Work Text:
“I want a tattoo.”
Sasori paused in his sketching, staring absently at whatever he had drawn thus far before meeting her expectant gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He studied a few more moments longer before nodding. “Okay. Figure out what you want and I'll tell you which of the guys would do it best.” He returned to his sketch, pencil moving in measured strokes.
However, the conversation wasn’t finished. “I want you to do it.”
He stopped, eyes glued to the paper. “I stopped tattooing six months ago, Sakura.”
“I know,” she agreed, pressing forward with her request. “But you said I could have whatever I want for my birthday present, and that's what I want: You to do my first tattoo.”
“What do you want the design to be?”
“I want you to design it and surprise me.”
He sighed, exasperated, setting his sketchbook down to meet her gaze head-on. “Have you thought about where you want it, or do I get to decide that as well?”
“You do.”
“Sakura.” His tone was chastising, like a parent’s would be when you got into trouble. “Why exactly do you want to do it this way? This is a big decision to just hand off to someone else.”
She stood firm, crossing her arms definitely over her chest as her eyes narrowed. “You're not just 'someone else,’ Sasori,” she declared with finality. “You're the only person I would trust to do this with. I know I'll love whatever you mark me with.”
He hummed. “A mark, hm? My mark.” His head tilted as he considered her offer, eyes alight. “You know, I think I'm beginning to see the merit to this idea of yours.”
She beamed. “Good. So you'll do it?”
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding once. “Your birthday is in three days, so I'll be ready by then.”
She cheered, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a large kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, honey! I'm so excited!”
His responding smile was so soft, just a small upturn of his lips, but tinted with such love and fondness it melted her heart.
Her birthday couldn't come soon enough.
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Three days later, Sakura stood in the bedroom she shared with Sasori, bouncing giddily on the balls of her feet. He had wheeled a small table into the room, and was busy setting it up next to the bed. Atop it were different vials of colors, his old, red tattoo gun, paper towels, a jar of some sort of salve, a box of plastic wrap, and a flipped-over piece of paper. She had tried to take a peek at it, but he shooed her away.
When he was finished, he spun to face her. He trailed her form languidly, calculating, evaluating, and the sight made her bite her lip. Sasori’s undivided attention was an addictive thing.
When he was finished perusing her, he met her gaze. “Strip.”
She cocked a pale pink eyebrow. “Everything?” she clarified, gesturing to her simple tank top and shorts.
“You can leave your panties, if you want.”
She said nothing, simply began to strip. She pulled her red top up and over her head, tossing it onto the desk chair, reveling in the way he observed her with obvious interest. Preening, she flipped around, showing him her back, guiding her hands to the clasp of the pink bra she wore. Undoing it, she slid the straps down one arm, then the other, flicking it to land on the chair as well. A chill ran up her spine once the air caressed her bare skin, pebbling her blush-colored nipples instantaneously. She peeked over her shoulder, throwing him a saucy wink. He smirked, rolling his eyes playfully. Giggling, she shimmied her tiny cloth shorts down her legs, ensuring to bend over so that her ass stuck out at an enticing angle, scarcely covered by matching pink panties. Complete with her little show, she spun to face him once more, noting the way his eyes darkened with renewed desire at her mostly-nude form.
“Where exactly are you putting this thing?” she queried, hands upon her hip bones.
“You’ll find out,” he responded cryptically, seizing something from the table. “One more thing.” He presented a long strip of cloth, inky black, hanging delicately from his hand.
She blinked. “A blindfold?”
“I want it to be a complete surprise,” he explained, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She shivered at the barely-there touch. “Are you opposed?”
She peered into his amber eyes, deliberating. If she said no, she knew he’d honor her boundary. But was she truly not okay with the idea? He’d blindfolded her before, for more… Intimate activities, so was this really that different?
“No,” she finally decided, shaking her head. “I told you I want it to be a surprise, too.”
He nodded, lips curled in a pleased half-smile. He indicated for her to lie back on the bed, and she maneuvered up, settling herself into a more comfortable position. He followed, careful to avoid the table with his ink setup, gingerly wrapping and securing the black silk around her head. In an instant, all light was gone, leaving her in an unnatural darkness. “Good?” he queried quietly, his honeyed voice flowing over her in a different way now that she couldn’t see him.
