The Palest Ink
Body modification challenge.
A/N:All right. I’ve never written anything like this, so be kind. But it popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. Just havin’ some fun...
Summary: John’s got body paint. Who’s gonna get painted? You decide!
Keep in mind we are dealing with two Sheppards here: The Colonel, the domineering commander of troops, and John, the more submissive dreamer. And pardon the vagueness. Putting too much inflection into the mystery character wouldn’t allow you to pick a person, ya know?
John sat on the cool floor in his quarters, bare legs stretched before him. He stared dazedly at the designs he had drawn over every inch of exposed skin. Now, he adorned his arms with primary colors. The colonel was so engrossed in his squiggles, he missed the knock at the door.
A sudden whoosh of air on his bare skin made him stop and look up, surprise stamped all over his face. “Ummm, hi,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you knocking.”
__________ smiled crookedly. “I can see that. New hobby?”
Spots of red graced the colonel’s cheeks as he held his smile in place. “You could say that.” Abruptly, he placed the small jar on the floor and began to rise. “I, umm...”
“Please don’t wash it off on my account, Colonel.” __________ stepped closer extending a hand to touch the military officer’s arm. “Is that a flower?” His/her finger came away wet with paint.
The colonel rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not dry yet. Here,” he said quickly plucking a stained cloth off his bed. Grasping the painted finger, he stammered, “Lemme wash that off.”
__________ snatched his/her hand back. “Who said anything about getting clean?”
Something stirred behind the normally masked face of John Sheppard, turning his hazel eyes a brilliant green. Holding out the thin brush to his companion, he smiled coyly. “Why don’t you do the other arm?”
Tentatively, he/she took the brush, thinking of it as a challenge. “All right. On one condition.”
John stepped closer, arm outstretched. “What’s that?”
__________ took a moment to gather his/her thoughts. Having the Chief Military Officer in such close proximity was dangerous. He/she could feel the colonel’s slow warm breath tickling his/her ear. An idea struck. “I get to leave one design somewhere on your body only we’ll know about. And I will be the one to wash it off.” Slowly dipping the brush in a jar of red, __________ looked up at John’s face through dark lashes. “So, I guess that’s two conditions.”
The colonel cocked a brow curiously at his friend. “Well, if that’s all you got, then I agree. But only if I get to do the same.”
Nodding in agreement, they sat down on his bed. __________ began to make archaic designs on the colonel’s arm, blowing on it to dry the paint.
Shivering slightly, John relaxed as the warm air caressed the fine hairs on his arm. The pilot had never considered himself submissive, but for some reason, __________ made everything easy. Watching closely, he stole a glance at the painter. “I didn’t know you could paint so well,” he said quietly.
__________ hesitated before answering. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
John leaned closer, taking a breath. “What are you wearing?”
Nonchalantly, __________ dipped the brush in another color after cleaning it. His/her hand gently clasped the colonel’s deceptively thin wrist. After a moment, he/she looked into the colonel’s eyes. “Shampoo,” __________ said, tossing a sideways smile. He/she finished painting the pilot’s hand, promptly blowing on it to dry the paint, listening for the tell-tale shuddering breath from John.
“Smells nice,” he whispered shakily. Sobering slightly, John twitched a brow. “What do you have in mind for my special design?”
Now it was __________’s turn to be coy. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
John chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side to catch his companion’s eyes. “Well, it must be quite impressive.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time to have you in this position, you know.” __________ watched the colonel squirm under the scrutiny of his/her stare. “You are not someone I would call... receptive... to such frivolity. At least that’s what I thought,” he/she said with an enigmatic smile.
“Until now.”
“Yes, until now,” __________ laughed, dropping the hand he/she had been painting. Tugging at the hem of the colonel’s black tee shirt, he/she leaned in, nose grazing John’s ear. “Take off your shirt,” he/she whispered.
Feeling his heart skip a beat, John hesitated, remembering there would likely be a fresh bruise or a scrape somewhere on his person. There would most certainly be a scar the colonel was not ready - or willing - to talk about. The heat of embarrassment crept up John’s neck. He felt a hand stroke his cheek, and turned into the caress. The questing hand rested on his chin, gently swiveling his head back to meet a pair of suspiciously bright eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” __________ said knowingly. He/she had seen most parts of the colonel’s lean, muscular body, but from afar and usually in a medical situation. At this moment, __________ felt it was important to convey that he/she was comfortable with such displays of combat. “They are just reminders that we lived through it.” A smile played at the corners of his/her mouth. “Whatever ‘it’ might be.”
