Summary:
Poor Nyla can't, and poor Zevran can't even.
Zevran, was prepared for his next client. Everything was in order, his workstation clean, sterile, and for at least the next four long hours, he would be tattooing another stranger.
"He's in that area back there." A familiar voice rang out, and he stood to greet them.
"Nyla?" He blinked in surprise, tilting his head.
"Hey." She smirked, but it was a soft smirk; it was such a relief to see him after a long week of wanting to. Her heart was beating hard as they locked eyes. Why are we not banging?
"Is my Waitress here by referral?" He smirked knowingly, and sighed deeply. She looked radiant, a touch lonely.
"Leliana overheard me talking about wanting to get a tattoo, she made the appointment for me. I didn't know you were a tattoo artist." She felt very suddenly underdressed, with her hair down, no makeup, knee length black skirt and white tank top. She had dressed for comfort.
"Reception will do anything Leli asks. It takes months to get an appointment with me." He chuckled, smiled and offered her a seat on the elongated chair, and plotted Leliana's demise. "You look lovely with your hair down."
"Thank you." Her heart felt like it would melt. It was a compliment. One that didn't involve anything getting eaten. "It's good to see you, Zevran." After days of mooning, writing, masturbating and slapping her own hand as it reached for the microwave, the relief was sharp.
"Mmm?" He sat on his stool and scooted close to her. He met her eyes and tilted his head, stared at lovely bare lips, smooth skin that had never needed makeup, beautiful eyes that looked more tired and sad without it. "It is a pleasure, as always, my Waitress."
"That's cute." She chuckled, clutching her journal closer to her. She had intended to write as she got tattooed, and not that she wanted to anymore, now it wasn't even possible.
"They told me a little about you, you have scars to cover?" He felt sad, imagining perfect skin scarred.
With a nod, she leaned back, and with a flirty smile, hiked up her skirt to reveal creamy white skin around a skin graft. Burned from knee to hip on her outer thigh. Not the first time he had ever tattooed over a burn scar, but the imagining one on his muse was heartbreaking.
"I want a dragon." She chuckled. "I like mythological creatures. It was either a dragon or a griffin. I brought the art I want."
"How old is the scar?" He leaned forward and ran a palm over her skin. So soft, ridged, and his hand nearly spanned the width of it. He got to caress his muse, and it was over a grievous wound.
"It will be two years old, in three weeks." She spoke softly. "Is it too soon?"
"It looks fine." He stroked her thigh gently with his thumb. He wondered what happened to her. He ached to imagine her in pain. "Eaten today?"
"Yes."
"Any drugs or alcohol today?"
"Nothing but Tylenol."
"Drink lots of water?"
"Yes. I have the internet so I did what the internet told me to do." She smiled, somehow unable to meet his eyes. His palm still rested over her burn scar and it was distracting, her heart was racing, and the poor man was just trying to do his job. "This means a lot to me, Zevran. I have wanted to do this for a long time. To make my leg beautiful." To chase away the memories.
"Your leg is beautiful." He whispered, leaning forward and inviting her gaze meet his, he followed up with a smile. "And so are tattoos. I'll prepare your art." Covering her leg with her skirt, he left the room walking briskly. This was bad. His muse was starting to become more human by the minute, and his curiosity was building. He went to the office and took out his phone.
Dammit, Leli.
:)
Don't you :) me.
:)
You are dead to me.
Ask her out to dinner. Bring her here afterward, show her your spot on the roof. I'll get you some wine.
Dead people talking to me.
Don't you have a luscious thigh to tattoo?
So much hate for you right now, Leli.
Liar :)
I'm at work! What am I supposed to do, flirt with her?
Talk to her like a person? Get to know her?
BAH! Okay do you think tonight might be too soon? Perhaps I should say a different day?
LOVELY! No, tonight is good. It's Friday, shows that you're excited. This isn't going to be as hard as you imagine. Nyla is cool!
It is not definite. Orange juice for Nyla. Hate you so much Leli.
3
Upon looking at the art she had chosen, imagining her thigh; it didn't fit her. He didn't imagine she would like it. The shape of the scar, the contours, the shape of the dragon, this wasn't going to work. He quickly made a transfer. He could freehand easily, he was known for it, but he needed to show her. He shook his head; his muse was in his tattooing chair.
Pulling his hair up in a quick ponytail, he walked back to her. She snapped her little black book shut and tucked it under her arm.
"Hey." He let his arm rest against hers on the armrest of the chair as he slid onto his stool- touching her felt electric and they both sighed. They both noticed the touch, their mutual sigh, and they chuckled. "I wanted to show you this. Please raise your skirt for me."
