, closer to mickey.

mickey chuckled, "the fuckin' tattoo, you idiot."

"right." he brought his hand up to his face, pretending to remember an idea that he never had. "there's no idea."

"i figured as much." he stepped closer so that they were practically breathing the same air at this point.

mickey raked his hands through ian's hair, somehow glowing even more vibrant in the orange lighting of his office.

he softly ran his hands down ian's chest, drawing a whimper out of the other man.

"mmm, would be fun to pierce those."

ian cringed, "uh... ouch?"

"but it'd be so hot." mickey countered with a lopsided grin plastered to his face.

ian considered. he brought his fingers up to trace mickey's own piercings on his eyebrow, nose, lip. mickey opened his mouth with the motion. heat electrifying ian's fingers. mickey's tongue licked out and swirled around his fingertip and ian melted.

mickey gently pushed ian backwards onto the couch. "here." he straddled one of this thighs as he focused his attention on where the imaginary piercings would be

"see, would this be so bad?" ian gasped as mickey's fingertips worked some kind of magic that ian was sure it couldn't be human. he was almost oblivious to the world under mickey's ministrations when he felt a pressure rocking against his thigh.

mickey tilted his head back, eyes squeezing shut. feeling the rhythm, ian knew exactly mickey was after. he rutted his leg up countering mickey.

"goddamn, gallagher." it was strained. oh my god.

ian lifted his hips off the couch, angling his thighs to where mickey was mindlessly aiming.

ian prided himself on his stamina, but the way that this infuriatingly small, tough-but-soft, incredibly grumpy tattoo artist nearly making him cream his pants like a fucking teenager just by grinding against his leg was ridiculous.

ian flipped them so mickey's back bounced off the couch. he scrunched his eyebrows, confused, worried? ian hooked his fingers in the beltloops of his own jeans and tugged down halfway before dropping to press his lips on mickey's neck.

despite heartbeats racing and nearly pounding out of their chests, ian felt mickey relax into the couch, up into him. his hand snaked between them, yanking down his own pants the best he could under ian's weight. ian laughed and sat up on his knees and then off the couch entirely, maneuvering himself so that mickey could get his goddamn pants off.

mickey flushed a deep red, but chuckled beside himself. ian allowed himself a moment to appreciate the fair bare skin before him, watching mickey's flush spread down his body.

ian leaned down and pressed kisses up mickey's ankles, knees, thighs, hips, stomach. mickey squirmed a bit, but his eyes held a curious gaze. ian gave one last sucking kiss to his navel before settling on the couch above him, meeting each other in the middle, building their connection towards their inevitable release with each grind.

--

ian's chest heaved as he diddled his fingers across his chest. after the moment had passed, ian wasn't sure where he stood. if mickey was a one and done type of hook-up guy. if he actually had any chance of getting his tattoo fixed. if he ever had a chance of getting his tattoo fixed.

"you good, man?" mickey asked from across the room, sparking up a cigarette, the cherry glowing amber.

"yeah." was all he could muster. neutral.

he made the mistake of looking over at mickey, eyes glassy and hazed, but not from the smoke.

"wanna watch an episode of friends? i still gotta lock the front door." he zipped up his fly. "hopefully tina didn't get an earful."

"tina?"

"she doesn't have a place to sleep. stays in mandy's office sometimes." mickey shrugged as if that was completely normal. and maybe it was.

--

"to be perfectly clear," mickey noted as the credits rolled across the screen, both their bodies too heavy to move from their position on the couch, slouched together, "the nipple piercings would be free." he smirked lazily up at ian.

ian chuckled, the breaths causing mickey's head to rise and fall with it, "yeah, great. i was really worried about paying full price for your fantasy."

mickey lifted his head just enough to give ian a stern look, "i ain't paying for your titty tattoo cover up, though. that's still on you, asshole."

ian grinned.

"wouldn't have it any other way."

mickey yawned and in a move dangerously intimate for what they were, they tucked into each other, sitcom laugh soundtracks coloring their night.