John closed his eyes, nodding his consent. Lifting his arms, he let __________ pull off his stifling shirt. He kept his eyes downcast as he felt the bed shift.
__________ rose slowly, tossing the shirt onto the bed. “Lie down, Colonel,” he/she said placing a hand on his/her friend’s shoulder.
Acquiescing, John pulled his long legs onto the bed. To his immediate surprise, __________ climbed atop him, straddling his narrow hips. “Well, since you’re on top, you should really call me John.”
__________ threw his/her head back in laughter. “All right then. John. Be still.” He/she bent down, taking in the body below. There was a strange beauty to the scars that decorated the colonel’s skin; they lay barely visible underneath the fine hair on his torso. Spotting a fading bruise on John’s left shoulder, __________ made a decision. Delicately, he/she began the first design that came to mind. “Let me know if this hurts.”
John’s dangerous smile returned. “You could never hurt me.” The smile dimmed ever so slightly. “Not physically anyway.”
__________’s eyes shifted away, then back. His/her gentle hands worked quickly as he/she tried to ignore the colonel’s rising body heat. Another shuddering breath, and the unmistakable movement below only made him/her work faster. The design was sloppy and neat, simple and complex all together, as __________ covered the entire bruise with blue paint. Leaning back, __________ felt John’s eyes on him/her. For the first time, he/she felt uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. Breaking his gaze, __________ bent down to blow on the wet paint.
The pilot felt the warm breath on his skin, and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he was in this position and came up blank. Here, he was giving permission to a colleague to not only see - and paint - places people have merely seen when he was injured. Or surfing.
Lying on his soft bed, he willed himself to sink further. John rested his hands lightly on the legs of __________, aching to feel the warm flesh beneath the fabric. He stared at the intricate ceiling over __________’s shoulder, trying not to feel trapped. Closing his eyes again, John wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Let go and cower away. Breathe and drown. This was no way to live! Feeling a soothing hand trace the line of his ribs, the pilot opened his eyes. John watched his companion’s eyes darken at the sight of numerous scars. “Is it my turn?” he asked, his voice thick and low.
The wandering hand found its way back to the colonel’s cheek. Suddenly, his/her hands were in John’s hair as he/she planted an experimental kiss on his lips. __________ wondered briefly about the paint brush as he/she allowed himself/herself to get lost in a deeper kiss, this time instigated by the colonel himself.
John’s hands bracketed __________’s waist to push him/her away. “Now,” he breathed, “why am I the only one half-naked?”
Pulling further back, __________ brought the colonel’s face into sharp focus. He/she felt a smile split his/her face, and swooped in for one more kiss. Finally, extricating himself/herself from John’s long arms and legs, __________ stood happily over the reclining man. He/she removed his/her pants with practiced ease.
With a little effort, John rose off the bed. “Definitely my turn,” he said pushing __________ back onto the bed. Their roles were switched; and The Colonel emerged, revelling in his comfort zone. He was now in control. Placing his hands on either side of his dalliance, he wriggled his body in between __________’s legs. On all fours, The Colonel’s green eyes raked over his prize. Rocking back to sit on his heels, he grabbed __________’s hands, pulling him/her up to a sitting position. Raising them up over their heads, The Colonel let go to work on the shirt of his companion.
The Colonel curled his fingers around the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling it up. Short nails scratching bare skin, John deliberately stopped when the fabric covered __________’s face. Moving forward, John found his second favorite place to kiss on the human body. He planted his mouth on the sternum, then moved to his favorite place, the base of the throat.
Removing the shirt completely, The Colonel looked into __________’s eyes, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his own eyes. Several kisses later, he pulled away. His wandering hand found the missing brush. “Finally,” he said huskily. Grabbing the red jar, he turned around on the bed, back to his friend. “Give me your leg.”
__________ did so gladly lifting his/her right leg, eager to see what The Colonel had in store for his/her appendage. He/she felt the light touch of the brush tickling the top of his/her foot. Resisting the urge to pull it away from the painter, __________ clutched the sheets, scarcely breathing.
“Relax,” The Colonel commanded.
