Tattooed Beauty.

He sat cross legged on the wooden floor boards, wriggling his toes as he tuned his guitar, it laying down flat on the ground. He uncurled his toes and sat up straight, his back clicking as it straightened out, as if it was being ironed, sounding like the snapping of some dry twigs. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as it fell through his fingers, the guitar finally tuned. He sighed again, but stopped mid-way as he heard some odd noises coming from his balcony. It was only early in the morning, the sun had barely risen from its bed, and he’d thought he was the only one in the apartment complex awake. He stood up, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he cautiously approached his balcony. The minimal light shot through the gap in the middle of the curtains, bouncing off his bare, hairless chest. As he got closer, the sounds became louder and he recoiled his head as he realized what it was. It sounded like some sexual moans. That was strange, he thought, as the inhabitants surrounding him were all in their old age.
He pushed the thin curtains out of the way quickly, pulling back the obnoxiously large glass doors, the gentle summer breeze waking him up a little more. The smooth skin of his feet hit the balcony floor, and he suddenly felt self-conscious as he was out in the open, instinctively hitching up his skin tight jeans by the belt hoops, then folding his arms.
The moans were coming from the right.
He tried to be artful, not slamming his whole body round to stare. Instead, he rested his arms on the edge of the guard, his head resting on his hands. The small amount of stubble on his chin lightly grazed his hands, irritating them.
The moans suddenly stopped and it turned into laughing, so he slowly looked to the right, and what he saw was something he wasn’t expecting in the slightest. There was a girl, who must have been in her late teens, early twenties, who looked as pure as the Virgin Mary herself, except for the intricate tattoos on her left arm, almost a sleeve, but not quite. It completely contrasted with her ghost white skin, flowing blond hair and glowing blue eyes, an entire ocean living among them.
She chuckled lightly, trying to stifle her laughs as her gaze locked with his.
“G’morning.” she smiled, her teeth as white as her skin.
“Hi…” he trailed off, awkwardly curling his fingers into something which resembled a wave.
“There’s no need to look so utterly petrified.”
“I-I’m not.” he stuttered, the stuttering deceiving him of his mask of calm.
“I’m new.” she smiled again. “Well, actually, I’m Felicity, but don’t call me that. Call me Art.”
“Art.” he mused. “Is that anything to do with your arm?”
“No.” she smirked. “I can’t draw to save my life, so it’s an ironic nick name.”
He smirked too. “Okay. I’m Brendon, by the way.”
“Why hello there, Brendon. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m sorry you heard what you did.”
He blushed lightly. “No harm done. Everyone does it.”
“Oh no they don’t.” she laughed again. “I wasn’t masturbating.” she said, whispering the last word.
Brendon raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing then?”
She bent her body over the side of the balcony, looking at the one beneath her. The elderly man that had been sat there had now moved from his position in the rocking chair, the cushions leaving an imprint of his body. She stood back up and rested her elbows on the side, so she was facing Brendon.
“The old man under me was jacking off. I thought hey, he’s old and lonely and probably suffers from erectile dysfunction, I might as well moan for a bit to help him.”
“And did it?”
“Did he get it up? Is that what you’re asking?”
“I can’t believe I am, but yes, that is what I’m asking.”
She smirked. “Well, that’s not yogurt on his floor.”
He cringed, covering his face with his hands, revealing his own tattoos, which intrigued Art.
“What do they mean?” she asked, pointing to him.
He frowned, puzzled slightly.
“Your tattoos.”
“Oh!” he smiled. “Um, the piano keys are there because that’s the instrument I can relate the most to, and I had it done after the first major tour. The flowers are because the second major tour was nature themed, and I had those flowers entwined around my microphone. So, yeah.”
“I know who you are!” she chirped. “You’re on my table!”
“I’m… what?”
“Stay there.” she nodded, running in to her apartment. Brendon took this moment as a quick chance for a toilet break, then he grabbed two red bulls from his near empty fridge. The cool metal made his warm skin tingle slightly, each hand tightly grasping the cans. He walked back out to the balcony and smiled as he saw Art, plaiting her long, blond locks. She looked up and clapped once, then picked up the magazine and waved it around.
“Look, it’s you!” she smiled, pointing to his face on the front cover of NME.
He laughed lightly. “Oh yes, that it is. That was a bad hair cut.” he scoffed, taking a sip of his energy drink. “Wait, I thought I was on your table?”
“I have so many magazines that I stack them up and use them as tables.” she shrugged, holding the NME over the edge of the balcony, then dropping it, so it slowly and gracefully floated down to the ground from the high height. She smiled as it hit the ground and landed near a business man in a suit. The man looked up, to try and find the source of the flying magazine, but she backed away quickly and instead he saw Brendon, so swore at him using hand gestures. Brendon merely smiled in return and the man continued his journey to whatever tedious job his life had.
“Do you want a red bull, too?” he asked, and she suddenly jumped up, nodding. He threw it over the short distance and she caught it with ease, bending her knees as she did so. She pulled back the ring and took a few swigs, then carefully placed it on the floor.
“It was a pleasure to meet you Brendon, but I have the important task of buying some sequins.” she smiled, waving at him and walking back inside her apartment, slamming the glass door with such force Brendon was sure the glass would shatter, but it didn’t.

