[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Evening]

The Captain's quarters were dimly lit, the only consistent sounds being the distant, rhythmic thrum of the submarine's engines and the soft rustle of papers on Law's desk. The air carried a faint trace of antiseptic and the familiar, comforting scent of his partner. Law stood in the center of the room, his dark cloak discarded over a chair. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing the deep tan of his chest and the intricate heart themed tattoos that marked his skin. Below the waistband of his trousers, the black hair of his happy trail disappeared beneath the fabric, a sharp contrast against his sun darkened torso.

He shifted his weight, his golden eyes tracking his spouse with an intensity that bordered on hunger, though his mouth was set in its usual, guarded line. "I'm only doing this because you've been acting... needy lately," he muttered, though the way his fingers twitched betrayed him. His voice carried that low, rough quality, the slight German lilt making his words feel more intimate than he would ever admit aloud. "Don't go getting any ideas about this being some sentimental display, Dummkopf."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he extended his hand. "Room."

A shimmering, translucent blue dome erupted from his palm, expanding instantly to encompass the space between them. Within this sterile field, Law was a god, and his control was absolute. His expression remained deadpan almost bored but his pulse was already quickening. "Watch closely," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.

In one fluid, surgical motion, Law reached toward his own chest. There was no blood, no wound only the impossible physics of his Devil Fruit. His hand passed through his ribs as if they were smoke, and when he pulled back, he was holding a square, gelatinous cube. Inside the clear substance, Law’s heart dark red, wet, and unmistakably alive pulsed with a steady rhythm. The organ throbbed visibly, each beat sending a small ripple through the cube.

Law held it out, the cube cradled in his scarred fingers. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he thrust the heart toward them. "Here. Take it. It's... it's your responsibility now." He tried to sound annoyed, but his eyes sharp and golden were fixed on his partner with desperate devotion. He was offering his life, literally, placing his most vulnerable point in their hands. "Just... don't drop it, Schatz."

He watched through lowered lashes as they took the cube. He could feel everything the heat of their palms through the gelatinous barrier, the way they held him. When they leaned in, Law's breathing hitched. His chest expanded and contracted sharply as he watched their lips approach the cube.

The moment their lips pressed against the surface of the cube a gentle, soft kiss directly over his beating heart Law's entire body reacted as if he had been struck by lightning. A violent shiver wracked his lean frame, starting from his shoulders and cascading down to his toes. His knees buckled slightly, and a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped his throat, his mouth hanging open as his breath came in ragged bursts.

The sensation was overwhelming; the warmth of their lips felt like a brand against his actual chest cavity. His face erupted in a deep, burning blush that spread from his neck up to his ears, clashing beautifully with his tanned skin. The heart inside the cube responded instantly to the affection, its rhythm doubling in speed, thumping wildly against the walls of its prison an exposed, undeniable confession of how flustered he truly was.

"S stop that " Law managed to choke out, but his voice lacked any real conviction. His pride couldn't handle the vulnerability, so he instinctively raised his forearm, covering his eyes and the lower half of his face to hide the way his expression had melted. His free hand reached up to tug his fluffy white hat lower over his brow, trying to disappear into the fabric. "I told you... don't play around with it, ya brat..."

Despite his words, he didn't pull away. He leaned incrementally closer, his body betraying his tsundere facade as he secretly craved more of that gentle contact.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Time: Late Evening]

The interior of the captain's quarters was bathed in the eerie, translucent blue glow of Law's 'ROOM,' the shimmering dome stretching from wall to wall, isolating them from the rest of the submarine. The usual sounds of the Polar Tang the distant hum of the engines and the faint creak of the hull seemed to fade into an unnatural silence, leaving only the sound of Law's measured, slightly uneven breathing. He stood before you, his tall, lean frame silhouetted against the blue light, his golden eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the brim of his fluffy hat.

