Okay, so JAG's sorta over (we still have reruns! ;)), but I promised to continue with these, didn't I? See, I am not so bad. ;) Muahahaha... Anyway. .. This part came about for two reasons 1- I have 8 of them (well more, but when you add one design to another design it becomes one instead of two... hope that makes sense shrugs) and 2- I think some men are soooooooo hot with them. . .. Curious aren't you? Read on and more from me at the bottom. ;)

Enjoy!

Jackie

Part 15 – Got Ink?

"Harm, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, you're as white as sheet, flyboy." Is this a good idea? Is this a good idea? You know, an hour ago, it was. But it's funny how your perception changes from the time you think of something until the time you execute it. An hour ago, I was Mr. Macho Man, willing to do just about anything so that I could look like the cool dude on the block. But now, as I slide my six onto this metal chair, I am beginning to panic and I'm man enough to admit it.

"Oh yea, I'm. . f-f-ine, just dinner didn't agree with me is all." Okay, so I can admit that I am a wussy to myself, but not to my girlfriend nor Razor, the heavily inked, freaky, earring wearing, tattoo artists who promised me that the pain is part of the fun. I take a firm grasp on the clipboard he's given me, the one with the words 'Sign Your Life Away' printed at the very top in red lettering that makes it look as if blood is running off of each word. I scan through the information, checking off 'no' to a series of health questions. Save for the fun intro to the waiver, this seems to be a bit too serious. Like, needing to go to the hospital if things go wrong, serious. As I get to the part where I am about to sign my name, I cast a glance up at Razor who is chatting away with Mac over a tattoo that he and his girl got together. "Umm, Razor?" Really, how in the world could some tattoo artist call himself that? I mean, a call sign for a pilot, suuuuure, but a tattoo artist?

Razor glances down at me and smiles. I swear, if it weren't for that smile, I'd have bolted out of here, the man looks like that type that would eat his young. "What's up, dude? Any problems?"

I gulp as discretely as possible, then clear my throat pointing at one of the questions. Specifically the one about a tattoo being permanent and how getting it removed might disfigure my skin. Greaaaaaaat. "Yea, um, I know you went over the health concerns, but could you do it again?"

Mac does this half - not really wanting to, but it happened anyway - sort of snort and I shoot her my death glare. It sucks, sometimes, that she knows me this well. Though, I am not sure if she knows how bad my fear of needles is. "Harm, I have two tattoos and I haven't dropped dead yet. My first one, I got a very, very, very, very long time ago and, here I am." She says spreading her arms akimbo.

"Yea, dude. There's really not much to it. I'm really fast so we'll be done in no time." Razor adds, then heads around the tattoo station and towards this room in the back. I am not sure if being really fast is a good thing in this profession. (AN: It is. ;) "As for the pain, dude, once your endorphins kick in, it's not so bad." Endorphins! Just how much of my body do I need to give up to get some ink on my arm? He disappears into the room and then I hear some slight humming sound coming from within.

"What in the hell is that?" I ask Mac, staring up at her, I am sure, with a scared little puppy dog expression.

Sitting on Razor's seat, she leans forward and runs her hands slowly up and down my arms. "It's nothing."

But, her caresses, at this moment, aren't working. "The hell it isn't!"

She doesn't laugh like I expected she would, instead, Mac leans in and explains. "It's something called an autoclave which sterilizes the needles. . . Harm, if you really aren't sure about this, it's not too late to back out. . . Getting inked is a serious thing, you don't have to do it now, or ever if you don't want to." Mac's been sincere, so sincere that I almost do get up and just head out leaving Razor with his needles.

Now, I know, why would you do something that scares you so much? Well, to be honest, I've always had fascination with tattoos and have kept off of getting my own because of my fear of needles. But, ever since finding that 'classified' tattoo of Mac's I've been itching to get of my own. I grin slightly – ooooh Mac's tattoo. . .Well, tattooS, she has two, one on her ankle – a heart with the word 'Love' in it, which she hides with concelant and panty hose. And the second, on her bikini area – a bleeding rose. Ironic isn't it, considering we met in a rose garden. Yea, she thought so too. It's sexy as hell and feels a bit different from a regular patch of skin, maybe slightly rougher. I confess, it drives me wild to touch it, run my lips over it as I kiss Mac intimately. It's the thought of what she would do with my tattoo that holds even more of a fascination. I can practically feel her lips on my skin. . .I grin up at her, diffusing my kinky thoughts as those gorgeous brown eyes lock onto mine. "I want to get one, I do. . .I just have this. . .fear of needles."

