FIC Body Modification
Title: Body Modification
Characters: Jake Jensen(/Carlos “Cougar” Alverez), Spice (OC)
Fandom: Losers
Series: Prequel to Mine
Written For: N/A
Prompt: N/A
Summary: Jensen wants some new body art for someone special
Rating: R
Spoilers: Prequel to Mine so it mentions things from this story.
Warnings: Nekkid boy, mention of boy with boy, swearing
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me.
Author's Note: Another story off my Fic to Finish list and one I wasn’t sure I was actually going to be able to do. Much thanks to emocezi for all her help and assistance with this one. I wouldn’t have been able to finish it without her. So I am the dork who forgot to add the links last night. Clearly I should not be allowed to post without supervision at times. The tattoo information Jensen spouts comes from here and here, I make no claims on the accuracy of these sites. Spice's tattoo is here or at least the lettering and font...I couldn't actually draw what it looks like...because my drawing is so bad it makes middle schoolers almost pee their pants with laughing at me. And for those of you who haven't read "Mine" (and why haven't you? Huh? Huh?) this is Jensen's tattoo.
Jensen studied the façade of the tattoo parlor for another minute. He could do this. He really could. He was a special ops soldier after all. He had been shot at and survived. He had gotten other tattoos. There was no reason he couldn’t do this. Besides it was his choice to do this, no one had pressured him into it. It was just the thought of a needle so close to his junk, his manhood, that was putting him off.
Still he’d done all the research. He hadn’t wanted to go to one of the places right by post, but he needed to be able to get back before curfew. This was the best one he’d found that fit his requirements.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered the parlor, grinning at the music that played as he crossed the threshold. “The Imperial March? Really?” he asked the girl lounging behind the counter.
She dropped her feet to the floor and stood up; straightening the royal blue tank top she was wearing. “It tends to freak people out. And scares off the ones that aren’t serious. Also makes people think twice. What can I do for you, GI Joe?”
Jensen glanced down at himself. He was pretty sure he’d changed into mufti before he’d left post and he was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with the words Trained Zombie Killer at Large in white. Granted he still had on his combat boots and his dogtags, but recently more and more people were wearing those. “How did you know?” he asked.
“You’ve just got that look,” she replied. “I’m Spice. Are you looking for new ink? Or a touch-up?”
“Spice? Really?” he questioned.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Really. And yes, it really is my real name. I’ve got a twin named Sugar. Apparently our mom got the really good drugs when she gave birth to us.” She tapped on the counter. “So ink?”
He blinked large blue eyes at her. “Yeah. Sorry. Yes, I’d like new ink, but…” He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure about it.”
“I don’t do ink on anyone if they aren’t sure about it,” she informed him.
“Well, I’m sure I want it. I’m just not sure about the location,” he answered. “I want…” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Look. You know I’m military. What I want could be an issue if someone found out about it. So I want it, but I’m not sure about it because of that.”
“Tattooing someone’s name on your body is never a good idea, whether you’re in the military or not,” Spice answered. “I never advocate it.”
Jensen reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it over to her. “It’s not his name I want. It’s this.”
Unfolding it, she looked it over, nodding once. “I can do this. I can do this nicely. All one color? No shading? Where?”
“Yeah. Just the one color like it is on the drawing. And I was thinking here.” Jensen pointed dead center on his body just below his belly button.
Spice tilted her head sideways. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. That is the wrong place for it.” She sauntered towards him, swinging her hips a little, and his eyes inadvertently skidded downwards to watch them wiggle. “I think. Yes. The best placement is right along the illium crest. And I think because of the way he’s facing, the right side.”
Jensen swallowed hard. “Yeah. Absolutely.” He nodded. “I agree.”
“You good with it then?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Is the size good?” he asked.
“It’s perfect. So I’ll need ID and do you want to do it now?”
“Yeah. If you can?”
“I can,” she confirmed. She held out a hand. “ID?”
Jensen had planned to use a cover ID, but since Spice had already figured out he was military; he didn’t see any sense now. Besides he still had his dogtags on and she would see them if she had him take off his shirt while she inked him. Digging his wallet out of his pocket it, he pulled out his military ID and handed it over. “Do I need to do anything? Or get ready? Or…?” He watched her flip his ID over and photocopy it. “Um, Spice? Do I…?”
She smiled reassuringly at him. “You’re fine. Just take some deep breaths.” Handing his ID back to him, she motioned for him to walk around the counter. “I need to make a copy so I can imprint it on you and then ink you.”
He pulled his shirt sleeve up far enough that the “A” on his arm was revealed. “I’ve been inked before.”
