Nellie and the Dragon Tattoo

Author's Note:

This is a stand-alone story that is part of a larger series about the titular character, Nellie. Each story that follows can be read on its own or together, in any particular order, though they will be posted in chronological order. The stories may fall under different categories, but all will tell tales of Nellie's various adventures.

In this adventure, Nellie decides it's time to get a tattoo, though there's just one problem: she has no idea what she wants. Luckily, her experienced tattoo artist knows just what she needs. This story follows the events of Nellie & The Diamond Gala.

**

"Okay, can you just repeat the plan for me? One more time?"

"I'm getting a tattoo."

"You're getting a tattoo."

"Yep."

"You want it on your shoulder."

"Mm-hmm."

"And that's the extent of what you know you want."

"Yep."

"Because as long as it's visible, it doesn't matter what it looks like, since it's just to piss off your dad."

I rolled my eyes at Sydney. "You seem to have a pretty good understanding of the plan, for someone who just asked me to repeat it. And it's not

just

to piss off my dad. That's a happy side effect. I've always wanted a tattoo."

"People who have always wanted tattoos usually have an idea of what they want to get before just waltzing into a tattoo shop!"

"Maybe I'll see something I like."

"It's a tattoo, not a fucking T-shirt at the mall!" She put her hand on the portfolio of flash tattoos I was looking at, while we waited for the tattoo artist to come to the front. "Nellie, come on. This is crazy, even for you."

"Since when are you the mature voice of reason?" I asked, frowning at her. "Next it's going to be that I need to eat more vegetables, and then you're going to tell me I should go to therapy instead of working my issues out by sleeping around with people, aren't you?"

"It's not a half-bad idea," she said. "You are literally fucking your former professor. Like, I get it, that's hot, but Nell—"

"Ben is a

psychology

professor," I interrupted. "That's practically free therapy right there. Plus, I get laid. Win-win."

Sydney studied me for a moment, before shaking her head and laughing. "Okay, look, as long as you recognize that what you're doing isn't, you know..."

"Normal?"

"Yeah, sure." She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "You're my best friend. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay." I smiled at her. "Even Ben thinks so. He told me I was just a typical young woman with some underlying issues stemming from my dad's somewhat-sociopathic nature, and that exploring my sexuality was a normal, healthy thing to do."

"Right," Sydney said. "And then he fucked you for how long?"

"Well, he ate me out first and I came, like, three times. He really, really loves that, and I mean, who am I to stop him?"

She howled with laughter and I grinned.

"Syd, I promise. I'm fine. I'm not getting a tattoo just to piss my dad off, I actually want one. And I'm not sleeping with Ben to work out daddy issues of some sort, he's just really good in bed."

"And you're not even entertaining the option of getting into a relationship with J.P. because your dad approves of him, and you can't bring yourself to do anything your dad approves of, even though you clearly like J.P. and—"

"Don't." I held up a hand. "I don't like J.P. He's a complete bastard. He just also happens to be an exceptionally good fuck."

"I've never met him and even I think that's bullshit," Sydney replied.

"I don't want to talk about it."

She put her arm back around my shoulder in another half-hug. "Okay. I'll drop it, for now. Any of these look like something you want to be drawn permanently on your body for the rest of your life?"

"I kind of like this bearded merman playing the ukulele," I admitted, pointing at a drawing on the page.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

I was nearly crying with laughter when a man came out of the back. Through my laughter, I took in the sight of him. He wasn't quite good-looking, with a relatively average face and a hooked nose. At the same time, he was one of the most attractive men I'd ever seen. His face might have been average, but his eyes were intense and focused. Long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, showing off tattoos that crept up his neck, and aside from a piercing through his eyebrow, his face was marred only by the short scruff on his cheeks. He just seemed so comfortable in his own skin that I couldn't really help being pulled in.

He watched me and Sydney giggle for a moment, patiently bemused as we tried to collect ourselves.

"Let me guess," he said flatly, though there was a touch of humour in his voice. "You're here to get your ears pierced."

"Close," I said. "I was thinking nipples."

He shrugged. "Sure, we can do that. Left, right, or both?"

"Wait, really?" Sydney asked. "And also, ouch."

"It's not so bad, actually," he said. "It's a pretty straightforward piercing. Takes a while to heal though, and you

cannot

fuck with them while they're healing."

