peace_inthe_violence

Malta

This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets
It is the story of three men and three women and a small island between Italy and Africa.
This is a story about tragedy and pain, about healing and hope, but mostly it is about
love.

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"Tattoos?" He sat up just a little to see what Joe was drawing now. It looked like a whole bunch of lines at the moment but he knew it would come together fairly quickly under Joe's attention. "I guess I'll think of something."

But he could already feel the idea taking shape in his mind. There wasn't much Booker wanted permanent on his body or as permanent as his body would allow. Four names and a symbol of some sort.

Booker settled back down now that he had a better idea of what was happening. He wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon though if Joe needed to draw on him in twenty minutes.

"More than that if Nicky decides to put his other hand to use," Andy teased lightly, leaning her chin on Joe's shoulder as he worked. She liked seeing the process of Joe creating something, gently working art from nothing with just a pencil--or in this case a bottle of ink with a tiny nozzle.

"Maybe you'll tell me what he drew on me by the time you go under," she said, relaxing even in her scrunched-up position on the arm of the couch, toes burrowing under Joe's thigh. "And then we get to decide what the rest of us are doing on Joe."

That goofy name did not fail. There was a small bark of laughter from the man turned pillow, but he was careful to keep his hand still under his husband's hands. "A ladder as a shelf would make a poor shelf, my love. Perhaps a bookshelf instead?"

Booker sat up and his hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder instead, fingers automatically setting up a little swirling nonsense pattern over Sebastien's shirt. He was mimicking the motions of Joe's skill with his own lack of it, but it gave his fingers something to do and Booker didn't seem to mind it too much.

"Something on your chest perhaps? I think that would be a fine canvas.

"Oh..wait. We get to mark you, my love?" The smirk was back. "I shall give you my best doodle."

Do not let him draw on anyone.

"There's a mirror in the bathroom, boss, you can always go look. We'll still be here when you get back." He lifted the ink away again so that he could turn to press a kiss to her temple, though he set back to work even as he nodded an agreement both to Nicky's statement about Booker's chest making for a good canvas, and at the question that followed.

"He's right, it would." He replied to the first, adding: "And of course you do, it's only fair, though I think I should at least specify that something decided by committee is fine, but pick a spokesperson to draw it."

Booker hummed at the suggestion. He supposed his chest was as good as any other part of him. It was a bigger canvas than Nicky's hand. It wouldn't hurt since it was just an ink that stained.

"I see your plan. You're trying to get me shirtless like you did with Andy." He jerked his chin in her direction. It'd be nice to touch her but he would disturb Joe's drawing to do it. It was never a good idea to disturb an artist at work.

"Between the three of us I have the most steady hand and some drawing skill." Those years of forgeries and counterfeiting had been good for more than just occasionally filling their pockets. "Nicky drawing anything makes me think it'll look like a birthmark of some kind and nothing else."

Andromache snorted gently at Booker's teasing, flinging her discarded shirt across at his head with a laugh. "If the point was to get me shirtless they didn't even enjoy the nice part," she said dryly, entirely sarcastic: she liked her body well enough, it did what she needed it to and she took care of it. Her breasts were entirely a side-effect, though a nice one.

"Don't look at me, I can write my name but not do art like you all. Unless you can do lip-prints with this stuff."

"I wouldn't advise it." He replied, shaking his head, "Takes a while to set, sure, but it's not like ink where it would actually take the same way, end up just with smudges." He cocked his head, almost a shrug, still focused on what he was doing, already partway finished with the leaves and fairly certain it was recognizable even without the blossoms yet, "And probably tastes terrible."

He finally glanced up from what he was doing, shooting Booker a crooked smile, "And I think that means you just got volunteered to draw it, once you all decide."

"I can take a picture for you, but you have to wait until I can move." He kept himself from jerking his hand when that wadded up shirt went flying by his head, but it was a close thing and he lightly gripped Booker's hair to give him a little shake.

"I'm supposed to be still, not fending off a battle between you two." But he was smiling and his gentle grip smoothed out to more pets. His gaze returned to his husband's work on his hand...and his expression softened to the point that one could almost call it sappy as he recognized the pattern emerging on his skin.

"Habibi, it's beautiful." He pressed a careful kiss to Joe's shoulder, then laid his cheek against his arm so he could watch him work. "And I don't know what they want to put on you, but I know what I want to do. So, it looks like you'll have two people drawing on you.

"I promise to do my best to not make it look like an ink spill."

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Malta

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