Written for the rounds of kink comm on El Jay.
Prompt: He'd show the world who he belonged to and then the world could go fuck itself
Kink: Claiming or establishing ownership (private or public; by gesture, word, or ritual; with sex; with a collar and leash; with scent-marking or by biting)
Word Count: 1,329
1) I've not had any experience with this, so you'll have to forgive me if it's wrong. I got most of my information from answers given to a question on Yahoo Answers.
2) Takes place TWO YEARS after the movie. Swearing is involved (which is not surprising given the mouth on these two ;P)
3) I am aware that any self-respecting tattoo artist would not do what this one did, but this is my fic and I am allowed to make up stuff as I go along. So nyeh!
4) A picture of the tattoo will be linked on my Profile. I made it myself using brushes in Photoshop.
Sign your name
Across my heart
I want you to be my baby
Sign your name
Across my heart
I want you to be my lady
Terence Trent D'Arby – "Sign Your Name (Across My Heart)
The needle hammered into his skin over and over again, sending the black ink straight to his soul. The buzzing sound was oddly soothing to Connor as the tattooist drew the design onto his back with the tattoo gun. This was the third time he'd been to the Parlour for this tattoo; the size of it meaning it had to be broken down into three sittings instead of the usual one.
The red-hot burning that accompanied the inking contrasted with the cool leather under his chest. The pain was bearable, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt like fucking hell. The iron burn on his left thigh hurt more than his entire collection of tattoos. The bullet in his side he got a year ago was probably a close second to that, but that wasn't so much the pain of the shot as the pain of Murphy trying to dig out the bullet with his fingers.
The needle suddenly stopped and Connor lifted his head to look into the mirror on the opposite wall. He watched the tattooist change the needle over and put four more to the stock of the gun. Murphy stood behind him, eyes raking over the sensitive skin of his back. Connor barely suppressed a shiver, and Murphy's eyes lifted to connect with his through the mirror.
"Looks fucking great, Con." he said. Connor had to agree. From what he could see from the reflection the mirror behind gave him, the artist had done a stellar job. He'd transferred Murphy's original drawing to his skin perfectly.
He had found the drawing three months ago, hiding in-between the pages of Murphy's well read copy of Angela's Ashes. It was beautiful in its detail and was a flawless image of what their lives had become; their mission from God to rid the world of evil, their "Sainthoods". He knew as soon as he saw it that it was going to be his next tattoo and he knew exactly where it was going to go.
The artist carefully wiped over the new ink with a wet paper towel, causing Connor to hiss a little at the sudden pain. Then the noise of the needles started again and the fire burned across his skin as the pigment coloured in the design. Murphy had hated the idea at first, telling him the drawing was shit. Connor has smacked him around the head and told him that if he ever said his drawings were shit again he'd beat him bloody. Murphy had taken it all back when he saw the results of the first sitting. After the bandage had come off, Murphy had sat behind him and traced the outline of the still sensitive wings with gentle fingers. He started from the middle and worked his way outwards towards his shoulders, following the line of each individual feather. The pain had been worse across his shoulder blades but the end result was worth every second.
The first gun was done in the second sitting. The top of the barrel ran parallel to his spine and the rest of the gun turned outwards with the handle covering half of one wing. It had taken a few hours to complete the outline of the gun and shade it, which prompted the artist to tell Connor to come back for a third session once the gun had healed.
The second gun was mirror image of the first, barrel running down his spine and the handle reaching up to his left shoulder blade. The shading needed to be done and that was it; Connor would be the proud owner of a brand new tattoo that meant more to him than he could ever say.
The last two years had been hard on them both. In the months after the trial and subsequent killing of Yakavetta, both brothers were forced to keep a low profile. The media attention was so great that most people in the city would recognise them instantly, and that they couldn't afford. They moved from cheap, dirty motel to cheap, dirty motel, from city to city and from state to state, taking with them the clothes on their backs and their guns. Da left them after a while to go back to Ireland and back to Ma and then they were left to continue on their mission alone.
A lot of things had changed since then. Both of them grew out their hair in an effort to become more inconspicuous and look less like their Artist Impressions based on the eyewitness statements at the trial. The biggest change of all, though, was their feelings each other. It happened so quickly and so naturally that neither of them could say when they stopped being brothers and started being lovers. The lines blurred and both had crossed them before either of them knew it.
"Right, you're all done."
A cold wet paper towel accompanied the words from the Tattooist and he blinked. He hadn't realised so much time had passed. He lifted his head and looked at the finished design in the mirror. It was stunning; the black ink stark against his pale skin. The innocence of the wings contrasted heavily with the harsh reality of the twin guns. It was fucking perfect.
"Hang on," Murphy said, pushing off the wall and coming to stand behind him, "D'ya mind if I do something?"
The tattooist shrugged and stood up from the end of the chair, "Sure, as long as you can use the gun and you don't sue me for anything."
Connor saw Murphy smile at the other man before straddling the end of the chair behind him. He could feel Murphy's body heat instantly and this time Connor couldn't stop the shiver that rolled down his body.
"Ye fuck it up, Murph, and I'll kill ye." He said quietly. A smirk graced the darker man's lips as he changed the needle back to the single one again.
"Relax, I aint gunna fuck it up."
He had enough faith in Murphy to let him do what he wanted, knowing that he would do it properly. His twin had had enough experience with a home-made tattoo gun to know what he was doing and so Connor relaxed into the leather chair as much as he could. He was curious, though. He knew Murphy wouldn't do anything to wreck the artwork on his back, but his mind wondered what he wanted to add to it.
After five minutes of the fast drive of the needle, Connor realised what his brother was doing. A smile curved his lips and he lifted his head to look at the mirror again. Murphy also looked up and smiled back, knowing that Connor had realised what was going on.
"Ye mind?" Murphy said after he finished with the first letter and started on the second.
"It's a bit late now if I did." Connor said with a smile. The tattooist stood behind him, watching Murphy work with a critical eye. He seemed impressed and Connor felt a burst of pride for his brother and lover.
After twenty minutes, Murphy sat back and admired his handiwork. Connor looked up then with a smile, already knowing what was there. Neat, Celtic-style lettering spelled out the name of the other half of his soul in between his shoulder blades. Murphy had marked him as his and Connor couldn't have agreed more. He was Murphy's, just as Murphy was his, and he didn't care who knew it. He'd show the world who he belonged to and then the world could go fuck itself.
Their eyes connected through the mirror again and a whole world of emotions passed between them in the space of a minute. Identical smiles curved their lips and the world narrowed down until it was just the two of them and the sensation of a thousand needles breaking his skin.
They would be back here tomorrow, Connor just knew it.
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