![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
churbooseanonSummary: Maine’s body is a blank canvas for him and Florida aims to fill it up.
Canvas
The best part is how he gets to touch Maine. His hands get to stroke up and down that beautiful, bare back, over his arms, down his legs. He loves the way he can just lay Maine down for hours at a time and love that skin. Kiss whatever he isn’t touching.
“You sure about this?” Florida asks, as he always does, and he loves the sound, the feel, of a pleased purr rolling through his lover’s chest.
“You like the design?”
Another rumble, sweet and inviting.
“It’s going to look good on you,” Florida assures his lover, reaching for his tattoo gun.
He knows it’s true, because all the other tattoos covering Maine’s back, his arms, his legs and chest and every piece of skin Florida had managed to convince him to sit for. This time it’s a space on Maine’s shoulder that he’d been saving for a special occassion. This time the symbol is simpler than other times, a single greek character, done in black, interwoven with flames.
This time the growl is lower, more concerned, and Florida tilts his head for just a moment, tries to figure it out, because the truth of the matter is that since the injury his lover doesn’t speak. Can’t speak. He’s relearning Maine, learning each growl and rumble and snarl and he’s getting good, but he doesn’t know that one.
It’s repeated, plaintative, and that helps Florida figure it out.
“Of course I’ll stop if you need me to. We’ll need a new signal of course. Let’s see. Tap the bed frame twice if you need me to stop. Okay?”
An affirmative growl. Florida leans in and kisses the bare patch of skin tenderly and smiles up at the chip in the back of his lover’s neck with a similar symbol on it. He’s proud of Maine, happy for him, and loves the way that he hasn’t lost Maine with his beautiful voice, and how Sigma is their connection outside of these quiet, intimate moments that have always been theirs alone.
“Ready?”
Maine gives him a thumbs up and the tattoo gun comes to life and Florida leans in, his hand strokes down the beautiful colors and patterns of Maine’s back before setting his thoughts aside and letting the art flow through his arm.
Canvas
The best part is how he gets to touch Maine. His hands get to stroke up and down that beautiful, bare back, over his arms, down his legs. He loves the way he can just lay Maine down for hours at a time and love that skin. Kiss whatever he isn’t touching.
“You sure about this?” Florida asks, as he always does, and he loves the sound, the feel, of a pleased purr rolling through his lover’s chest.
“You like the design?”
Another rumble, sweet and inviting.
“It’s going to look good on you,” Florida assures his lover, reaching for his tattoo gun.
He knows it’s true, because all the other tattoos covering Maine’s back, his arms, his legs and chest and every piece of skin Florida had managed to convince him to sit for. This time it’s a space on Maine’s shoulder that he’d been saving for a special occassion. This time the symbol is simpler than other times, a single greek character, done in black, interwoven with flames.
This time the growl is lower, more concerned, and Florida tilts his head for just a moment, tries to figure it out, because the truth of the matter is that since the injury his lover doesn’t speak. Can’t speak. He’s relearning Maine, learning each growl and rumble and snarl and he’s getting good, but he doesn’t know that one.
It’s repeated, plaintative, and that helps Florida figure it out.
“Of course I’ll stop if you need me to. We’ll need a new signal of course. Let’s see. Tap the bed frame twice if you need me to stop. Okay?”
An affirmative growl. Florida leans in and kisses the bare patch of skin tenderly and smiles up at the chip in the back of his lover’s neck with a similar symbol on it. He’s proud of Maine, happy for him, and loves the way that he hasn’t lost Maine with his beautiful voice, and how Sigma is their connection outside of these quiet, intimate moments that have always been theirs alone.
“Ready?”
Maine gives him a thumbs up and the tattoo gun comes to life and Florida leans in, his hand strokes down the beautiful colors and patterns of Maine’s back before setting his thoughts aside and letting the art flow through his arm.