“Then you know what to expect.” She finished what she was doing and handed the original back to him. “Going over the bone’s gonna make it hurt more.”
“I can take it.”
“Atta boy. All right. Two seconds.” Spice grabbed a sign and walked around to the counter, not swinging her hips this time. She tacked the sign to the door and flipped the lock. On her way back, she snagged Jensen’s elbow, guiding him towards the back room. “Let’s do this, soldier boy.”
Jensen looked around the small room once they entered. There were two chairs and a table with a shelf along the wall next to them. Spice patted the table. “What? You want me there?” he asked.
“Strip down and hop up. You can leave your shirt on, but the jeans and underwear need to go.” For a moment, he stared at her, then as Spice turned away to grab the supplies she’d need; he got with the program and bent down to unlace his boots. By the time she turned back around, he’d shed the boots and wiggled out of his jeans. “Commando. Nice,” she commented. “Makes life easier.” She spread paper over the table, not unlike the type you’d find at the doctor’s office (and he so wasn’t going there), and pointed at it. “You. There.”
Once Jensen was situated on the table, Spice snagged a stool and slid over. She showed him a needle and a packet of ink, then cracked both open in front of him. “So what was up with locking the door?” Jensen asked as she set the paraphernalia down within easy reach.
“I don’t do tattoos like this with no one else here with the door unlocked,” Spice answered. She carefully pressed the template against his skin. “Check that and see if you like the placement,” she told him once she’d lifted the paper.
Jensen craned his neck so he could see it, nodding and agreeing, “Looks good. Did you know that tattoos were used to mark criminals?” He continued as she turned the gun on and began to carefully draw the outline. “Not just by each other, but also to identify them. Tattoos have existed since twelve thousand years BCE. The word tattoo comes from two major derivations. The Polynesian word ‘ta’ which means striking something and the Tahitian ‘tatau’ which translates loosely as ‘to mark something’. A five thousand year old man was once discovered with tattoos on his body on a mountain between Austria and Italy; they figure he was about five thousand years old. Oh! It was the Egyptians who spread the practice of tattooing through-out the world. And in Samoa, the tradition of applying the tatau by hand was used to define the rank and title in the families. The ceremonies were a long and elaborate affair that were a key part of ascending to a leadership role.”
“Do you have like a photographic memory or something?” Spice asked as she paused to check the lines. “Let me know if the pain gets too bad and you need a break or something.”
Jensen scoffed. “This? This is not pain. Pain is getting shot and having it go through the bone practically and then having to hike out of…” he stopped. “Well never mind where I had to hike out of. But yeah, I’m fine. You can keep going anytime.”
Spice eyed him for a minute, but bent over her work again. “So tell me about this guy you’re getting tattooed for. Someone you work with?”
“Did I say he was a guy? I didn’t say that, did I? No. I know I didn’t.”
She looked up, pausing for a second. “I really hope you don’t play poker with an expression like that. Talking to me is like talking to your priest, so spill, pretty boy.”
"Yeah, we work together. On the same team even. Which is probably why it was such a bad idea for us to get involved, but we did. And he's a possessive motherfucker. He looks at you and you can just feel yourself getting all judged. He has judgy eyes. Judgy McCougarson. Oh, man, best name ever. I'm totally telling him I called him that. He's a sniper. Got in the president's one hundred ‘cause he can fucking shoot the wings off a fly from like ten miles into deep space. Metaphorically obviously. I don't think you could pull a trigger with astronaut gloves on. Man, I gotta try that now. I've got a friend that works for NASA and I betcha I could get some gloves to try it out. I'll try it out and I bet you Pooch'll totally be on board with that. He's wanted to go to the moon since he was like, a wee thing. And then we'll make Coug's wear them. Astronaut gloves. Fuck yeah!! I wonder if there's a world record for shooting like ten bulls eyes with astronaut gloves on. Cause if there isn't I bet we could make a new record. And then Cougar could totally just keep breaking it and be famous and shit and go on tours and meet the President.”
She bit back a laugh at his words, carefully patting the area she’d finished, before bending back over her work. “He can’t be a horrible guy though,” she commented. “Not if you’re doing something like this. I mean he’s not forcing you to do it.”
“Nah. He doesn’t even know about it. I mean he’s possessive and all. But not in a bad way. Besides he couldn’t force me to do anything. I mean, trained solider here and yeah he’s trained too, but I’ve got like thirty pounds on him. Plus, he looks out for me, ya know? Sniper, so he’s always watching my ass. Metaphorically.” Jensen coughed as his ears turned red. “Well, probably literally, too. That would totally explain a few things.”