"Bold," she purred, and exposed her thigh. He smirked and said nothing, and she remembered the poor man was trying to do his job. "I like your hair up like that."
With limited sensation in that part of her body, she could barely feel his touch, vaguely felt cool water on her leg, and he pressed a sheet of paper to her outer thigh, where it snaked around, ending above her kneecap.
It was too intimate, slow deliberate movements of his hand gliding along his muse's thigh. Grateful for loose pants, he looked up at her, waiting for her reaction.
"Well." She spoke softly, and looked back up at him. "That looks like shit, Zevran."
"Mmhmm. I thought you might think so." He soaped a small sponge and began washing away the blue lines gently.
"How could you know that without seeing it first?"
"I picture things easily. I have an eidetic memory. I could just tell."
"So you look at something and remember it forever in picture perfect clarity?"
"For the most part. I think so, but it's odd, I don't imagine I remember every moment of my life."
"Perhaps not every moment, but the big ones. Jesus Christ that sounds horrifying." She sighed and impulsively rested her hand on his knee. "I couldn't imagine."
She was the only one he had ever told who understood that aspect of the reality; for one with an eidetic memory who has seen true horror, there was no sanctuary. He felt seen. When their eyes met, there was a felt sense of kinship they had no way of knowing was mutual, but it was palpable. Eyes soft and locked, he continued his business, painfully aware of the delicate hand about his thigh's distance away from his dick.
"I think in sound and color." She smiled and ran her palm idly along his thigh. She didn't mean to; she didn't even notice. "Always sounds or songs, and if I look at them with my mind's eye, I see two-dimensional… colors, sometimes a whispered word. The song always seems to be spot on with how I'm feeling. It always surprises me."
"That sounds pleasant." He tried to imagine it, but all he could picture was the flash of dark blue panties he saw just a moment before as he was drying her thigh. She was caressing his, and it felt relaxing and sensual.
"Would you like to look at some art?" Dragons had never been his thing, but they suddenly were. "I could draw you a dragon." I would do anything you wanted, right now.
"Ah, a Zevran original. At that rate, why make you draw it when you could just start tattooing?"
"So you would know you like it." He chuckled, reaching for paper and pencil and coming back to her. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Do you think I would like it?" She leaned over to see the paper, and her face was mere inches from his.
"I think you will like it." He looked up from his paper and smiled. Nyla's eyes were wide, lips parted, a lock of hair obscured her right eye blocking his view and he wanted to move it.
"Lay it on me, pretty boy." She laid back playfully. "Give me a thing to sign that says I won't bitch if it turns out to be the worst."
"You already signed that before you came back here." He chuckled happily, snapped on rubber gloves and prepared his tattoo gun with excitement. The muse becomes the canvas. It took his breath away. "We're just going to do the outline today, and then in a couple weeks when it has healed, we will color it in."
"How come?" her heart leaped with excitement as the needle buzzed in his hand. This is it. Maybe now I can forget.
"Because of the pain." He spoke softly, "It varies, on scar tissue. Let me know if you need a break."
"It couldn't possibly hurt worse than getting it." She whispered.
"I know the feeling." He smiled warmly- she was making him feel warm. The buzz of the tattoo gun made her jump, and he chuckled at her. "Jumpy, Nyla. Is this your first tattoo?"
"Yes." She bit her lip as the needle pressed against her skin. "It's not that bad."
"It varies, just don't relax into it. It will change." He tried to be gentle with her. "Let me know if you need me to stop."
"I will… thank you, Zev." After several minutes of watching the needle drag along her skin, she asked, "The swoopeis on your face, are those your only tattoos?"
He smiled, "No, I have something similar all over."
"All over your entire body? I'd love to see that. Ow." She laid back and stared at him openly as he concentrated. He was beautiful, with wisps of hair falling against his cheeks, prominent lips subtly pursed in concentration. His hand moved with skilled, confident precision. She hissed and cringed. "Ow. Ow… this is it… this is my life now!"
Reception laughed in the distance, and Zevran paused his tattooing to smile and release a bout of silent laughter. Honest smiles were getting easier, and being with her was getting sweeter. The muse had become a real person, and he just knew he was done for. He had to draw her. He had to date her. It was confusing.
"Does the tattoo on your face mean anything?"
"I would love to tell you about it. Perhaps over dinner?" He kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his work. His heart leaped hard as he asked, and she was silent for a few moments. He added quietly, "Tonight, after we finish."
"I would… like that very much." Nyla spoke breathily. "Though, I would much rather wear something nice to go out with you."
