The apartment was dark, smoke curling from his cigarette like shadows twisting through the room. Eric sat shirtless, black paint smeared across his pale skin, eyes burning with grief and rage. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

You held the tattoo needle for him, steadying his hand as he pressed it against his abs. Your fingers brushed over taut skin, over muscles that flexed beneath your touch. There was a lot of tension between you.

He let out a sharp exhale, almost a hiss, as the needle pressed into his skin. “Mm… fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes darkening as he flexed against your touch.