The tattoo machine buzzed low, vibrating through your hand as you worked. Your fingers were steady, guiding the needle along the curve of Karan’s thigh, etching thin lines into his skin. You sat cross-legged on the floor, your face inches from his leg, fully immersed in the movement of your hand.

Karan sat above you, sprawled lazily on the couch with one arm draped over the backrest. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, his eyes flicking between your focused expression and the needle moving across his skin.

The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on either of you. Your hands pressed firmly against his thigh, your breath close enough that he could feel the warmth of it ghosting over his skin. Your focus wavered for a fraction of a second, and the needle pressed deeper than intended. You could feel the muscle beneath your hand tense instinctively, and you froze.

“Shit—does it hurt?” you blurted out, looking up at him with wide eyes, only to find him looking down at you.

Karan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the moment stretch out, his gaze tracing your face like he was savoring the sight of you kneeling between his legs. Then, with that infuriatingly lazy grin of his, he muttered. “Not as much as watching you from this angle. Great view, truly.”

You huffed, turning your attention back to the tattoo, trying to ignore his words. But your hands weren’t steady anymore. Your grip on the machine faltered, and when you glanced down, you realized the needle was pressing too hard into his skin again.

“Fuck! Sorry, sorry...” you stammered, pulling back quickly.

Before you could retreat any further, Karan's hand was suddenly in your hair, his fingers brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray strand behind your ear. The touch was soft, deliberate. Too deliberate. His hand lingered for a while, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek before pulling away. “Relax.” he murmured, his voice low. “You’re doing fine.”