“I don’t blame him. It’s a very fine ass to watch,” Spice replied. “Don’t squirm. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Jensen froze, holding his twitching body still. “I, um, I like your, um. Never mind.”
“Nice save,” she replied sarcastically. “Okay, hold really still. I’m going to do the inner part.”
He rolled his head back, trying not to watch as the needle went rather close to his manhood. “Hey, who’s the jarhead in the picture with you?” he asked, catching sight of a picture behind him.
“My younger brother. And while I’ll admit he’s not the brightest blub, he totally personifies the ‘see the hill, take the hill’ type of Marine, I’d rather you didn’t refer to him as ‘the jarhead’.”
“So what’s his name? Puppy Dog Tails?” Jensen questioned.
“Nope, Johnny. Mom only got the good drugs with me and Sugar.” She straightened up. “Okay, gimme a second and I’ll finish the color on that. I need to change out the ink. Take a look if you want.”
While she got another ink packet out of the case, Jensen contorted around to check out the work she’d finished. The outline was complete and about half of it had been filled in. As Spice turned around and came back, he noticed she had something curling around her right bicep. “What’s your tattoo say?” he asked.
She pressed the needle back into him as she answered, “’Little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice but watch out we bite’. It was Sugar’s idea of a joke since I tattoo people for a living.”
He grinned. “That’s some joke. I thought you didn’t advocate tattooing someone’s name on a body.”
“I don’t advocate putting on boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s names. It just never ends well. On the other hand, mine has my sister’s and my names. Plus it’s not just our names. Okay lemme concentrate on this for a minute.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Jensen replied. As Spice slowly colored in the spots that were left, he hummed softly to himself.
After a few minutes, she turned off the gun and looked up, puzzlement on her features. “What are you humming?”
Jensen blushed. “The Super Mario Bros. Theme. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s a whole lot less annoying than some of the things I’ve heard.” She pressed a towel on the fresh tattoo for a minute, then lifted it off and set a gauze pad on top, carefully taping it down. “Okay, put your jeans back on and meet me out front. I want to go over the care with you before you leave.”
“I have had tattoos before,” he reminded her.
She looked at him and replied firmly, “I go over the tattoo care whether this is your first tattoo or your fiftieth. I’ll meet you out front.” She stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Jensen to figure out how he was going to wiggle back into his jeans with the fresh tattoo on his hip.
Characters: Jake Jensen(/Carlos “Cougar” Alverez), Spice (OC)
Fandom: Losers
Series: Prequel to Mine
Written For: N/A
Prompt: N/A
Summary: Jensen wants some new body art for someone special
Rating: R
Spoilers: Prequel to Mine so it mentions things from this story.
Warnings: Nekkid boy, mention of boy with boy, swearing
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me.
Author's Note: Another story off my Fic to Finish list and one I wasn’t sure I was actually going to be able to do. Much thanks to emocezi for all her help and assistance with this one. I wouldn’t have been able to finish it without her. So I am the dork who forgot to add the links last night. Clearly I should not be allowed to post without supervision at times. The tattoo information Jensen spouts comes from here and here, I make no claims on the accuracy of these sites. Spice's tattoo is here or at least the lettering and font...I couldn't actually draw what it looks like...because my drawing is so bad it makes middle schoolers almost pee their pants with laughing at me. And for those of you who haven't read "Mine" (and why haven't you? Huh? Huh?) this is Jensen's tattoo.
Jensen studied the façade of the tattoo parlor for another minute. He could do this. He really could. He was a special ops soldier after all. He had been shot at and survived. He had gotten other tattoos. There was no reason he couldn’t do this. Besides it was his choice to do this, no one had pressured him into it. It was just the thought of a needle so close to his junk, his manhood, that was putting him off.
Still he’d done all the research. He hadn’t wanted to go to one of the places right by post, but he needed to be able to get back before curfew. This was the best one he’d found that fit his requirements.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered the parlor, grinning at the music that played as he crossed the threshold. “The Imperial March? Really?” he asked the girl lounging behind the counter.
She dropped her feet to the floor and stood up; straightening the royal blue tank top she was wearing. “It tends to freak people out. And scares off the ones that aren’t serious. Also makes people think twice. What can I do for you, GI Joe?”
Jensen glanced down at himself. He was pretty sure he’d changed into mufti before he’d left post and he was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with the words Trained Zombie Killer at Large in white. Granted he still had on his combat boots and his dogtags, but recently more and more people were wearing those. “How did you know?” he asked.
“You’ve just got that look,” she replied. “I’m Spice. Are you looking for new ink? Or a touch-up?”