“I am very ticklish in that area,” __________ gasped. Unfortunately for him/her, John seemed to delight in the torture. The brush moved in swift short strokes for ten minutes up __________’s leg, ending abruptly just above the knee. He/she watched The Colonel’s slightly bony spine curve downward as he gently blew on the wet paint to dry it. Straightening, he rinsed the brush and reached over for the yellow jar.
“This is a two color job, you know,” John said, tossing a smile over his shoulder.
When The Colonel finished, __________ felt warm breath on his/her skin. “Can I see it now?” he/she asked in a small voice, watching the tensed back between his/her legs.
“Sergeant Rhimes to Colonel Sheppard.” Discarded radios echoed in stereo from the floor.
Immediately, The Colonel’s eyes narrowed as he picked up his earpiece. “Sheppard here,” he announced in an empty voice.
“Sir, the new recruits will be ready in one hour.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Sheppard out.” John pulled off the comm, placing it on the stand. Using his free hand, he patted __________’s outstretched leg. Before the mask slipped back, the colonel’s face showed disappointment and a little sadness. Then it was gone, replaced by the patented lopsided grin. “How ‘bout we wash this stuff off?”
“If you insist, John.” __________ hesitated, seeing the wicked smile fleet across the pilot’s face. Leaning forward, he/she placed his/her hands on either side of John’s face. Pulling gently, he/she only felt momentary resistance before their lips met.
Rising, John held out his hand. “Come on. I wanna look at my design.” He led the way to his bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw a swirling pattern, darkened by the bruise. “That’s a fine lookin’ owie. Does it mean anything?”
__________ smiled at the colonel’s quizzical reflection. “It means Eternity in (choose origin of design, i.e., Athosian, Satedan, Celtic, etc.)” Glancing down at his/her leg, he/she lifted it to see better in the dim light. “What language is this?”
“It’s either a Chinese proverb, or I’ve just ordered a taxi for my turkey sandwich.”
Placing his/her hands on the broad shoulders in front of him/her, __________ caught John’s eye in the mirror. “What does if mean?”
The colonel reached up, capturing a hand with his own. He smiled distantly. “The palest ink is better than the best memory.” He silently asked his shower to turn on, at his preferred heat setting. Leaning back into __________’s embrace, John held his/her gaze in the mirror until the steam blended their indistinct faces together.
THE END
Well, that was just silly...
A/N:All right. I’ve never written anything like this, so be kind. But it popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. Just havin’ some fun...
Summary: John’s got body paint. Who’s gonna get painted? You decide!
Keep in mind we are dealing with two Sheppards here: The Colonel, the domineering commander of troops, and John, the more submissive dreamer. And pardon the vagueness. Putting too much inflection into the mystery character wouldn’t allow you to pick a person, ya know?
John sat on the cool floor in his quarters, bare legs stretched before him. He stared dazedly at the designs he had drawn over every inch of exposed skin. Now, he adorned his arms with primary colors. The colonel was so engrossed in his squiggles, he missed the knock at the door.
A sudden whoosh of air on his bare skin made him stop and look up, surprise stamped all over his face. “Ummm, hi,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you knocking.”
__________ smiled crookedly. “I can see that. New hobby?”
Spots of red graced the colonel’s cheeks as he held his smile in place. “You could say that.” Abruptly, he placed the small jar on the floor and began to rise. “I, umm...”
“Please don’t wash it off on my account, Colonel.” __________ stepped closer extending a hand to touch the military officer’s arm. “Is that a flower?” His/her finger came away wet with paint.
The colonel rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not dry yet. Here,” he said quickly plucking a stained cloth off his bed. Grasping the painted finger, he stammered, “Lemme wash that off.”
__________ snatched his/her hand back. “Who said anything about getting clean?”
Something stirred behind the normally masked face of John Sheppard, turning his hazel eyes a brilliant green. Holding out the thin brush to his companion, he smiled coyly. “Why don’t you do the other arm?”
Tentatively, he/she took the brush, thinking of it as a challenge. “All right. On one condition.”
John stepped closer, arm outstretched. “What’s that?”
__________ took a moment to gather his/her thoughts. Having the Chief Military Officer in such close proximity was dangerous. He/she could feel the colonel’s slow warm breath tickling his/her ear. An idea struck. “I get to leave one design somewhere on your body only we’ll know about. And I will be the one to wash it off.” Slowly dipping the brush in a jar of red, __________ looked up at John’s face through dark lashes. “So, I guess that’s two conditions.”
