**Disclaimer and warning

In real life, Kyle is happily married, and I totally respect that, but this is the pretend world, and in fairness, no one will even read this, because no one knows who he is, or has watched Ink Master as I have, so I'm perfectly safe! I can't help that he's ridiculously hot, and it made me crazy seeing him "maddog" Nunez and charge him. It made my mind run away with me, and brought my muse back, just for a few sweet hours. I couldn't do anything else until I got this out of my system! A girl can dream.

As always, this is nothing but filth! I can't help myself! It's all I can write these days.

Just a couple of oneshots

"So, Kyle," I curse under my breath, squeezing harder on my stress ball, as he goes back over a tender spot. "You probably get this all the time, but I have to ask…" I hear him chuckle quietly, obviously knowing what the next thing out of my mouth is going to be. "Nunez?"

He slides across the room on his chair, and rummages through his selection of inks. "You're not the first to ask," He slides back, and pauses to fill another cap with fresh black ink, before loading up and picking back up again. "I just…" He breezes, shaking his head and running his glove clad fingers through his hair. "I just lost it," It's my turn to chuckle for a moment before I swear at him again. "I never thought a British chick would have a dirty mouth," He's smiling, though.

"I can eff and jeff with the best of them," I inform him, "but I do try not to," I gesture at the tattoo gun in his hand, "however, when I've got someone stabbing me repeatedly with a needle, it tends to slip out," We catch eye contact as we laugh, and I fight the blush I feel creeping on to my cheeks.

Kyle holds up his hands in a gesture of defense. "Hey; I'm used to it. In this line of work, you get called all sorts,"

"I bet," I look away, chewing on my lip bar. A moment passes between us, but it isn't too uncomfortable. "Third eye, is it?"

Kyle's hand reaches up to his throat, and his fingers run over the tattooed eye. I can't help but follow the movement with my eyes. "Something like that," Luckily, he's smiling when he catches me looking.

"I'm going to fidget," I warn. I shift around, then settle myself more comfortably, "My arse is sticking to the leather,"

Kyle laughs and shakes his head. "'Arse'," he echoes.

"Fuck off," I adjust the sheet between my legs and take a deep breath. "Okay. Crack on," I soon regret it when the burning pain of the tattoo needle begins assaulting my thigh again. "Why do I do this to myself?" I speak through gritted teeth.

"Because it will look awesome when it's done,"

I smile, "True,"

A while passes through us in a comfortable silence, as Kyle gets in to his zone, and I get in to mine; managing the pain. It startles me when he speaks, but I manage not to jump. "You've come a long way for a tattoo,"

I smile again, "Don't flatter yourself, Dunbar," I close my eyes briefly. "I'm here visiting family,"

"You've got family over here?" He looks up to me; those dark eyes burning in to mine.

"Mmhm," I hiss in pain, "They're scattered about the country. New York, LA, Hawaii. Here."

"So you just thought you would get some ink whilst you were out here?"

"Why not? I like your work; I happened by your shop. Couldn't say no."

His eyes lock with mine, and I bite my lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Lucky me," He holds my eye a moment longer, then gets back to work. After a while, he slides back to take a look at his work from a distance. "I think we should get this finished in the next couple hours,"

"I cannot wait," I breeze.

"Sore, huh?"

"Let's just say I am refraining from strangling you," Our eyes meet again; he's smiling, my heart skips a beat, and he looks back to his work on my thigh.

"Yeah, I'm not really in to that," He looks up at me for a moment, a wicked glint in his eye. He slides away to change needles. I flush and bite my lip. It wasn't the response I was expecting, and I don't know how to reply. "Shading now," He announces, his hand hovering above my thigh.

"Good,"

Kyle looks up at me, one eyebrow raised. "Good?"

"Hurts less than the line work. In fact, it's almost kind of…" I balk.

"Kind of…?" Kyle waits, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I look away, horrified that I've managed to embarrass myself in front of him. "Nothing,"

Some time later, my eyes are closed, and I'm biting my lip.

"Are you okay?"

I nod my head. "Mmhmm," I squeeze my stress ball in one hand, and grip on to the bed with my other hand. I don't trust my voice not to break.

