“Keeps me on my toes.” Sid did appreciate the woman’s wish to offer a metaphor to everything, dumbfounding the tattoo artist at every turn. Her mind wandered away, Stella’s siren alternate pulling her to the bluest deep. There was an enthralling quality about her, whether she meant to draw people in or not. Though she wasn’t all that sure on her mythology, Sid was positive that if she was a little high and spotted Stella emerging from her oceanic homestead after a quick dip she would be easily mistaken for her mermaid fantasy. Sea salt soaked tresses, an ocean-dwellers physique and a nymphish beauty that would send Sid to wreck. “We should go for a dip sometime. See if we can’t make that fantasy a reality.” The artist managed to say after finally resurfacing. Most others found themselves caught by compliments while Sid basked in the glow, however, she wasn’t impenetrable. What made the tattoo artist falter was being made privy. Strange, but true. The offering of personal detailings often left Sid wishing to look around for the better-suited ears. From Stella, she took it was silent gratitude and made a mental note to treat the boat with respect. Not that she wouldn’t, not that she didn’t respect others’ spaces, it just seemed important to her.
Sid had never allowed space for love. From her younger years, difficult people had made it impossible for her to know love for herself and so without that the love of others never made sense. She’d since left those dark worlds behind but found herself struggling to catch back up in topics that seemed so primary to most. People fell in love and they stayed together forever. Sid fell in lust and then stayed at a distance. Watching from the inside, behind glass that she’d never thought to break. It was safer staying where she was comfortable. It was safer to be adored. Adoration didn’t necessitate closeness. All that it asked for was a subject that inspired, whether that be with beauty, brawn or brilliance. Sid was of a handsome ilk, her genes and unique aesthetics had allowed for automatic adoration; or at the very least an impressive following on Instagram. It was all that Sid had thought to want for, anything beyond adoration too much of a venture into the unknown. “You should try it out sometime.” Her dangerously watchful eyes stayed glued on their intended target while her lips couldn’t keep from smirking. It was a balancing act, leaving it vague and offering Stella the space to rebuke her, to tear her down. Sid could take it in their good-natured game of chicken; how close could they get and who would break first? Her competitive side believing that the latter question was for Stella alone.
Sid’s hand moved over Stella’s skin with a ferocious tenderness. Being tactile-natured left her feeling beastly when touch became the chosen mode of flirtation. It was with great restraint that she still managed to hold a conversation, her senses trying to ground themselves in her surroundings rather than in Stella. Big? No, it wouldn’t be big, though it wouldn’t be small either; and Stella had beat her to the punch. “I was just going to say.” Sid offered contently with an appreciative nod. It will be perfectly noticeable in its detail and not for its stature, not unlike its soon to be owner. The most important facet of the piece, however, would be that Stella enjoyed it and so being on a similar page only reinforced the artist’s confidence. “Are you worried that you won’t make it? You’re in great hands, you know that.” She’d grown lustful again, their conversations always a most titillating ebb and flow; borderline tidal. “What’s your favorite flower?” Maybe she’d use it, maybe she wouldn’t, but options were always good to have. Sid could see the piece in her mind’s eye and it excited her. Tattooing did excite her as a medium for her art but some pieces really did offer to her muse in abundance. “It’s not your bad ear.” She couldn’t help but remark. “You’ll probably think it’s a blessing by the end of this, not having to listen to all my sweet nothings.”
Stella longed to enrapture so thoroughly that keeping others in her company was their own idea. She was a different creature when not operating under the heaviness of emotion, yet so much of it was intrinsic to her very being. She was always ready to help someone shed their burden, even if she was becoming smothered by her own. Thrill and tantalization swallowed her completely when she threw herself into Sid’s presence. The increasing commonality had been from an attempt to distract herself, but for once it was Stella taking something from another. She offered parts of herself to so many, be it knowledge or a vessel for emotional displacement. She rarely engaged in selfish behavior pertaining to another soul. She would reclaim her time and energy with popping away for the weekend, but she did not slither into the same unfamiliar (though that was becoming less and less applicable) bed so often. Sid was certainly the most appealing of her vices; in more ways than one.
“A mermaid found a swimming lad, picked him up for her own,” Stella started to quote, shooting a wink. “Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down,” she continued and let her fingers lace with the artist’s. Forgot in cruel happiness that even lovers drown. Stella was sure she could drown in those eyes as gazes met. She would not concede defeat in this game of theirs. It would be all too easy for her to slip into becoming a besotted mess. The lines had been drawn, and her own stubbornness swelled. She volleyed lines and bad jokes constantly, but poetry was kept to rarer circumstances. She toed the line of pretentiousness at times, but her authenticity overrode it. “That’s a yes.” A halo of blonde girls moved with a small shake of her head. There was truth in beauty, and there was no denying a mutual lust between the two. Anything else was debatable and not something she wanted to offer much thought to. She liked their game and that was enough for now. Adoration was far too dangerous.
Stella let her fingers untangle as her gaze fell to the decided spot. High on the ribs, just beneath soft curves of flesh. She was excited about inviting someone into her own studio, and to have someone interested in the fine details of the rescue. She held that very notion currently in Sid’s space. “I guess I’ll just need you to kiss me to make it feel better,” she countered. “Favorite? All of them isn’t what you’re looking for, is it?” The curator thought for a moment. “Lavender and peonies.” One was calming, and Stella, too, liked being located in the French countryside. The other was so large and proud in its bloom. Much favored and so aggressive in its feminity and softness. She gave a soft roll of the eyes as she aimed to elicit one of her own, “are you ready to sting me, babe?”