She didn’t come back out for the rest of the day, and that red bull can never moved.

His next encounter with her was a few moments after he’d come back from the gym, sweaty and feeling disgusting. He was walking back to his apartment on the sidewalk, when he heard faint giggles, then a few light things hit him, floating from high up and caressing the people around him also. He looked up and smiled when he saw Art throwing the items down. He bent his legs and picked up one of these, reading it quickly. He picked up another and another, and they were all the same. They were all small pieces of paper, almost like confetti, with the words ‘Someone does love you, they do.’ written in her curly writing. A smile crept on his face and he tucked a piece into the pocket of his gym shorts, then ran up the several flights of stairs, which he immediately regretted as his lungs felt as if they were about to implode. Weights and cycling he could do, but sprinting most certainly wasn’t his thing.
He unlocked his door and slammed it shut, jogging to his balcony, sliding the door back and stepping out. He turned to her, then recoiled massively, falling down to the floor.
“Whoa!” he shouted, covering his eyes but standing up.
“Hi, Brendon!” she chirped.
“Hey, um, Art. I took one of your confetti pieces, but why are you topless?”
“You were topless last time so I felt I owed it to you to be topless. That way we’re even, no?”
“No! It’s completely different!”
“How so?”
“Because, well, I m-mean it’s not the same because pre-puberty I still had my chest, and you, y-you didn’t.”
“That’s silly. You were topless, so now I am. It’s really not that weird.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.” she smiled.
“S-Seve…” he trailed, muttering a few things under his breath. “I feel like such a pervert.”
“Why, how old are you?” she asked, throwing a new bundle of papers down to the ground.
“I’m twenty-three.” he said, turning around so he could open his eyes but not look at her.
“That’s only six years. I dated a forty year old once, but he was boring. I mean seriously, who doesn’t like the beach?”
“I don’t know.” said Brendon honestly. “Are you really seventeen?”
“Okay, you got me, I’m nineteen. It’s just that I had the best time of my life when I was seventeen. But I did date a forty year old and he genuinely hated the beach. Go on, look at me, it’s fine. How often are you gonna get a girl to allow you to stare at her breasts?”
“Not often, but it’s-”
“Not normal? Yes, I’ve heard that many times before. I’m not stereotypically normal but I’m happy, and not many people have that.”
Brendon dropped his hand from his face and slowly turned around, looking through squinted eyes. Once he was fully turned around, he opened his eyes and his lower jaw dropped a little.
“You’re beautiful.” he whispered as she smiled at him, everything so pure, happy and unusual. “Beautiful.”
A light pink dusted her cheeks and she continued smiling. “Thank you, Brendon.”
You’d think, Brendon being a pretty stereotypical man, he’d be staring at her breasts, but he wasn’t. His gaze was fixated on her flawless complexion and radiant tattoo.

