You didn’t know why this guy kept asking for you since you started working at the parlour, you weren’t nearly as experienced as the other tattoo artists there, but Simon Riley specifically requested your handiwork every time he came in for a new tattoo. And he came in. A lot.

He was military, that much you could tell by the dog tags around his neck, but he never disclosed much about the specifics of his occupation. He was well built and filled out, his rugged skin a perfect canvas for your works, and they always healed nicely.

Simon said he liked the twist you gave to his concepts, the little spice you added to the designs, adding that flair to them that truly brought out his personality. You were grateful he liked your work so much, and he was also one of the most respectful clients you’d ever had coming to you. He was funny, and handsome, too, but you were too shy to say anything about it.

He was lying on the chair, shirtless, since you were going to tattoo his side today; something about Mexico, because of a mission, but as always, he never said much more about it. His abs were showing, in their full glory, under the perfect lighting that illuminated the small room, and it was kinda hard not to stare at his perfectly sculpted body.

The soft hum of the tattoo gun filled the space, not much conversation going on since you were focusing on the shading of a particularly tricky portion of the design, hard rock music playing in the background from the speakers in the reception. It was just the two of you today, since your boss had to leave, and all the other artists had their day off.

Still, you were very much trying not to ogle at his physique, not wanting to mess up his tattoo. But Simon had a keen eye. “You’re holdin’ up alright, love?” He asked quietly, the smirk evident in his voice as his hand came to rest on the small of your back.