--

ian woke to the sound of something crashing to the ground followed by a "jesus fucking christ can you fuckin' cooperate for one goddamn day?"

he stretched his legs and let out an involuntary groan as he tried to figure out where the fuck he was.

"ah shit, did i wake you?" mickey asked, eyes wild but surprisingly apologetic.

"no." ian mumbled, sleepy heavy words riddling his mouth.

"liar," mickey walked over to the couch and ruffled his hair, paused a moment, placed a kiss on his forehead.

ian melted into the couch as he let the morning settle around him.

maybe they were something, now. maybe they had been for awhile.

"what're you doing?"

"had some ideas. mocked up some tattoo ideas for the dumbest kid i know."

"oh, who?"

mickey stared.

"right, got it."

"wanna come look?" he almost sounded nervous.

ian made grabby hands. mickey rolled his eyes and brought the book to him. his sleepy fog faded quick when he saw what mickey had been doing.

"holy shit, mickey. this is incredible." he paused, looked at the eagerness in mickey's eyes. the way that he was obviously so proud of himself but would never say it. ian would say it for him. "you're incredible."

the blush that ian had been so accustomed to the last few weeks made it's way onto mickey's cheeks again. he didn't try to deny it like ian thought he might, but he didn't accept it either. ian noticed.

"mickey," ian dropped the book in his lap, turning his full attention to mickey, caressing the side of his face with his freckled hand, "you know that, right?"

the glassiness in his eyes returned, but this time ian was there to catch the wetness. he swiped the droplet with the pad of his finger.

"you're kind." tina. "you're attentive." rossi. "you're strong." mandy. "you're hot." last night. he smiled. "you're incredible." all the time.

mickey had the softest look glazed upon his face. it twitched slightly. all his instincts told him to school it. bottle it. toughen up. but he didn't want to. he wanted to hear the words that ian told him and he wanted to believe them.

mickey brought his hand up to his cheek, pulling ian's from his face and kissing his knuckles. "fuckin' dork." no heat in it. ian grinned.

"which design do you like best?" mickey questioned, returning to the book.

mickey thought of it last night, staring at the light of his cigarette, the smoke hazy in the room, the television pixels cutting in and out, the heavy breaths and sex-sweat lingering from the man sharing his couch, pants still on the floor.

desire.

maybe ian's demons weren't his own, but hearing stories of his last few years, of his fleeting mother, he knew for sure that desire was something that ran hot in his veins as well. a desire for a better future, maybe. it was hopeful.

on the page was nearly half a dozen variations of flowers on fire. and ian had still stayed silent. fuck.

"if you don't dig the idea, i can do something else."

"how the fuck are you so good at drawing flowers?"

mickey laughed. "it's my literal job, bitch. now which flower do you want on your skin forever."

"anything will beat the titties."

"obviously anything will beat the titties. but which flowers do you like?"

after a minute, ian pointed. "these are cool."

stargazer lilies. mickey's mom's favorite. well if that wasn't a goddamn sign, he didn't know what was.

"why are they on fire, mick?" he whispered, the curiosity of a kid seeping through his voice. because yeah, that's what this is about, isn't it? the inner child making piece with the loss of a mother he never had. the woman who had accepted him when others didn't know what to do. the woman who would be so proud of where he is right now, even if neither of them knew how to support each other in the way that they needed. despite being so similar.

mickey thought about it. he had no problem baring his dick, but baring his soul was a little more than he had anticipated for the night. but hell, ian had already bared a soul and a half to him, the almost naive trust of someone who craved it.

"because it's beautiful -- the flowers, y'know. they're supposed to last forever if you take care of 'em -- press them in a big ass book or some shit. but lighting them on fire. maybe it was a choice. maybe it was by accident. and some may say they're dead, they're ruined. but they're not. they're even brighter than before. and the flowers still live on, if you look past the flames, the smoke. they may be burned, but they're still beautiful, ya know? the fire doesn't change its ability to be beautiful."

ian sat wide-eyed, clinging onto all of mickey's words like they held the secrets to the universe. like he hadn't thought mickey was actually remembering all his rambles from the past weeks.

