Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Originally this was part of the RusAme drabbles, but I decided to make a second chapter, so I'm uploading the two chapters as a separate story instead.

Hope you enjoy!

~o~

"Privet dear, what can I—" "GYAAAAAAH!" "…what can I get you?"

Ivan's smile only slightly strained as the poor old lady before him whipped her head around, looking for the source of all those pained screams. How many times now had he had to explain to his customers that no, he did not have a torture room in the back, the walls between his shop and the one next-door were simply very thin, and well, this is what you got for becoming the owner of a store located right next to a tattoo parlour. Especially when the owner of said parlour liked to scare his customers by being much too enthusiastic about sticking a needle into their skin. But so far, he'd managed.

He managed and managed and managed, smiling as he attempted to sell sunflowers and lilies with the occasional background scream for bloody murder. Until finally, no more customers were in sight, and he slumped over the counter, particularly exhausted. It was about closing time for his shop, but Alfred would continue to work for another hour and a half. And suddenly, he felt like paying that masked sadist a little visit.

Which is why ten minutes later, a jingle could be heard as he walked through the door and into a rather stuffy room, his apron hung neatly next to his coat and the sign turned to closed at his own shop's door. He looked around, feeling rather bemused, at the pictures of dragons and skulls and the occasional fairy-tale creature.

Footsteps could be heard, and he turned just in time to see the sunny blond approaching, as always dressed in a sleeveless tank top, drying his hands on some paper towels.

"Yo big guy! Finally here to get a tattoo huh?" He leant forward, eyes raving over his body, suddenly giving him the need to cover up somehow. "I'll have to admit it's weird not seeing you with your frilly pink apron, or surrounded by daisies."

Ivan sent him a cool gaze, all quirked eyebrows and darkened amethysts. "I simply came to ask you why you feel the need to have all your clients scream like they are in a horror film."

Alfred let out a single bark of laughter—and was he flexing his muscles? Or did Ivan just imagine the slight dusting of pink on his cheeks when his eyes quickly shot away, looking quite caught? "Not my fault! I'm always extremely careful, and no one's ever walked out of here complaining! It's just, you know…" He shrugged, grin suddenly more sheepish. "I guess they don't really get my sense of humour." He once more looked at Ivan, suddenly having a quite curious glint to his amazing blues. "You sure you don't want a tattoo?"

Ivan shook his head with a small smile. "Nyet. I do not feel the need to accessorise my body, thank you."

"We got flowers too, you know," Alfred insisted. "Roses, violets…sunflowers…"

Ivan had just been about to leave and close up the shop, when that single word tingled in the air, piquing his interest. He looked back at Alfred, eyes narrowed. "How do you know that sunflowers are my favourite?"

Alfred grinned, shaking his head (the pink spreading). "You just told me! I was just making suggestions. Well? What'd you think? You could be the ultimate flower shop owner." He made it sound like a grand money prize.

Ivan paused for just a second to contemplate the image of a small sunflower, perhaps located cutely on his right shoulder. A second was all Alfred needed.

Before the gentle giant knew it, he was being herded down some sort of hallway, brought to a room with a black leather chair and even more pictures on the wall.

"Wait, I did not, I have not yet decided—"

"Come on sweet pea, I'm sure it'll look great on ya!" Alfred continued to babble, chatting on and on about how cool Ivan would look covered in tattoos.

Ivan tried to rise from the chair, but was firmly pushed down again as Alfred thrust a book with pictures into his hands.

"See?" he said, pointing at all the sunflower designs he had. "There's big ones, small ones, these can cover your entire arm, there's different colour schemes…"

"Did you make these yourself?" Ivan asked, audibly impressed by the other's handiwork.

Alfred grinned shyly, shrugging one shoulder. "It's no biggie. I have lots of free time. Okay, but let me take a look—"

He began, by lack of a better term, thoroughly feeling up Ivan's arm, attempting to pull up (or down?) his sleeve. Ivan wasn't having it.

"Hey—I still haven't—get your hands off my arm!"

Alfred let go for only a moment, but leant down with what only could be described as the most devilish puppy expression Ivan had ever witnessed. For just a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

"I'll make sure it looks amazing," Alfred promised—and why was his lower lip quivering?

"I…" Ivan stuttered, blinking rapidly. "I…okay?" He had forgotten what he was agreeing with.

Making full use of that moment of weakness, Alfred roughly pulled down Ivan's sleeve, baring his shoulder. Ivan yelped, but was blatantly ignored.

"Yeah see, you have amazing skin for this! Just look, the colours of this design would perfectly contrast your skin!"

He ordered Ivan to take off the rest of his shirt himself, and Ivan hesitated just a moment longer, but really, that was indeed a very nice sunflower. He was actually starting to feel a bit giddy, wanting to have a small cute decoration there, something he could show off to his sisters, that could give him an excuse to wear sleeveless shirts on hot summer days, and perhaps, one day, something a lover could stroke their fingers along…

Blushing at those intrusive thoughts, he robotically lifted his shirt over his head, not seeing the way Alfred's smile grew as patches of naked skin were revealed.

"Wonderful!" the blond exclaimed, clasping his hands together. "Just lie back and relax, big guy, I'll make you beautiful! I mean, not that you aren't already—I'm not talking in a gay way or anything, just from an aesthetic point of view…" He vaguely gestured about, before deciding to shut the hell up and get to work.

Everything went fine. From the disinfecting, to drawing the outlines with which Alfred would be working, to idle chitchat, to getting his things ready. (And when Ivan made a comment about how he was making the other work after-hours, Alfred merely shrugged it off.)

It was only when the needle came into play that Ivan felt a bit apprehensive once again. He wasn't easily frightened, nor did he have a weak stomach. But there was just something about that devious grin, the way Alfred confidently held that sharp object, as if he was about to jab it straight into his arm, as if he wanted to scar him—

"On second thought," Ivan said, "I really think I should sleep on this."

"Nonsense! You'll be fine!" Alfred insisted, placing a steady hand on his arm, bringing the needle closer. "It'll only hurt a little, I promise. Nothing you can't handle."

"No, Alfred, I mean it—"

And just then, when the needle was about to make contact with his skin, Ivan reflexively pulled away. He yelped when he felt something sharp scrape along his porcelain skin, hissing at the burn it left behind. Shit.

Alfred's mouth fell open, expression growing from calm and confident to remorseful and panicky. "Oh my God I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I, you shouldn't have pulled away!" It was obvious this didn't usually happen to him, which meant that Ivan was being a difficult customer. Great.

"Maybe you can kiss it better," Ivan said dryly, as he attempted to hide to small flare of anger he felt; he hadn't wanted a stupid tattoo in the first place! Stupid Alfred, with his boundless confidence and his handsome smirk and teasing jabs and, and strong muscles…

Ivan's eyes widened when the other instantly bent forward and let his lips brush along the red line he'd left behind. Ivan jerked back a second time, more out of surprise than anything.

"I'm so, so sorry, wait—I'll get some more disinfectant…" He stood up and turned around, not noticing how Ivan's cheeks had grown several shades darker after he had performed that small act of kindness. Or perhaps the reason he couldn't look him in the eye was because he himself resembled a boiled lobster.