"Is it hurting?" His voice is soft; he lifts the tattoo needle.

"Don't stop," The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I open my eyes and look anywhere but at Kyle. I look to the clock. "It's gone 6,"

Kyle smiles. "Perks of working for myself,"

"Don't you have a wife and kids to get home to?"

He shakes his head. Changing the subject, he sets the machine down. "I fancy a coffee. Would you like one?"

I point to the table, indicating my decaffeinated coffee sachets I've laid out next to my handbag, ready for such an occasion. "I would love one, thank you. Help yourself to one of those if you would like one,"

Kyle disappears for five minutes, and returns with two mugs of steaming hot coffee.

I'm sitting up on the tattoo bed now, legs tucked up under me. Kyle slouches back in his chair, allowing his legs to relax open. I consciously avert my eyes.

We chat back and forth for a little while as we drink our coffees. Mostly, it's comparisons between growing up in the two different countries, and sounding out one another's pronunciations of certain words. It's nearly an hour by the time Kyle gets back to work. I've had the ingenious idea of laying a sheet under my bare legs, to avoid sticking to it. I settle myself comfortably again take a deep breath, "Okay. I'm ready,"

Kyle lays his hand on my thigh, holding the skin steady. "Here goes,"

"Do you want to finish tomorrow?" I place my hand near his on my thigh. "It's getting late,"

Kyle looks up to me, resting his hand on my leg. "Do you want to come back tomorrow?"

I blink. "Unless you're all booked up? I mean if it's easier to get finished up now, that's fine. Whatever suits you. I didn't mean to-"

Kyle puts his hand on mine, and his eyes lock with mine. He's smiling. "Lyra, it's fine." I look away. "Tomorrow is fine. 5 o clock. We will be finished by 6. There's not a lot of shading to do,"

"I don't want to put you out,"

Kyle moves away, eyes still on me. "Tomorrow is perfect." He slips off his gloves and starts cleaning up.

I stay quiet and watch him as he works. He vanishes out back. I can hear him clattering about, but I'm not sure quite what he's doing. Realizing the coffee has decided to go straight to my bladder, I decide to use the bathroom. I take advantage of the cool water after I wash my hands, and splash it on my face. The heat in the States seems somehow hotter, drier maybe. I dry up, straighten out my clothes and head back out. There's a small cloak room area, where I've hung up my coat I didn't need. British habit made me throw on a coat before I left, but within two minutes, I'd peeled it off and it had spent the rest of the walk being arm jewelry. I pull it off the hook and turn. I step out of the cloak room and straight in to Kyle. "Fuck!" I put a hand to my mouth. "Sorry,"

Kyle's hands are on my arms. He's looking in to my eyes. Time appears to stop as his eyes drop to my lips, and his lips part. One hand runs down my arm, moving to rest on my hip.

Kyle's fingers press down in to my hip, and I close my eyes. "Kyle," I feel his fingers press against my lips. Then skate across my jawline and through my hair. His fingers close around my hair and he pulls my head backwards. He eases me back towards the wall. He pulls my head gently to the side, and I feel his lips press to my neck. I feel his knee press between my legs; he rubs his thigh slowly but insistently against me, making me whimper. "Kyle…" I repeat, breathlessly. He pulls away from my neck and looks down at me, his eyes blazing.

"I'll see you tomorrow," It isn't a question. I nod in reply.

It cannot come soon enough. I make sure I turn up fashionably late, but not enough to chance him giving up and leaving. When I arrive, Kyle is busy hunched over his computer, looking serious. His expression softens when he spots me.

"Lyra," He stands, rubbing his hands on a cloth. He gestures towards the tattoo bed in the middle room, "Please. Make yourself comfortable,"

I smile, then set about laying the sheets ready, before I clamber up on to the tattoo bed and hike my skirt up to reveal the almost-finished tattoo on my thigh.

Kyle busies himself, faffing with the tattoo machine, needles and ink. I don't pretend to know what he's doing. "Have you had a good day?"

I balk, briefly, so busy watching him, I'd quite forgotten about the rest of the world. "Uh, yeah," I shuffle myself down a little on the bed. "I've just been pottering about today,"

Kyle echoes my words with a smile.

"What?"