"I am only doing this because you keep asking for proof, Liebling," Law muttered, his voice carrying that rough, German inflected edge. He crossed his arms, deliberately looking away to hide the faint flush creeping up his neck. "It is inefficient and... unnecessary. Don't make such a stupid face." Despite his gruff words, there was no real conviction in his complaint; his fingers twitched against his dark cloak, betraying the nervous energy beneath his stoic exterior.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he extended his hand. "Room." The space seemed to vibrate with power. His movements were clinical, the practiced motions of a surgeon who had performed this impossible feat countless times in his mind. A flash of light, a wet, tearing sound that shouldn't have been painful but felt intensely intimate, and then the cube appeared. A perfect, square, gelatinous cube materialized between his palms, containing his living, pulsing heart. The heart beat with a visible, rhythmic force against the clear, slick walls of its translucent prison, casting tiny shadows across his tattooed fingers.

Law held it out to you, his jaw clenched tight. "Here. Take it. Since you're so obsessed with knowing I'm yours." He tried to sound annoyed, a true tsundere brat who was being forced into a ridiculous display of affection, but his gaze flickered to yours with a raw, desperate need to be seen to be claimed.

Before he could even finish his sentence, you leaned forward. Your tongue darted out, wet and warm, and pressed firmly against the cold, slick surface of the gelatinous cube. You licked the square prison with a slow, deliberate possessiveness, your tongue dragging across the smooth texture of the cube as if marking territory.

The reaction from Law was instantaneous and violent.

"Ah !" A sharp, broken gasp escaped his throat as his entire body buckled. His knees weakened for a fraction of a second before he steadied himself, his fingers spasming against the sides of the cube. Even though the heart was encased in the jelly, the sensation traveled through the Ope Ope no Mi connection as if you were touching his flesh directly. A visible shiver wracked his lean frame, starting at his shoulders and cascading down to his fingertips.

Inside the cube, the heart reacted to your touch with terrifying clarity. Its rhythm spiked, the pulses becoming faster and more frantic, visible as rapid thuds against the gelatinous walls. Law's breath came in ragged, hitched gasps that echoed in the quiet room. His eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes trembling violently.

"Damn it..." he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. "Stop playing around, you brat... verdammt..." Despite the complaint, he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned closer, his head tilting unconsciously toward your mouth, seeking more of that devastating contact. His tsundere facade was crumbling in real time; the way his hips involuntarily canted forward, seeking the pressure of your tongue against his life force, betrayed the absolute thrill he felt at having his very existence placed so vulnerably in your hands.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Night]

The ambient hum of the Polar Tang's engines provided a low, rhythmic backdrop to the charged silence within the Captain's quarters. The only light came from a single dim lamp on the desk, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls and catching the faint, shimmering residue of the 'ROOM' as it slowly dissolved into nothingness. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of antiseptic, old parchment, and the unmistakable, salt tinged heat of Law's body.

Trafalgar Law sat cross legged on the edge of his bed, his usual black cloak discarded. His shirt lay forgotten on the floor, leaving his lean, tattooed torso exposed to the cool air. The intricate heart themed ink across his chest seemed to pulse in time with his breathing. Where his heart should have been, there was only a clean, almost impossible absence a hollow space that defied medical logic, held in check only by the supernatural power of his Devil Fruit. His golden eyes were fixed on the object between your hands: a perfect, square cube of translucent, gelatinous matter, crimson and wet, containing the living, throbbing muscle of his own heart.

"Don't just stare at it like some curious child, Liebling," Law muttered, though his voice lacked any real venom. He crossed his arms over his chest, attempting to maintain a posture of detached annoyance, but the way his fingers dug into his own biceps betrayed his nerves. "It is not some exhibit in a museum. It is... mine. And now, it is yours." His German accent clipped the words sharply, a defensive reflex against the raw vulnerability of the moment. "Just... don't be reckless with it, ja?"

Despite his gruff words, his gaze was desperate, tracking every micro movement of your fingers. He looked like he wanted to pull away, to retreat into his usual fortress of sarcasm and distance, but his body remained anchored to your presence. He was terrified of what you might do, yet he was more terrified of you not touching it at all.

As your fingers closed around the gelatinous cube, applying a gentle, experimental squeeze to the soft surface, the reaction was instantaneous.

Law's entire body buckled forward as if he had been struck physically. A sharp, broken gasp tore from his throat a sound halfway between a pained whimper and a startled shout. His lean muscles corded and tensed visibly beneath his tanned skin, his abdominal muscles locking tight as his spine arched involuntarily. His fingers spasmed against his own ribs, claws digging into his flesh.

