Chapter 120: Mine!
They were getting dressed the next morning, their last day
in Charleston, when Abby asked, “Were you serious about getting my lip print
tattooed onto your wrist?”
Tim pulled up his jeans and buttoned them. “I wasn’t really
thinking about it, just sort of going with the moment. But I could be.” He’s
not feeling a burning need for another tattoo, but he doesn’t mind the idea
either.
“I really liked that idea. My lips on you, your lips on me.”
He thought about it some more, smiling at the idea of his
lips on her. But as he thinks, he notices there’s something of a snag for hers
on him.
See, there’s this thing in the NCIS dress code, namely you
aren’t allowed to have visible tattoos. Sure, Abby has them, like with the rest
of the dress code, Abby got a personal exemption from the rules from Jenny. But
he’s not Abby, and at least while it healed up, he wouldn’t be able to wear his
wrist cuff.
And, well, the wrist cuff is him already pushing the edge of
the dress code. He’s seen Vance look at it a few times. Since it’s not usually
visible/looks like a watch if you aren’t paying attention, he’s never said
anything, but it’s not office casual approved, and Tim wouldn’t be shocked if
Vance didn’t mention it to Gibbs, and Gibbs didn’t give him the ‘leave it
alone’ look.
“If we wait to get home, I can’t do it. Can’t be walking
around work with a lip print visible on my wrist for a week. Down here works,
but we don’t know anyone down here.” Of course the other thing about tattoos is
that you generally don’t want to just wander into a studio you don’t know and
let them have at it.
Abby squeaked with excitement, grabbing her phone. Less than
a minute later she put it down. “I put the word out, should have a list of good
places in Charleston and Savanah in less than an hour. Let’s get some
pictures.” She was rummaging through her cosmetics bag, and came out with two
tubes.
“You want mine in red, right?”
He nodded, recognizing the tube of blow-job red lipstick.
“Does that stuff have a real name?”
“Okay.” He unsnapped the wrist cuff as she slicked the
crimson lipstick over her lips.
Once it was on exactly the way she liked, she bounced over
to him. Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans and popped the button.
“Sure you want it on your wrist?” she asked with a wicked smile.
For a second, he just cringed at the idea of what getting a
tattoo there would feel like, but finally he pulled it together enough to say,
“Depends, do you ever want to have sex again?”
“Yes.”
He held out his wrist and smiled dryly. “Then aim for my
wrist, and if there’s any lipstick left on you after that, you can blot it on
my dick.”
“Actually…” She unzipped him and slipped him out of his
pants, then gave him a quick, light kiss, just around the tip of his dick. Abby
stood back up, and pressed her lips into his wrist. “You get a better print
with a little less lipstick on.” She looked critically at his wrist. “Very
nice. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m standing here with my dick out, where am I going to
go?”
“Nowhere. The detail’s really nice, so I don’t want you
accidentally smearing it.”
Two seconds later she had her phone again and was snapping
shots of his wrist. “Perfect. Let me get a few high def shots, too. If we can
find anyone even remotely good at this, he won’t have a problem making a good
likeness. Now you.” She put the phone on the dresser behind him, and conjured
another tube of lipstick from somewhere.
“What’s that?”
“Black lipstick.” He’s glaring at it a little, realizing
what he just walked into. Years.
She’s been trying to get him into lipstick for years now. “After all, can’t get
your lip print without something to, you know, print it with. If you want, we
can find a pink that matches your lips, but you’d have to try a bunch of them
on to find the exact right color.”
“You’ll get another tattoo to finally see me in lipstick.”
She turned her hands palm up and tilted her head a bit,
looking innocent. “You’re the one who came up with the idea in the first place.
This is just the logical consequence of that idea.”
“Uh huh… Black. Not pink.” He’s already been to Sephora
twice, hunting for eyeliner that didn’t irritate his eyes, which he thinks she
had way too much fun with, no need to go back for lipstick.
“Just think of how much fun you’ll have getting it back off
again.”
He nodded, that was true, leaving lip prints he could see
all over her didn’t bother him at all.
“Fine. No pictures of me wearing it.”
