How Arthur had managed to go as long as he did without getting stabbed, Malachi would never know.

There was still something pleasant about being the first to leave such marks on him.

The way his breathing fell apart beneath his hands was beautiful. Had it been anyone else subjected to it, he might have paused, and checked in with them to make sure they had not changed their mind about their level of sobriety… but Arthur knew how to speak.

If he wanted something, he could ask him. Malachi continued on at a steady pace, willing his thoughts not to linger too long on the lovely noises he made.

“Yes,” he said easily. “Recently, in fact, in my thigh. It’s only nearly healed now.”

Pausing in his task for only a moment, Malachi leaned closer, closer. His lips brushed the skin just below his neck, pressing a kiss between his shoulders.

“Almost done,” he whispered, and resumed the push and pull of the needle.