"Wait, you can't fuck at all?" I gasped, horrified.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I mean you can't play with the piercings while they're healing. Can take anywhere from six to twelve months. You can, uh... well, it's not a genital piercing."

I scrunched up my nose. "Well, fuck that. I don't want my tits out of commission for a year."

He nodded, chuckling dryly. "Okay, so you're not here for your ears, you don't want your nipples pierced... so how can I help you?"

"Oh, right. I'm Nellie. I have an appointment to get a tattoo."

"Sweet. I'm Damon, and I have an appointment to give you a tattoo." He looked down at the portfolio in front of me. "This the one you're thinking of?"

Sydney groaned. "No, Nellie. Don't get that. How about this one?"

I scoffed. "Do I really look like an 'infinity-symbol-with-a-heart-in-it' type of girl to you?"

"Fine, what about this one?"

She pointed at a maple leaf that, while pretty, was kind of boring. I shrugged and flipped the page of the portfolio I held, pausing for a moment.

"Oh, this is kind of awesome," I said softly.

"You want a... a tree?" Sydney asked.

"I mean, it's a really cool tree. I like how leaves kind of fade away." I shrugged and flipped the page. "It's a contender."

"So we're doing a flash tattoo," Damon said, interrupting our discussion. "Well, the stuff in that binder is pretty standard. Couple of pin-ups, anchors... uh, birds and shit. Arrows."

"Basic bitch stuff," I said, grinning.

"That what you're looking for?"

"Not really, but not... not-really, either."

"All right." He leaned across the desk to pick up one of the other books, the slightest hint of a woodsy cologne wafting past. "Well, let's narrow it down. We can look for something that works with your style already. What other tattoos do you have?"

"Uh... none."

Damon raised his eyebrows, though his voice remained fairly steady. "So you're getting a flash tattoo for your first tattoo, you don't really know what you want, and your current contenders are a bearded merman and a tree."

I grinned. "Yep."

He shrugged. "Look, I'm not going to try to talk you out of this because that would be stupid from a business perspective. But I also don't want you storming back into my shop a year down the road, bitching that I gave you a shitty tattoo. You sure you—"

"See, even he thinks this is ridiculous!" Sydney said.

"Nah, I didn't say that," Damon said. "But I've definitely done more than one cover-up on an impulse decision some chick made when she was eighteen."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," I said. "I'm twenty-one."

I thought Damon might laugh but he didn't, though he did smile. "All right, well, I said my piece. You want a tattoo, you're getting a tattoo. You have an idea of where you want it?"

"Kind of on my shoulder." I motioned to a spot on my back over my T-shirt. "About here."

"And how big?"

I shrugged. "Whatever looks good."

"Any... I dunno, hobbies? Interests? Inspirations?"

"Um... well, I like true crime and stuff. I want to be a forensic investigator." I pursed my lips. "But that would be a weird tattoo."

"What about sports?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I mean I obviously like hockey, but not, like... I dunno. I don't want a hockey stick on my back. I played volleyball for years but I don't want a volleyball."

"She has a lot of sex," Sydney suggested, her voice unhelpfully innocent.

It didn't seem like much would shock Damon. I would have thought he'd react a little to a statement like that, but he really just glanced at Sydney before looking back at me. I shrugged and tilted my head.

"I mean, she's not wrong," I said. "But I'm not getting, like, a dick tattooed on my shoulder. Maybe something more subtle?"

"Of course, more subtle." Damon's voice was completely deadpan. "What about a dick, but it's hidden in the tree or something?"

I grinned. I knew it: there was a sense of humour under the serious, calm demeanour. "Or that infinity symbol, but instead of a heart, it's a dick!"

Damon chuckled softly. It was a warm sound, deep and throaty, probably his version of keeling over with laughter.

"Interesting thought, but why don't we steer away from the infinity dick and pick something a little more... not a dick." He thought for a moment. "We don't want basic bitch stuff but liked the tree... I kind of have an idea. Are you dead set on doing it on your shoulder?"

I shrugged. "What do you have in mind?"

"It's not in one of the books. Just something I've been messing around with, but it would look better... well, lemme grab it and show you. It's a little less hilarious and a little more serious, but I think you'll like it."

He was right. The drawing he grabbed from the back and handed me a few minutes later wasn't hilarious like the merman or basic like the infinity heart. It wasn't like anything I'd flipped through in the books, or anything I'd pointed out to Damon as something I'd be interested in. Yet somehow, it was perfect, and he'd known it would be perfect.

