"Tramp Stamp"
A fill for the Summer Bingo challenge; prompt: "desire"
I tried to get as creative with the use of the prompt as possible, so here goes...
* * * *
Dean was a light-weight, even though he would never admit it. That was why it only took five shots of vodka to get him toasted enough to crawl into the nearest tattoo parlour. (Why were bars always placed so close to tattoo places? Never good.) Sam was out of the way to object--Dean had drunkedly left him behind while he was still in the bathroom of the bar.
Dean chuckled heavily to himself as he lay listlessly in the chair. Even with protocol tomake sure clients weren't inebrieated upon the visit, Dean had yet again somehow managedto charm the pretty tattoo artist into working on him.
"What are we thinking of getting?" the artist--"Doll" was sewn onto her vest--asked flirtatiously.
Dean puckered and bit at his lip in thought. Then a bunch of snickers escaped him. "Heh, heh,ha, aha, you know... wouldn't it be hilarious--no, awesome--if you gave me a tramp stamp, Doll?!" He spat out her name like some kind of exclamation.
"Oooo, how adventurous," she spoke to him playfully, already prepping her needle. "What do you want it to be?"
"Surprise me, sweetheart," Dean slurred, then chuckled some more.
"Alright then. Turn over." Doll, of course, took it more upon herself to flip him over onto his stomach. He rolled over with a rough thud, and more laughing. "Can you... you know, lower you pants a little bit?"
"Ooof." He rolled his face to the side lethargically. "If I undo them, your free to pull 'em down as far as you want." He tried waggling his eyebrows and winking in a sexy manner, but it fell flat in his drunken sloppiness.
"Okay then," Doll grinned, shrugging the bleached hair away from her face. She gave him a moment to fiddle around with his belt and zipper, and when he fell limp, splaying his arms to his sides, she reached down for his waistband. The skin she grazed under her fingers was so soft, fleshier than she expected. Hiking his pants and boxers down and rolling his shirt up had revealed soft little lovehandles--just round little rolls comfortably snuggled around his waist. Not that she was paying any particular attention to it when he walked in, but his body type was kind of hard to read, what with all the layers he was wearing. It was about seventy degreesoutside and he was wearing two shirts and two jackets--the guy must've been from the Philippines if he thoughtseventy degrees was THAT cold. But at any rate, he had such an angled, sharp face (even if, okay, he had a bit ofsoftening around his chin) that she didn't expect such... curves on a guy.
She wasn't opposed to the sight or the touch of it, though.
"Just relax... if you're not already doing that," she murmured to him, smoothing her latex-clad hands over the sidesof his hips. God, that felt nice. She took a long moment to "inspect" his skin before rubbing it down with alcohol. He had a nice, rounded-out behind too, she couldn't help but notice. It went so well with those thick hips of his, all dimples and sloping curves ending in a teasing little view just at the
straining elastic of his underwear. She sighed approvingly at the sight in front of her, finally buckling down to work. As she wiped the cold alcohol across his lower back, he jerked a little, which made Doll want to giggle. "Already getting jumpy? I haven't even started yet, sailor," she winked at him.
"Was just cold, that's all, heh... Not expectin' it." He grinned sloppily, trying to position his head on its side again comfortably.
"But you're not nervous, right?" Her eyebrows knit mischieviously as ideas seeped into her mind. "Here, just close your eyes for a minute. I'll tell you when I'm gonna start, okay? Just... relax..." She rubbed her fingertips down his sides from the middle of his back, pressing into his meaty waist. She began rubbing her palms over his skin, from there, all slick from undried alcohol and some other antiseptic goop. It added to the warmth from the gliding friction on his skin.
"Ahhh... That feels awesome, Doll," Dean sighed blissfully, eyes closed.
"Good," she smirked.
She had wanted to work her hands all over him, just to explore if anything. Drunk as he was, she still knew that wasn't going to fly, but she opted to rub a hand lower down, over his stomach. He had been breathing slowly and heavily, pushing his bare belly to rest on the same spot of the vinyl chair, so when she went to trail over it, it made sweaty, smacking sound.
