For Sist3r_Sin -- The New Tattoo

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Illya's eyebrows raised when Ivan's driver pulled the car to a stop and parked in front of the tattoo parlor. The sign was in Russian. It was not a place for hipsters and tourists to get inked. It was almost exclusively used by the Vor. The man who owned it was an old friend of his boss' from Russia. The driver got out and opened the door. As usual, Illya got out first, and then his employer. In truth they were more than that. By saving the old man's life, he had earned a permanent place in the family.

"Come, you have earned a new mark, Kuryakin," Ivan told him. He followed his boss inside and watched as he greeted the owner, Victor, with a kiss on the cheek and a handshake. "Go, take off your shirt and lie down."

He listened to the two old men talking softly in Russian as Illya went to the table toward the back of the shop and removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Sliding the shirt off revealed his story to everyone who knew how to read it. He laid down on the table on his back, revealing a couple of recently healed scars. One on his chest bisected the crucifix, cutting Jesus in half and angled toward his heart. The other, raked down well developed abdominal muscles on his left side. These were from the knife wounds he had taken for Ivan. His boss sat down in the back in a chair and picked up one of the Russian newspapers lying there.

The tattooist came and sat down by Illya, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves and looking over the display of prison and military tattoos. The new tattoo would be different. Made with professional ink and the artwork would be better defined. The tattooist cleaned the area around his abdominal scar with alcohol and looked over the space. Unlike American tattooists, he would not be working from flash, but from memory.

Illya relaxed while the artist prepared his inks. Today he would be getting the Ivanoff family crest, held by a bear. A mark that he was a protector of the family.

Comments

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He stood and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. Turning his back to her, he let the soft shirt slip down his shoulders exposing the tattoos on his back. Illya looked over his shoulder to see her reaction.

Some of the stories inked on his skin were untrue. He caught himself wishing he could tell her who he really was. To show her his true self.

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Sinthia watched the shirt fall away, exposing the story inked onto his back; her eyes glanced over them all, taking in the meanings and what it must have meant for his life. Her hands mapped the inks, tracing from one to another and drawing spidery lines between them as she looked. She was fascinated, it was true, but not out of prurience; Sinthia could tell there was something very different about Illya, not only because of the way he spoke and carried himself but his respect towards her.

"You didn't tell me there were three more," she murmured, getting to the coffins on his arm and pausing over the one with the crest on it, having paced slowly around him to see them all.

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"Da," the bands on his arms were true. While he'd spent several months in the Siberian prison to earn his way into the Vor, he was not proud of what he had to do to succeed. It was a brutal life. He'd had to become Vor at the prison because if you had no ink, you did not exist there.

"The other three were fights in prison." Which were true. You had to defend yourself there or you'd be the one leaving in a coffin. The scar on his neck and the one by his eye attested to that. They had been earned in those fights. "The other arm, are legitimate kills while I was sniper."

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"Thirteen confirmed," she murmured, nodding. "You were good."

She'd know, and it was incredibly high praise from her, though he had no way of knowing how good she was with firearms yet. "I'm glad you're not there. I wouldn't have met you," she teased, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she reached up to touch the scar at the corner of his eye. "Someone should have been shot for this," she said softly. "You have nice eyes."

She too had few scars--you didn't do what she had for very long without getting them--but they were well-hidden usually, save for one between her hairline and the edge of her eye, cleanly arced like it had been surgical.

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"Da," he was still quite good with several different firearms. He favored her with a soft smile, "I am glad too." For many reasons. Not the least of which was he wouldn't have met her. "Thank you. That one was better with a knife than I expected. At least I did not have to find out if wearing an eye patch was a good look for me."

"I like your eyes too," They had such depth. There were stories there, he could tell. Perhaps one day, she would tell him more of hers. The one on his throat was more telling. Two men had tried to hold him down so another could slit his throat with a straight razor. They hadn't expected that hands were not his only weapons. Illya was quite good with his feet as well. That had not been one of the incidents where he had killed the offending inmate, but it certainly had bought him some respect.

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"Somehow I doubt it," she chuckled, understanding the attempt at humor. He'd shared his story, and while she wouldn't be sharing all of hers, there were a few moments that wouldn't endanger either of them for him to know; to show one of her scars, though, she'd need to either take off her shirt, or take his hand.

Sinthia opted for the latter, reaching out to turn his hand so his palm would be faced to her belly, as she lifted the hem of her shirt up to her ribs. "Do you feel that?" she asked, when his fingers had brushed over the healed scar below the curve of her breast where a knife had almost punctured her lung; she'd had to back up quickly and found herself without quite enough space to do it. "We both have strange scars, Illya. Maybe we can talk about it."

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"What? You do not think I would make sexy pirate?" he asked, eyes widening as Sinthia took his hand and pressed his fingers to the scar on her ribs. His hand was huge in hers. Then he felt it."Yes, I feel it. Now there is something someone should have been killed for." Obviously, that was a fight she had won. He smiled, "Perhaps, we could sometime. But right now there is something I would much rather do than talk," Illya said looking into her eyes. "I would very much like to kiss you, may I?"

