Tattoo Artist Eddie Munson Part 1
Part 2 Here!
TW// homophobic language, discussions of extreme parental abuse
Steve Harrington was contemplating never speaking to Robin ever again. It had sounded perfectly innocent over the phone; all she'd wanted was some moral support to help her through her first tattoo. He was good with moral support. When they stepped into the dark tattoo parlor, Robin had flushed a dusky pink and stumbled over to the reception-looking area to talk to a pretty girl with smooth, dark skin and an eyebrow piercing, and Steve knew he had been roped into an unwitting wingman role once again. Then Robin had turned, pointed right at Steve, and he knew he was in trouble.
The receptionist grins and shoves out from behind her desk, sauntering toward Steve, and grabs his arm before he can walk out and wait in the car.
"Don't worry, sweetness, I have the perfect artist for you. Very good with first-timers," she crows as she herds him down the hall towards the private tattooing rooms and brushes off Steve's half-formed protests. "Steve, this is Eddie!"
The artist turns to face Steve in the doorway and his face splits into a toothy smile, the joyful expression at odds with his tattered black clothes and studded boots.
"Thanks, Kay. What are we getting today, Stevie?" he asks. His brown eyes began to sparkle as he pulls his bushy mane of curls into a low bun at the nape of his neck. When Steve doesn't move, Kay titters and closes the door behind him.
"I uh..." Steve hesitates, gazing around the room in awe. The walls were covered in intricate sketches: dragons curling around a sword, knights on horseback, and even some smaller sketches of those dice from that game Dustin loved to play. Eddie clearly put a lot of work into his art, and Steve just knows that his illustrations would look even better etched onto a human canvas. He tears his eyes away with difficulty before speaking again.
"I'm sorry, man. It's my friend, I said something about always having wanted a tattoo, but I really can't get one so I don't know why she tricked me into coming here for this. I didn't want to waste anyone's time."
Eddie frowns as he tidies up some of the scattered supplies on his cart. "What do you mean, can't? You aren't allergic, are you? Because if you are, I do actually have some hypoallergenic ink that my buddy Gareth uses and I won't upcharge you or anything."
"No, it's nothing like that. I... sorta wanted it to cover up some scars but it's ridiculous and vain and I don't even know what sort of tattoo I'd get-"
Steve's nervous rambling is cut off when Eddie grasps him by both of his shoulders and steers him into the tattoo chair. He pulls a small stool out and collapses onto the seat before looking right at Steve. Steve finds himself unable to ignore the allure of this eccentric man and his distractingly-warm brown eyes.
"Are you embarrassed to have me see the scars?" Eddie murmurs quietly. Steve can feel his ears beginning to burn, and he wants to leave and drag Robin home with a very long lecture about consent and forcing people into situations they are not prepared for, but something in the artist's face causes him to nod once before ducking his head in shame.
Eddie suddenly springs to his feet. "Well, hell, don't be. Look at this." He shrugs off his jacket and tugs his ratty Black Sabbath t-shirt over his head, spinning to show Steve his back.
Steve is momentarily distracted by the expanse of sleek skin before he is utterly blown away by the delicate swirls of ink that cover Eddie's skin. It's an absolutely massive serpent that curls around his torso, the tail disappearing into the waistband of Eddie's worn black jeans. The muscles of the snake almost appear to ripple and twist with Eddie's movements, and the serpent almost looks alive.
"Wow, this is beautiful, dude," Steve utters in awe. Eddie twists his head and catches his eye, his face almost solemn even with the seemingly ever-present joy simmering under the surface.
"That isn't the point, Stevie. Feel it."
Mesmerized, Steve stretches out a clammy hand and runs his fingers along Eddie's spine, struggling to ignore the heat in his chest at their proximity. His brow furrows as he encounters an anomaly in the patterns and feels several thin slashes across Eddie's back that disrupt the otherwise-perfect tattoo. The lines feel different than the rest of the artist's skin, although Steve can't quite make them out under all the ink. He glances up, confused, to see Eddie staring at him over his shoulder.