He was soft all around, indeed. Just enough of him in front to grab and hold onto. Ah, what she would've done for a squeeze right then. But even though it didn't seem like he'd mind, she hand to keep some hint of professionalism. Some.
The touchy-feely time was over. "Alright buddy, get ready," Doll warned, slipping her hands out from under his warm belly. "I know just what we're gunna put on you..."
"Hey, if it hurts too much, will you kiss it and make it better?" Dean asked goofily, while still somehow holding onto an air of charm.
"You're a big boy, you'll be fine..."
* * * *
Like normal, Dean woke up with his face down in pillow, which was a good thing, he considered, since there was a mild throbbing pain creeping up from his back. "Auggghh," was all he mumbled.
He was startled to see Sam standing at the foot of his bed after he had rolled onto his side. "Jeezshit, what is it? You get some freaky thrill outta watchin' me sleep?"
Sam only eyed him with an intense bitchface.
"What?"
"Glad to see you're awake," Sam replied sternly. "Remember anything? Other than the fact that I went looking for you for two hours last night before I realized you were at the tattoo parlor next door. Oh yeah, that and that I practically had to carry you to the car... How much did you drink?"
"Ha, I lost count," Dean lied, trying to laugh it off. "But what is it I'm trying to remember?"
Sam sighed. "You'll find out. I'd just be careful changing my clothes, if I were you."
Dean eyed him with confusion as he rounded the bed towards his duffle bag. "Yeah... Whatever that means."
Dean stepped into the bathroom, closing the door and stripping his shirt off in almost one fluid motion. But the quick movement caused a rough, burning sensation on his back, around his waistline. "The hell?" He stepped in front of the mirror, expecting to check for some random scratch scabbing up after a night he couldn't remember.
But looking over his shoulder in the reflection, it wasn't a scratch he was staring at.
Desire.
The word was written big and bold and curly, like most cheesy-looking cursive tattoos he'd seen.
Doll had definitely gotten the message across. That tight-round ass, those chubby hips, that squeezable belly, not to mention those lips and eyes... She summed it up into one word.
"Shit," Dean huffed. "I need a drink."
I tried to get as creative with the use of the prompt as possible, so here goes...
* * * *
Dean was a light-weight, even though he would never admit it. That was why it only took five shots of vodka to get him toasted enough to crawl into the nearest tattoo parlour. (Why were bars always placed so close to tattoo places? Never good.) Sam was out of the way to object--Dean had drunkedly left him behind while he was still in the bathroom of the bar.
Dean chuckled heavily to himself as he lay listlessly in the chair. Even with protocol tomake sure clients weren't inebrieated upon the visit, Dean had yet again somehow managedto charm the pretty tattoo artist into working on him.
"What are we thinking of getting?" the artist--"Doll" was sewn onto her vest--asked flirtatiously.
Dean puckered and bit at his lip in thought. Then a bunch of snickers escaped him. "Heh, heh,ha, aha, you know... wouldn't it be hilarious--no, awesome--if you gave me a tramp stamp, Doll?!" He spat out her name like some kind of exclamation.
"Oooo, how adventurous," she spoke to him playfully, already prepping her needle. "What do you want it to be?"
"Surprise me, sweetheart," Dean slurred, then chuckled some more.
"Alright then. Turn over." Doll, of course, took it more upon herself to flip him over onto his stomach. He rolled over with a rough thud, and more laughing. "Can you... you know, lower you pants a little bit?"
"Ooof." He rolled his face to the side lethargically. "If I undo them, your free to pull 'em down as far as you want." He tried waggling his eyebrows and winking in a sexy manner, but it fell flat in his drunken sloppiness.
"Okay then," Doll grinned, shrugging the bleached hair away from her face. She gave him a moment to fiddle around with his belt and zipper, and when he fell limp, splaying his arms to his sides, she reached down for his waistband. The skin she grazed under her fingers was so soft, fleshier than she expected. Hiking his pants and boxers down and rolling his shirt up had revealed soft little lovehandles--just round little rolls comfortably snuggled around his waist. Not that she was paying any particular attention to it when he walked in, but his body type was kind of hard to read, what with all the layers he was wearing. It was about seventy degreesoutside and he was wearing two shirts and two jackets--the guy must've been from the Philippines if he thoughtseventy degrees was THAT cold. But at any rate, he had such an angled, sharp face (even if, okay, he had a bit ofsoftening around his chin) that she didn't expect such... curves on a guy.
