The artist's gloved hand was warm on your arm as he held it still, carefully shading between the stencilled lines. You'd been coming to the same studio for months now after Carmy had recommended it; admittedly, he hadn't thought you’d be frequenting it more than him. Not that it bothered him, he found the steady increase of ink on your skin, the surprise of finding a new tattoo on your hip or thigh as he went down on you, really fucking hot.

And for you, something about the pain was a little comforting, so you just kept coming back. And, hey, the juniors needed to learn and practice somehow.

The bell above the door jingled and you glanced over, a soft smile gracing your features as Carmen stepped in, hair messy from the wind. He caught your stare, eyes bright, and winked. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, ankle crossed over a knee.

“Yo, Berzatto,” the artist, an older guy named Jared, looked up from the linework. “How’s the restaurant?”

Carmen’s brows shot up in that exasperated way they always did when he was stressed, sighing deeply through a weak smile. “Shitty, yeah, actually. Lots of renovation and shit.”

Jared nodded, getting back to work, leaving Carmen to watch you in peace. The way your face changed as the needle crept toward a sensitive spot near the crease of your elbow, the way you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip when it stung. And though his face didn’t show it, a rush of desire went straight to his cock when you squirmed on the table, crossing your ankles, causing your skirt to ride up a little. 

It gave him a perfect view of his favourite tattoo. A little heart on your upper thigh, simple and plain, but it was the one he’d done for you. It started off as a joke, when you’d found your old tattoo gun that you’d impulsively bought in college, the same one you’d used to tattoo your friends. Never perfectly done, but fun all the same.

A few months ago, you’d handed it to Carmy and asked him to do it. Admittedly, he freaked out a little, afraid to fuck it up, but it had turned out alright. A little wonky, due to the lack of a stencil, but you loved it. And he loved it, in that little possessive way he seemed to always adopt when it came to you.

Seeing that little heart made his brain go fuzzy, sending him back to that morning; the early hours of limbo where his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep. 

The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room, buttery and warm. Arching off the bed, you bit down on your fist to keep from crying out. The walls in this stupid, cheap, apartment building were thin, and there was only so much scathing, knowing stares from the neighbours that you could take.

“Like that, baby? Doin’ so good f’me. Feel so fuckin’ good.” Carmen’s voice dripped with sleep-addled honey, thick and sweet and sultry. You’d woken up reaching for him, a soft whimper of his name passing through your lips, and he swallowed the sound with a searing kiss.

Each of his thrusts hit deep, cock brushing against the perfect spot, and you rolled your hips to meet his movements. Foreheads pressed together, every breath was shared, every whisper of praise and quiet moans mingled in the fraction of space between the two of you. The chain around Carmy’s neck bumped at your lips, and you tilted your head to capture it between your teeth.

“F-fucks sake,” he breathed, gripping your waist. His thrusts stuttered; seeing you with his chain in your mouth struck something in his chest, and it went straight to his dick.

“Harder, Carm, please.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

He pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach, slid back in, and fucked you into the mattress. Each thrust, each impact against the back of your thighs, each stifled grunt and groan in your ear; it set your head spinning. 

“Fuck, baby. Just like that, fuck. Carm, come on, fucking give it to me. Fuck. Please.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a jumbled string, muffled by the pillow. Carmy’s hand found its way into your hair, tugging at the roots, and he smirked at the long moan it pulled from your throat. 

“Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, feeling the pulse and flutter of your walls around his cock. “So fuckin’ good, baby.”

His thumbs fit into the divots at the base of your spine, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, giving you exactly what you wanted, what you needed. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Carmy, I’m–” You lifted your hips and pressed back into him, chasing your orgasm, each thrust slammed into you, leaving you breathless. “Fuck, there, right there.”

Carmen’s grip on your waist got tighter, tight enough to leave bruises, as he got closer to the edge. When you came, burying your face in the pillows to stifle the cry of his name, Carmen swore loudly. He fucked you through the comedown, leaving you sensitive and blissfully overstimulated.

He was so close, every flutter around his cock unbearable. “Fuck, baby, where–”

“On my tummy.”

Carmen pulled out and you rolled over, just in time for the first spurts of his cum to land on the bare plane of your stomach. He jerked himself off until he had nothing more to give, and there were strings of sticky white covering your tummy. Swiping a finger through the mess, you held his hooded gaze as you sucked it clean. 

Carmy watched you, panting. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb brushing back-and-forth absentmindedly over the little heart tattoo. He reached up, running his thumb up your stomach, before tilting your chin. 

“Open,” he purred, and you did. He pressed his thumb onto your tongue, and you closed your mouth around it–

“Carm?” Your voice pulled him from his fantasy, one that had left his cock pressing against the zip of his jeans. He looked up and there you were, standing in front of him, arm out to show him the fresh ink. “Like it?”

Carmen swallowed, trying not to let his gaze slide over you, knowing it’d give every thought in his head away. But when he met your stare, he noticed the little smirk that tugged at your lips and realised you already knew.

“Uh, yeah, baby, it looks awesome.”