"It was my mom. She caught me kissing my best friend Noah when I was eight. Both my parents are total Bible-thumpers, and she flipped out, screaming that I was a sinner and I would go to hell." Eddie turns back to face Steve, who fights back a twinge of disappointment when the other man lowers his shirt. "She whipped me so hard, I passed out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and I guess that was finally enough for her to lose custody of me because I moved in with my Uncle Wayne a week later."
Steve's heart jumps into his throat, sickened at the thought of how scared young Eddie must have been. With shaking hands, he pulls back his left sleeve and exposes his inner forearm. The word 'FAG' stands out on his skin, the letters pink and angry. Eddie's face darkens as he grabs Steve's wrist and examines the scar.
"Who did this to you?" Eddie speaks in a muffled voice with lips pressed tightly together as if holding back a scream.
"My dad. He, uh, he found a dirty mag under my bed. Don't know why he was even in there, he hardly gives enough of a shit about me to notice me when he's home, but he was so pissed I thought he was gonna kill me then and there. Cut me with a shard from my fucking mirror that he shattered when he smashed my head into it. He told me it'd be a good lesson for me, that now I'd learn not to embarrass him like that ever again and he hadn't raised me to be a goddamn filthy queer. I was fifteen."
Eddie's fingers trace the letters slowly. His cool hands soothe the angry burn Steve can feel under his skin from thinking about his father, and he can't bring himself to pull away.
"Don't you worry, darling. I can cover this with whatever you want. What are you into? The only thing I really struggle with is those hyperrealistic portraits, but I could practice if that's something you think you'd like." Eddie is rifling through a battered leather sketchbook he had pulled from his pocket, shaking his head as he flipped through the pages.
"Whoa, wait," Steve interrupts. "I don't even think I have the money for a tattoo anyway-"
"It's covered," Eddie waves dismissively, now sorting through several loose sections of sketch paper. "What about flowers?"
Steve gapes at him. The artist doesn't seem to notice in his frenzy.
"I can't let you do this for free, are you crazy? I don't even know you!"
Eddie scoffs. "Please, we just bared our souls to each other, I think I can let this one slide. What about this one? It's a rough concept for a Dungeons and Dragons character I'm writing." He shoves a drawing of a baseball bat covered in nails and surrounded by several small (animal) bats flying around it.
Steve ignores how insanely cool that is and grabs Eddie's wrist. "C'mon, seriously. I can't let you do that."
His protests are ignored. Steve's heart flutters as Eddie grasps his wrists and starts to clean the skin of his forearm. He holds up the drawing again with a raised eyebrow, and Steve, sensing a losing battle, just nods because that tattoo would be undeniably awesome and he just knows Dustin will love it.
Eddie grabs his tattoo gun and snaps on a pair of gloves. Steve fidgets nervously in the chair and Eddie pauses briefly to look into his eyes.
"Do you trust me?"
Steve can feel himself falling. Down, down, down. His heart thumps erratically and he fights the traitorous blush that threatens to rise to his cheeks as he nods.
"I trust you, Eddie."
Eddie beamed, throwing him a wink before he bent over his canvas. "Trusting me is a dangerous thing to do, gorgeous. Don't worry, I promise not to make you regret it."
~~~
An hour later, Steve steps out of the shop with Robin by his side, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the fresh ink. A smile seems to be permanently affixed to his still-pink face.
"Steve, this is so cool! It makes you look like a total badass instead of that frumpy, middle-aged dad look you seem to prefer."
Steve rolled his eyes at her. "I still haven't forgiven you for that little stunt, Buckley," he grumbles. "You owe me big."
"Oh, come ON. You're telling me nothing good came from that appointment?"
He sniffs, refusing to look at her as he pulls a scrap of paper with Eddie Munson's name and phone number hastily scrawled on it from his pocket. Steve shakes his head in disbelief, still grinning, as her shrieks of joy echo down the street.
Hi! This is the first bit of writing I have ever actually published please be kind and let me know what you think! :) all the love to all the Steddie fic writers and fan artists who gave me the courage to finally start really participating in fandom culture. Let me know if you’d like to see a continuation of this story!