"'Pottering about',"

"What?"

Kyle smiles, settling himself in his seat next to me. "Nothing," He runs the razor over my skin, then wipes it. "It's just cute,"

I flush, and look away. We fall in to a comfortable silence for some time. I close my eyes.

"Are you okay?" Kyle's voice startles me.

I just nod, not trusting my voice.

"You're biting your lip – is it hurting?"

I shake my head. Kyle doesn't reply. I'm not about to tell him exactly how it is making me feel. Kyle wipes my thigh, then places his spare hand on my thigh, holding the skin taught as he works. I squeeze my stress ball, but it doesn't stop a little gasp escaping my lips. "Fuck,"

Kyle stops, and we lock eyes.

"I'm sorry," I look away, tears prickling the corners of my eyes.

"Am I hurting you?" He asks, pulling the needle away. "I can give you five minutes if you like?"

"You're not hurting me, Kyle," I bite out. It comes out harder than I mean it to.

His jaw drops in realization, and he shifts in his seat. "Oh…" He places his hands on my thigh ready. "We should be finished within about a half hour,"

"Good,"

It could quite possibly be the most torturous half hour of my life.

Kyle's hand closes on my thigh once again; he's now standing, leaning over me, applying the last bits of shading. My eyes are still closed. The burning, scratching sensation is teetering on that edge between pain and pleasure. Kyle's hand moves further around towards the back of my thigh, resting in the crease between my butt and my thigh. I hope he doesn't hear the whimper I utter. His hand moves again, pushing the fabric of my skirt up further. With my eyes pinched shut, I bite down on to my knuckle, holding back a litany of swear words as I feel his hand trace the edge of my underwear. I suddenly regret deciding on having a tattoo reaching so high. Another minute or two passes, where the only noise is the tattoo machine. There is an interlude, and I hear Kyle set down his machine and snap off his gloves. I feel a cool liquid spread over the fresh tattoo, and I release a breath of relief. I wish I'd brought my little pink friend with me, but something about the risk of it being revealed in a random airport search had put me off the idea. Kyle wipes over the tattoo gently. His hand strays again, chasing the rivulets running down the back of my thighs. He's still standing, leaning over me, and I can feel the heat emanating from him. His hand slowly trails up my thigh, and he closes it around my ass. I can feel he's discarded the wipe somewhere along the way. Fingers trace my underwear again, this time slipping under them. "Kyle," I breathe, and in a second, his lips are on mine.

"Don't," His voice is deep and rough, I open my eyes, and his are hooded, almost black staring back in to my own ice-blue eyes. He winds my underwear around his hand as he looks back at me, and he pulls the elastic hard enough for it to dig in to my hip. I bite my lip and whimper, and he smiles. "You like that?" His voice is barely more than a whisper. He brings his free hand up to my hair and threads his fingers in to it. He closes his hand around it and pulls.

"Kyle, please…" I don't know what I'm trying to say. He cuts me off by grazing his teeth over my lips.

"Say that again," He pulls my head back, and presses open-mouthed kisses to the exposed flesh. "Beg me again," I utter a noise in response, but it's incomprehensible. Kyle stops his ministrations to stare down at me, his face studying mine. I shake my head, and he smiles, accepting my wordless challenge. He lips crash against mine, his teeth nipping at my lips, and he maneuvers himself up on to the tattoo bed over me. The hand on my underwear holds down my hips, his fingers digging in to the soft flesh; the hand in my hair pulls, holding my head in place as Kyle trails nips and kisses across my jawbone. "Say it again," He is by my ear now, nibbling the sensitive skin, and making his way down my neck.

"Make me," My voice is barely above a whisper, and it descends quickly in to nothing more than heavy breathing as I feel Kyle's fingers push inside me.

"Fuck," His voice is heavy, "you're so ready for me," He removes his fingers and holds me down again, this time pinning me with his pelvis. He pulls my leg aside, and he presses himself against me, making sure I can feel his member straining against the fabric of his jeans. Kyle grinds down on to me, moving to pin my arms above my head. "I will make you beg," I stare up at him, chewing my bottom lip, drawing his attention from my eyes, and I wordlessly shake my head again. He smiles. Clearly well versed in the art, in one swift move, his jeans are loosened and pulled down. Just the thin fabric of his boxer shorts separates us now, and I can feel his wetness soaking through them. "Close your eyes," I obey. I feel the warmth from his body move, and my heart thunders in my chest, awaiting his next move.