The colonel cocked a brow curiously at his friend. “Well, if that’s all you got, then I agree. But only if I get to do the same.”
Nodding in agreement, they sat down on his bed. __________ began to make archaic designs on the colonel’s arm, blowing on it to dry the paint.
Shivering slightly, John relaxed as the warm air caressed the fine hairs on his arm. The pilot had never considered himself submissive, but for some reason, __________ made everything easy. Watching closely, he stole a glance at the painter. “I didn’t know you could paint so well,” he said quietly.
__________ hesitated before answering. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
John leaned closer, taking a breath. “What are you wearing?”
Nonchalantly, __________ dipped the brush in another color after cleaning it. His/her hand gently clasped the colonel’s deceptively thin wrist. After a moment, he/she looked into the colonel’s eyes. “Shampoo,” __________ said, tossing a sideways smile. He/she finished painting the pilot’s hand, promptly blowing on it to dry the paint, listening for the tell-tale shuddering breath from John.
“Smells nice,” he whispered shakily. Sobering slightly, John twitched a brow. “What do you have in mind for my special design?”
Now it was __________’s turn to be coy. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
John chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side to catch his companion’s eyes. “Well, it must be quite impressive.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time to have you in this position, you know.” __________ watched the colonel squirm under the scrutiny of his/her stare. “You are not someone I would call... receptive... to such frivolity. At least that’s what I thought,” he/she said with an enigmatic smile.
“Until now.”
“Yes, until now,” __________ laughed, dropping the hand he/she had been painting. Tugging at the hem of the colonel’s black tee shirt, he/she leaned in, nose grazing John’s ear. “Take off your shirt,” he/she whispered.
Feeling his heart skip a beat, John hesitated, remembering there would likely be a fresh bruise or a scrape somewhere on his person. There would most certainly be a scar the colonel was not ready - or willing - to talk about. The heat of embarrassment crept up John’s neck. He felt a hand stroke his cheek, and turned into the caress. The questing hand rested on his chin, gently swiveling his head back to meet a pair of suspiciously bright eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” __________ said knowingly. He/she had seen most parts of the colonel’s lean, muscular body, but from afar and usually in a medical situation. At this moment, __________ felt it was important to convey that he/she was comfortable with such displays of combat. “They are just reminders that we lived through it.” A smile played at the corners of his/her mouth. “Whatever ‘it’ might be.”
John closed his eyes, nodding his consent. Lifting his arms, he let __________ pull off his stifling shirt. He kept his eyes downcast as he felt the bed shift.
__________ rose slowly, tossing the shirt onto the bed. “Lie down, Colonel,” he/she said placing a hand on his/her friend’s shoulder.
Acquiescing, John pulled his long legs onto the bed. To his immediate surprise, __________ climbed atop him, straddling his narrow hips. “Well, since you’re on top, you should really call me John.”
__________ threw his/her head back in laughter. “All right then. John. Be still.” He/she bent down, taking in the body below. There was a strange beauty to the scars that decorated the colonel’s skin; they lay barely visible underneath the fine hair on his torso. Spotting a fading bruise on John’s left shoulder, __________ made a decision. Delicately, he/she began the first design that came to mind. “Let me know if this hurts.”
John’s dangerous smile returned. “You could never hurt me.” The smile dimmed ever so slightly. “Not physically anyway.”
__________’s eyes shifted away, then back. His/her gentle hands worked quickly as he/she tried to ignore the colonel’s rising body heat. Another shuddering breath, and the unmistakable movement below only made him/her work faster. The design was sloppy and neat, simple and complex all together, as __________ covered the entire bruise with blue paint. Leaning back, __________ felt John’s eyes on him/her. For the first time, he/she felt uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. Breaking his gaze, __________ bent down to blow on the wet paint.
The pilot felt the warm breath on his skin, and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he was in this position and came up blank. Here, he was giving permission to a colleague to not only see - and paint - places people have merely seen when he was injured. Or surfing.
Lying on his soft bed, he willed himself to sink further. John rested his hands lightly on the legs of __________, aching to feel the warm flesh beneath the fabric. He stared at the intricate ceiling over __________’s shoulder, trying not to feel trapped. Closing his eyes again, John wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Let go and cower away. Breathe and drown. This was no way to live! Feeling a soothing hand trace the line of his ribs, the pilot opened his eyes. John watched his companion’s eyes darken at the sight of numerous scars. “Is it my turn?” he asked, his voice thick and low.