It was the silhouette of a dragon, wings spread in flight, with scales trailing behind it as it flew. Delicate wasn't quite the right word to describe it, but it wasn't huge or gaudy. It was almost graceful, in a way. I fell quiet as I studied the drawing.

"That's gorgeous," Sydney said. "I mean, really... that's awesome."

I nodded and looked up at Damon. His eyes seemed to sparkle again.

"I know what I'm doing, eh?" he said. "All right, here's the thing though. On your shoulder, it's gonna look kinda weird. We could do it a little higher up than you showed, but honestly, I pictured this to be a collarbone tattoo."

"Like, here?" I asked, motioning to a spot on my chest.

Damon shook his head and reached forward, hesitating before he touched me. "Can I...?"

"Yeah, for sure."

He traced his finger along my clavicle. "The dragon would go here—" he tapped a spot almost by my shoulder "—and the scales would kind of trail all the way over here."

"That's going to be a lot harder to hide from your dad," Sydney said.

Damon raised his eyebrows. "Your dad's not gonna come in here and lose his shit on me, is he?"

I swallowed my instinctive response, which was that my dad would be more likely to try suing him than coming into the shop himself, and shook my head. "I'm not

hiding

it, really. I just want the option to, you know, cover it... if I need to."

"Would you be covering it regularly or just on special occasions?" he asked.

"Special occasions."

"Makeup," he said simply. "Not at first since it'll still be healing, obviously, but after that. One of the girls who works here has an instruction sheet I can give you. Way easier than trying to cover it with clothes or whatever."

"I can do that." I considered the drawing again, trying to picture myself with a gorgeous dragon flying across my chest. "Okay, let's do it."

"All right," Damon said. "Just one more important thing about doing this on your collarbone."

I raised my eyebrows at him and he regarded me seriously, making sure I was paying attention before he continued.

"It's gonna hurt like a bitch, sweetheart."

I assured him I could handle it no less than three times before he let me sign the waiver. Sydney shook her head when Damon asked if she wanted to sit in the room with us while he worked.

"I'm not super into needles," she admitted. "Or, you know, pain. Just call me when you're done, Nell. I'm gonna go shopping."

Damon gave me a quote, let Sydney know roughly how long the appointment would be and less than ten minutes later, led me to a cramped room in the back.

"Now, usually I'd tell people to wear a lower-cut shirt," Damon said as he prepped the stencil. "But, uh, since you didn't..."

"I can just take it off," I said.

"Well, yeah," he said. "I was gonna offer you a towel or something if you wanted to cover up."

"Nah, I'm good." I took off my top and put it on a small ledge in the corner. "Do I need to take my bra off or...?"

"Nope, just slip the strap down your arm." Damon motioned to the bed in the middle of the room. "Take a seat, get comfy. You want a glass of water or something?"

I slid onto a bed-like seat that was kind of a mix between a dentist's chair and a patio lounger, and waited. Given his smooth composure, I hadn't expected Damon to get embarrassed or anything when I took my shirt off. I mean, he was a professional tattoo artist. He had to have seen it all. Still, it was one of the few times I'd started taking my clothes off that didn't garner some sort of reaction from the person in the room.

He was almost an enigma, I decided. He had a sense of humour but seemed almost unshakably solemn. As he prepared the last things he needed before starting the tattoo, I studied him, wondering just what it would take to get him to crack.

Part of me wanted to be good and let him do his job without pushing any buttons. Another, more insistent part of me, really wanted to find out if he would drop the steady, stoic demeanour. I licked my lips unconsciously. Maybe he wouldn't drop it. Maybe that serious intensity extended to everything he did, and maybe...

"Right," Damon said, shaking me out of my thoughts. "So, we're gonna apply the stencil now. Take a look, make sure you're really, really happy with how it is, because that's exactly how it's going to look. Well, except it'll be black instead of purple. But placement, size, all of that is going to be exact."

After confirming no less than three times that I was happy with the placement, Damon sat on the stool beside the bed, picked up the tattoo gun, and paused.

"You sure you're ready?" he asked.

"Hell yes," I replied.

"It's gonna hurt," he said again.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Damon's mouth twitched. "Lucky me. Last appointment of the day and I got a masochist."

I laughed. "Maybe. It's not like I've done this before, so I guess we'll find out."