I gasp when it happens. His lips press against my inner thigh, and his fingers slip beneath my underwear and move them aside. In a moment, his tongue is between my legs, and I whimper. A wet finger enters me, and I cry out. He remains down there, doing just enough to keep me on the edge, taking me apart at the seams. And then he stops. I feel his weight shift away from me. I open my eyes, to the most beautiful sight. Kyle, sans jeans, dark eyes boring in to my own, a wicked smirk on his face, whilst he slowly pumps his erect dick. My eyes are drawn to his manhood, to the glistening tip, as he runs the index finger of his free hand over the head of it, collecting the precum, and touching the same finger to my clit. Kyle pulls me to sit, and he smiles. My hands slip under his shirt, exploring the muscles beneath. "Touch me," He isn't asking. He pulls my hand to his dick, and we both play in unison. It's his turn to make noise as I shift myself in to a more comfortable position, and take the head of his cock in to my mouth. I run my tongue around the sensitive head, tasting the salty tang of his precum, then I decide to make a show of my non-existent gag reflex. I take most of his length in to my mouth, allowing him to reach the back of my throat, repeating the process slowly and deliberately a few times. Kyle swears, and he pulls me off him, breathing heavily. "Easy," He smiles. "I'm not done with you yet," Kyle pushes me to lay back against the tattoo bed again and he doesn't hesitate to rip at my shirt, popping off all the buttons. I don't have a chance to react before his mouth and hands are on me again, exploring every inch of newly exposed flesh. When Kyle moves back again, his eyes are lustful and hungry. He pushes my panties aside, slipping a finger inside again briefly, before lining himself up. But he doesn't go any further. He kisses me again, insistently, teasing the head of his cock around my entrance, only pushing slightly inside, leaving me feeling empty.

"Kyle…" I whisper, and he moves to look me in the eye, smiling. He continues to press himself slightly inside me, stretching me, then pulling out again. He doesn't take his eyes off me as he carries on. He pushes about halfway in to me and pulls back out again. He dips his head, using his tongue around my breasts and my nipples. He pushes slightly inside me again, and keeps still, holding me open, aching for more. I mumble. He smiles at me again.

"What was that?"

"Kyle, please," I finally cave and beg. I am rewarded by his smile, and finally, the whole, thick length of his cock sliding agonizingly slowly in to me. I feel so stretched and full when he is finally fully sheathed inside of me, and we both take a moment to adjust. Even Kyle looks momentarily worried, and he stills himself completely before starting up a rhythm. He pulls most of the way out, and then back in again a few times. As he works up the pace, his hands wrap around my wrists and hold them down with bruising force. He kisses me hard again as he punishes me with his full length, but he pulls away, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He swears as he seems to get himself even deeper in to me, and he draws back, holding my eye as his thrusts himself in and out of me, each movement getting deeper, harder, the grip on my wrists getting harder. His eyebrows begin to pinch together, and he can hardly bring himself to talk. "Scream for me," He kisses me, making me taste myself, and he himself. "Scream my name,"

Who am I to argue with Kyle Dunbar, as he fucks himself harder and harder in to me; I can feel my legs shaking as the heat pools deep inside of me. I try, but I can't hold on any longer. My breath is ragged; I can hardly catch it as he slams in and out of me, again and again. I can feel my orgasm building, steadily, but surely, intensely. My eyes flutter closed and I feel my climax begin to hit, slowly at first. Then like fireworks, it races through me, igniting every nerve ending in my body, and I cry out my release, I swear, and as I call out Kyle's name, I feel him let go. His fingers dig in to my wrists as his climax takes over him, and as my own ebbs away, I can feel his cock pulsating, spilling everything he's got inside of me. His movements slow, and finally stop, and he eventually releases my bruised wrists. He remains on top of me, still inside me, his heart thumping hard enough that I can feel it, his breathing still sharp and fast. One hand winds in to my hair again, the other laces with mine, and we stay like that for some time.