by Sam Hall
“No, this is the right one, just like this.”
“So where were you thinking?”
“On my arm. I don’t want it to be…a sexy tattoo. I don’t have any problems with girls who get them.” I waved to some of the pictures on the wall. “They look beautiful, the artwork complements that.”
“You think you’re not beautiful, not sexy enough for that?” he said with a frown.
“It’s not that. It’s just not how I feel about this. This design doesn’t look sexy to me.”
I would hope not.
“To me, it looks strong, proud, defiant. Maybe if you tattoo that on me, it’ll be true,” I said.
“Tess, a tattoo’s not a prophecy or a spell. People ascribe all sorts of romantic shit to it, but in the end, it’s just pigment and skin.”
“So put the pigment into my skin, here.” I slapped my hand on my forearm.
“That’s not real discreet.”
“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.
He pulled away, panting, rubbing his thumb along my aching pussy as he caught his breath. “I was going to keep this up for hours, make you beg, plead.”
“I’m pleading now.”
“Fuck it,” he said, going for his wallet and pulling out a condom. I sat up, reaching out for him, trying to stroke his dick, but he pushed me away. “Next time.” Then he crawled onto the bench, covering my body with his, my legs went up around his back and he just stopped, rubbing the head of his cock where I needed it the most.
“Please,” my words little more than a whisper.
“Remember,” he said and then slowly, inexorably, he sank inside me.
I’m fighting for breath as I feel the stretch. I remember it now, I’d been worried he was a little too thick for me last time. A beautiful ache started to build in my pelvis, one that’s stoked as he moved inside me. I can’t do anything but feel him, feel the slight shift as he eased his way in, hear his pants turn to a groan when he reached his goal. “Just--,” I said and he nodded.
“I can feel it. You’re tight.” He looked down at me, his eyes glittering darkly in the half-light of the shop, a brief smile flaring then disappearing. “I’ve wanted…” Now, after everything that’s happened, we can both end the sentence without words. I placed my hand on his jaw and he turned his face into it, leaving a gentle kiss on the palm. Then we both gasped as he began to move. My eyes closed, my fingers dug into his shoulders but he said, “No, stay with me, Tess.” I opened my eyes, feeling them widen as he thrusted into me. “Stay with me.”
It’s weird and alienating, staring into someone’s eyes when you have sex. I usually need to shut down all other forms of sensory information to focus on what’s happening, not looking, not listening or speaking, just feeling. His eyes bored into mine, I saw the shiver go down his spine, the slight shake in his arms as he held back. His eyes dropped to my mouth as I licked my fingers, groaning when I slid them between us to stroke my clit. “That’s right,” he said, nodding briefly, “you feel so good.” I tried, I don’t know why, but his plea forced me to keep my eyes on him, watch the subtle interplay of emotion shift across his face, but the ache began to deepen. His pace increased, the steady, heavy drag of the head of his cock over something exquisitely tender inside me forcing my attention away. He doesn’t seem to care anymore, his hips beginning to snap as he shoved himself inside me.
My eyes closed, my hips meeting his, stroke for stroke. We’re racing now, the hum in my head becoming louder and more insistent. It was almost a tangible thing like an expansive cloud of sound that vibrated through my whole body as we fucked. My fingers were spasmodic on my clit, I was so damn close. This was often the time when I got anxious: would I be able to come? Would this be enough? But I had no such worries now. Instead, it was as if the pleasure growing inside me had a life of its own, spurred on by him, his cock, the hum, I don’t know what and then…
My breath caught in my throat as I felt myself thrown, flailing off the precipice. I felt completely vulnerable; a soft, achingly pleasurable thing as he pistoned on. Pleasure rippled up my spine, spreading through my body, washing over me like a wave and then I cried. My hips jerking in time with my cunt, spasms wracking my body as he thrusted through them. He cried out moments later, forcing himself in as far as he could go, his bursts almost synchronised with mine.
For a while, all that punctuated the silence was the sounds of our ragged breath and the occasional sound of a car driving by. “Tess--,” he said but I pulled him down, wanting to feel the weight of his body against mine, wanting my mouth on his. The kisses were slower, more considered and now I felt an ache inside my chest instead of my groin. I held him hard against me, feeling like somehow we just went through something immense and needing the comfort of his body. He drew back slightly, resting on his elbows above me. “Are you OK?” I nodded. “Tess, that was…” he saw my eyes widen. “Can’t talk about it yet, huh?” He pulled away, disposing of the condom, leaving me feeling cold and exposed. I layed naked in front of the shop window. I needed to pull my clothes on, find a ride, get home. He returned, pulling me into his arms, holding me across his body like a child and resting his chin in my hair.
We ended up curled around each other on one of the velvet couches in my shop. I needed a drink of water, he probably wanted a cigarette, but something pulled our bodies back together when we tried. We didn’t talk, not with words, but instead used the language of skin to try and articulate what our mouths couldn’t. Fingers tangled in hair, traced veins, brushed against the shells of ears. Limbs tightened and caged, supported and ensnared and held, so, so tightly. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point we both sank down in the still grey night.
7
“And what do we have here?”
My eyes snapped open, fluttering for a moment to try and clear the blur, but I felt the tension in Flea’s body before I do. It was easy to see why. There, standing before us, green eyes sliding over our naked forms, eyebrow arched, was Merlin.
“I gotta go.” That was all the warning I get from Flea when he struggled to separate my body from his. I’m almost dumped onto the floor when he clambered off the couch and headed back into Wizards.
“I need clothes,” I said, scrubbing my hand through my hair. Merlin waved his hand and I found myself wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan. “Flea…” I called out, walking into the bright light of the shop only to catch the door slamming shut. He looked at me through the glass door, meeting my gaze for a moment, before going to his car and taking off.
“That was odd. Do all of your lovers run away after a night in your arms?” Merlin said.
“Shut up,” I snapped, Miazydar trotting over to see what the big deal was. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Which is it, shut up, or explain my p
resence?”
“Explain, then shut up. I got them in the wrong order.”
“Well, I assumed you could answer the first one. I was summoned again. Whilst that is quite the impressive little working, it is getting annoying being at your beck and call.”
“Fuck,” I said, dragging my phone out. My thumb tapped on my sister’s number automatically.
“Yeah?” after quite a few rings I heard the gravelly sound of Ash’s voice.
“Merlin’s here.”
She laughed, the sound a little ruined by a cough, but she soon recovered. “That right?”
“You’re not exactly surprised.”
“Well, Jez and I, we had a chat at the party. You’ve been all Stepford since Damorica, so we figured a visit from Merlin the Magnificent might be in order. So, after saying ‘Thank you, Ash,’ tell us where you got to last night?”
“You did this deliberately?” I felt a familiar tightening in my chest as I waited for the answer.
“Well, yeah. We thought, you’ve got the day off, you could have a chat and see if he lives up to his name.”
I ended the call, putting it back into my pocket and ignoring it when it rang again. I sat down on the couch, my fingers digging into my skull. Ash knew I was crushing bad on Merlin before the Damorican trip, yet she… I swallowed hard, my head feeling overly full and spacey all at the same time. I blinked, my eyes beginning to burn.
“I assume it was not you that summoned me.”
“No,” I said, wiping my nose and straightening up. “I apologise, really. Ash gets these ideas sometimes. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
