Disclaimer- Don't own Resident Evil.
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The tattoo was one of her favorite features about him.
It was a true work of art, and whoever had done it had obviously been a master at what they did.
It was charcoal black, contrasting nicely with his skin and curving perfectly with the muscles there. She'd asked him more than once if it had hurt.
He insisted that it hadn't, though she figured it must have at least stung.
More often than not, when they lay together, breath slowly returning to a normal pace after they made love, she'd find her slender fingers tracing the intricate design, marveling at how bright it looked with a thin sheen of sweat covering it.
She asked him whether he'd gotten it before or after he'd entered the military.
He said before, and that it was the name of one of his favorite songs. But somehow, she suspected there might have been just a little bit more to it than that.
She didn't press.
An area of the tattoo near his shoulder had been slightly distorted by a long, thin scar. She couldn't remember how he'd gotten it; perhaps from one of the abominations they had run into back in the Arklay Facility.
She traced her fingers over that, too.
The tattoo was something she could always relate to him. It was his and his alone, something unique. How many other men in the world had the same exact tattoo? Probably none.
She preferred it when he wore tank tops or short sleeves, so that his arm was displayed proudly. When he covered it with long sleeved shirts or jackets, she felt he was covering a part of himself.
In the days when Umbrella had still been after their heads, it had been like a beacon, and he had had no choice but to cover it. But now, now that was over, and she enjoyed those hot summer days when he wore a tank top and they sat in the sun together without having to look over their shoulders for Umbrella.
The tattoo was one of her favorite features about him, second only to him himself.
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At first, it had been strange not hearing the gentle jingle or feeling the cool metal of the dog tags against his skin.
It had been strange seeing them around her slender throat instead, but now he took a pride in it, loved seeing them on her. It was another way to show that he was hers and hers alone, and that she was his, too.
She hardly ever removed them, and more than once he had even found her showering with the damned things still on. Once, he'd joked with her that they'd rust if she kept it up.
He noticed she didn't wear them in the shower anymore.
The dog tags also held a few bitter memories for him; the false accusations of having murdered 23 innocents, for one. Just the thought of doing something like that made him shudder. The images of it done by another's hand were painful enough.
They also reminded him of his bitter parting with the girl back at the Arklay Facility. They had bonded greatly in the course of their shared nightmare, and simply leaving her to go into that foreboding mansion had been hard to do.
Especially with what he had learned had been inside it. While he'd been merrily trekking through the forest, she'd stepped into yet another nightmare.
Still, the bitter memories were far surpassed by the happiness and pride that swelled his chest each night they slept together, her naked form pressed against him and the tags rising and falling gently as she slept.
It had been strange not hearing the gentle jingle or feel of the tags against his skin, but now everyday he heard and saw them against her skin, and that was far better.
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Please RxR.