"it's perfect," he whispered.

mickey smiled and draped himself over ian's lap, nuzzling closer because he finally could. and it was more than okay.

-

mickey had texted mandy to pick up extra bagels on her way to work. ian heard a ping from his pant's pocket across the floor. another. another.

he sighed and got off the couch to pick it up.

"mandy wants to know what kind of bagel i want." ian smirked.

"nosy fucker." he snorted.

ian smiled.

---

"okay, you're not going to pass out on me are you? drink enough water? eat enough food?"

"mickey, i've seen more needles in my life than your average client. and you literally watched me eat today."

mickey crossed his arms, unimpressed. "'nough of this big talk. tell me if you start feeling faint, yeah?"

"yes, sir." he saluted.

"cut that shit out," he huffed a laugh.

mickey shoved a shirtless ian onto the table, stomach first. it was after hours because mickey just fucking felt like it, okay? maybe he wanted to take his time. maybe he wanted to suck kisses onto the shoulder he wasn't tattooing whenever he wanted. and maybe he didn't want an audience today.

mickey could be professional, and he would be when it came to the things that count, but, with a heave, he perched himself up on the table, legs straddling ian's ass, crotch rubbing against his lower back.

"comfy back there?" came ian's muffled voice.

"yes, sir." mickey teased and shifted his weight on ian's cheeks.

ian grumbled something, but mickey seemed satisfied enough. they had already placed the template over the so-called "atrocious titties of ghosts' past," in mickey's humble opinion. the skin was disinfected and mickey had his favorite playlist, some space-themed shit that he made when he was high and honestly vibed to when he wasn't.

mickey brought the tattoo gun closer to ian's skin and was suddenly hit with the realization that this was the dorky kid he turned down a few weeks earlier. literally threatening to cut off his dick and balls. now laid comfortably and trusting under his own weight. he paused the gun, and pressed a kiss into the hairs at the back of ian's neck. his face turned, exposing this cheek. mickey kissed there too.

"suddenly sentimental over the tittie tat, mick?"

mickey bounced his weight, slightly crushing ian with a gasp of air.

"no."

ian frowned. mickey kissed his pouty lips.

"just can't believe this."

"hmm? getting to tattoo the hottest guy you've ever seen?"

"oh fuck off, you're not harry fuckin' styles."

"harry styles, huh?" ian teased with an eyebrow raise.

mickey flipped him off, then brought his hands to ian's lower back, massaging the muscle with the hand that wasn't currently holding the gun.

"just you. this. us?" mickey whispered.

"same." ian admitted, voice muffled again. he groaned when mickey smoothed out his muscles.

"ready, firecrotch?"

"damn straight, milkovich."

--

ian had always liked the sensation of getting a new tattoo. given that he only has two, he doesn't have much reference, but it was enough.

but having mickey be the one behind the gun was almost too much to bear. the man who he couldn't get out of his head, his heart, his space. the man who was so much tougher and softer than anyone he had even met. who understood him without words. who brought comfort to his days. who made fun of him without any trace of actual agitation. having his art on his skin, by his own unwavering hands, was something ian would treasure, lock in his heart.

call it masochism, but ian would do anything, be anything, for mickey.

--

after a few hours and a few snack breaks later, mickey wiped the tattoo one final time and sealed it.

"fuckin' sick."

mickey smiled, proud. because this was way better than the titties. this was ian. and his mother. and himself. and them together. in whatever little universe that may be where nurturing parents exist and love is real. he's already halfway there, though he wouldn't admit it to himself just yet.

"i do have one thing i still want to do." ian lowered the hand mirror, done checking out his new ink.

"what's that?" mickey took the mirror back, fingers lingering along ian's in the process. the corner of his lips quipped up.

"i've never given a tattoo before. you just gave me one... seeing that it's only fair..."

"and you're paying me for this, remember? or did we accidentally poke your brains out in the process?"

