A Tender Touch

celestialvoid-fanfiction:

Stiles is terrified of getting a tattoo, but he
needs this. Luckily for him, the new tattoo artist at the local tattoo shop is
rather gentle and reassuring. But what’s more, there’s something about him–his
hands, his touch–that just sets Stiles at ease.

Stiles stood out the front of the
tattoo parlour, staring at the neon OPEN sign.

He
let out a heavy breath and reminded himself he had to do this; the FBI wouldn’t
let him carry around his father’s old sheriff’s badge and he couldn’t part with
it. He needed this.

He
tightened his fist around the old badge and pushed open the door. 

A
small bell chimed and a man stepped around the corner.

“Can
I help you?” the man asked.

“I’m
Stiles, I have an appointment for two
o’clock,” he managed to say around
the lump in his throat.

The
man nodded and stepped over to the small counter, his sharp eyes rolling over
the page of a appointment book that sat atop a pile of books; portfolios, each
labeled with the artist’s name.

“You’re
in with Derek,” the man announced. “He does fine line-art and realism
better than the rest of us. He should just be finishing his lunch break, follow
me.”

The
man nodded towards the small fleet of stairs beside the desk that led up to a
large open space, separated into work stations by dividers. He guided stiles
over to one by the window that overlooked the park on the opposite street.

“Derek,”
he called. “Your two
o’clock is here.”

There
was a mumbled reply and the man nodded towards the work station. 

“Thank
you,” Stiles said as the man turned and left.

He
stepped into the booth, looking at his tattoo artist. 

He
was a young man, a few years older than Stiles, with thick black hair and
bright aveturine eyes that lit up brilliantly when he smiled and said,
“Hi, I’m Derek.”

“I’m
Stiles,” the teen stammered in response.

“Why
don’t you take a seat and we’ll get started?”

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