WHO: Tragos and Marcie WHEN: Sunday afternoon WHAT: Tattoos take two! And joyrides! WARNINGS: Eventual (inevitable) smut
His instructions had been: train his ass off in the morning, then piss off again, eat and rest, and be back here at midnight again to take Laz down to the docks to receive another shipment. From that side of things, today was looking like a good day.
He was planning to piss off, and eat. And comparatively his afternoon and evening plans were restful. Ish. Spreading out on a tattoo artists chair for another hour or so with Marcie at his side, that was... more restful than training, at least. As to what they got up to afterwards, weeell he wasn't trading that for any amount of sleep.
I got something I can't wait to show you he messaged Marcie on his way to her apartment. Be there in 30 to pick you up.
Around him, his car purred. There was no better sound from an engine. While the cars he drove for Ares were undeniably better, more expensive, newer, more heavily armoured, this one was his. The project he'd been working on since before he was Tragos. Black, all-wheel drive (worth it for the extra fuel costs) to the untrained eye it didn't look as Frankensteinish as it was. Not that there were many untrained eyes in his social circles. Even Kaden could tell it was piecemeal, but it worked, and it worked well. It drove fast and it drove sure, and if it wasn't bulletproof well... he wasn't planning on driving it places people might shoot at him.
Plus, it was his. He built it. He made it run, he made it work.
I'm outside, come down he messaged, parking in a five minute spot across the road from her apartment. He got out to wait for her, running his hand across the dark bonnet and grinning to himself, he leaned casually against the passenger door, facing her building, looking up at her window, waiting.