#xverso

TATTOO

It had all been the fault of that tattoo. Matt had mentioned it by accident and by that time he had not been able to think of anything else. He absolutely had to find out where it was; he was obsessed with it. He could no longer sleep at night, not that before it was easy to get to sleep, but at least once in a while ...

When, showing off indifference and revealing only a genuine curiosity, he had asked Simmons what kind of tattoo he was, the colleague merely said that it was a written. But apparently, he didn't want to specify the content, assuming he knew it.

So, he had begun to stare her even more often than usual, if it was possible, and in a different way. He practically explored the body of the computer technician with his own eyes, stroked the skin with his eyelashes and tried to move the fabric that prevented his sight. Without result.

After two weeks of useless attempts in which he had shown indifference, consumed liters of water in cold showers that hadn't been able to placate the hot spirits, reading every possible silly magazine that rested quietly on a table in the room ... Luke had understood that not he could go on like this.

So, he had come up with a very specific plan. First, he had sat at his desk, ignoring the clock that was read half past four in the morning and had started the list. For security, he had decided to leave it untitled. It could've ended in the wrong hands ... even if the only human being who was staying at his home was Jenny and didn't look like a nosy girl, but you never know ...

He had tightened his pen almost as if it were a weapon. Then he had loosened his grip, trying to relax the tendons of his hand and arm. Ok, it didn't have to be that hard, in the movies it was so easy ...

1- shoulders.

He didn't understand why he had decided to start right from that part of Penelope's body. Maybe he didn't even ask himself too much. In any case, he tried to gather his thoughts, rewinding the tape of his memory in search of every single frame in which the blonde informatics appeared. Several sets of dresses show in front of him, all colorful in different shades and textures. But what he needed was to get to know if on any occasion he could ever see her shoulders.

Suddenly a song had taken over in his thoughts.

The text seemed unknown to him, but the melody was familiar ...

Tu sabes lo que quiero y que busco … collo spalle mento

He had been staring at the few letters he had drawn, as if he expected to see the solution appear by itself. But at least that intrusion made him realize that perhaps he would first have to make a list of the absolutely scrapable areas, because he had the absolute certainty that the brand, so he decided to call it, was not there.

So…

Neck. As the song suggested. He had drawn a sharp line on that word, feeling a twinge in the groin as he so easily visualized the white skin with a few tufts of blond hair framing it, often adorned with necklaces no less wacky than clothes. How many times had he admired the area so vulnerable of her body? He hadn't even made an attempt to answer himself.

Neck, shoulders ... he found himself humming this song without even realizing it. OK it's good. He had surrendered. Let's go back. No, there hadn't been a single moment when he had been able to see them naked, with no cloths to hide them. But the only idea had reminded him of the feeling of resting his hands exactly there, on the shoulder blades, no, the clavicles better than not ... and then the recurring dream: he was massaging her and letting her moans that woke up entire Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He had therefore looked at the paper in front of him. On the one hand there was only one element, on the opposite side the same. Then he had wrote "possible" on top of the first one. And that song again. Neck, shoulders, chin ... No, this was to be excluded. Penelope didn't wear a burqa or Russian headscarf, as a result she was 100% certain that the tattoo was not there. Even if ... taking it into consideration only had reminded him painfully how much he wanted to grab her for that point, to force her first to look him in the eye and then ...

Yo soy un bastardo crònico… abràzame fuerte… el pecho me sonrìe perverso…

Well, this was a much more complex matter. He had glared at the clock, almost hoping to get some time back. It obviously had not happened. In the end, he had decided to write in the right half. Chest. Only do this had provoked to him chills everywhere and, somewhere down there, someone had reactivated (as if he had been asleep). If there were so many fantasies that he had elaborated in almost two years since he knew her, about her sinful neck, the thoughts that saw in the center the chest of Penelope or rather her breasts, were even more numerous. If he closed his eyes he could even feel the consistency of each boobs in his fingers; he imagined the taste of her nipple and so easily heard the groaning she would have done when he would suck it lightly, get spooked himself. A thousand and more were the mental photographs he had taken of that specific area of Garcia, precisely because she generously had offered the opportunity to him to redo his eyes daily with this show. And not only to him, unfortunately. But with this certain Luke didn't want to suggest that the blonde was an easy girl or that she wanted to consciously expose herself to the male gaze; quite the contrary, he was convinced of her purity and ingenuity, even if sometimes she seemed to do it on purpose, to try it to see how far he could hold himself back.

All these arguments had caused him an uncomfortable reaction, and now, the little birds were chirping outside his window, it was time to bring Roxy out for a walk. Luke had therefore been forced to postpone the drafting of the list to the next day, provided that there was no case that would keep him away from home and from the notebook indicted.

