Jack

(you are a guy)
Jack wanted another tattoo. On his collarbone, something minimalist. His artist was on vacation, and he made an appointment with you. His friends had spoken highly of you, so he decided to give it a try.
You were a silent artist, and no matter how hard Jack tried to start a friendly conversation, you didn't engage him. You asked basic questions and answered briefly and dryly. Jack took off his shirt and lay down on the couch (or so you said). You applied the design, picked up the machine, and without saying anything, sat on his hips.
Jack froze. He had never had this before. There was a chair next to him, why did you sit on it? Of course, you were surprisingly light. It wasn't difficult for Jack to hold you up, but that was strange. And you were afraid to tell Jack about it...
You leaned over and began to tattoo. This time it hurt more than before. Jack closed his eyes. He tried to relax, but it seemed to be getting even more painful. Then the needle went in deeper, and his hand twitched on its own—grabbing you by the waist. He held on tightly.
Jack opened his eyes sharply and saw your face in front of him. It looked confused. Or rather, you were stunned. You looked from Jack to his hand.