efflorescence ; tattoo artist!michael au pt 4
part three
She had been counting down the minutes to her lunch break. She hadn’t seen Michael all morning, and she couldn’t wait to see him when they went to lunch together. She finished primping the bouquet she had for pick up later, before tucking her shears into her apron and untying it.
She stepped behind the counter, letting her associate know that she was going to take her lunch break. She checked her reflection in the mirror, fixing her hair before grabbing her wallet and striding out of the shop.
She took the two steps down from her shop to find that Michael was already waiting for her outside. He was sitting on the bench, his arms outstretched on either side of the seat.
“Hi,” he greeted, uncrossing his legs and standing up. He greeted her with a hug, pulling her close to him and giving her a light squeeze. “Are you ready to go?” He asked as he pulled back.
She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear as Michael led the way. It wasn’t a far walk until they reached their destination, which just happened to be one of the smallest diners in town, but she didn’t mind.
“I didn’t want to do anything too fancy,” Michael chuckled as they slid into the booth.
“It’s okay,” she said, laughing lightly. “I don’t mind. I like it, actually.” The hostess took their drink orders and then slid menu’s in front of them and then left to get their beverages.
Their lunch was going quite well. Michael had gotten some kind of sandwich and she just stayed safe with fettuccine alfredo. They had talked for a while, asking how each other’s business’ were going. Michael talked about what tattoos he did recently and she talked about the most recent bouquets she had put together.
“So,” Michael started, setting down his sandwich, yet he wasn’t done eating. “I have to be honest, I did ask you here for a reason.”
She wiped at her lips with a napkin, raising an eyebrow at Michael. “What do you mean?” She asked. She thought they were into each other; they even kissed the night before. Unless Michael kissed everyone he was a friend with, but she highly doubted that.
“I want to ask a favor of sorts,” Michael replied. “But only if you’re okay with it.” His tattooed fingers were skimming the edge of his water glass, only to move to fiddle with the straw poking out of the cup.
“Okay,” she said slowly, dragging out the end of the word. She adjusted herself, sitting up higher to hear his favor. She couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach, even though she was sure it wasn’t going to be anything bad. “What is it?”
Michael abandoned the straw in favor of leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve been working on this painting, but I just can’t seem to visualize it right for some reason and I need a model,” Michael started. “I was wondering if you’d volunteer to do it.”
She felt herself breath a sigh of relief. “I’ll do it,” she told him. She had never modeled for anyone before and she thought it would be fun.
“But,” Michael almost stopped her. He licked his lips, pausing for dramatic effect. “It’s going to be nude.”
“Oh,” she muttered. There was the catch and the reason for all the mysteriousness.
“It’s going to be completely professional,” Michael said, catching her attention again. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time we can stop. And it’d only be Vader in the apartment, I can lock him up if you want.” He was rambling, his red lips moving with trepidation.
“Michael,” she stopped him, while trying to stop herself from laughing. “I said I’d do it. I trust you, as you sitting here, and you as an artist. I mean, you are the only one who tattooed me,” she continued.
Michael cracked a smile, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you,” Michael grinned. “Do you want to do it after work today? Or whenever is good for you.”
She nodded, “today is good.”
-
After work, she grabbed her stuff and clicked the lights off. Her last employee had gone home an hour or so ago, leaving her to clean up and close the store alone. She wasn’t sure if Michael was ready for her, but she strode into the tattoo parlor, the bench vacant outside. She was met with heavy rock music and the annoying buzz of tattoo machines running from somewhere else in the building.
Michael wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the secretary of sorts was sitting behind the counter. “Welcome to Hidden Tattoo, what can I do for you?” He asked. She didn’t know if she remembered her from when she got her tattoo or not.
She opened her mouth to speak just as Michael strode into the lobby. “Its okay, Jeremy. I got it,” he said to his employee, waving him off. Jeremy nodded to his boss, going back to whatever he was working on. “Hi,” Michael smiled, opening his arms wide for a hug.
“Hi,” she replied, squeezing him tight to her in a hug. She half gasped when she felt Michael’s lips graze her cheek, and then her neck in a series of feather light kisses.
“Are you ready to go? I set up everything earlier so that’s all out of the way,” he told her, pulling back from the hug with a sly smile on his lips. He knew what he was doing to her. She nodded, telling him she was ready.
Michael led the way out the door and to his apartment above the shop. They climbed the two small flights of stairs to the first floor and Michael led them into his apartment.
Vader greeted them both with a succession of sloppy, wet kisses. The ugly, yet somehow cute dog was beginning to really grow on her. When she stood back up, she realized that his drawing desk had been moved to the other side of the room and an easel with a blank canvas had taken its place. And a small love seat was situated beneath the window, a blanket draped across one of the arms.