"Simplicity is just as beautiful and elegant as anything, my Waitress." He purred quietly, flicking his eyes up to her with a smirk.
"Flatterer." She blushed as he repositioned, his eyes gleaming as his elbow settled between her knees. "I want tacos," is all she had to say.
"Done." He chuckled, "You are comfortable?" His voice was suggestive and Nyla's heart thudded hard in her chest at the hungry glance that slid over her form to meet her eyes.
"Um." She swallowed thickly and laid back a little more comfortably. "Probably."
They were silent for a time, enjoying the contact of skin against skin. The needle pressed into her, and brief swipes cleared away ink and blood.
"Have you been tattooing for long?" She withheld the urge to move those golden strands of hair hanging down his forehead. The desire to touch was strong and she clasped her hands together, toying with her fingers nervously.
"Ten years. I started at seventeen from my home, practiced a lot on… friends, and a girlfriend I had at the time. Apprenticed at nineteen. Took a year long break and started apprenticing again when I moved here to San Francisco."
"Ah. You're five years older than me." She mused, nearly reaching out to brush his hair, instead picking up her book to play with the corners of the pages. She needed to keep her hands busy so she wouldn't fondle this man that she barely knew. It was hard. "And you draw as well, I assume? Painting?"
"Both, when I am inspired. Mostly painting." He sighed, his stomach quivering with nervousness, desire, and the need to concentrate on the little lines of his muse's dragon. "I have been inspired lately. To draw."
"Oh? Will you tell me about it?" Enjoying the easy conversation, she fixated on his movements, and twitched with the subtle shots of intermittent pain. It didn't hurt like she had imagined it would, and his gentle touch was surprising. Such skilled, steady hands, she admired .
"It is very personal." It started to get too hot suddenly, and his forehead felt damp. He needed to change the subject. "Your book that you keep nervously fiddling with, what's in it?"
"It's personal." Nyla chuckled and cringed a little as the needle dragged along a sensitive patch of skin. "I hadn't written in a while, but last night I found myself inspired. I enjoy poetry. I like to try writing it."
"Try?" Zevran recognized her twinge of self-doubt, he used to have some when he first started in his artistic endeavors. "What do you mean by try? You believe you're not doing it well enough?"
"Well… I suppose it does get better when I am feeling something big, or if I have a muse and it flows more easily." Nyla bit her lips and cringed. Too much goddamn information shut your face oh my god.
"Mm… do you like poetry apart from writing it?" He had sensed her nervousness, and didn't want to pry into her private world any further than she was willing to go. Not right then, anyway.
"Oh yes. I enjoy words. Writing can get exhausting though." Her hand finally moved itself, and brushed his hair, tucking it behind his ear. In that moment, she wanted to punch her own face so hard.
"Thank you." He paused to smile at her, and her eyes were wide, as if she were afraid, but he didn't want her to be afraid. He had enjoyed her touch, and wanted to continue talking. "I cannot do that with my hands, you know. Unsanitary." When she visibly relaxed, he continued, "Exhausted? By words?"
"By words, by talking, by trying so hard for just the tiniest modicum of understanding." With a sigh, she closed her eyes, focusing on the pain of Zevran's needling for a moment; distraction from a harsh reality made only louder by the loneliness she consistently felt. Though… she wasn't feeling it now. "Sometimes I wish I could feel as drawn to sketching or painting, so I could just show someone. Look, this is what I love. These are my desires."
"Mm." He thought for a moment, trying not to reflect too deeply on the truth and flaws of what she was saying. "Do you imagine one could not recognize it in your written word?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nyla writes, she writes to show her love, to express desires." He looked up at her, and the sound of the needle stopped.
"Yes." She breathed, she could hear her own heart beating, yet the sound of his voice was so calming.
"Do you imagine if you were to show your book of love and desire to someone, they could not understand? Or even relate?" Neither of them noticed he had stopped tattooing to meet her eyes.
"Maybe. They might, but when I imagine doing that, it feels too vulnerable." Holding her book close to her heart, she stroked it with her fingertips.
"You would feel less vulnerable if that were a book of sketches in your hand?" Every movement, every flicker of emotion from her was settling in him, the tension in his belly melting away in beholding her.
"Wow… no. Now that I really think about it." Her hand rested on his arm, and her fingers dragged along smooth skin. "I imagine it would be more vulnerable. Every pen stroke visible, meanings more hidden to the naked eye, more subject to interpretation… I would feel less understood, especially if its meaning was… unclear to even myself."
"Yes." He whispered, smiling with her, melting with her, feeling understood and... satisfied. He needed to draw her.