The third time they spoke was again on their balconies, and Art was once again topless. She’d never understood clothes, because we weren’t born with them and California was a hot enough state to be able to not wear clothes. She was comfortable enough to be with Brendon, well, near him, and be topless. She was pretty happy with her body and still, he barely looked at her chest. It wasn’t like he was forcing himself away, he was genuinely more interested in her face and tattoo.

The fourth was at night, and she was holding a bunch of assorted flowers she’d picked at the park. She’d assembled a small bunch that resembled Brendon’s tattoo and left it outside his door. He smiled as he saw them, then walked out to his balcony, holding them delicately.
“What are these for? Thank you, by the way.” he smiled at her.
Her flowers were covering her face, so she slowly brought them down and a deep look of hurt spread across her face, creating a domino effect on Brendon. He felt hurt beyond words.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Don’t worry.” she sniffed, trying to feign happiness.
“I am worrying. Please tell me.”
“The flowers.” she sniffed again. “Peel off each petal, and it means a worry. You throw down the petal and the worry drifts away. Then start un-worrying for other people. It’s good for mental health.”
“You know what would be good for your mental health?” he asked.
“Flowers?”
“A little, but I think you need to come round to mine and we can hug. Hug’s always help.”
“I’ve already been hugged today. Some hobo asked for one so I did.”
Brendon smiled because that sounded very typical of Art. “Why not come and hug another hobo.”
She laughed lightly. “Alright.”

Brendon suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious and worried tremendously, this was the first time they were physically meeting, how would it be, would he embarrass himself? Would she hate him? Would she-
Art let herself in and walked out to Brendon’s balcony. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him, and she slipped her gorgeously creamy arms around his waist, warm tears trickling down her cheeks and on to his shoulders. He held her tightly, their bare chests against each other and the gentle night wind whistling between and around them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stroking her hair softly.
“Happiness doesn’t always outweigh everything, Brendon. Sometimes sadness creeps up on you and overtakes your soul. You can empathize, right?”
“I can.” he mumbled, because it felt like the majority of his life had been ruled by sadness, until Art had arrived with her moans.
A struggled sob escaped her lips and she slowly let go of him, her arms loosely graped around his shoulders. He wiped away the tears with his thumb delicately, then kissed her forehead. The kiss seemed to make her sadness diminish, thus the domino effect played its part and Brendon smiled again. Her tattoo glowed radiance once again.

Fifth. Art knocked on his door lightly, wearing some light denim shorts and a thin, floaty shirt. Ideally, she would have preferred to be topless and with no underwear, but she’d heard voices coming from Brendon’s apartment, and didn’t want to startle them. He was fine with her nudity, more than fine, but it wasn’t particularly socially acceptable.
He opened the door quickly, and his whole face lit up, so much so it was like Vegas was all over his visage.
“Hi.” he sighed happily, resting on the door frame. She smiled back and leaped forwards, hugging him tightly and giggling a little, as you would do if you were as elated as her. He held her tightly, closing his eyes and breathing in her comforting scent. He seemed to melt into her, her skinny yet beautiful frame glowing.
“Brendon?” came a voice from behind them, so they slowly broke away and faced in the apartment, Art’s hand trailing down his arm until it was clutching his hand.
A girl, wearing just a towel around her body with her dripping wet hair cascading down her tanned shoulders, walked into the main room, raising an eyebrow at the pair. She extended her right arm, pointing at Art.
“Who’s this?” she asked in a bitchy tone, making Art shudder slightly. She was never one for hostility, and people who were rude or just plain mean chilled her to the heart.
“Yasmin, this is Art. Art, Yasmin.” he smiled, introducing the girls.
“Hi, Yasmin!” she chirped, skipping over and hugging her female companion. Yasmin made a sound of disgust and pushed her away with force, gripping at her towel. Art almost felt like crying, breaking down right then and there. All she’d done was show affection, hug her. Showing affection had always done her well before, maybe she was the exception.
“Brendon!” screamed Yasmin, stomping her left foot on the ground and punching her fist downwards with it. “I hate you!” she screamed again and ran into his bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Art turned her head slowly to face Brendon, biting her bottom quivering lip.
“All I did was give her a hug.” she mumbled.
He kissed her hand, then pressed another one to her wrist, which was covered by her gorgeous tattoo.
“I know, you did nothing wrong. She just… gets like that sometimes.”
“Yasmin is your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
He nodded slowly, because he wished that she wasn’t, but he couldn’t be too picky as not many girls seemed to show him interest as they always assumed he was gay. He was completely straight, but a cheery, friendly guy. Ones who like hugs and cuddling up on the sofa with ice-cream must be gay, but he wasn’t.
“Okay. Well, I better leave so you two can make love.” she nodded and tried to leave, but he held her hand tightly. He pulled her back into the apartment and placed his hand on her ghostly cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Brendon picked up her other hand and placed it on his hip, then leaned in and tenderly kissed her pastel lips and he knew, he knew that this was what was right. This is how a kiss should feel, his heart swelling and beating out of his chest, pumping in his skull and the light hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Yasmin came out of his room, now fully dressed and in a sour mood. She made an over exaggerated noise, then screamed as she saw the pair kissing, storming out.
But that didn’t affect them. Art’s feelings emulated Brendon’s, and for once in her life, she felt safe. She felt protected.

