Work Text:
The heady smell of freshly prepared body ink flooded Caiatl's nostrils.
There were notes of pungent arolle flowers and the fine ground flakes of a metal whose name she couldn't place. She leaned back into the chair until the top of her head grazed against Zavala's chest, breathing in the personification of nostalgia and homesickness staining the Lightbearer's fingertips a metallic gold that shined like the ripples of his Awoken sheen.
Caiatl opened her eyes again, watching. Her eyes, so like fiery suns, followed Zavala's movements. One of his arms held up her right, cradling it against his chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and the back of her hand dwarfed the palm of his. He dipped a wide, flat-bristled brush into the bowl of dust-like makeup. Her eyes followed his movements.
Hard bristles prodded her skin, sending prickles of sensation skittering across her arm.
She let out a slow breath. Her tusks parted, splaying out as Zavala drew the brush across her muscled forearm in a long, smooth stroke. Bristles ghosted up and over the thick veins curving down towards her wrists. The Lightbearer brought his free hand around to help trace a path for the design. With each touch of his, warm and comforting, Caiatl felt the callouses on the pads of his fingers and the light texture of spiraling human fingerprints along the roughness of her own hide.
It was constant movement. Simple. Uncomplicated. Intoxicating.
Normally Taurun did her tattooing, or an attendant.It was a long process, and the tattooing lasted for weeks. It was built strong like Cabal, to withstand sweat and battle. With them, it was just a process, relaxing and enjoyable even but with Zavala, it was... different. Romance built on shared burdens and mutual attraction and carnal intimacy brought about a different edge that made her hearts race.
Every touch threatened to stoke a fire in her gut.
Her mind was a gentle brook traveling its path unbroken.
For a time – precious moments, so precious to her, to them – she and Zavala could meet not as commanders of their people, but as two warrior soul entwined in a glorious union she hoped would last centuries.
Caiatl's breath hitched as a shiver went up her spine. Zavala's brush criss-crossed down her forearm, drawing out thick, metallic gold diamonds. Her chest swelled with a deep breath, exhaling out worries and pains, if only for a time.
Zavala smiled from against her arm. It's a gentle thing, a rarity on his face from all she's heard, but it fit him. At last, the Lightbearer's brush strokes reached nearly to her knuckles. Caiatl straightened out her hand so he could curve the strokes over her knuckles. His other hand felt out the underside of hers, tracing grooves. Down in the center of her palm was a thick cord of scar tissue, a physical seal of their people's peace treaty even deeper than words on paper.
Zavala turned her hand palm-side up (she let him), and lay hand flat against the scar where his own matching one was. Caiatl curled her fingers against his hand. A brief moment before she admired the man's work.
"Your hands are as adept at holding a brush as they are a weapon," Caiatl mused.
"I had a good teacher." Zavala leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
When he came back up, his lips were stained with metallic gold.
"Gold is a good color on you." Caiatl gripped his whole head gently with her thumb and index finger and drew him in close.
Their lips met, and she came away stained with gold along the top of her triangular mouth. Tattoo ink was smeared across Zavala's lips and chin, startlingly bright against his pale blue skin.
Caiatl's voice was the gentle rumbling of thunder after a storm. "I love you, Zavala."
"I love you too, Caiatl," Zavala answered.