Mac nods. "Okay, then, you don't have to look, you can hold my hand. If you feel sick, he can stop." Which would be rather silly! Watch the man get through a line, then have to stop. I'd never be able to live that down, that my tattoo is a straight line because I didn't' have the umm. . . well, you know, to get through it.

Oh, and did I mention the name of this place? Get this, it's called Rusty Needles. That alone nearly had me running down the block for dear life. "Okay, dude, got your needles." Razor scoots Mac out of the way and takes a seat, then proceeds to put on black, latex gloves.

Woah, wait a minute, back up! Did he just say NEEDLES? As in MORE THAN ONE? "Uh, needles? Like you need more than one?"

Razor grabs this cellophane like sheet and wraps it around this telescopic, cushiony, armrest with a Maltese cross as its base. Then he puts some on this knob and stands to take out the paint from a shelf. "Yea, well, some dudes they only use one needle, that will take longer than if you use three or five." Oh, yea, that sure makes me feel better. He takes these huge, squeezable tubs of paint and uses the nozzle to pour some into these little, upside-down top hat looking cap thingies. Then he takes the wrapper with the needles and opens it up in front of me. Oh My God. "So you can see, dude, I took them out in front of you, they haven't been touched." Uh huh, whatever, dude. He then unwraps some silver, wide and round metallic piece which the needles slips through and then proceeds to wrap a rubber band around what, has to be, the tattooing part of the machine.

It buzzes a few times and each time I feel my six lift off the seat. The only reason I haven't bolted yet is because, somehow, without me noticing, Mac's taken a hold of my hand. I stare up at her and she stares down with an encouraging smile. Okay, I am man enough to do this. I hope. "Best idea is to take off the shirt, dude. Sometimes a little paint will splatter." I do that as Rusty grabs the sketch of my tattoo, which they print on this special paper that leaves an outline when pressed onto wet skin. Or so, that's how Mac explained it to me. He wets my skin with a squeeze bottle, not unlike those used to water small plants, and explains that he only uses surgical soap. Well, okay, I feel slightly better. Pressing the special paper to my skin, it leaves an outline of what the tattoo would look like, with this purpleish ink. "Don't freak about the purple, dude, that will come off, it's just so I can see what I am doing." He grins at me, affixes the outline then points to the mirror behind me. "Make sure that's where you wanna stick it, dude."

With a sigh, I stare at myself in the mirror, catching Mac's reflection as she stands behind me grinning. I study the tattoo from different angles feeling slightly self-conscious at being half naked in front of Rusty. With a nod, I settle down on the seat again. "Looks good to me." Though, I am not entirely sure I'd have said anything even if the design was upside down. I don't want to piss the tattoo artist off just before he starts to wield a needle – correction – needleS.

"Okay dude, here we go, no guts, no glory." Oh God. Rusty scoots himself close to me, buzzes the tattooing contraption a few times, then I feel his free hand pressed up my skin. JESUS! "Just breathe, dude."

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. .. I wonder if Mac will think any less of me if I pass out just now? She's still holding my hand and I am glancing in her general direction as I feel the searing pain. "Just relax, Harm." She's trying to sound sweet, reassuring, but all I care about is trying this breathing technique that is supposed to alleviate the pain. At least, I am not screaming. Though, I would be if I wasn't biting my lower lip.

The pain, is a cross between getting slightly electrocuted and someone running their nails down sunburned skin. As I breathe, I find that it's getting to be much better, still painful, but more like an annoyance than a – I am going to die – type of thing. "How far along are you?" I ask, wanting to cast a glance towards Razor and his needle, but being too chicken to do so.

"About a quarter done with the outline." Outline? Oh, yea, right! Mac explained that they do the outline first and then shade in the rest. "You're doing good, dude. At least you haven't passed out."

Yea, he just had to mention that didn't he? As the minutes go on by, Razor occasionally sprays me with the surgical soap which gives this nice, cool sensation to my skin before continuing to tattoo. He has a paper towel wrapped around his knuckles which he used to wipe off the excess ink and bit of my blood. Yea, I am looking, cautiously, but I am looking. I take a deep breath and watch as he dips the needle in paint, then goes back to my arm to put the finishing touches on the outline. This whole, 'being fast' is a good thing, I decide as I watch the design taking form quickly. I have to admit, everyone was right about the pain, after a while it gets easier, more like a dull annoyance than anything.

I peak over at Mac who is watching Razor's work with a grin on her lips. "You're doing good, sailor." She says, giving me a genuine smile. I guess this is a big step for us, I know that is for me. Now, I am not too sure I will like Doctors any better after this, but I might have less of a fear for needles. "I'm proud of you." She says and squeezes my hand a few times before our gazes both travel to Razor.

