Arthur smiled when Malachi bit his thumb, waiting until he had taken the knife to shove it further past the other man’s purses lips.  Teeth scraped against his skin and bone uncomfortably, but it was worth it to feel his tongue again.

“I won’t kill you,” he assured, “what a waste that would be.”

The hilt of the knife was comfortable in the doctors hands, both because the doctor was well experienced with blades and the like, and because it was obvious this knife had been well loved over many years.

A now wet thumb dragged out of Malachi’s mouth, smearing his spit across his own chin as he tilted his head up.

“Stay still now.  I don’t  want any jagged lines.”

Starting at the the dip between Malachi’s collar bones, Arthur dragged the knife perpendicular to the cut already there, not stopping until just above his belly button.  Thin but obvious, a cross cut into Malachi’s front.

“Gorgeous,” he praised, setting the blade aside and kneeling, licking up the incision he had made and past it, kissing and biting Malachi’s beautiful, bruised neck.