"no, i know," ian rolled his eyes, "but still. would be fun."

"for you. shit hurts when you don't know how to hold a gun."

"i did rotc, i know how to shoot shit."

"oh, then you're perfectly qualified. here ya go, ya g.i. joe looking motherfucker." mickey handed the tattoo gun over. ian started it with a startling buzz, nearly dropping it.

"christ, man. okay, fuck. here." he pulled out his fake skin, "trace this shit twenty times then we'll talk."

ian shrugged because, yeah. fair enough. he set the gun down for now and sat back on the table, pulling mickey's hip flush against his widened legs as they melted into each other, orange lights flickering in the backroom of the otherwise abandoned shop.

--

"mick!" ian busted down the door to mickey's office where he had previously been taking a midday nap, reruns of george lopez running on the old tv.

"the fuck?" he rubbed his eyes, disoriented for a moment before recognizing the eager eyes of his boyfriend.

"i did it."

"good job.... what did you do?"

ian chucked a piece of skin onto mickey's lap. "a circle."

"congratu-fucking-lations." mickey popped an unlit cigarette in his lips.

"can i do it now?" ian lit mickey's cig.

"do what?"

"your tattoo."

a puff. two. "fuck it. said i would. let's do it."

"now?"

"yes, now. before i change my mind."

"what do you want?"

"surprise me."

"really?"

"yeah, just no genitals. too many of those tattooed between the two of us, man."

"there was only one." ian rolled his eyes.

"that's one too many."

--

ian laid the template on the back of mickey's neck because, to quote mickey, "if you fuck up, at least i won't have to look at it everyday," which, yeah. fair enough.

ian had meant to straddle mickey the same way that mickey straddled him for the burning flowers tattoo, but it turned out that ian did not have the same steady hand that mickey did, despite having drawn twenty perfect fucking circles.

"you got it, ian. you can go over lines again later." his voice was surprisingly calm even with ian nervous-sweating a foot above him, as if it wasn't the consequences of his own goddamn actions.

he switched the gun off.

that was enough for mickey to sit up.

"hey," he managed to catch ian's eyes that were otherwise refusing to look at anything in particular. "you did your fucking circles. you can do this. i trust you." he brought his hand up to ian's cheek, brushing back into his copper hair.

"i trust you, too."

"then trust me when i say you got this."

ian nodded. yeah. okay. a breath.

they settled and ian turned the gun on again, this time making contact with the skin on the back of mickey's neck, slightly sunburned from summer's years ago. a couple freckles hidden in his hairline endearingly sweet.

mickey didn't even flinch as ian traced and retraced over his design. as much as mickey wanted it to be a surprise, he could feel it. the curves and point. he could feel it in his skin. he could feel it in his own heart. now shared. now open. he felt warm and safe, despite the sting of the tattoo and ian's mumbled stress cursing.

in a copy of the show from when ian got his tattoo, he handed mickey the hand mirror.

"wanna see?" a bashful blush. corny motherfucker.

mickey took the mirror, but didn't hold it up. he knew where his heart was.

he brought his lips to ian's. ian's hand brushed against his ear then paused before his neck.

"fuck, i don't wanna fuck it up."

mickey smiled against his lips, leaning into his body further.

"i love you too, you dork."

"you do?"

"of fuckin' course. you're literally under my skin, man."

ian smirked. "yeah, i guess you're under mine, too."

mickey pushed ian back onto the table. it's only fair that they copy this part of their tattoo ritual.

--

mickey might not be able to see his tattoo everyday, but he feels it. he feels it under ian's kisses as they move against each other. he feels it lingering touches in the kitchen when ian passes behind him. he feels it when he looks at the love of his goddamn life and thinks about how their love became permanent long before rings and vows were exchanged. how both the ink and the love grew over time. new memories and declarations etched into each other, woven into them. mickey looks into the eyes of his husband, chatting with mandy behind the counter of their tattoo shop, and he thanks the lord for one god-awful pair of titties.