Thirty minutes later, I feel Razor spritz my arm with surgical soap and wipe off any remnants of extra ink. With a grin, he points at the mirror and tells me to take a look. I stand, surprised that I am not wavering at all, and stand before the mirror, flexing my guns. The reflection is absolutely amazing and I find myself having a new respect for this form of art. Staring back at me is an image of myself, on my arm is a newly inked set of goldwings which, I swear, look better than the ones I wear on my chest. They are large, with very intricate detailing of the Navy symbols in the middle. Below in small lettering is the inscription – In Loving Memory – Harmon Rabb Senior – along with Dad's year of birth and year of death. I wasn't going to put that on at all, it just didn't really occur to me. But, when Mac suggested it, I had to.

"Okay, dude, take a seat." Razor instructs me and I do as I am told to find him preparing these plastic gauze pads. "Don't remove the bandages for two hours. . .after then you can wash it with warm water and soap and pat it dry with a towel very gently, like dude. . .Now, you gotta go and buy 'fragrance free' lotion, doesn't matter what kind and apply a light coat. Don't re-bandage that sucker. . . And every day you gotta do the same thing, dude. You wash it, pat it dry, then you put the lotion on. . . The idea is that it's a wound that you need to heal, but you still want the ink to stick. So, if you don't put lotion on it, it'll scab and the friggin ink will just fall off with the scabs. Got it dude?" I nod, but, just in case, he slides me a business card that has all of the aftercare details. "Oh, and don't get any sun on it, until it heals and no swimming or long showers. You wanna keep that dry. And don't pick on the scabs, dude, else you won't have a tat left." Again, all of those instructions are on the back of the card, but it's cool that he chooses to try and beam them into my brain anyway.

After paying, Mac and I head on out of there and I give her the keys to drive my Vette. "You're letting me drive your Vette?" She asks, absolutely surprised seeing I never let anyone drive my baby.

I nod. "Yep, this took a lot out of me."

She chuckles slightly and slides behind the wheel, adjusting the seat so she could reach the pedals. "You would think you just gave birth or something, Harm. . .It's just a tattoo."

"It is, but I also overcame my fear of needles. . .I think." Hmm, time will tell, next time I have to get a vaccination for something.

She puts the key into the ignition, puts the car in neutral and pulls up the emergency brake. Mac turns to me slowly, her lips curling up in this sexy little grin. Well, it's beyond sexy, more like a predator who has just captured her prey. I raise my eyebrows in question and she leans over the gear shift, her lips nibbling my neck slowly. "You know." She breathes into my ear and if I wasn't feeling faint before, I sure am now! "I think a man with a tattoo is VERY sexy."

"Oh yea?" I choke over the words, her ministrations having me 'this' close to losing it.

Mac backs away from me and gets this full, wicked grin. Damn, she is soo hot. "Oh yea, just wait until it heals." She says, then puts the car in reverse and backs us out of the space.

I am curious now. "Uh, what happens then?" Suddenly, my mind is being flooded by my previous images of Mac 'enjoying' my tattoo.

"Wait and see." Ah, I hope this thing heals quickly else, I am going to be one frustrated sailor!. . .

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

AN2: Okay, so I said more from me, here goes. First off "Harm would never get a tattoo!" Probably not, but this is MY realm and I happen to think guys with tattoos are hot. Mind you, not a zillion tattoos (though some with a zillion are hotties too), but one ore two placed in the right spots. Grrrrrrrr! As a postcard I have says "Never mind the girlie toys, I want tattooed boys" Hehehe. - I tried to account, as best as possible, what it's like when you go through the process.

I was nervous the first time and, haven't really been nervous there after. I wasn't freaking out like Harm was either, but I had to add that in since it was his POV. As for the pain, depends on where you stick it. To me, it hurts like someone running a nail over sunburned skin, but, as time goes on, it's just an annoying sort of thing. Depending where you put it – painful places: ankle, chest, inner arm, neck, face, calve – it's not so bad. The one on my neck was the most painful one, and the one on my wrist only hurt when the needle went over the wrist bone, but my tattoo artist is fast so it went by quickly. If anyone has questions, wants to get one, has no clue, or are just curious, e-mail me – - with questions, I have absolutely no problems answering them. Oh and my tattoo guy does not say "dude" every third word, that was some, comic relief of sorts. ;) We'll get more of Mac's reaction on the next chapter where she has to take care of our favorite flyboy as his arm heals.