The slightly tanned, love struck man made his way across the hall and pushed the brass door handle down to Art’s apartment, for their sixth major meeting. He slowly shut the door behind him, then gaped as he saw the beauty of her apartment. Everything was just as pure as she was, it was all white and glossy except for a strip going through the middle of the walls. It wasn’t wallpaper, it was a sketch of an angel, which faintly resembled Art. As you walked further and further in to the apartment, the drawings altered a little more and became more extravagant. He followed the drawings, utterly transfixed by them, trailing his forefinger across them lightly. The last drawing he immediately recognized as her tattoo, causing him to smile and trail the outline with that same finger. The wallpaper was a slow progression of her brain-storming for the original and stunning master piece inked on her arm.
These aforementioned arms slid around Brendon’s waist from behind and her chin rested on his shoulder.
“These are ingenious.” he said quietly. “I love the build up, no wonder it’s so beautiful, you’ve worked for ages on it.”
“Thank you.” she smiled and kissed his cheek, then pulled away and walked to the front of him, kissing him softly and slowly, resting a hand on the back of his neck. He smiled into it and pulled her close, deepening the kiss by sweeping his warm, moist tongue into her cool mouth.

Their next major meeting was technically the same one as before, but could be separated from the other as it was the next morning. Art was the first to wake up, the light beaming through the slits in the blinds, which would annoy most people, but not her. It made her usual smile stay put because it was another reminder of the wonderful sun, brightening everyone’s day both literally and metaphorically.
She pulled the light, white sheets down to their waists and kissed Brendon’s forehead, rubbing his toned arms slowly, her smile widening as he snored lightly. It was so adorable and perfect in her eyes, quiet and caring. He was like no other man she’d ever met, there was something about him that felt different to every other person on this planet. He was fixated by her tattoo and her face, which she didn’t understand. He was so interested in those two features that she could walk around completely naked, and he wouldn’t notice. She was thankful for that, in a weird way.
Art rubbed his chest tenderly and his eyes flicked open. He blinked a few times and beamed, revealing his bright white teeth, a drawing against the tanned canvas that was his skin.
“Good morning.” she whispered.
“Good morning to you, too.” he whispered back and stretched out his arms, accidentally brushing his fingers against her bare breasts. He blushed furiously and apologized to her repeatedly, keeping his hands pressed against his chest tightly.
“Hey, hey.” she said, interrupting his mumblings. She picked up his hands and placed them on her chest, causing a small gasp to escape from his throat. “Brendon, it’s okay.” she soothed. “I don’t mind.”
His expression slowly crept into a smile and she pressed her hands on top of his, then kissed him lovingly, slipping her legs around his waist, straddling him. Their hands remained in the same positions and he gripped a little more tightly at her.