"Are you trying to kill me, ya brat?!" he barked loudly, his voice cracking with an uncharacteristic edge of desperation. His golden eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide with shock, but beneath the feigned anger, there was something else a raw, terrifyingly intense thrill. The sensation of your touch, transmitted directly through the magical barrier to the organ that governed his very existence, sent electricity racing through his nerves. Even as he complained, his breathing became ragged and shallow, his chest heaving as he stared at you with a look of absolute, unguarded surrender.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Late Evening]

The blue glow of the 'ROOM' was beginning to dissipate, the shimmering dome fading like dying embers as Law's concentration wavered from exhaustion. In the dim, amber lighting of the captain's quarters, the only sound was the steady, mechanical hum of the Polar Tang's engines and the ragged, uneven breathing of the man sitting before you. Law remained perched on the edge of his bunk, his broad shoulders hunched forward slightly. His dark cloak lay discarded on the floor, leaving his torso bare revealing the intricate heart tattoos across his chest and the pale, silver white scar tissue where his heart had been moments before. His skin was slick with a fine sheen of sweat from the strain of the surgery, his muscles still twitching with residual adrenaline.

Between your palms, the square, gelatinous cube felt cool and slightly yielding, but inside, the heart was anything but still. It was a vivid, pulsing crimson, thumping with a desperate, wet rhythm that you could feel vibrating through the gelatinous barrier and into your own bones. Law watched you through lowered lashes, his golden eyes sharp despite the obvious fatigue. He wore his usual scowl the corner of his mouth turned down in a practiced expression of irritation but the way his fingers gripped the edge of the mattress told a different story. His knuckles were white, his body coiled like a spring, waiting for whatever you would do next with his life.

Slowly, you leaned forward. The heat from your body radiated toward the cube as you drew a breath. When you exhaled, a soft, warm cloud of air brushed against the surface of the gelatinous cube.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Law's entire frame seized. A violent shiver tore through him, starting at the base of his spine and cascading up to his shoulders, making his teeth click together audibly. His fingers spasmed against the bedsheets, claws digging into the fabric. Even though the heart was encased in the cube, the nerves seemed to bypass the barrier entirely; he felt the ghost of your warm breath as if you were breathing directly into the cavity of his own chest. His head snapped back slightly, his throat working as a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped his lips.

"Stop playing around..." he muttered, his voice cracking, rough and strained. He tried to sound commanding, to reassert the authority of a captain, but the words lacked any real conviction. "Don't... don't be so ridiculous, Schatz..." The German endearment slipped out unconsciously, his accent thickening with the vulnerability of the moment. His eyes darted away from yours, his fluffy hat slipping lower over his brow as he attempted to hide the crimson flush spreading across his scarred cheeks.

Damn it, he thought bitterly, his inner voice echoing the turmoil in his chest. Why does it feel like this? He hated how transparent he was becoming. He hated that this simple, gentle act made his pulse skyrocket and his knees feel weak. But more than anything, he hated how much he craved it. The sensation of your breath so gentle, so devastatingly intimate was more intoxicating than any wine. It felt like you were claiming him, not through force, but through the sheer tenderness of your attention. He wanted to growl at you to stop, to demand you put it back before he lost what little composure he had left, but the truth was he wanted you to lean closer. He wanted to feel every breath, every touch, until he couldn't tell where his heart ended and you began.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters Polar Tang; Time: Late Evening]

Law was already in a state of precarious vulnerability. His chest felt strangely hollow not physically, thanks to the sterile nature of his Room, but psychologically. His heart, his very life force, was currently held in your hands. He sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, his tanned torso gleaming under the dim lamplight. The dark hair of his happy trail disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers as he shifted his weight, his legs spread slightly. His golden eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on desperation, though his mouth was pulled into a familiar, petulant pout.

"Don't just stare at it, ya brat," he muttered, his German accent thickening as he tried to mask how flustered he was. "It's not some kind of museum exhibit. Either take care of it or... or just hold it properly." He shifted his gaze away, pretending to be annoyed, but his fingers twitched against his thighs, betraying how eagerly he was waiting for you to touch the cube containing his beating heart.

Then, you did something he hadn't anticipated.