Confirming with a small nod, she tried to relax her body, feeling his weight shift on the bed as he moved. She jolted when his hand abruptly stroked the top of her head, gliding down to her cheek, cupping it, his thumb caressing her bottom lip. Her breath escaped her in an inaudible gasp, lips parting under his attention. She felt her core pulse uncomfortably, and she did her best to push the sensation from her mind, but he was suddenly kissing her with a hunger she recognized, her core growing damper, hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt. Because she couldn’t see, she jerked when she felt his rough fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, moaning when they made contact with her arousal.
He pulled back slightly. “Oh?” His voice was dripping with a teasing lilt, the pads of his fingers sliding against her slick folds. Her breath hitched, squirming in place. “I've barely done anything, Sakura, and yet you're already so wet. Have you been anticipating something naughty?”
“Yes,” she breathed, knowing there would be no point in trying to deny what he could clearly see.
He hummed, stroking her lazily, slowly. “Well, that gives me an idea.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What kind of idea?”
His fingers retracted, an act she protested with a frustrated whine. Her hips bucked up, seeking him. “Don't worry, my dear,” he whispered against her lips, pecking them gently before she felt him pull away. “You'll like it. I promise.”
“I trust you.”
He said nothing, yet she knew he appreciated her vow regardless. His hands leisurely traced her curves, sinking lower, lower, lower, pausing at her underwear before continuing their descent with it in tow. She lifted her pelvis to assist in divesting her of the garment, mewling when the cold air rushed her damp pussy. Now completely bare, she waited for her lover’s next move, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin, through her veins.
She was momentarily distracted by the drag of a zipper and the shucking of clothing. Suddenly, his fingers danced along the shape of her legs, pushing them apart, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he shuffled closer to her. She yelped when she felt his tip bump against her clit, smoothing along her folds to collect her slick. She wriggled, desperate to feel more of him, but he held her still.
In an instant, he filled her in one sharp thrust, all the way to the base, and she gasped, moaning loudly. He groaned in response, gripping her hips with crushing force. “I love the way you squeeze me,” he said, grinding into her. “Like you never want to let my cock go.”
“I wish I didn't have to,” she admitted softly, flexing her inner walls. The loss of her vision made her more sensitive; the brush of his skin, the smell of his cologne and shampoo, the heaviness of his manhood buried deep within her overwhelming her, the love and want of the red-headed man consuming her.
He chuckled, running a finger down her sternum, making her shiver. “I expect you to hold still,” he warned. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll reward you.”
She grinned teasingly. “Yes, sir.”
His member twitched inside her, indicating his approval at her quick compliance.
The bed shook as he prepared, each movement shifting his length just barely inside her channel, not enough to satisfy her, but enough to be noticed. Her breath hitched, and she blew it out after a long inhale, desperate to follow his earlier instructions. She heard paper crinkling seconds prior to it being pressed against the skin of her chest, to the right of her bare breast. Interesting. Once it was removed, she then heard the rapid buzzing of the gun as he tested it, and her heart began to accelerate at the thought that this was actually happening.
“I’m going to do the first line, so you can feel what it’ll be like, okay?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
She heard the tool buzz once, twice, three times in short intervals, then felt it poke into her skin. He held it there, waiting, so she nodded again to express her consent to continue. The gun came to life, stabbing into her instantaneously. She made a small noise, more out of surprise than pain.
“Are you okay, Sakura?” he pressed, again holding the gun against her but not proceeding.
“Yes,” she confirmed, smiling to assuage his worry. “I’m ready for more.”
“Very well. If you need a break, let me know.”
She lifted her thumb, curling her other fingers toward her palm. “Will do.”
He worked in silence, the only noise in the room his tattoo gun and their soft breathing. She adjusted easily to the feel of the needle, admiring his smooth, precise strokes as he traced the lines. She tried to gauge what the piece could possibly be from the feel alone, but gave up early on, instead focusing on the sensation of the etching, distracted by the subtle jostling of his cock. Her body was beginning to feel flush.