"Hey Zev, I'm going to take off early." A head poked in the cubicle, and she looked surprised. "Sorry for interrupting. I'm going to take off, lock you in here. This place is dead. You okay with that?"
"Yes, thanks, Emily. See you Tuesday." Zevran sat up and cleared his throat. "I will lock up on our way out."
Zevran retrieved more ink to resume his work. They were now alone in the building, and he felt surprisingly more relaxed with her. Now he could flirt.
"Is that what it's like for you?" Nyla asked, drawing his attention back to her. "To show your sketches."
"Mmhm. Exactly." He scooted close to her again, with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "Nyla?"
"Yes?" Too eager to hear anything he had to say, she stared into his eyes, leaned up on her elbows.
"I need to work on your hip now."
"Okay. That's fine."
"Panties in the way." He politely swivelled in his stool, giving her privacy.
"Ahh…" Nyla chuckled nervously. And now I'm going to get the back of my goddamned skirt wet. Fuck. "I want to make a joke about pretty boys and their panty-removing prowess but… I have nothing."
"Close enough." Zevran chuckled, sighed and shook his head. "Nyla."
"Okay I'm ready. Is this supposed to burn? It burns."
"Yes. This is normal. Some say it feels much like a sunburn. For me, more like cat scratches." He adjusted the chair to lay all the way back, and assumed his position, elbow between her thighs, both hands busying themselves at her hip.
"That hurts." She gripped the arms of the chair and focused on breathing.
"Too much?" He kept going, waiting for her to tell him to stop. The skin of her hip had more bumps, ridges, inconsistencies, and it made sense to him that she would hurt more.
"No." She lied, trying to push through it. Eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of the chair, sweat dripping down her temples. The sound stopped. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her white knuckles on the chair. His eyes traveled upward to meet hers.
"You need a break." He smiled and stood up. "I'll be right back."
He went to the back office. Tylenol, chewing gum, bottled water, a pack of crackers, and two stress balls for his poor Waitress to squeeze.
Leli.
Leli.
Leli.
Yes yes? What?
I still hate you.
OMG WHAT HAPPENED?
:)
Don't you :) me Zevrab!
*Zevran!
Talk later, luscious thigh waiting.
YOU ASKED HER OUT THEN?
He left her hanging, and it was satisfying. When he walked in, Nyla was humming and staring intently at the ¾ completed outline of her dragon. She was a lovely sight, her tender curiosity was beautiful. He needed to draw her.
"What song is this?" He sat down and presented her with the Tylenol and bottled water. She took them immediately.
"It's called Sanctuary. It's by Utada. She's a Japanese singer, but I like the English version of the song better… It got too quiet in here. I love the dragon you have drawn on me. So far, anyway."
"Chewing gum." he held it out to her. "You were clenching your jaw, gum will help you relax. And crackers. Pain causes fatigue… you need calories. And these are for your hands. It will be better than chair arms."
"This is… I mean, I know you're doing your job but it feels like you care. This attention from you feels nice." She cleared her throat nervously and took a sip of water.
"I do care." He quirked an eyebrow at her and tilted his head. "How can you not differentiate my professionalism from my actual care?"
"I think it's because you aren't what I expected."
"And tell me exactly what did you expect?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"A lot of things! That you would be detached, cocky, aloof, snobby, that you would meet the stereotype of a beautiful person. Quick to grow disinterested. You're just… too good looking. The type of person that never wants for human contact because people are always after them." She looked away nervously. "It's why I call you the unobtainable hotness and store my phone in the microwave. "
"Hold on." He laughed and leaned forward, resting his chin on the heel on his hand. "Okay, that was a lot to digest, Nyla. I have some rebuttals, and I have some questions, if I may?" When she nodded with her mouth full - adorable even when she eats - he continued, "First, I want to say, all of those things, with the exception of cocky, are untrue. People do 'come after me' as you say, but they only want sex, and I just want those around me to be happy. I am never approached for romance, I shudder to think that is the case because of my beauty. And now for my question; Unobtainable hotness?"
"Oh lord. I said that didn't I?" Her cheeks turned bright red as she took a drink from her water bottle. Feeling more alert, she was alert enough to remember all the weird shit she just said and she wanted to fucking hide. "Okay I'll elaborate on that. I believe, that someone with an appearance such as yours, which happens to be a little overwhelming at times, I imagine if we were romantic together, you would pretty much break my monogamous heart immediately, first chance you had. First pretty thing that walks by-"
"I happen to be a very loyal person!" Zevran furrowed his brow at her, his chest hurting, does everyone think this about me? "So in saying all of this, you thought I was this 'unobtainable hotness,' do you imagine me obtainable now?"
