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“No, it’s not.”
He stopped arguing after that, seeing something in my eyes that told him my mind was made up. He became a different person after that, drawing up the stencil and placing it on my arm. He kept more space between our bodies, didn’t prompt me to speak, just let me look at myself in the full-length mirror. The blue lines on my skin transformed it. It was all temporary outline right now, but seeing me 10% different was kind of seductive now. Will I regret this? Is this just some weird impulse brought on by being an introvert in an extrovert’s world?
I don’t agree with the man thing. This is a mark of power, they are important in my world. Do this, you will not regret it.
“I like it. Let’s do this.”
He snapped on black latex gloves and organised his equipment, though I admit, I did jump when his hand went around my wrist, bringing me into position across the bench. He looked up and smiled, rubbing my hand for a moment before picking up the gun. I didn’t like the sound of the tattoo gun; it had an insistent metallic whine that set my teeth on edge, and my dragon’s if his restive movements on the floor were anything to go by. I liked the feel of the needle biting into my skin even less.
Flea knew what to expect, his hand holding me still as he started with the outline. “This hurts the most,” he said. “We get it out the way and it’ll all be downhill from there. You feel faint, you let me know.”
I shook my head, letting my teeth grit tightly. I had wielded the plasma spear of the Rozurrath family in battle, called the baelfire and had it running across the prince’s manor house at my beck and call. I didn’t feel much like a dragon rider this side of the portal, but I could bear this.
“You’re doing really well,” he said. I blinked and looked down. The framework for the design was there, stark against my skin. I nodded, no turning back now. He smiled and then picked up the red ink.
I ‘went away’ as he worked. He might’ve made conversation or been sending out non-verbal cues, but I wasn’t there to sense them. When I was in a situation that I found painful that I couldn’t do anything about, my focus on what was happening around me dropped away. Sounds became muted or I couldn’t hear them at all, my vision went hazy and unfocussed and it took a fair effort to start taking in details again. Sensations felt dislocated as if happening to someone else’s body. We will fly high above the Damorican capital, my dragon said, almost a whisper in my mind. We will fly freely, with none to tell us yea or nay.
Where will we go?
To the wastes of Sariah, to Jiranthis, the home of the water people, to Garabalon, the ruined capital of the Brigintinian empire. Wherever you want to go, my love.
“And we’re done.”
I looked down at the arm that was no longer mine. He was incredibly talented, something I probably should’ve focused on before letting him permanently mark my skin, but the sheer level of detail, each muscle, each scale expertly rendered was amazing. I could see myself staring at it for hours, finding new things to look at. He was staring at me expectantly; I was supposed to insert social niceties here, but what was I going to say? Thanks seemed really inadequate right now. He backed away, looking worried, but he talked through aftercare with me, rubbing a moisturiser on the skin to keep it from drying and then reaching for plastic film. I stopped him with a hand on his arm, moving around the bench to close the gap between us. Miazydar began to hum in my head as I moved, placing one hand on Flea’s arm, the other going to the hem of his shirt.
My dislocation was totally wiped away. Now, instead, my body bombarded me with a furore of information. The cotton of his singlet felt light and slippery between my fingertips like the fibres had been beaten smooth by many washes, the jerk of his abdomen as I raised the garment, my hands grazing his skin as I went. “Tess…” he hissed, but he didn’t move to stop me. I was memorizing him this time, the tight crests across his hips, the lean dip of his stomach, I traced the vein snaking up from one hip, up, up, pulling his shirt with me. “Tess.” His hand went over mine, stopping it in its tracks, holding me still when I resisted. I looked up at him finally, reaching for his face and drawing his mouth down to mine.
The hum inside my head grew louder as I brushed my lips against his, retreating when he tried to deepen the kiss, teasing him with light, nipping kisses and when my tongue flicked out, I tasted that familiar mix of nicotine and mint. His hands landed on my hips, pulling me close as we edged back, my butt landing on the tattoo bench. I hitched myself up on it and pulled him between my legs, sliding his shirt up and off between kisses. I leaned back for a moment, taking in the sprawling tattoos across his chest and arms, the sharp flex of muscle in his arms as my hands dropped to his belt. “Tess,” he gasped, but I shut him up with a kiss, working the leather loose. “Tess!”
