It had been an idea that was sparked their first night as an actual couple, when Cougar had dug his thumbs into her hips so hard that he'd wound up leaving small, grape-shaped bruises blooming under her skin. She's been thinking about it for weeks since, long enough for the bruises to fade and for Cougar to press new ones into her skin. The trick was finding an artist who'd be willing to do what she asked, and who would be able to discuss it with her with her limited Spanish.
The second trick was getting away from Cougar for long enough to have it done. Without anything to do but try and find a way home in between running short tours together, they don't spend much time apart. Luckily, a windfall had come in the guise of Clay, who needed someone to translate for him when he went and met up with someone who claimed to have information on Max. Pooch was busy at the mechanic's, and Roque's Spanish was worse than hers, which left Cougar as the only candidate.
She'd booked her appointment and snuck out as soon as he left, butterflies trembling in her stomach as she lay on her back and watched line after little line get scratched into her skin.
These aren't her first tattoos, so her limited language isn't a problem when it comes to after-care, which had left her feeling confident on her walk home. She hadn't expected Cougar to be home when she let herself in, though. Normally, she tends to wear the sundresses he's bought for her, but today, so that she didn't have to lie on the table with her skirt hiked up to her ribs, she'd settled on a pair of khaki shorts that don't hide the bandages on her hips at all.
"Oh, hey Cougs," she says, closing the door behind her and fighting against the sudden resurgence of those butterflies she vanquished earlier. "How'd it go with Clay?"
bolivia; rule 63; tatoos
The second trick was getting away from Cougar for long enough to have it done. Without anything to do but try and find a way home in between running short tours together, they don't spend much time apart. Luckily, a windfall had come in the guise of Clay, who needed someone to translate for him when he went and met up with someone who claimed to have information on Max. Pooch was busy at the mechanic's, and Roque's Spanish was worse than hers, which left Cougar as the only candidate.
She'd booked her appointment and snuck out as soon as he left, butterflies trembling in her stomach as she lay on her back and watched line after little line get scratched into her skin.
These aren't her first tattoos, so her limited language isn't a problem when it comes to after-care, which had left her feeling confident on her walk home. She hadn't expected Cougar to be home when she let herself in, though. Normally, she tends to wear the sundresses he's bought for her, but today, so that she didn't have to lie on the table with her skirt hiked up to her ribs, she'd settled on a pair of khaki shorts that don't hide the bandages on her hips at all.
"Oh, hey Cougs," she says, closing the door behind her and fighting against the sudden resurgence of those butterflies she vanquished earlier. "How'd it go with Clay?"