Well, he took the lack of complaint for a ‘yes.’ It looked about as well as any other stitched up wound he’d seen.

He opened his mouth to say something else, perhaps to scold him for having torn his first stitches out – but Malachi was silenced when Arthur’s lips met his own. It was all too easy to give in, to melt into the feeling of wanting without holding himself back.

If that was the indulgence Arthur promised, he wished to have met him so much sooner in life. How had he gone so long without it?

The touch of Malachi’s hands was light where they moved across his skin. Exploring, admiring, memorizing every line and curve his fingertips passed over.

When Arthur’s kisses traveled down his chest, an audible sigh escaped from Malachi’s throat. His legs shifted underneath him as he turned and leaned back, lying down over the cushions. Sure, he didn’t quite fit on the couch – but he didn’t seem to care that much.

Malachi nodded, black hair splayed over his face much like it had done the night before.

“Yes,” he whispered, caressing appreciatively up the doctor’s chest from the bottom of his ribcage to his collarbones. “As long as you make sure it scars.”