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She chuckled at his question, tilting her head up to look at him, having to look farther up now that she was in her bare feet, standing only five foot seven. "I think you would make very stylish pirate," she murmured, teasing him with the mimicry of his accent. She liked it though, the depth and way his voice manipulated English sounds; the language might not have been Illya's first, but it was lovely to hear him speak.

"Don't worry about him," Sinthia said, letting his hand go, though she let it stay warm on her skin, pressed to the sweep of her ribs. "I'd much rather be thinking of you when you kiss me," she whispered. "Of course you may." Her lips were soft against his when they met, silky and tasting faintly like vodka and wasabi and almost sweet sticky rice. The kiss was gentle and she sighed into it, rising up on her toes to lean against him, hands curling over his shoulders.

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His hand did stay where she had left it. Illya's other hand may have strayed to the other side of her waist as he bent down to kiss her. Soft, gentle. Ginger and wasabi kisses. Sinthia's warm hands around his shoulders felt like they belonged there. Drawing her closer, he deepened the kiss a little before finally pulling away.

He rested his forehead on hers for a moment, "I should probably go."

If he stayed, he would almost certainly end up staying the night in bed with her. While he really would like her to ask him to stay the night, Illya knew it was probably prudent if he did not.

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"What if I don't want you to?" she asked, eyes still mostly closed as she rested against him, hands still curved over his shoulders as if the light touch would be enough to keep him close to her. She knew as well as he did that she'd have to let him leave, and sooner rather than later lest he stay there all night and find out more than he should, but Illya was pleasantly surprising and she liked him.

"One more kiss," Sinthia whispered into a soft sigh, hands sliding to his waist and feeling the edges and toned planes of his muscles; he wasn't bulky, but certainly physically fit enough to be effective at his job. "Can I see you again sometime?" For a woman who hadn't dated in quite a few years, it being at odds with the nature of her profession, Sinthia found herself wanting to get closer with Illya.

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"Maybe... Maybe I could stay. If you really want me to..." his voice nearly a whisper. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. Such an unusual color. Illya didn't want to go necessarily. There were too many questions that could be asked that shouldn't. It was so tempting to tell her the truth.

Bending down a little, to grant her another kiss, he let that be the answer to her question. This time the kiss was deeper and lingering as his arms wrapped around her slender and muscular body. A body he was hungry to explore.

If it could be just sex... Just a one time thing, Illya would stay in a heartbeat. But he could tell, it was something more. No woman he'd been with in the last five years made his heart beat faster. None of them made him want to throw caution to the wind and tell her everything, as Sinthia did. Illya so wanted to throw off this Vor shell and show her that he was a good man. A wolf amongst pigs.

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"I want you to," she said softly, just before his lips met hers again. "But we'll have another time." She would make sure of it; she'd never known another man, or didn't remember one, that made her feel as comfortable around them as Illya did right now. Standing shirtless in her living room, she could have believed he needed to stay forever.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, though." And she knew as well as he did that if they intended to see each other again, they should take it slower. It would make things better when they did end up in bed. "You can call me again. Soon, hopefully." Sinthia would stay with him, if they ended up at his place next time.

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When their lips parted, he smiled, "Okay." He picked up his shirt and slid it back on, buttoning it up. Illya tucked it into his pants and then handed her the blue silk tie that she liked.

"You will not get me into trouble," he smiled again. Or maybe she would, but he would like that kind of trouble. "Help me with my tie?" he didn't need help really, he just wanted her to be near him again.

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"Won't I?" she asked, pushing up to give him a final kiss, light on the edge of his lips before she took the tie he handed over. She couldn't resist a smile when he gave it to her, slipping it through his collar and tying it expertly, dragging her fingers down his chest.

"Do you want me to walk you downstairs?" she murmurs, sliding one hand around the back of his neck fondly.

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Illya puffed out his lips, "Maybe little trouble. But I think you may be worth it." He liked the feeling of her fingers on his chest. He put on the blue jacket and buttoned it.

"Yes, I think I would like that," he said as Avi came over to see what they were doing, he gave the dog a good bye pet, ruffling his soft fur.

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"I'd like to think I would be," she said, feeling Avi lean against her legs and whuff at Illya, finally actually 'speaking' to him. Her dog was slow to warm up for a borzoi, even. "Come on. I'll get you a ride home. If you give me a goodbye kiss."

She may not have wanted to have him spend the night on the first date, but that didn't mean she couldn't fully enjoy what they did do.

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"Absolutely," he knew she would be. And he didn't really care if Ivan liked it or not. "Oh, before I leave," he picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the table and wrote down his number for her and left it on the table. "So you can call me." He offered her his hand as they left her apartment.

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"I certainly will," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "Count on it."