A/N: Alright, so it didn't get the reviews I wanted, but I personally like this story, and a few people have added it to their lists so... eh. Anyways, if you got past the first chapter, I'll go a little more in-depth with the warnings.
This will eventually have graphic sexual scenes, with a spattering of bondage, S&M, and general rough sex between two consenting adults. While I don't intend for this to be a titillating story, my goal is to explore further into the fractured minds of adults, who as children have dealt with different forms of abuse. I've always been fascinated by Tig's character, and have often wondered about his childhood, so my idea of his life before SAMCRO will come up in flashbacks, or maybe even a few chapters dedicated to it at random intervals. There will be graphic physical abuse, and implied, non-graphic sexual abuse of children, so if that bothers you, please leave now. There will be NO graphic sexual scenes involving a child -consenting, or otherwise -so if that's what you're looking for, you're a perv, and get lost.
This isn't a typical feel-good lovey dovey romance story. Tig and Randy aren't 'sweet', 'gentle', 'soft', or 'caring' with each other. But part of the point of this story is to show that sometimes, love is what you make it.
Tig couldn't help the grin that came to his face as he watched Randy walk back into the office. The other guys couldn't stop noticing all the things she wasn't long enough to notice what she had. Yeah, he'd never went for anything below a double D tit before, but Randy's were so… Mmmmhhhhhmmmm. He shivered a bit at the thought. And that ass. Damn if that wasn't one of the finest, firmest, most beautiful asses he'd ever seen. While she didn't have movie star good looks, she had an almost pixie like face. Like a younger, smaller version of Cyndi Lauper.
Gemma had taken her to get some new clothes. While Tig missed the short skirts, and tight belly shirts, he could understand where Gemma was coming from. Didn't look too good to have a hooker working in the office at Teller-Morrow. He could just see how that shit would land with the Feds, who were already on their ass about guns. Didn't need them thinking the club was running hookers on the side.
And he definitely couldn't disagree with Gemma's choice in clothes, he thought with another grin, as he openly leered at his Old Lady's ass in those tight, dark wash jeans that hugged her ass, with knee high boots that just seemed to make her never-ending legs even better. The hipster jeans and the high-riding shirt worked together enough to show off his crow, tramp-stamped on her back, right below her old War Boys tattoo.
He'd spent hours with Happy, going over that tattoo. Tig couldn't draw worth a shit –and a good thing too, what a pussy thing to do, with all due respect to his Nomad counterpart –but he knew what he wanted, and Happy had lost his temper more than once at the exacting perfection Tig had demanded.
But it had been worth it. Hell, he could still see most of it from halfway across the yard. Not that he needed to; he'd traced that tattoo so many times, he could probably give her the damn tattoo all over again in his sleep. The midnight black of the crow, with its wings outstretched to reach around to the front of her hips, a thin, silver chain draped over its neck, that hung down to wrap around its feet, which held a Remington 870 pump action shotgun in its talons. The ruby red eyes of the bird… the spattered blood over the whole design… The skulls littered underneath the Crow… He knew most of his brothers thought it was scary looking. Hell, Gemma had talked to him about putting such a 'fucked up design on such a small, young thing', the disapproval clear in her tone and the dirty glances she still gave him whenever she seen it, even two years later.
Randy loved it. The only time she ever covered it was when it was cold, and she wore a full length jacket. Otherwise, she showed it off proudly.
Then again, she was the only one other than Tig who knew what everything represented. To him. To her. To them as a couple.
Speaking of… He couldn't resist.
"Hey, bitch!" He called out, just as Randy reached the office doors. His grin grew wider –threatening to split his face –at the hellfire and brimstone look in her eyes.
"What the fuck do you want now?" She asked, exasperatedly.
"Get me a beer!"
Her eyes narrowed, as she grabbed a can from the cooler sitting by the garage doors, and slowly sauntered towards him, her hips rolling from side to side as she made her way closer, that teasing, seductive look on her face, with those full, pouty red lips, that he just wanted to wrap around his dick.
She stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms underneath her pert breasts, one hip cocked out, a few strands of hair in her face, as she tapped her booted foot against the pavement.
"Gonna bring me my beer?" He asked, his voice gravelly.
"Depends on what I'm gonna get later," She said with a casual shrug, cracking open the beer, and taking a sip of it, her eyes never leaving his.
Tig's smile turned dark, as he pulled her closer, grinding his hips into hers. "That depends on how bad you've been today, bitch."
Randy flashed him a dark smirk in return, before dropping the beer can on the ground. "Oops," She said, her voice low and enticing, as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tighter against her. "What're you gonna do about it?"
Tig glanced around, and seen that Opie and Juice at the very least were staring at them, Opie shaking his head, and Juice staring wide-eyed, mouth hanging open.
"You wait 'til I get you home," He threatened, grabbing her ass hard enough to leave bruises. "Teach you for wastin' good beer."
"I'll hold you to that, Trager," She whispered in his ear, before pulling away.
Tig let her go, seeing the smile that adorned her lips. Unlike her seductive act, it was pure animal lust that played across her face now, as she walked backwards away from him, her eyes glued to his, forest green meeting icy gray.
She only held his gaze for a few seconds. She wasn't dumb enough to walk across the shop lot backwards. She spun around, and Tig knew she put a little extra 'oomph' to her swinging hips as she sashayed back to the office, slamming the door shut behind her as she disappeared into the building.
He watched the door for a few minutes, before looking up, and seen Juice still staring. His brows furrowed, as he snapped, "What? You want some of this cock too, Juicey?"
The youngest club member blushed beet red –an interesting trick, given his dark skin, Tig thought absently –before turning, and heading back into the garage.
"Ya know, ya jus' a wee bit harsh on the lad. I got half a stiffy me self."
"Fuck!" Tig swore, spinning around to see Chibs' grinning face on the other side of the car. He'd forgotten the Scotsman was there. "What the fuck, man? You know I hate it when you do that creepy ninja shit."
His best friend smirked. "Ninja shite? I'm surprised if ya heard me drop a bomb on ya, with all the blood rushin' ta ya… 'head'."
"Hey, go get your own Old Lady, you foreign fuck," Tig said good-naturedly, chucking his grease covered rag over the car the other man. "Then you can stop eavesdroppin' on me an' Randy."
"Oh, come on now. We both know you two love a good audience."
"Ha ha. Get back under the fuckin' car. Seein' as how we both know it's gonna be the only thing you're under," Tig retorted, turning his attention back to the engine.
