I felt I should acknowledge the inspiration for this story. I was on when I came across this super duper drool worthy picture of our favourite mercenary and saviour of the world, Squall Leonhart. See if you can guess which one it is... go on... I dare you!
Impulsive decisions were not for Squall Leonhart. No, he was the Balamb Garden's best and brightest and he didn't acquire his well earned reputation by jumping in front of bullets without thinking it through first. In reality, Squall spent a lot of time in his head going over strategies to finish missions quickly and meticulously. He was a brilliant mastermind for small and elite battle squads and had a perfect success rate for mock SeeD missions. He even wields the Gunblade with ease – and that was saying something. All that challenged the young man were severely cut down and marked in a way that left them devastated for years to come. He was that good.
Introverted, and blessed with good looks Squall had quite the following. However, the youth didn't make it a secret that he preferred to be left alone and cruelly set straight females and males alike that he was indifferent. Of course, his cold exterior made him even more desirable and his fan base increased exponentially.
So when he found himself inside a grungy tattoo shop with some fat guy with personal hygiene issues, Squall began to question his sanity. Maybe it was all those people back on Garden that had finally driven him over the edge. Perhaps it was the calming voice in his mind that he associated with Shiva chiming chillingly that he needed some time out. Or possibly, just maybe, he just wanted a freaking tattoo to remind him that he was still Squall and not sex walking as so many had pinned him down as.
For any other seventeen year old getting a tattoo would be a way of declaring their rebellious and bad boy antics. But Squall was not your average seventeen year old boy. A child mercenary, orphaned from the last Sorceress' War, Squall had grown up mentally with blinding speed. He treated his body as if it were a temple, refusing any and all impurities to soak into said temple.
So what the hell was he doing at a tattoo parlor?
"So, you want the SeeD emblem here." The fat guy wheezed, his finger tips yellow from cigarette smoking. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled of stale alcohol but Squall couldn't find it in himself to complain. He didn't want to back out when he had already gone through the trouble of showing the man the design.
Squall nodded once, his dark blue eyes steady and sure. A feminine voice in his mind whispered that it was an excellent idea. It was joined moments later by a dark murmur that agreed and strangely reminded Squall of an electrical storm. Get it done, and be on your way! They said in unison.
The man narrowed his eyes at the design, smacked his lips in thought then nodded readily.
"Cool."
"Black and white." Squall stated firmly as he reclined in the seat, the leather squeaking loudly against his clothes.
"Sure thing, kid."
Squall's hand lashed out and he grabbed the bigger mans wrist tightly, his eyes set on the others. The man looked up sharply to see the youth glowering. There was something dangerous about the way the young man behaved – and it wasn't the usual tough guy display from Cockatrice's. This kid was definitely in a league of his own class for danger.
"No mistakes."
The man swallowed back saliva nervously, and then nodded. Squall held his gaze intensely for a few moments before allowing the man to continue.
Squall rested his head against the soft leather – it was surprisingly clean – and pulled the bottom of his singlet up. He closed his eyes and waited for the tattooist to do his thing.
Squall lost himself in the music of felt pen pressing against his skin, completely sure that the man no real threat. His breathing was deep and slow, like his heart beat. Soon, the buzz of the electric powered needle was poised over his flesh, and Squall's behavior turned almost reptilian. Slow, deep and unmoving.
"Right then, let's get started."
A white hot pain shot up from Squall's belly, and he jerked slightly from the unexpected cuts. His breathing quickened and he braced himself rigidly for the many more tiny cuts in his skin. In no time at all the pain dulled, and Squall was able to close his eyes once again. He no longer felt the pain, just the periodic hum from the needle cutting his flesh.
An unnerving breath against the back of his neck that the young man knew was in his mind sent shivers down his spine. He felt long fingers brushing through his hair and leaned into the gentle caress, eyes closed and jaw slack. The minds way of playing tricks in high stress situations was an amazing mechanism.
If Fat Man saw anything odd about his intense-and-scary-as-hell customer, he kept it to himself.
"All done mate."
Squall drowsily opened his eyes and looked up at Fat Man, who was smirking proudly. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and sparking up. He blew a cloud out and Squall found himself thinking the man was very similar to a Ruby Dragon. Mellow creatures until pushed to the very edge.
"All the girlies will be worshiping your shadow once they see that baby."
Squall flicked his gaze downward and smiled softly. He brought his hand up to lightly touch his new tattoo and was mildly shocked when Fat Man slapped his hand away. His glare would have wilted flowers in spring time.
"No touching my man," he explained. He wheeled himself on the office like chair and dug into a draw. "Put this on. You can't get it wet – might run the ink out. And it's gonna be itchy for a while too. Ignore it if you can. You know, skin shedding and crap."
He caught the small tube of salve to glance at it before nodding slowly, his eyes on his tattoo again, tracing the lines with his sight.
Then the man's words sunk in.
"Did you say girls?"
The man snorted. This kid was hilarious!
"Yeah. They'll be all over you now."
Squall visibly paled then grew red. "FUCK!"