Defining the Illustration

Defining the Illustration

She’d cleared the shop that day; Phyrbyrd had a client that’d seen her work on her Deviant Art page, and asked her to design several tattoos based on the specs he’d given her.  They were simple enough for her to manage, he’d been there several times to help her tweek them until she’d gotten the image he was satisfied with.

Ordinarily, Phyr didn’t close up shop for a client, but he’d asked for more than one tattoo, several of them being fairly large, and she didn’t want any distractions…

“…And it’s not because he’s this rough hewn hottie, right?” her friend and cashier, Wolf, teased. “What was his name? Gabriel?  As in, one of the Almighty’s warrior angels Gabriel?”

It had been Wolf’s recommendation to block out the day for Gabriel, but not because she really DID find Gabriel attractive, and being bi, so did Wolf.  There was something about this guy, hard to put a finger on—he was too over cautious, coiled and ready.  

It was as if he was a soldier, and the war he fought was still going on behind his eyes…

“…I don’t doubt that the guy is safe,” Wolf concluded, as he pushed open the curtains. “As long as you can make sure he STAYS that way.”

A man in his early forties strolled up towards Phyr’s shop.  True enough, he was attractive with that dark hair adorned by orange bangs framing around very strong, seasoned features just a little less striking than that 6 foot plus hard body, but it was his expression…

Here walked the silent storm.

Phry could feel the distant thunder in her heart…

“Hello,” she greeted, opening the door for him under Wolf’s wary eye, Gabriel returning the look with disinterest. “Wolf over there has the paperwork for you to finish up—and I’d like to go over placement before we start, in case there are any changes…”

The man took the forms, filled them out in silence, tossed them and the pen back to Wolf and followed Phyr into the back.

“He stayin’ out front?” Gabriel asked, thumbing.

“Wolf? Oh yes,” Phyr assured him, spreading sketches of the tattoos the man had requested. “If he stays in a room with someone he doesn’t know for longer than five minutes, he can’t resist the urge to read their minds,” the woman chuckled. “His sister Wynd is worse.  Can’t read minds,” Phyr revealed with a sigh, “But she can read everything else—makes her a great mechanic.”
   
Most people would laugh, see it all as a joke—of course—how could it be anything else?

To her surprise, Phyr could see it in Gabriel’s eyes; he believed her!

It made her wonder; who WAS this guy?

Phyrbyrd watched him as he examined the sketches, as he traced the ivy threaded through the image of silver links attached to a cuff, and she wondered what it was he was touching through the symbol—WHO he was touching—and maybe envying that person a little herself.

Didn’t every woman dream of this? Didn’t’ they dream of that strong, enigmatic stranger, the more than normal someone—just wandering into their lives—being able to reach out and recognize that more than normal something—in them?  Even if they had never done anything more than normal, had lived terribly normal lives?

‘You’re already more than the normal something,’ she heard Wolf in her head, reminding her, allowing no debate. ‘Think of everything you are—and don’t sweat it…’

And suddenly, Gabriel looked up, locking her in his gaze, knowing she’d been studying him—and Phyr didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make her feel any less awkward.

“It’s all good, kiddo,” he told her with a smirk, and knowing it probably eased her out of her discomfort. “Where do ya want me?” There was a slight glitter of impure mischief in his eye when he said it, so she understood she wasn’t completely off the hook.  Phyr tried to keep a fiery blush under control, and felt she did a pretty good damn job.

‘Whoever you were touching through that sketch might not like the answer to where I’d ‘want’ you,’ Phyr considered silently, gesturing to the station she’d prepared for Gabriel earlier. “Right here,” she told the man.  And when he started undoing his pants, Phyr stifled a sigh, remembering that she was supposed to be doing a job, even as she thanked some higher power for what Gabriel packed in those speedos underneath his pants

Phyr did the prep, sterilizing, telling him, “This is going to sting a little.”

“Feels pretty good, more like,” he corrected her, as she cleansed a patch of skin along his ankle.  Gabriel was smiling as she was being inordinately gentle, even for the tender skin.  The man had to know this.

“That’s because this is the easy part,” Phyr told him with a sigh, touching her tools to put herself back into the proper perspective. “Lie back and relax,” she bade, and he didn’t even flinch for the first moment of her work.  Many who were used to getting tattoos were used to the sensation, but Phyr suspected more than just that as the reason why.

She’d gotten a good look at Gabriel’s back when he’d lifted up that shirt of his, and rarely had Phyr seen anything quite so harsh—as those scars…
***