She wasn't opposed to the sight or the touch of it, though.
"Just relax... if you're not already doing that," she murmured to him, smoothing her latex-clad hands over the sidesof his hips. God, that felt nice. She took a long moment to "inspect" his skin before rubbing it down with alcohol. He had a nice, rounded-out behind too, she couldn't help but notice. It went so well with those thick hips of his, all dimples and sloping curves ending in a teasing little view just at the
straining elastic of his underwear. She sighed approvingly at the sight in front of her, finally buckling down to work. As she wiped the cold alcohol across his lower back, he jerked a little, which made Doll want to giggle. "Already getting jumpy? I haven't even started yet, sailor," she winked at him.
"Was just cold, that's all, heh... Not expectin' it." He grinned sloppily, trying to position his head on its side again comfortably.
"But you're not nervous, right?" Her eyebrows knit mischieviously as ideas seeped into her mind. "Here, just close your eyes for a minute. I'll tell you when I'm gonna start, okay? Just... relax..." She rubbed her fingertips down his sides from the middle of his back, pressing into his meaty waist. She began rubbing her palms over his skin, from there, all slick from undried alcohol and some other antiseptic goop. It added to the warmth from the gliding friction on his skin.
"Ahhh... That feels awesome, Doll," Dean sighed blissfully, eyes closed.
"Good," she smirked.
She had wanted to work her hands all over him, just to explore if anything. Drunk as he was, she still knew that wasn't going to fly, but she opted to rub a hand lower down, over his stomach. He had been breathing slowly and heavily, pushing his bare belly to rest on the same spot of the vinyl chair, so when she went to trail over it, it made sweaty, smacking sound.
He was soft all around, indeed. Just enough of him in front to grab and hold onto. Ah, what she would've done for a squeeze right then. But even though it didn't seem like he'd mind, she hand to keep some hint of professionalism. Some.
The touchy-feely time was over. "Alright buddy, get ready," Doll warned, slipping her hands out from under his warm belly. "I know just what we're gunna put on you..."
"Hey, if it hurts too much, will you kiss it and make it better?" Dean asked goofily, while still somehow holding onto an air of charm.
"You're a big boy, you'll be fine..."
* * * *
Like normal, Dean woke up with his face down in pillow, which was a good thing, he considered, since there was a mild throbbing pain creeping up from his back. "Auggghh," was all he mumbled.
He was startled to see Sam standing at the foot of his bed after he had rolled onto his side. "Jeezshit, what is it? You get some freaky thrill outta watchin' me sleep?"
Sam only eyed him with an intense bitchface.
"What?"
"Glad to see you're awake," Sam replied sternly. "Remember anything? Other than the fact that I went looking for you for two hours last night before I realized you were at the tattoo parlor next door. Oh yeah, that and that I practically had to carry you to the car... How much did you drink?"
"Ha, I lost count," Dean lied, trying to laugh it off. "But what is it I'm trying to remember?"
Sam sighed. "You'll find out. I'd just be careful changing my clothes, if I were you."
Dean eyed him with confusion as he rounded the bed towards his duffle bag. "Yeah... Whatever that means."
Dean stepped into the bathroom, closing the door and stripping his shirt off in almost one fluid motion. But the quick movement caused a rough, burning sensation on his back, around his waistline. "The hell?" He stepped in front of the mirror, expecting to check for some random scratch scabbing up after a night he couldn't remember.
But looking over his shoulder in the reflection, it wasn't a scratch he was staring at.
Desire.
The word was written big and bold and curly, like most cheesy-looking cursive tattoos he'd seen.
Doll had definitely gotten the message across. That tight-round ass, those chubby hips, that squeezable belly, not to mention those lips and eyes... She summed it up into one word.
"Shit," Dean huffed. "I need a drink."