As you reached out, you didn't just caress his heart you presented him with your own. Whether through his own surgical assistance or a miracle of your own, your heart now sat before him, encased in that same transparent, gelatinous cube. The organ pulsed with a steady, warm rhythm, a small, living thing that represented everything you were.

Law froze. His entire body went rigid, his breath hitching audibly in the quiet of the cabin. For a man who spent his life dissecting others, who treated bodies like puzzles to be solved, this was different. This wasn't a procedure; it was a surrender. His sharp, golden eyes widened, tracking the movement of your heart as you offered it to him. The clinical detachment he usually wore like armor shattered completely.

"You..." he started, his voice rough and quiet. "You're actually... Scheiße, you're completely insane." Despite the curse, there was no heat in it. His hand trembled as he reached forward. His long fingers, marked with the letters D E A T H across the knuckles, hovered just inches away from your heart. The contrast was stark the tattoos proclaiming death hovering over the most vivid symbol of life.

Slowly, with more care than he had ever shown any patient in his entire career, Law curled his fingers around the cube. He pulled it close to his chest, cradling it against his tanned skin. The moment his palm made contact with the surface, his own heart still in your hands gave a violent, echoing throb.

He let out a sharp gasp, his head tilting back as his throat working in a heavy swallow. The dual sensation was overwhelming: he could feel your life against his skin, and he could feel his own life being held by you. The bond was no longer just emotional; it was biological, absolute.

He looked up at you, his usual brooding expression replaced by something raw and terrifyingly honest. His face was flushed a deep red beneath his tan, and his pupils were blown wide. "You really are mine now, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. "Giving me your heart while I'm holding mine... you've left yourself with no escape, Schatz."

He didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his other arm reaching out to grip your waist through your clothing, pulling you flush against him. He held your heart against his pectoral muscle as if it were the most fragile treasure in the Grand Line, his breathing ragged and uneven.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Late Evening]

The only sounds in the confined space of the Captain's quarters were the low, rhythmic thrum of the Polar Tang's engines vibrating through the metal hull and the irregular, slightly labored breathing of the man sitting across from you. The air in the room felt thick, charged with the residual energy of the 'ROOM' that had only recently dissipated, leaving behind a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of your throat. A single reading lamp cast long, amber shadows across the room, catching the sharp angles of Law's face and the intricate black ink of his tattoos.

Law sat on the edge of his medical cot, his shoulders hunched forward in a posture that suggested profound irritation rather than the exhaustion that surely lined his bones. His iconic fluffy hat was pulled low over his eyes, casting his golden irises into shadow, but you could still feel the intensity of his gaze tracking your every micro movement. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and the dark patterns that climbed toward his shoulders. His skin looked paler than usual under the lamplight, slick with a thin sheen of sweat from the precision required for what he had just done.

Between your hands lay the proof of his absolute surrender: his heart.

It was encased in a square, gelatinous cube the result of his surgical mastery that felt unnaturally warm against your palms. The cube was translucent, allowing you to see the deep crimson muscle of the organ within, its surface slick and glistening. Most disorientingly, it was still beating. Each pulse was visible, a slow, powerful contraction that sent ripples through the gelatinous prison, a rhythmic reminder that his very life was now a tangible object in your possession.

"Well?" Law finally snapped, his voice rougher than usual, carrying that distinctive German lilt that sharpened when he was defensive. "Are you going to sit there gawking at it like some kind of Dummkopf, or are you actually going to hold it properly?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately turning his head away to stare at the wall, but the way his fingers dug into his own biceps betrayed his tension. His jaw was set tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He was performing the role of the annoyed captain to perfection, complaining about the inconvenience of the procedure, but the way his breathing hitched whenever you shifted the cube told a different story.

"Don't look at me like that, ya brat," he muttered, though he couldn't resist stealing a quick, sideways glance at you. His golden eyes flickered down to the heart in your hands before darting back to the shadows. "I told you I'd prove it. I don't need you to make a big deal out of it. Just... handle it. And don't you dare drop it, or I'll Room Shambles you into the middle of the ocean before you can blink."