“Spice? Really?” he questioned.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Really. And yes, it really is my real name. I’ve got a twin named Sugar. Apparently our mom got the really good drugs when she gave birth to us.” She tapped on the counter. “So ink?”
He blinked large blue eyes at her. “Yeah. Sorry. Yes, I’d like new ink, but…” He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure about it.”
“I don’t do ink on anyone if they aren’t sure about it,” she informed him.
“Well, I’m sure I want it. I’m just not sure about the location,” he answered. “I want…” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Look. You know I’m military. What I want could be an issue if someone found out about it. So I want it, but I’m not sure about it because of that.”
“Tattooing someone’s name on your body is never a good idea, whether you’re in the military or not,” Spice answered. “I never advocate it.”
Jensen reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it over to her. “It’s not his name I want. It’s this.”
Unfolding it, she looked it over, nodding once. “I can do this. I can do this nicely. All one color? No shading? Where?”
“Yeah. Just the one color like it is on the drawing. And I was thinking here.” Jensen pointed dead center on his body just below his belly button.
Spice tilted her head sideways. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. That is the wrong place for it.” She sauntered towards him, swinging her hips a little, and his eyes inadvertently skidded downwards to watch them wiggle. “I think. Yes. The best placement is right along the illium crest. And I think because of the way he’s facing, the right side.”
Jensen swallowed hard. “Yeah. Absolutely.” He nodded. “I agree.”
“You good with it then?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Is the size good?” he asked.
“It’s perfect. So I’ll need ID and do you want to do it now?”
“Yeah. If you can?”
“I can,” she confirmed. She held out a hand. “ID?”
Jensen had planned to use a cover ID, but since Spice had already figured out he was military; he didn’t see any sense now. Besides he still had his dogtags on and she would see them if she had him take off his shirt while she inked him. Digging his wallet out of his pocket it, he pulled out his military ID and handed it over. “Do I need to do anything? Or get ready? Or…?” He watched her flip his ID over and photocopy it. “Um, Spice? Do I…?”
She smiled reassuringly at him. “You’re fine. Just take some deep breaths.” Handing his ID back to him, she motioned for him to walk around the counter. “I need to make a copy so I can imprint it on you and then ink you.”
He pulled his shirt sleeve up far enough that the “A” on his arm was revealed. “I’ve been inked before.”
“Then you know what to expect.” She finished what she was doing and handed the original back to him. “Going over the bone’s gonna make it hurt more.”
“I can take it.”
“Atta boy. All right. Two seconds.” Spice grabbed a sign and walked around to the counter, not swinging her hips this time. She tacked the sign to the door and flipped the lock. On her way back, she snagged Jensen’s elbow, guiding him towards the back room. “Let’s do this, soldier boy.”
Jensen looked around the small room once they entered. There were two chairs and a table with a shelf along the wall next to them. Spice patted the table. “What? You want me there?” he asked.
“Strip down and hop up. You can leave your shirt on, but the jeans and underwear need to go.” For a moment, he stared at her, then as Spice turned away to grab the supplies she’d need; he got with the program and bent down to unlace his boots. By the time she turned back around, he’d shed the boots and wiggled out of his jeans. “Commando. Nice,” she commented. “Makes life easier.” She spread paper over the table, not unlike the type you’d find at the doctor’s office (and he so wasn’t going there), and pointed at it. “You. There.”
Once Jensen was situated on the table, Spice snagged a stool and slid over. She showed him a needle and a packet of ink, then cracked both open in front of him. “So what was up with locking the door?” Jensen asked as she set the paraphernalia down within easy reach.
“I don’t do tattoos like this with no one else here with the door unlocked,” Spice answered. She carefully pressed the template against his skin. “Check that and see if you like the placement,” she told him once she’d lifted the paper.
Jensen craned his neck so he could see it, nodding and agreeing, “Looks good. Did you know that tattoos were used to mark criminals?” He continued as she turned the gun on and began to carefully draw the outline. “Not just by each other, but also to identify them. Tattoos have existed since twelve thousand years BCE. The word tattoo comes from two major derivations. The Polynesian word ‘ta’ which means striking something and the Tahitian ‘tatau’ which translates loosely as ‘to mark something’. A five thousand year old man was once discovered with tattoos on his body on a mountain between Austria and Italy; they figure he was about five thousand years old. Oh! It was the Egyptians who spread the practice of tattooing through-out the world. And in Samoa, the tradition of applying the tatau by hand was used to define the rank and title in the families. The ceremonies were a long and elaborate affair that were a key part of ascending to a leadership role.”
“Do you have like a photographic memory or something?” Spice asked as she paused to check the lines. “Let me know if the pain gets too bad and you need a break or something.”
