Author's Note: Written for the Tattoo Challenge for graffitidec_fic.

Disclaimer: I don't know or own Linkin Park. This is F I C T I O N.

1. The Writing’s on the… Flesh

It was simple and plain; black ink, nothing intricate or elaborate about the letters in the least; yet what was imprinted on him stayed with me. The tale behind it was one that, unfortunately, was not false or exaggerated in the slightest.

What should have been a night of sexual ecstasy had turned into a night of dark discoveries. Mike told me that he had some “difficult” relationships in his past, so I decided not to press him for details. To be frank, I was downright scared to know. Mike could have had some terrible things happen to him—things I couldn’t stomach hearing, as I imagined.

The letters: W, then H, followed by O, after was R, ending it was E. All in capitals, but small print. I stopped my ministrations immediately and looked into Mike’s eyes.

On the very verge of falling, tears.

2. Discovering

I was thrilled when Mike finally agreed to let me go down on him. This was a milestone in our relationship. Not saying that we’ve never had sex. It’s just that Mike always refused to be on the receiving end of it. At first it would frustrate me that he wouldn’t let me pleasure him without his clothes off. Then I realized that his constant rejection must stem from past experiences and left well enough alone.

There was no one in his home studio. Anna wasn’t home on account of her sick cousin in Sacramento; the others were at home sound asleep for sure, considering it was well past one in the morning. We were making out. Completely caught up in the moment, I suggested that we go to his bedroom. I said, quite desperately, something about wanting to taste him… Much to my surprise, he said yes.

We were quick to get undressed. T-shirts flew, zippers came undone, socks and shoes were tossed aside at lightning speed. His flesh was so warm… I pushed him onto the neatly made bed he shared with his wife, kissed him from his lips to the area right above his erect cock, then his pelvic bones and the inside of his thighs.

That’s when I saw it. And when I stopped and looked into his eyes, I could see the pain mirrored in them.

“Mike…” I whispered. I started to trail my index finger along the marking, blindly thinking that maybe it could be erased, but he quickly pushed me away and scrambled for his clothing. His body didn’t seem so wondrous to me anymore, just embarrassedly stripped and eerily naked. It seemed to me that it wasn’t only Mike’s skin that was branded; it was his spirit as well. He rushed out of his bedroom and back into the studio. I followed.

3. Questioning

Suddenly Mike’s past became the thought that flooded into my brain, for it held the key to unlocking him. I asked him, “What happened?”

“I just couldn’t go through with it,” he said distantly, looking at the black and white keys his thousand-dollar keyboard instead of me.

“I know it’s got something to do with the tattoo. Is that why you’ve been so reluctant to let me be intimate with you?”

“Just leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What’s the story, Mike?” I said urgently. I needed to know. I wanted to make him feel better.

He shouted, “I don’t want to fucking talk about it!”

Then, with a frustration I never knew he possessed, he violently banged his fists against the keyboard (an instrument he cared about deeply) and started sobbing. It frightened me. But I let my fear subside and walked over to him slowly, eventually wrapping my arms around his shaking body.

4. The Brand Defines the Man?

He told me about Joe. It was after an hour of sobbing that calmed down to tiny but pathetic sniffles he confided in me. They were in art school and had a secret relationship together. He said, as I imagined, that Joe was not one to be very forgiving, giving, or caring when it came to his lovers. In fact, Joe was demanding and very dominant, at times, if intoxicated and angry enough, abusive.

One night Joe consumed an excessive amount of vodka and demanded that Mike drive him to Ink Wizard Tattoos, a parlor a few blocks away from the school. Mike refused. Joe punched his jaw. They arrived at Ink Wizard in about 15 minutes.

“Joe staggered to the front counter and told some guy I was getting inked. I was shocked. The guy asked what I wanted. But something told me not to open my mouth and Joe whispered something in the man’s ear. I was led to the back and Joe sat me in a black leather chair. ‘Take off your pants,’ he slurred in my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I could feel Joe smirking. I did as he said, still reeling from the punch I received earlier. He said to lift up the leg on my boxers. The artist shaved the hair on my thigh and soon started his work. I felt Joe’s hands caressing my neck and his hot breath on my earlobe. The artist worked quickly, but the pain had me wishing for Joe to hit me again. I looked down and saw the word and a tear escaped. Joe paid and we left after a few minutes.”

Mike said Joe called him a whore many times, and that he needed the tattoo to let all those who dared to touch him know that. He bought into it, which was the reason why he never went about removing the tattoo. And when Anna asked about it, he said it was a stupid drunken joke. Then Mike told me that he didn’t deserve to have someone as good as me, that “a whore only deserves another whore or no one at all.” I didn’t know what to say.

He fell asleep on the floor. I don’t think my eyes closed for more than five minutes at a time.

5. You Are What You Love

I went home exhausted and not knowing how to fix the situation. Mike didn’t contact me for a week, which left me sulking in my apartment. After day 7, I had an idea. Granted, it was somewhat drastic, but it would work.

Or, at least, it had to. Else there was nothing I had in my power to do.

I arrived at Mike’s house later that night. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. When I walked in Anna was home talking about how her cousin should be fully recovered in a few days. The others were sitting down as I stood, listening to her talk about how her visit wasn’t nearly as grim as she imagined, but she was glad to be home. Rob nodded attentively, as did the rest. I looked at Joe, my blood boiling at the very sight of him.

“Anybody want something to drink?” Anna asked.

“Don’t,” Chester said. “Let me. I’m pretty sure I know your liquor cabinet just as well as you do.” Everyone laughed. Including myself.

“Mike, can I see you in the studio? It’s about that bass part I laid down last week,” I spoke casually. No one seemed to catch wise.

“Okay,” he agreed slowly. It was unlike Mike to turn down work.

We walked silently to the studio and closed the door after we entered. I stood in front of him and told him to look down.

“What the hell is this about, Phoenix?”

I undid my pants, let them drop to the floor, and lifted up one leg of my boxer shorts.

I got a tattoo. The letters: W, then H, followed by O, after was R, ending it was E. All in capitals, but small print.

“You said that ‘a whore only deserves another whore.’ If that is what it takes to be with you, then that’s what I am, Mike.”

He cried. As the tears slowly fell down his cheeks, a tiny smile graced his lips. I leaned in to kiss him, tasting and savoring the salt that lingered from the drops.