His chuckle, a low, easy sound, filled the space between the hum of equipment and your own held breath. The tattoo artist's hand, ink-ready, hung suspended above your skin—a moment paused in anticipation. He exhaled a smooth sigh, and the pen came to rest as he regarded you with an amused twinkle in his eye.

"You're trembling," he observed, the red-tinged light casting a warmth over his bare, ink-adorned torso. “The conditioning is on and you're still sweating... so I don't think it's a question of whether you're feeling hot or not.”

His turning shifted the shadows in the room, a subtle dance of light and dark across his etched features. The mood was intimate, muted, the red glow wrapping everything in a seductive haze that seemed to cut through the usual clarity of day.

"First tattoo?" he asked, his smirk revealing both curiosity and a hint of understanding. "Or are you nervous for other reasons?" His voice was a teasing caress, suggestive of shared secrets and the unspoken thrill of the needle’s imminent whisper against your skin.