“You’re doing so well, my love,” he praised, voice barely audible over the persistent buzz. “Almost finished with the outline.”
“Okay,” she breathed, swallowing saliva for her parched throat.
He paused, likely to get more ink, wiping her skin with a paper towel. “Do you need me to stop?”
“No. Please keep going.” She heard him huff a laugh, though at what was anyone’s guess.
When the outline was completed, the clink of the gun being set down echoed in the room, followed by the pops of caps. She remained mute, mentally surveying the ache from the artistic wound he had given her. Her nerves were alight, skin pulsing, but it wasn’t unbearable. What was unbearable was the frustration she was beginning to feel in her cunt. The constant feeling of fullness coupled with the pleasant sting of the tattooing was getting to her. “I’m doing the color now,” he informed, shuffling something.
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, acknowledging as best she could with how horny she was. She felt his dick jerk at the sound, her hips minutely jolting, resisting the urge to take him deeper.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he queried, concerned, though she detected a hint of an edge to his tone.
“Yes.” She all but whined, ready for this part to be over with, the promise of something more curbing her need.
The color was worse than the outline if only for the fact that Sasori had to maneuver to do it.
His arm would lay heavy against her sternum or near her throat. He'd have to lean forward more, driving his heat further into her. His wrist or side of his palm would brush and rub against her perky nipples.
It was torture.
She did her best to control her sighs and gasps, but it was nigh impossible. The pressure increased a few times, resulting in flat-out moans. If there were any doubt about how this tattoo session was affecting her, it was certainly gone now.
Sasori didn't seem to be doing much better, if his tense sighs and swelling member were any indication.
After what felt like an eternity, she felt a final flick of the needle and it was removed, the buzzing ceasing. “All finished,” he announced impatiently, the sound of lids closing and the tattoo gun being tossed onto the table like heaven to her ears. He wiped her chest with another paper towel, a cold balm spread over the wound. The crunching sound of plastic precluded the touch of it to the stinging skin, tape ripping trailing behind. “We'll keep it covered for a few hours, then we can wash and lotion it.”
“Okay,” she whispered faintly.
Without warning, he threw both of her legs over a shoulder each, ripping the blindfold from her head. Her eyes barely adjusted to the change in light after being deprived for so long before he pulled almost completely out of her, slamming back in roughly. She keened, back arching, her arms flying behind her to seize the bottom of his headboard as he set a brutal pace.
It seemed she wasn’t the only one over his little game.
He railed into her, grunting, and she knew she wouldn’t last long at this rate. His hand slid between their conjoined bodies, expertly locating her swollen bud, pressing tight circles against it as he fucked her. She moaned, crying out, her voice going hoarse around the syllables of his name. Her tits jiggled with each harsh thrust of his hips, the sting of the slight pulling of her newly tattooed skin adding to the overall pleasure.
Her mouth fell open on a croaked scream when she finally came, Sasori's pelvis snapping one, two, three more times before he met his end as well, groaning long and low as warmth exploded amidst her fluttering walls. He stayed there, nestled inside her, propping himself over her flushed body while being mindful of the tattoo.
Panting for air, she felt boneless, riding the high of completion, reaching up to run her hand through his silky red hair. His skin was rosy, sweat beading along his hairline, amber eyes slightly hazy.
Beautiful. Sasori was always so beautiful to her. Life was ever-changing, one needing to be so protean to adapt with it, but her love and attraction for this man would be everlasting, eternal.
He leaned down, meeting her waiting lips. “I’ll go get you a towel and some water,” he told her, swiping sweaty hair from her face. “Be right back.” He climbed off the bed, finding his boxers among the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and redressing in them.
“I love you.”
He laid a faint kiss upon her forehead, feather-soft. “Not nearly as much as I love you.”
She watched him disappear into the ensuite bathroom with half-lidded eyes, fighting the exhaustion threatening to overtake her to finally glance down at his work. Her aching skin was irritated and angry, but etched beautifully over the spot where her heart lay was a blood red scorpion clutching a pale pink cherry blossom in its claw.
She smiled as warmth bloomed in her chest, almost as in love with her perpetual mark as she was with the man that gave it.
Who knew it would feel so right to be branded.