He nodded solemnly, leaned forward, and the tattoo gun started buzzing. One gloved hand was steady and confident against my chest, and the other brought the tattoo gun towards me. Moments later, a sharp pain pricked at my skin. It wasn't strong enough to make me gasp or flinch, but I definitely took a shallower breath than normal. After just a few seconds, he moved the tattoo gun away.

"Doing okay?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Good. This is the easy part."

I tried not to laugh, knowing it would make my chest shake. Damon smiled wryly, put the tattoo gun back to my chest, and started tracing along the stencilled lines.

It was hard to explain what the sensation was. It hurt, certainly, but at first, it seemed tolerable. It was only as he got further along that I really understood why people said tattoos were painful. The sensation built up, becoming more intense as he went. I could almost feel it vibrating through my entire body each time he passed the tattoo gun over my collarbone.

"Do people usually talk while they're doing this?" I asked the next time he took the gun away, wiping a spot on my chest.

"Sometimes," he replied, not looking at me. "I think people find it helps distract them from the sensation."

"It does feel weird," I admitted.

"Hurt as much as you thought it would?"

The tattoo gun buzzed over my bone and I winced.

"Maybe a bit more than I thought. I'm starting to wonder how you managed to go through having this done on your entire body."

Damon smiled, his mouth tight as he concentrated on the tattoo. "People aren't joking when they talk about tattoos being addicting. You'll understand after."

"Why?"

"Trust me. Soon as I'm done, you're gonna start thinking about what you want for the next one."

"What was your first tattoo?"

He wiped my skin again, not seeming to notice that his hand brushed the top of my breast. "I got a pretty kick-ass skull done on my back. The guy I ended up apprenticing under did it. Hell of a good artist. Hard as fuck on people apprenticing for him, but I learned more than I would've under anyone else."

I was about to ask another question when there was a knock at the door.

"Yep," said Damon without moving the tattoo gun away.

The door opened and a girl about my age poked her head in. She had piercings all over her face, spiky hair, and colourful tattoos up and down her arms.

"Hey boss," she said. "Sasha and I are done with our clients. You cool if we head out?"

"Yep," Damon said again. "Lock up the front first, though. Don't need someone coming in while I'm back here."

She nodded, went to leave, then turned back and looked at me.

"Hey, you're finally doing the dragon tattoo!" she exclaimed.

The corners of Damon's mouth turned up. "Finally talked someone into it. It's her first one."

"First tattoo and you're doing the collarbone?" The girl gaped at me. "Damn. You're pretty brave."

"Uh, thanks?" I said.

"Jeez, how are you so calm?" She laughed. "When I got mine done, I was whimpering almost the whole time."

"Well, I mean it hurts, but it's not that bad. Am I supposed to be crying and wailing or something?"

"Nah," Damon said. "You're doing really good."

"Oh, wow. He said he had a pretty client, but pretty

and

a high pain tolerance?" teased the girl, grinning at me. "You're impressing Damon. That's hard to do."

"Ah, fuck off," he muttered.

"Will do, boss. Night!"

She laughed and practically flounced out of the room, giggling as she shut the door. Damon shook his head as the door closed behind her, still focusing on my chest.

"You're the boss?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm. Apprenticed here, then worked here and there for a few years, then bought the shop when Joey retired."

He sat back a bit, studying the tattoo before leaning forward and pressing the gun to my skin. I watched him work for a few minutes, waiting until he had moved the tattoo gun away before speaking again.

"So you think I'm pretty?"

Damon snorted. "Don't play that game. You're cute, you know that."

"So I guess the real question is if I'm impressing you."

He looked up, intense eyes meeting mine, his face still calm. "Sweetheart, you're twenty-one."

I blinked at him innocently. "Yeah. And?"

"You're twenty-one. And you're getting a tattoo to piss off your dad."

"Not

just

to piss him off."

Damon smirked. "Sure. Either way, you're twenty-one. I'm thirty-six. I'm not the guy who's gonna give you the validation you're missing from your dad."

"Why does everyone think I have daddy issues?" I wondered out loud. "Yeesh. Don't worry, Damon. I already get validation from the

other

older guy I'm sleeping with. His name's Ben. I think he's almost fifty. Maybe over, actually. I never really asked."

It was the closest I had gotten to surprising Damon. He tilted his head slightly, eyes widening enough that I knew I'd shocked him, just a bit.