“Okay,” She said, setting her bag down on the small table beside the door. “So how are we going to do this?” She asked. For some reason, now that she was here and ready to do this, the nerves were setting in. She was going to be naked in front of Michael.
His eyes were going to be roaming all over her body, taking in all of the fine details while he was fully clothed. She was suddenly self-conscious. How many women has Michael seen naked? Would he like what he would see?
Michael walked forward to the love seat. “You’re going to be lying here, your head on the far side. And once you’re okay, I’ll pose you and position the props,” he explained, even lying down to show her. She nodded, understanding everything he was telling her.
But she had one question. “Props?” She asked.
Michael grinned then, standing up from the love seat. “You’ll see. I’ll let you get undressed. I’m just going to feed Vader and then let me know when you’re ready,” he said, glancing back to her as he disappeared into the kitchen, Vader right behind him.
She moved closer to the love seat, looking down to her own body. She knew Michael had seen most of it when he tattooed her, but she was still a little nervous. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the floor by her feet. She stepped out of her shorts and kicked her shoes off.
She hesitated with her bra and panties. But she had committed to this and Michael said if she ever felt uncomfortable, they could stop with no questions asked. She reached around, unclasping her bra and letting it slid down her arms until it reached the floor. And then her panties were added to the pile on the floor.
She kicked it to the side before sitting down on the love seat. “I’m ready,” she called to Michael. She heard his footsteps coming, and then he was back with two bags of flower petals in his arms. She arched a brow at him, “what are those?”
“The props,” Michael smiled, setting them down on the floor. “Okay, now lie back across the love seat.”
She followed his directions, lying back so her head was now cushioned by one of the pillows. Like he said, Michael then positioned her to his liking. One of her arms was draped across her stomach, the other dangling off the couch towards the floor. Her head was to the side, and her legs were closed.
He paused, his hand around her ankle. “Don’t be so tense,” he told her, his voice soft as silk, not demeaning. “Its only me. Just relax.” He waited a second before she let her muscles relax and she felt more comfortable on the love seat. He finished positioning her before his fingers brushed over her tattoo, feeling the scabs and the peeling skin.
“It’s looking really good,” he told her. His fingers glided over the vibrant color, “There’s nothing more magical than making art come alive under the tips of my fingers.”
He smiled at her and then grabbed one of the bags of flower petals. She instantly recognized which flowers they came from. She watched as he opened it and grabbed a handful of the pale pink petals. He sprinkled them over her body, across her legs, around her crotch, along her torso and breasts, even some decorating her neck.
He peppered them across the love seat and then he grabbed the other bag, which held larger petals and even some full flowers – orchids. “I’m gonna place these around your body. I’ll try my best not to touch anything,” he said and she nodded, trying not to move the petals that were already on her neck and scattered through her hair.
He grabbed some of the orchids, placing them in her hair that was flowing behind her, and then one by her ear. He grabbed another one, placing it over one of her nipples, leaving the other one free of any flowers. Michael took a few others, placing them over her space between her legs.
He set another one on her ankle and one on her hand. He then distributed the rest of the bag to the love seat as if it had rained flowers around her. “Okay,” Michael said, stepping back to look at her. She looked at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was observing the piece he had created, a look of intense concentration etched onto his features.
He then stepped forward and adjusted a few of the flowers and then he was ready to go. He stepped behind his easel, squeezing out the colors he needed onto a palette.
“So how was work today?” He asked as he painted the first stroke onto the canvas.
“It was okay,” she answered, looking towards his voice. He was sitting parallel to her, only angled so she couldn’t really see what he was painting on the canvas. But at least she could see his face. “I had one customer complain that there wasn’t enough flowers in their pieces for this wedding. But I mean, I stuffed the vases full. But you can never satisfy everyone.”
“That’s why tattooing is so fickle,” Michael spoke as he painted. “Its so different from other forms of art. With painting or drawing, if you don’t like what you have you can just start over with a fresh canvas. But with tattooing, it’s permanent. You’ve got one try to get it right, and that’s why I think I love doing it so much.”
“But what if the person doesn’t like what you’ve done to their body?” She asked, watching, as he made wide, arching strokes on the canvas.
Michael shrugged. “Thankfully I’ve never had that happen to me. But you could offer to cover it up for free, or try and change the existing design.” His green eyes met hers and then moved to take in the rest of her body.
She felt the self-consciousness return as his gaze lingered. But she knew he was in artist mode, and not just enjoying the view.
“When did you realize you could draw?” She asked. She was genuinely interested in his background. She wanted to know everything about him, from when he learned he could draw, to the first tattoo he ever did on someone.
Michael was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke. “I was pretty young,” he answered. “My father was an artist, not a tattoo artist but an abstract painter. I found such beauty in his works, even if they were the simplest lines or shapes,” he continued. “I tried to do what he could, but it just never seemed right to me. So he suggested I tried a different kind of art.