"Jesus." She sighed, burying her face in her hands. "The intensity between us is just, fucking… intense."
"I can handle intensity, Nyla. I happen to enjoy the intensity of being with you. I don't want to be comfortable all the time, I don't want to always hear what I want to hear. I want to feel the intensity of telling too much, revealing too much. Sometimes even asking too much."
Nyla leaned forward, they were sitting close together, tattoo forgotten.
"I didn't mean the intensity is a bad thing! To answer your question, Zevran, yes, I do find you obtainable, and I'm intrigued. I want to… to… fuck." She ran her hand over her head, exasperated. She had almost told unobtainable hotness she wanted to try to obtain him.
"Same." He chuckled.
"No, I meant I'm fucking exasperated! Not that I don't want… goddammit. You're teasing me!" She leaned back in the chair, covered her eyes, and laughed hard. "Jesus tap dancing Christ, Zevran. Fuck!"
"You're too cute." He smirked, and she had turned her smiling, pink face to look at him. He needed to draw her. "Too cute. Too funny, Nyla. And I love to watch you dance."
"Really." She sat up and sat close to him. This was fucking surreal. It didn't feel like her life. Her stomach fluttered, and she went for it. She leaned in, and kissed him full on the mouth.
She was trying to be bold, it was supposed to be brief, but he met her kiss enthusiastically. His fingers ran through her hair, pressing her lips against his, he was generous with his tongue, Nyla reciprocated, and it was sublime. They moaned simultaneously, and both pulled away breathlessly.
"Oh my god that was nice." Nyla stared at him, wide eyed. "I can't believe I just did that. I wanted to do that so badly."
"I'm glad you did." Zevran chuckled happily, enjoying watching her squirm. "Awesome kissing, brave Nyla."
"You are just… this is… oh my god finish my tattoo. You fucking unicorn." She flopped back, stuffed some gum in her mouth. "Go on. I need... some god damn tacos, Zevran. And to call flood control."
"Nyla." He laughed hard, resting his head on her knee momentarily as he made his way into position. "It shouldn't take more than another hour. Faster if you let me concentrate. Perhaps if you stop smelling so good that would be helpful for my concentration."
"You're going to kill me. Flirting. Nestling between my thighs. Jesus." She laughed, but she abandoned laughter pretty quickly as the needle was pressing against her skin again.
"Nyla, tell me when it's too much. We do not have to finish the outline tonight."
"No, I want you to. I'm okay."
They were silent for a while so Zevran could concentrate, Nyla breathed through the pain, which came and went in varying degrees of intensity. She breathed, she chewed her gum, she squeezed the stress balls, and then he was done, and she was shaken.
"Know any good poems?" Zevran asked softly, trying to distract her as he cleaned and bandaged her thigh.
"There is one by Rainer Maria Rilke that I have read so many times I know it." She laid there watching him, waiting for her head to clear. "I mean… sorry, my head is foggy and I feel a bit high, and really tired. I mean I love the poem, which is why I read it. A lot of times so I know it."
Zevran removed his rubber gloves and sat on his stool next to her, she looked tired and overheated, and he rested a hand on her arm.
"Endorphin rush will give you a high feeling. Tell me your poem, brave Nyla." The only thing that felt weird about running his fingers through her hair was that it wasn't weird at all.
"World was in the face of the beloved- but suddenly it poured out and was gone. World is outside. World cannot be grasped. Why didn't I? From the full, beloved face, as I raised it to my lips. Why didn't I drink? World, so near that I couldn't almost taste it?" She took a shaky breath, melting beneath rapt attention and the intensity and softness in his gaze. "Ah… I drank. Insatiably, I drank. But I was filled up also, with too much world. And drinking, I myself ran over."
"I like it very much." his fingers continued brushing her hair, and the skin of her cheeks was returning to it's normal shade of creamy white. "It makes me think of how you must feel when you are dancing."
"Yes!" She smiled wide at him, feeling understood. "I wish I could write like Rilke. Hey Zev? I don't want tacos. I'm sleepy."
"This makes sense to me. Sometimes when the body undergoes this amount of stress, it compromises the immune system. Lots of rest is good. I will call you a cab. Tacos another night, perhaps?" Although he agreed with her decision to rest, he had a building excitement to take her out, take her home, show her his place on the roof. More talking, depth, revealing.
"I'm off tomorrow." She smiled sleepily, present to the throbbing and burning in her leg. "Is it supposed to burn?"
"Yes. You already asked that, is it troubling you?" He tilted his head at her, and she shook hers. "Good, then time for brave Nyla to go home and rest. I will call you a cab."