The wandering hand found its way back to the colonel’s cheek. Suddenly, his/her hands were in John’s hair as he/she planted an experimental kiss on his lips. __________ wondered briefly about the paint brush as he/she allowed himself/herself to get lost in a deeper kiss, this time instigated by the colonel himself.
John’s hands bracketed __________’s waist to push him/her away. “Now,” he breathed, “why am I the only one half-naked?”
Pulling further back, __________ brought the colonel’s face into sharp focus. He/she felt a smile split his/her face, and swooped in for one more kiss. Finally, extricating himself/herself from John’s long arms and legs, __________ stood happily over the reclining man. He/she removed his/her pants with practiced ease.
With a little effort, John rose off the bed. “Definitely my turn,” he said pushing __________ back onto the bed. Their roles were switched; and The Colonel emerged, revelling in his comfort zone. He was now in control. Placing his hands on either side of his dalliance, he wriggled his body in between __________’s legs. On all fours, The Colonel’s green eyes raked over his prize. Rocking back to sit on his heels, he grabbed __________’s hands, pulling him/her up to a sitting position. Raising them up over their heads, The Colonel let go to work on the shirt of his companion.
The Colonel curled his fingers around the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling it up. Short nails scratching bare skin, John deliberately stopped when the fabric covered __________’s face. Moving forward, John found his second favorite place to kiss on the human body. He planted his mouth on the sternum, then moved to his favorite place, the base of the throat.
Removing the shirt completely, The Colonel looked into __________’s eyes, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his own eyes. Several kisses later, he pulled away. His wandering hand found the missing brush. “Finally,” he said huskily. Grabbing the red jar, he turned around on the bed, back to his friend. “Give me your leg.”
__________ did so gladly lifting his/her right leg, eager to see what The Colonel had in store for his/her appendage. He/she felt the light touch of the brush tickling the top of his/her foot. Resisting the urge to pull it away from the painter, __________ clutched the sheets, scarcely breathing.
“Relax,” The Colonel commanded.
“I am very ticklish in that area,” __________ gasped. Unfortunately for him/her, John seemed to delight in the torture. The brush moved in swift short strokes for ten minutes up __________’s leg, ending abruptly just above the knee. He/she watched The Colonel’s slightly bony spine curve downward as he gently blew on the wet paint to dry it. Straightening, he rinsed the brush and reached over for the yellow jar.
“This is a two color job, you know,” John said, tossing a smile over his shoulder.
When The Colonel finished, __________ felt warm breath on his/her skin. “Can I see it now?” he/she asked in a small voice, watching the tensed back between his/her legs.
“Sergeant Rhimes to Colonel Sheppard.” Discarded radios echoed in stereo from the floor.
Immediately, The Colonel’s eyes narrowed as he picked up his earpiece. “Sheppard here,” he announced in an empty voice.
“Sir, the new recruits will be ready in one hour.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Sheppard out.” John pulled off the comm, placing it on the stand. Using his free hand, he patted __________’s outstretched leg. Before the mask slipped back, the colonel’s face showed disappointment and a little sadness. Then it was gone, replaced by the patented lopsided grin. “How ‘bout we wash this stuff off?”
“If you insist, John.” __________ hesitated, seeing the wicked smile fleet across the pilot’s face. Leaning forward, he/she placed his/her hands on either side of John’s face. Pulling gently, he/she only felt momentary resistance before their lips met.
Rising, John held out his hand. “Come on. I wanna look at my design.” He led the way to his bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw a swirling pattern, darkened by the bruise. “That’s a fine lookin’ owie. Does it mean anything?”
__________ smiled at the colonel’s quizzical reflection. “It means Eternity in (choose origin of design, i.e., Athosian, Satedan, Celtic, etc.)” Glancing down at his/her leg, he/she lifted it to see better in the dim light. “What language is this?”
“It’s either a Chinese proverb, or I’ve just ordered a taxi for my turkey sandwich.”
Placing his/her hands on the broad shoulders in front of him/her, __________ caught John’s eye in the mirror. “What does if mean?”
The colonel reached up, capturing a hand with his own. He smiled distantly. “The palest ink is better than the best memory.” He silently asked his shower to turn on, at his preferred heat setting. Leaning back into __________’s embrace, John held his/her gaze in the mirror until the steam blended their indistinct faces together.
THE END
Well, that was just silly...