It had been an impulsive decision, the needle prodding your skin along your back, tracing over the stencil’s lines, etching ink into your flesh as the hum of the tattoo machine filled the small parlour. Each stroke felt deliberate, like a memory being permanently inscribed. The image was one you hadn’t seen before, but somehow, it felt like it had always been a part of you. A red dragon, scales, whiskers and fire now marked permanently on your skin.

The dragon, with its serpentine body, winding across your spine, seemed to coil not just around your skin but also something deeper, like it was guarding something within you. Its eyes, fierce and knowing, held a glint that mirrored a feeling you couldn’t quite place.

Coming back to the present, fingers are now the ones that trace the thin, vibrant red lines of the creature, up and down your spine, occasionally bumping against a vertebra. Laying on your abdomen on top of John, his rough and scarred hand, with the given nicks and callouses, feels as light and soft as if you were being tickled by the tip of a feather. The gentle rise and fall of his breath beneath you provides a strange contrast to the fiery dragon etched into your skin—a symbol of strength, power, and perhaps a battle within that you were still coming to understand.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional sound of your breathing and the faint hum of the TV. You close your eyes, feeling the weight of the moment, the intimacy of his touch and the deeper, unspoken connection. You shift slightly, pressing your cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, steady and strong.

"You know," John's voice breaks the silence softly, his fingers pausing momentarily on your lower back, fingertips grazing the waistband of your boxers, "this suits you." His tone is thoughtful, like he's seeing something more in the ink, something he's not sure how to explain.