You winked and turned on your heel, wandering over to the front desk to pay, putting a little extra swing in your hips, setting your skirt flaring. Not that Carmy was staring or anything, (he was.) 

drawer opens. closes. the fridge hums. a cabinet door taps shut a little too carefully.

he glances at you. once. twice.

you feel it, but you don’t look up.

he leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like he’s trying to decide something.

you still don’t look up.

he exhales, quiet, and pushes off the counter.

“hey,” he says.

“hm?” you answer, distracted, eyes still on the screen.

he hovers for a second, then steps closer. “what’re you working on?”

“just something i need to finish,” you mumble. “give me like ten minutes?”

he nods. “yeah. yeah, okay.”

he doesn’t move.

you type a few more lines before it registers — his presence, right there, just slightly too close.

you glance up.

he’s standing beside your chair, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats, looking at you in that soft, unsure way he gets when he wants something but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“what?” you ask, a smile tugging at your mouth.

he shrugs. “nothing.”

you raise an eyebrow. “carmy.”

a beat.

“…can i sit?” he asks, like it’s not his own apartment.

you laugh under your breath. “yeah, come here.”

that’s all the permission he needs.

he slides into the chair beside you, close enough that his knee presses against yours. then closer. until his shoulder is brushing your arm, warm and steady.

you try to keep working.

you really do.

but then his hand finds your thigh, absentminded, thumb tracing slow, idle patterns like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. his head tilts slightly, resting just barely against yours for a second before he pulls back, like he’s testing the boundary.

you don’t pull away.

so he does it again. this time staying there.

“you said ten minutes,” he murmurs.

“i know, i’m sorry,” you say, softer now.

“it’s been like… eight.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “you’re actually counting?”

“no,” he says immediately. then, after a second, “maybe.”

you finally close the laptop halfway, turning toward him. “you’re being clingy.”

he freezes.

“…’m not.”

you smile, reaching up to push a curl off his forehead. “you are.”

he looks at you, caught, but he doesn’t deny it this time. just shrugs, a little helpless.

“just wanna be close to you,” he admits, voice low.

that does it.

you soften completely, hand sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him in. he goes easily, like he was already halfway there, forehead bumping yours before his lips find yours.

the kiss is warm, a little desperate in that quiet way. like he’s been holding it in, like this is what he needed all along. his hand tightens on your thigh, the other coming up to cradle your jaw, grounding, anchoring.

you hum softly against his mouth, and he melts into it, tension draining out of him all at once.

when you pull back, he stays close, nose brushing yours.

“hi,” you whisper.

he smiles, small and soft and completely gone for you. “hi, baby.”

you close the laptop fully this time, setting it aside.

“ten minutes can wait,” you say.

he nods, drawn back to you by a pull he clearly can’t fight. 

he catches your mouth with his again, before you can even say anything else. like the space between you is suddenly unacceptable.

your laugh gets swallowed by his mouth, soft and surprised, and his hand tightens on your thigh, pulling you closer — closer than you already are, like he’s trying to erase whatever distance was there before.

“carmy—” you murmur, smiling against his lips.

“yeah,” he breathes, not stopping.

he shifts in his chair, angling himself toward you fully now, one arm sliding around your waist. and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he tugs you — gently but insistently — until you’re halfway in his lap.

you blink. “what are you—”

“stay,” he says, quiet, almost shy, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

you huff a soft laugh. “i am staying.”

“no, like—” he exhales, forehead pressing into your shoulder for a second. “like this.”

and there it is again. that honesty he only gives you.

you soften instantly, shifting properly this time, settling into his lap. his arms wrap around you like he’s been waiting to do that all day, holding you close, one hand splayed warm against your back.

he lets out a breath you feel more than hear.

“better,” he mumbles.

you run your fingers through his hair, slow, soothing. “you’re really not letting me go, huh?”

“no,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, steady vow. it isn’t just about this moment. it’s a claim on every second you’re willing to give him.

you smile against the sharp line of his jaw. “clingy.”

“…yeah,” he admits, after a second.

there’s no embarrassment in it now. just truth.

he nuzzles closer, face tucked into your neck, and for a moment he just stays there — breathing you in, grounding himself, like this is the only place he wants to be.

you tilt your head, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“what brought this on?” you ask softly.

he shrugs, but his arms tighten. “you were busy.”

“for ten minutes, babe.”

“yeah,” he says, like that explains everything.

you laugh quietly, but your grip on him tightens too, fingers tracing slow patterns along his strong back.

“you could’ve just said you missed me.”

he huffs, pulling back just enough to look at you. “i did.”

“no, you hovered,” you tease.

he narrows his eyes a little, but there’s no heat in it. “same thing.”

“not even close.”

he leans in again, stealing another kiss, slower this time, like he’s proving a point. his thumb brushes along your side, absentminded, grounding, like he needs to keep feeling you there.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t go far.

“i missed you,” he says properly this time.

your expression softens, completely undone by how sincere he sounds.

“i was right here,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “i know. still.”

you don’t argue with that.

you just wrap your arms around him, settle deeper into his hold, and let him keep you there — as long as he wants.

your laptop sits forgotten while you kiss for what feels like hours. and carmen berzatto doesn’t loosen his grip once.

 ₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading.