Inked. Two OCs spend some quality time as consenting adults. Gino may be unclear about what he just consented to.
Alcohol, two adults, lower your expectations.
All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.
Gino brought a bottle of wine when she asked him over. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he figured merlot wouldn't go wrong. Women liked merlot, didn't they? It felt mysterious and strong and private, which is where he hoped the evening would go. Like he was much smarter about wine than he was about women. Didn't stop him from trying.
(Liar. Over and over, he'd stopped trying, sworn off love, until suddenly he was handing his heart to a new face. Next thing he knew, he was stunned when it got broken. Half the time, the other person didn't even realize how much it hurt. A guy that quick to pass out his number wouldn't mind the end of a nothing relationship, right?)
"We have the room to ourselves," she said when the door slid open. "My roommates are out on missions. So we can really get to it."
Gino smiled a nervous grin, trying not to show too many of his crooked rat teeth. The evening might be heading in a different direction than she'd suggested earlier this week, but he was nothing if not game.
He still wasn't ready for the next comment. "Take off you pants and lie down," Cesar said.
"Hi, nice to see you. Brought you this," Gino said, handing her the wine, almost dropping it in the process.
She didn't seem to notice. "Red," she said with approval. "We can have some afterwards. Right now, once you've stripped, I'm gonna want you to drink some of that." She pointed to a plastic tray with a flimsy cup. "You can keep your boxers or whatever on. I just need to get at your legs." She looked at him, the bottle cradled in one arm, waiting.
"So you still want to tattoo me? This is why we're here, right?" He wasn't going to let himself be disappointed. He was too old for that. The room might be lit with candles, but what little furniture there was had been shoved aside to make space for a long and narrow sheet of plastic tarp.
"Naturally. And it won't be a tattoo. Ink, but no needles."
"So no pain," he said, working loose one work boot.
"No needles," she repeated, turning away to tuck the bottle somewhere out of sight. After that, she fussed over him a little, which felt nice, offering him the luke-warm mystery liquid, making sure he finished it even when it turned suddenly bitter in his mouth, getting him a small pillow to rest against. "I think I'll start on the calves first. Save the knees for later, once I've established the currents," she said, encouraging him to roll over.
"My calves," he said. Lying with his face almost on the floor made his voice sound muffled. He twisted to see what she was doing.
She had brought out another tray, holding a wooden bowl and a set of brushes. "This may tickle."
The soundproofing in the barracks was impeccable. No one heard him, not even God.
a/n: I may need to do a little more of this. Edit: it goes through Day 17.
Next up: Greek. Or I'll cheese the prompt. Or give me a suggestion and save us all.