That was the first time they made love.

Actually, that was the first time either of them had made love. They’d tried before, with other partners, but it hadn’t felt a thing like it had this time. Sex was sex, and they’d tried to make the step between monstrous, sweaty, fucking to gentle, tender, pleasurable love making. And neither of them thought they could go back to their original sexual antics after this encounter.

He pulled out of her slowly and she cuddled into him from the side, draping her tattooed arm over his chest and him linking the hand on his tattooed arm with hers.
“Fuck.” he breathed out, his chest going up and down. “That was… phenomenal.”
She breathed out with him. “That it was. But shh you, don’t cuss.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it offended you.”
“It’s fine, just don’t do it again.” she smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “It kills an angel every time you cuss.”
“Me specifically cussing, or everyone?”
“Everyone.” she chuckled lightly. “You’re special but you’re not that special.”
“I’m hurt.” he said, jutting out his bottom lip. “I’m really not that special?”
She kissed just above his nipple softly. “Well, you are that special in my eyes Brendon.”
He blushed deeply because he wasn’t expecting that response. “O-Oh.” he stuttered. “You’re, I’m not even sure what to say. You’re just the most fascinating, tremendously individual, jaw-droppingly beautiful girl I’ve ever met. How about that.”
She blushed deeply too, which Brendon had never seen her do before. The blood rushing to her face contrasted with her sheet white skin. He kissed her lips once more, sucking on her bottom lip lightly then breaking away. They thought that if life could be like this for the rest of their days, maybe growing old wasn’t so bad after all.

Several months later, and after they’d fallen so deeply in love that they’d contemplated never working again so they could be with each other every waking moment of the day, Brendon had decided that something needed to be done to show his love. They didn’t go on many dates, in fact, they’d only been on one because they preferred staying at home. Dates normally involved dressing up, rather than the casual clothes people wore normally. Brendon and Art preferred to be completely naked, because neither of them were a fan of clothes. They had to wear clothes whilst they worked, they wouldn’t want to wear them anymore than necessary. The couple liked to laze around either of the apartments, exchanging frequent kisses, muttering sweet nothings and making love.
He grinned, pushing his way through to his apartment, as he assumed that’s where she’d be. He instinctively pulled off his shirt, wincing slightly as he remembered what he’d done, then quickly kicked off his jeans, putting his clothes in the hamper. He saw the back of his wonderful girlfriend on the balcony, perched against the side, wearing a bikini. Because of that he decided to keep on his boxer shorts.
“Fliss!” he called out and she slowly turned around, a pair of his wayfarer sunglasses perched on her nose. They were far too big for her face, so she took them off and her radiant eyes glowed, smiling. He walked outside on to the balcony and kissed her softly, trailing sweet kisses down her neck. Art took the sunglasses from her hand and pushed them on to his nose.
“Hello.” she smiled. “You’re the only one I’ll let call me Fliss. But if you dare call me Felicity I’ll-”
“I know, I know.” he chuckled and tucked a few strands of her almost translucent hair behind her ear.
“Have you seen my sketchbook, Brendon?” she asked quietly, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, leaving small amounts of goosebumps.
“About that.” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
“Oh, what did you do.” she pouted.
“I wanted to, um, prove how much I loved you.” he blushed and she pressed her lips together, trying to contain a large smile that wanted to burst out.
“So I took your last design and added it to, well, me.” he said and stuck out his arm, taking the bandage off it slowly, revealing the new design she’d been working on. Art covered her mouth with her hands and gasped.
“Brendon… you gave up your skin, for me?”
He nodded slowly and she couldn’t contain the smile any longer. “It’s beautiful.” she beamed. “And, I’m a little speechless. In fact I’m completely speechless. I love you too, Brendon. So much.”
“So you like it?” he asked and she nodded quickly, pulling him into a tight hug and kissing his forehead.
“Art, you’re a tattooed beauty and I love you.”