A hand, smooth and soft, traversing pale flesh, a light scratch of manicured fingernails sometimes making pink scratches, causing soft gasps. Lips, brushing against the shell of his ear, silver tongue flicking out to tease his earlobe before a warm puff of air made him shiver.
"I want to rip you open," he whispered. "I want to tear that pretty, pretty skin of yours until blood wells up in a sea of sticky scarlet and drowns us both. I want to grab your bones, bend them until they snap and splinter. I want to dig and hack until I find that heart of yours and hold it in my hands, squeeze it until it bursts, until muscle and sinew is crushed and still."
The hand is moving again, trailing up his ribs and over the place his heart would be, pressing down hard for a moment, nails pressing down hard. Another nip, this one slightly harder, before he continued.
"I want to burrow inside you, curl up in that empty chest and fill you, give you life with my own. I want to take a needle and thread and use it to lock myself away inside, a part of you forever, something you need to survive. We won't ever be separated that way. Not even by death. You die, I die, and then we'll move on together, still a part of each other, the flames of whatever hell we end up in welding us together, skin on skin."
A low, dark chuckle, then a press of cool metal against his collarbone. "Hush, darling. Let me get to work. I know you want it too."