Jensen scoffed. “This? This is not pain. Pain is getting shot and having it go through the bone practically and then having to hike out of…” he stopped. “Well never mind where I had to hike out of. But yeah, I’m fine. You can keep going anytime.”
Spice eyed him for a minute, but bent over her work again. “So tell me about this guy you’re getting tattooed for. Someone you work with?”
“Did I say he was a guy? I didn’t say that, did I? No. I know I didn’t.”
She looked up, pausing for a second. “I really hope you don’t play poker with an expression like that. Talking to me is like talking to your priest, so spill, pretty boy.”
"Yeah, we work together. On the same team even. Which is probably why it was such a bad idea for us to get involved, but we did. And he's a possessive motherfucker. He looks at you and you can just feel yourself getting all judged. He has judgy eyes. Judgy McCougarson. Oh, man, best name ever. I'm totally telling him I called him that. He's a sniper. Got in the president's one hundred ‘cause he can fucking shoot the wings off a fly from like ten miles into deep space. Metaphorically obviously. I don't think you could pull a trigger with astronaut gloves on. Man, I gotta try that now. I've got a friend that works for NASA and I betcha I could get some gloves to try it out. I'll try it out and I bet you Pooch'll totally be on board with that. He's wanted to go to the moon since he was like, a wee thing. And then we'll make Coug's wear them. Astronaut gloves. Fuck yeah!! I wonder if there's a world record for shooting like ten bulls eyes with astronaut gloves on. Cause if there isn't I bet we could make a new record. And then Cougar could totally just keep breaking it and be famous and shit and go on tours and meet the President.”
She bit back a laugh at his words, carefully patting the area she’d finished, before bending back over her work. “He can’t be a horrible guy though,” she commented. “Not if you’re doing something like this. I mean he’s not forcing you to do it.”
“Nah. He doesn’t even know about it. I mean he’s possessive and all. But not in a bad way. Besides he couldn’t force me to do anything. I mean, trained solider here and yeah he’s trained too, but I’ve got like thirty pounds on him. Plus, he looks out for me, ya know? Sniper, so he’s always watching my ass. Metaphorically.” Jensen coughed as his ears turned red. “Well, probably literally, too. That would totally explain a few things.”
“I don’t blame him. It’s a very fine ass to watch,” Spice replied. “Don’t squirm. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Jensen froze, holding his twitching body still. “I, um, I like your, um. Never mind.”
“Nice save,” she replied sarcastically. “Okay, hold really still. I’m going to do the inner part.”
He rolled his head back, trying not to watch as the needle went rather close to his manhood. “Hey, who’s the jarhead in the picture with you?” he asked, catching sight of a picture behind him.
“My younger brother. And while I’ll admit he’s not the brightest blub, he totally personifies the ‘see the hill, take the hill’ type of Marine, I’d rather you didn’t refer to him as ‘the jarhead’.”
“So what’s his name? Puppy Dog Tails?” Jensen questioned.
“Nope, Johnny. Mom only got the good drugs with me and Sugar.” She straightened up. “Okay, gimme a second and I’ll finish the color on that. I need to change out the ink. Take a look if you want.”
While she got another ink packet out of the case, Jensen contorted around to check out the work she’d finished. The outline was complete and about half of it had been filled in. As Spice turned around and came back, he noticed she had something curling around her right bicep. “What’s your tattoo say?” he asked.
She pressed the needle back into him as she answered, “’Little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice but watch out we bite’. It was Sugar’s idea of a joke since I tattoo people for a living.”
He grinned. “That’s some joke. I thought you didn’t advocate tattooing someone’s name on a body.”
“I don’t advocate putting on boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s names. It just never ends well. On the other hand, mine has my sister’s and my names. Plus it’s not just our names. Okay lemme concentrate on this for a minute.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Jensen replied. As Spice slowly colored in the spots that were left, he hummed softly to himself.
After a few minutes, she turned off the gun and looked up, puzzlement on her features. “What are you humming?”
Jensen blushed. “The Super Mario Bros. Theme. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s a whole lot less annoying than some of the things I’ve heard.” She pressed a towel on the fresh tattoo for a minute, then lifted it off and set a gauze pad on top, carefully taping it down. “Okay, put your jeans back on and meet me out front. I want to go over the care with you before you leave.”
“I have had tattoos before,” he reminded her.
She looked at him and replied firmly, “I go over the tattoo care whether this is your first tattoo or your fiftieth. I’ll meet you out front.” She stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Jensen to figure out how he was going to wiggle back into his jeans with the fresh tattoo on his hip.