“What?”
“Let me get the blinds or everyone’s gonna see my lily-white arse.”
“No,” I said, sliding my hand down.
“Tess! There’s a pub up the road. Anyone could come past.”
“No, I can’t…”
“What’s the matter? What’s brought all this on? A tattoo? Your hands down my pants? Which feels fucking amazing right now, just saying. We’ve barely spoken since…”
“Don’t say it,” I said, my hand whipping up and covering his mouth. “Don’t talk about it. If we…if we talk about it, I’ll start picking it apart. Pick, pick, pick, overthinking and overanalysing until there’s nothing left of me and there’s only the whir of my brain. Right now, I don’t know what’s coming, what’s going to happen beyond this and that’s OK. It doesn’t stay like that for long.”
“So maybe we shouldn’t be doing this? You know how much I want this, you can feel how much,”-he shifted his rigid length within my grip- “but Tess, am I going to wake up the next day and find you’ve gone through the portal to find us acting like complete strangers?” The hum still rings in my ears but there’s a discordant note now. What am I doing? Flea’s a person, not a lump of meat. I can’t go around treating him like something to scratch an itch on. He seems to see the fear rise in my face, shaking his head and then saying, “Fuck it. I’ll take what I can get.”
His mouth crashed down on mine, no light caresses allowed anymore, it’s all tongue and teeth. He jerked his belt free, his pants falling to his ankles seconds later. The hum rises in tone; the lights blinking out. I opened my eyes to see my dog drop his paws down from the wall near the front counter, then saunter off into our side of the shop. I closed my hand around Flea’s rigid length and he rasped, “Yes...”
It looked like turnabout was fair play, my T-shirt was tugged off with lightning speed, my bra dispatched equally as fast. He spun me around on the bench, pushing me backwards and pulling off my jeans. “Mm,” he said when he got to my underwear, running his thumbs up each side, the feel of his bare fingers against my skin, so close and yet not close enough to where I wanted him, making me squirm. “No way,” he said, forcing me to stay still. “I’ve got no idea when I’ll get to do this again and I still haven’t got the first time out of my
head, so we’re taking this at my pace.” He watched me, waiting for me to disagree as he slid my knickers off, one hand cupping a breast, his head dropping down to circle my nipple with his tongue. My back arched as his fingers pinched down hard, my legs falling open as my clit twitched. “Do they know, those guys that see you walking down the street, about those cute, little, kitten sounds you make when you’re getting turned on?” His mouth closed over my aching tip, sucking my sensitive flesh hard, his fingers loosening, making my skin throb in the absence of pressure. Finally, when both of my nipples had been transformed into aching points, his mouth dropped down, leaving butterfly kisses on my rib cage and stomach. He pulled back, straddling the bench, picking up my feet and putting them behind him. He reached out, gently rubbing a knuckle along my wet folds.
“Flea...” I said, trying to drag him closer with my ankle.
“No way. You’re sober and I want you to remember every damned second of this. When you come in here to bring me the mail or tell me the electricity bill is due, you’ll think about me inside you.” I moaned back as his fingers slid through my wetness. “When Ash starts meddling and makes you ask me about the heating or the cooling, when I’m forced to watch you curl up inside yourself at one of Gabe’s parties...,”-his thumb circled my clit slowly- “when you go home later tonight and feel the ache I leave behind, maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember what I feel like, how I can make you feel, and consider the possibility of a future for us.”
I didn’t get to reply or respond. He grabbed my thighs, pushing my legs back against my chest and spreading them wide. His tongue licked along my seam, moving slowly, making me track every movement, wanting him to move higher or lower, wanting him to increase the pressure. He layed glancing licks on my clit, just enough to make me sit up and take notice, just enough to ratchet up the ache inside me, the one that longed to be filled. The hum inside my head grew as inarticulate noises came from my throat. He held my thighs still as his tongue began to flicker, then slid down and pushed inside me.
“Flea…” I cried, “please!” It was enough and not enough all at once. I knew what it would feel like when he pushed inside me and I wanted it.
