Half Sleeve Tattoos Men Novels & Stories

All the waiting people have their eyes cast down except for three. A 5’8” man in an olive green shirt – that looks far too tight for his muscular frame – that shows off a colourful and intricate sleeve tattoo on his left arm, and camouflage pants. His black hair is cropped short to his scalp, he has dark brown eyes, a thick muscular neck, round jaw, square chin and just from looking at him I can tell he’s a cruel man. I can see it in his eyes.

He hands me a set of clothes and I change into them. I feel clean and a little better. He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the ground. I swallow a large lump of saliva. My eyes roam his body. Wow, it's fucking amazing. Toned and made up of muscle. My eyes soak it all up. Gosh, this image will forever be in my head. I'll probably be dreaming about his body tonight. It's now where I see the full view of his tattoos. I want to know the story behind them. He has a full sleeve bear tattoo inked on his right shoulder that continues till his right hand and connects to it climbing a tree to chest inked on his right shoulder.

He stood in front of me, fully aware there was a mirror behind him. First, he took off his jacket, tossing it to the floor. His shirt and pants followed, leaving just boxers, and my eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of me. One of his arms bore a sleeve of tattoos. Completely inked. The other arm had just one tattoo on his shoulder. The hard planes of his chest sloped down to the carved V of his lower waist, his body so tanned, his skin blended with the dim golden light. My eyes traced the outline of his big—

‎‎Then the door opened again. ‎‎Kane. ‎‎He stood there like a force of nature, stealing the air from the room. ‎‎Half-buttoned black shirt, inked tattoos crawling up from his broad chest, disappearing into the dark fabric. ‎Leather gun holsters crisscrossed over his shoulders, the heavy black straps pressing into the muscle of his back and chest like a second skin. ‎His sleeves were rolled, veins and corded forearms visible — a dangerous man, made of blood, bone, and violence.‎

Funny how I get nervous again, wanting to back out when I was so courageous earlier until I saw them. Some of his men went outside, and some were still there. They all have tattoos on their arms and probably up to their body. Well, tattoos are all over the world now. Even minors have! “A million and a hundred dollars.” His eyebrow shut up. A loud burst of laughter suddenly echoed inside the room.

They’re all tall, cut, and have the same natural confidence that Justus does. They all have tattoos like Justus, too, the same intricate maze of lines and spirals that wind around the simple outlines of boats or trees or fish, draped over their right shoulder, arm, and torso like a shawl. The older the male, the further their tattoos stretch down their right sides to their thighs. Some have tattoos all the way down the tops of their right foot. Even the oldest males seem willing and able to shred an interloper to pieces. There are so many cocks nestled in such thick pelts.

I looked down and realized that in the fight, my dress shirt had come out of my pants, revealing the tattoos on my lower belly. I quickly tucked the shirt in, covering the tattoos, but a little too late, they'd seen the tattoos already. Well, it didn't matter anyway, they wouldn't even know what the tattoos really meant. I said to myself, assuredly, but then one of the men stepped forward with eyes wildly staring at me. Oh great, another fool was dedicating giving up himself for a serious ass whopping. I steadied myself and waited for him to make the move but he didn't. The man tore at the sleeve of his left arm, revealing the tattoo of a flaming scythe.

Hе wаѕ ѕtunnіng аѕ uѕuаl, drеѕѕеd in a tіght red аnd black checked ѕhіrt, whісh fіt ѕnuglу across hіѕ perfect, hаrd сhеѕt. His sleeves wеrе rolled uр еmрhаѕіѕіng his impressive biceps оut оn show, аnd оf course dіѕрlауіng hіѕ bеаutіful tаttоо ѕlееvе. His black jеаnѕ сlung tо hіѕ lоng, muѕсulаr lеgѕ, and hіѕ оutfіt was соmрlеtеd wіth hіѕ аll too fаmіlіаr Cоnvеrѕе.

His blonde hair was cut short in what looked like a military cut. Short on the sides and back, but a little bit longer in the middle. He has a tattoo sleeve on each arm, but it didn’t cover his back and from what I can see, not his chest. He was wearing some sweatpants, but I could see how big his thighs were. And when he moved, I was able to see the long claws scares that stretched from his shoulders down to his bottom. I wanted to see where else did it reach, but the sweatpants were covering his lower half.

I do my best not to acknowledge her, even though she's absolutely right. When we met a week ago, he was wearing a shirt that covered his tattoos. Now they're on display and I can't stop my gaze from focusing on them. Peeking out from under the sleeves of his midnight blue t-shirt that's obviously been manufactured for him and him alone, molding to his arms so delectably that I can see the bulge of his muscles, yet, it's not fitted around the abdomen, not clinging uncomfortably to his stomach. I'm sure those abs have a lot of packs to them, too.