And of course, there was a case: North Carolina, a guy who kidnapped fathers and daughters. He had kept them apart for three days, but before he got on the jet, the man had given himself a beautiful X-ray of computer technician and had taken it with him for every free moment.

Just he had arrived at home, after checking that his dog would had food and water, he had rushed to the desk, had pulled the block out of the second drawer. While he had sighed, that song again.

Mi mirada se defiende… pero si te ve se rinde…

He had returned to where he had last stayed. The fact was that he could not remove that part only because he could easily admire it; he could not exclude that the mark was right there, only in a point that was, for now, forbidden to him. He had felt a huge annoyance to think that the Canadian boyfriend or whoever he had instead access to the area from which he was banned, perhaps thanks to his fingering techniques ...

He had clenched his teeth as he had passed over. Since he had was unwillingly following a logical topography, he had quickly ruled out her face, but not the back of her head, because he couldn't remember even just one time she had her hair gathered in his presence, although Penelope's hairstyles were not less numerous or imaginative compared to the clothes, accessories, shoes that she usually wore.

3- The arms

Here too, as for the chest: because the forearms were often exposed to sunlight, while the upper part ... much less. Yet something had suggested to him that he would not find the tattoo there, because it looked like a prisoner thing, as a sailor ... not to people as sweet and sexy as she was.

So, two painful notes, one after the other, almost faced together to decrease the force of the impact. Both marked on the right. The back. How many damn times he had wanted to lean his chest on her, tighten her to make her understand that he would make her feel safe and secure, that he would give her all the warmth she needed, that he would pamper her until she would have fallen asleep and this every night of his existence. That back which he had never been able to see, but he had been created an imaginary version and it was certain that reality could just have been better. He imagined her pale, as clear as the rest of her skin, indeed, a little more; smooth, without any sign, the visible vertebral column on which he would slide his fingers, letting her breathless ... No sign. At that moment he had been forced to return abruptly to his chest, because here he would have found something: to be exact, the scar, just since some months he had knower the murder attempt by a bastard who unfortunately hadn't had the chance to kill with his own hands, because JJ had already thought about. Damn asshole, he thought today like yesterday. The ungrateful had certainly had the chance to see the white back of the blonde, the curly or straight hair that gently caressed her skin. Because Luke was deeply convinced that she was a woman which wear evening dress open on the back, she would certainly wear it for a special occasion ... for example for their first date.

Ok, better go to the second sore subject. The tummy. Here the problems were quite different, much worse than any perverse fantasy that concerned the remaining body of Garcia. Because always for the Latin the belly wasn't associated with the stomach, eating and digestion. No, it was pointing completely in another direction, rather than towards consumption, to the creation of life. Yes, Luke Alvez wanted a child and he had discovered it just by noticing how often his attention was captured not by the breast or legs, but by that other softness, especially after he had seen her interacting with JJ's children and screaming of joy showing everyone his godson Hank who called her "Aunt Penelope". She would have been a perfect mother and would have been even more so if the babies she had carried in her womb had been half Latin American. His dark hair would have been so perfectly fine with her pale skin, as well as vice versa his amber skin would have matched so good with blonde curls. He imagined the girl exactly as her mother and the child as a miniature copy of himself.

But it was better not to reflect too much on these issues, otherwise he would end up crying, if he really realized how much he wanted that future with Penelope, who had barely stopped calling him newbie. So, he had decided to continue, convinced that he would this night or better this morning, to conclude the list.

Legs. Same speech of the arms. He could not rule out that on those paradisiac thighs there was not a beautiful unicorn, whose lance pointed directly in one direction ... He imagines caressing a leg, the left, don't know why; she, of course, wears her skirt, seems to harbor a strange hatred of trousers, which instead would make her a backside smoking hot... but that's another story. From the ankle he goes up, goes up to the knee joint, stops on the calf, loosens the tension and then starts, slower now, every centimeter of skin is explored by his fingertips, then reaches the thigh, more and more slowly, up to exasperate her, remains still for a moment. Then come in without any warning. First, he sticks a finger and then the other inside her, finding her already wet, ready. -Why you had taken me this long- she whispers as he offers her the taste of what will happen later in the evening.

Luke had returned to reality abruptly to discover that he had managed to have an orgasm without having even touched himself, only with the thought. After quite a few sighs and having changed himself, he made the decision to finish the list quickly. Now there weren't so many parts left.

The feet. He was certainly not a fetishist, but several times he had fantasized by daydreaming of first massaging the plant, then the bulge of the malleolus, all the phalanges of the tarsus, feeling the bones creak in his hands, coupled with a moan of pleasure while the relaxation captured her. And a yawn, exactly what he had done while adding his hands, which he had previously forgotten to mark in the left area, that of the excluded. Although ... who knows which spells, of quite another type than who performed regularly during working hours, were able to make those fingers. If he wanted to avoid coming for the second time, it was better to hurry to a conclusion.