“And so I started doing portraits of people on the streets outside of his studio. And then when I realized I actually had a talent for doing realistic illustrations, I started to branch out from there. And that’s how I got into tattooing. Mainly because of my best friend, Calum,” Michael continued.
She listened intently, watching him talk and work simultaneously. He dipped into a new color with a different brush before going on.
“He was always getting tattoos and always dragging me along with because he knew I was an artist. He’d help me okay a design and what not, and then one day he suggested that I try it. So I went to the nearest tattoo place with my portfolio and I apprenticed,” Michael said, nodding to himself. “And that’s how I got into tattooing. Now, what about you with flowers?”
She swallowed. She knew Michael was probably going to ask, she just didn’t know if she was ready to tell. But she trusted him, more so than probably a lot of people.
“I’ve been in love with flowers ever since I was a child,” she answered, looking to the ceiling. “My mom was always putting them in my hair, tucking them behind my ears or putting them in the pockets of my overalls. She always had flowers in the house, sometimes in every room.”
She paused for a moment, the memories flooding her brain. Her mother’s face as she cradled a bloom in her hand, telling her to always stop and smell the flowers.
“She told me that every flower had a different meaning, and the colors of roses meant different things. Red roses meant passionate love, and pink meant admiration. Sunflowers meant adoration, Daisies meant innocence and my favorite, Orchids meant delicate beauty,” she said, a small smile pulling onto her lips.
She could recite the meanings of flowers for hours. It was one of her favorite things.
“What are some other ones?” Michael asked, his eyes trained on the canvas.
Her smile grew. “Peony is for healing, Casablanca is for celebrations, Calla Lily means regal, Lilac is first love, red Tulips are a declaration of love,” she trailed off. “There’s so many,” she trailed off.
“So it was your mom that made you want to be a florist?” Michael asked, curiosity dripping in his voice.
“Well,” she said, her teeth capturing her bottom lip. She hesitated. “It was more her funeral that made me want to become a florist, as morbid as it sounds.”
“I’m so sorry,” Michael quickly said, his hand dropping to his lap. His green eyes looked like glass that had shattered. The pity was always familiar to her. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Its okay,” she said, swallowing thickly. “I always remember the flowers that were in her funeral pieces. “White carnations for remembrance, Forget-Me-Nots for remember me forever, Larkspur for beautiful spirit, and Lisianthus for calming.
“It was ever since then that I wanted to be able to bring that sort of contentment and safety to someone else in the form of flowers. I wanted to bring excitement on people’s wedding days, or just joy into their homes. Flowers make you feeling things, and I love that,” she explained, even though she didn’t know if Michael was listening or not anymore. “It’s my own form of art.”
“I really like that,” Michael spoke, his voice warm and low. “What was your mother’s favorite flower?” He questioned.
She smiled again. “An orchid.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Michael said, the smile in his voice apparent. She wanted to nod, but she didn’t want to disturb the flowers that were decorating her body.
They stayed silent for some time, only the sound of Michael’s brush sweeping across the surface of the canvas. She wasn’t feeling awkward anymore, thankfully. Michael just had something about him that made her relax. She was watching Michael paint when she felt the tingles.
“Michael,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “I have to sneeze,” she said, trying to make the itch in her nose go away. But before Michael could reply, she was already sneezing, trying not to move but she felt some of the petals and flowers shift and slip from her body. “I’m sorry.”
Michael stood up, setting his palette and paintbrush down. “Its alright,” he said, “I’ll just fix it.”
He closed the gap between them, returning some of the flowers in her hair to their original position. But when he moved to her torso, his fingers grazed her skin again. Only this time, they streaked color onto her flesh as he tried to reposition the flowers.
Pale purple and pinks were marked across the curve of her hip. “I’m sorry,” Michael chuckled, glancing up to her through his eyelashes. She swallowed, just the way he was looking at her, his hand still resting on her hip, she couldn’t resist kissing him.
But she didn’t want to ruin the masterpiece he created on her body either. But she couldn’t waste the night either. She leaned forward, the petals cascading off her body as she brought her arms up and around Michael’s neck, pulling him to her.
She meshed their lips together in a flurry of kisses, their tongues clashing together like they had never kissed before. Michael gripped her hips, neither of them caring about the flowers spotting the space around them. He kneeled between her legs with one of his own, breaking away from her for a second.
“I thought you wanted to move slow,” Michael said, his lips finding her neck. His breath washed over her skin warmly, his lips brushing against the hollow beneath her ear.
“I only want one thing,” she said, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. He met her eyes, one of his hands snaking up her side, his fingers brushing over his art once again. “And that’s you.”