“What is it with you and lipstick? You’ll wear eyeliner and
mascara.”
 |
| Well, maybe not this bad but still, he doesn't like the idea. |
“Oh my God, you’d look so—“
“No!” He pointed at her, looking stern. “Do not even think
about finishing that sentence.”
She pouted at him and then grinned, enjoying teasing him,
but not wanting to push too far. “You’ll be the one using the camera when we
get the shots of your lip prints.”
“Good.”
He held out his hand for the lipstick. She just looked at it,
very amused by the idea of him putting it on himself, then glanced up at to his
eyes and shook her head. “Tim. I love you, and I know you’re great at a whole
lot of things, but, not this. Any kind of dark lipstick requires a steady hand
and a clue as to what you’re doing. Sit down, I’ve got this.”
He tucked himself back into his pants and sat on the edge of
the bed. Then she straddled his legs. “Just hold your lips the way you usually
do.” He did and she got to work. “Open your mouth.” He wanted to say something
along the lines of this seemed to be a whole lot more complicated than it
should be, but that’s one of the few things he really can’t do right now. Then
she got a little brush and did something else, that really tickled, and he was
having a hard time keeping still. But finally she pronounced him done.
Abby held out her index and middle finger. “Blot, just like
I did on you.”
He looked at her, rose one eyebrow, and said, “You’re
enjoying this way too much.”
She grinned, kissed his shoulder, leaving another red lip
print, and said, “You like me in skirts and lipstick, why shouldn’t I like the
same thing?”
He didn’t have a good comeback for that, so he made a show
of opening his mouth, sucking her fingers gently into it, flicking his tongue
over the tips of them while he lightly pressed his lips around them. Then he
let go, pulled back, and asked, “All done?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
He didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he picked up her
phone. Tim’s not really interested in seeing what he looks like in black
lipstick. He’s fairly sure he doesn’t actually look like Tim Curry in drag, but
that’s still the image he can’t shake when he thinks about him in lipstick.
“I kissed you all over yesterday. Where do you want this?”
“Just below and behind my ear. I want other people to see it,
know they’re yours.”
“You know exactly what to say to me.”
She smiled at him, and he stepped to stand behind her.
When he kissed her yesterday, he’d done the side of her
throat with the spider web, but he’s thinking the fact that it’s a lip print
probably won’t be immediately recognizable from any real distance away, and a
black blob right over the spider web might end up looking more like something
the spider caught, wrapped up, and
killed than a lip print.
So he turned her to the other side, gently lifted her hair
out of the way, and carefully laid a kiss just below and behind her ear. The sight
of it, his lips, in black, on her neck just got to him. He was actually pretty surprised
by how hard that made him.
“Hold your hair out of the way.”
She did, and he got several shots of his lip print on her
neck, each one making him feel more turned on.
“It’s insane how much I like that,” he said to her as he put
the camera down. “You’d think the engagement ring, wedding ring, tattoo, my
last name now yours, and pregnant with my kid would be enough, but, nope, my
lips on you just hits that MINE! button all over again.”
“Anywhere else you want to see your lips?”
“God, yes!” And she was right, he had a blast getting the
lipstick off, laying black kisses all over her body. (To the point where it’s
likely he could be pretty easily convinced to wear it again. In fact, it’s possible
he might reach for the lipstick on his own, because this is a lot more fun than
a hickey.) And he certainly didn’t mind her red ones on his. (Though Abby kept
them pretty concentrated in one area.)
And the shower after, washing them all away, was a whole lot
of fun, too.
By the time that was done, Abby’s assorted Facebook friends
had provided several suggestions for places in Charleston and Savanah to get a
tattoo. Along with an introduction to a friend of a friend who got rave reviews
among her buddies.
Five o’clock that evening, Abby and Tim were picking out the
exact right shade of red, and shortly thereafter he was once again remembering
that getting a tattoo hurts like a son of a bitch.
But an hour after that, looking at his new skin art,
watching the artist start to ink Abby, feeling an insane rush of love and
belonging and MINE, he was more than sure that the pain was well worth it.
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