There was still only one part that he hadn't mentioned. As they say, dulcis in fundo, he had left the best for last. Luke Alvez would have been able to discuss about Penelope's ass for hours, until his interlocutor had silenced him with the good or bad manners. Of its perfect roundness, botticelliana. Of the consistency that, not unlike the breast, he hypothesized would it have had in his hands. Other is better not to specify it.

…my gaze can defend itself, but it dies from desire and now never ... you know it, all day long even the night and your thoughts, here screwing me, and now never ... you know ...

The song clearly annoys her. With a single glance she asks the man to turn it off, but he doesn't execute her order and grins in an equally perverse way, as he sings the disk he inserted as soon as she set foot in the room.

He needs it, because it helps him not to think about the embarrassment he felt that day.

-Garcia, please tell me where the hell you have that tattoo.- the initial idea was very different, consisted of buying another puppet and maybe a means of flowers, but what kind would she like more? She had looked at him as if he had completely gone out of his head and she wasn't at all wrong. He was not even there when Matt had asked her that question, how the hell did he know she had a tattoo?

However, she had merely laughed in his face, but he had insisted. -Why do you want to know it?- and Luke had replied to her with what to the woman's ears had sounded exactly for what it was, a moan mixed with an animal grunt. He had put her to the wall before she had time to notice it.

-Please, tell me ...- he had begged her and this, combined with his decisive and convinced manner, had created an exciting mix that wasn't at all displeased to her. She could even feel his reaction in being so close to her.

-I ... - and she was about to tell him, because basically it didn't cost her to do it. But a case had arrived.

While his hand runs through every single fleck of the female skin, Luke remembers the feeling of being destined to suffer and never know the truth, which in the end was stupid, but by now it had become a matter of principle for him.

She throws a grumble, as if to complain that he has stopped at the best part. He restarts and so also his memories.

They had not spoken again, although from that day on he had begun to stare her so explicitly that even the wonder boy had had to notice it. And then, almost by accident, he had made a mistake. He had entered the female toilet rather than his own. Exactly the moment she was adjusting her shirt.

And he had seen it.

A black writing, simple character, nothing too creative. On her hip.

So rarely had he been able to lay his hands on it ... the last time, the only happy occasion he remembered, when she had accompanied him to deliver Lou to his friend Phil.

The joy of discovery lasted very little. Because then jealousy, anger and sadness had taken over, all in a single block. The mark on the skin of I.T. girl has stood hers belonging. There was written baby girl.

-Well, what are you doing here? Are you lost?- Penelope could not help but notice how he was looking at her. Nobody could be naive up to that point. But he had remained silent, simply continuing to look at her, or rather to look at the tattoo. Then he had grunted. -Are you happy now?- the question had changed.

-No.- had this time promptly answered him.

Yes, it was all the fault of that brand, that tattoo that reiterated that Penelope would always belong to another man, Derek Morgan, married and with children.

"It was all the fault of that tattoo." He says now, once again. She looks up at the sky, because she knows this story by heart, but she smiles because she loves to hear him told it.

Penelope remembers how strangely cold fingers had settled for the first time at her body, and then the delicacy of his touch as he lifted her skirt. -I'll be forever the baby girl of Derek Morgan.- she tells him today as yesterday, enjoying seeing him grind his teeth, while he pushing her against the cold marble floor.

-I know.- the man admits, then a mischievous smile appears on his face. -But where is he now?- a point in his favor.

-With Savannah and Hank, I think.- she answers quietly.

-And where are you now?- he poses yet another question that already presupposes the answer, other phrases that she recognizes as part of a precise path. Penelope is lost in the intensity of the male gaze.

-With you.- she replies with a slight delay, her voice quivering.

-Good girl.- his compliment isn't distinguishable from a growl.

-But I'll always ...- she tries to reiterate, just to provoke him. Luke silences her with one, long, finger on her lips. She already feels her own lower womb react as he wishes.

-But?- he asks. One of the last questions, thankfully. This time she answers the right thing. -But I'm your girlfriend.- he has well instructed her to pronounce that possessive adjective with particular emphasis.

-And?- again, Luke is never satisfied. The hands of the man wander on her skin, then the same path is followed by his mouth, stopping exactly at that point, tearing a moan from her lips ajar.

-I'm ... I'm ...- she struggles to focus on the words, while Luke makes her legs spread. -I'm yours ...- she announces with a sigh -wife.- finally she ends in a long groan. He smiles as he slides inside her, feeling the woman's body relax as she welcomes her pleasure.

She'll always be the baby girl of Derek Morgan, but the little circle that leads to her finger tells another story, contains a different name, compared to that tattooed on her skin.

Note: the song mentioned is Xverso by Tiziano Ferro. Here the original version. Here the latin version.