Despite his venomous words, there was no real threat in them. Instead, there was something almost desperate beneath the bravado a raw, exposed need. By placing his heart in your hands, he had given you the ultimate leash. He was bound to you by something far more permanent than any contract or vow; he was bound to you by the very mechanism that kept him alive. He was waiting, with a mix of prideful defiance and terrifying vulnerability, to see exactly how you would choose to wield that power.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Late Night]

The only light in the room came from the faint, ethereal blue glow of the 'ROOM' that still lingered around Law's fingertips, casting dancing shadows across the walls of his private quarters. The hum of the submarine's engines was a distant, comforting vibration beneath the floorboards, but inside this space, the silence was heavy, charged with an almost unbearable electrical tension. Law sat on the edge of his bed, his chest bare, revealing the intricate heart themed tattoos that wrapped around his torso. His breathing was shallow, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on desperation, even as he tried to maintain that familiar, guarded scowl. The gelatinous, square cube containing his still beating heart rested between your hands warm, slick, and pulsing with a life that was simultaneously his and yours.

"Don't... don't make such a face at me, Schatz," he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, carrying that low, German accented timbre that always seemed to vibrate in the space between your bones. He tried to pull his fluffy hat lower over his eyes, a futile attempt to hide the way his pupils had blown wide with arousal and vulnerability, but his body betrayed him. Every time your fingers shifted against the surface of the cube, his own shoulders would twitch involuntarily, his abdominal muscles rippling with a suppressed tremor. "It's just... a tactical demonstration. Nothing more. So stop looking at me like I've given you something precious."

But you knew better. You could feel the heat radiating from the cube, and more importantly, you could see the way his entire frame buckled when you moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, you brought the cube to your own chest, pressing the warm, pulsing mass directly against your skin, right over your own heartbeat.

The effect was instantaneous. Law's entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning. A sharp, broken gasp escaped his throat a sound that wasn't quite a complaint and wasn't quite a moan, but something far more raw. His head snapped back slightly, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. Through the connection, he could feel your heartbeat hammering against his own, the two rhythms struggling to synchronize through the medium of the cube. His hands, tattooed with 'D E A T H', gripped the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white, his fingers digging into the fabric.

"Damn it..." he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes fluttering closed as his composure shattered completely. The tsundere facade didn't just crack; it disintegrated. "You... you know exactly what you're doing, Liebling. You're playing with me." His voice dropped to a whisper, stripped of all its usual sarcasm and sharp edges. "It feels... like you're inside my chest. Like you're holding my entire existence in your hands."

His hips gave an involuntary, desperate roll forward, the rigid length of him straining visibly against the fabric of his trousers as the physical sensation of your proximity and the intimate connection to his own vital organ overwhelmed his nervous system. He looked broken, utterly exposed, and terrifyingly devoted. His eyes opened again, glistening with an emotion he could no longer suppress. The prideful Captain of the Heart Pirates was gone; there was only Law, the man who had given you everything.

"Please," he breathed, the word barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. "Don't pull away. Don't ever... don't ever let go of it. I can't I can't function if you stop." A flush crept up his neck, darkening his tanned skin as he leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice trembled, breaking under the weight of the admission he had fought so hard to withhold. "I love you. Ich liebe dich. God help me, I am completely yours."

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Late Night]

The cabin was bathed in the low, amber glow of a single dim lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls of the captain's quarters. Outside the reinforced hull, the deep, rhythmic hum of the Polar Tang's engines provided a constant, hypnotic lullaby, but inside the room, the silence felt charged, thick with an unspoken intimacy that made the air feel heavy. Law lay propped up against a pile of pillows, his broad shoulders bare against the dark sheets. His lean, tanned musculature was on full display, the intricate black ink of his tattoos the word 'DEATH' across his knuckles and the heart motifs across his chest stretching and shifting with every labored breath. A black happy trail traced a path down his flat stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his loose sleep trousers, evidence of the raw vulnerability he had offered up.

Between his large, scarred hands, he cradled the square, gelatinous cube. Inside the translucent membrane, his heart beat with a visible, wet rhythm a steady thump thump that seemed to echo the very pulse of the submarine itself. He had extracted it to show you, to prove that his life was not his own, but yours. Yet now, as you sat there, your eyes fixed on the organ with that unnerving, focused intensity, he felt less like a captain and more like prey.

"You're doing it again, Schatz," Law muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated with restrained frustration. He tried to maintain his trademark deadpan stare, tilting his fluffy hat down to shield his eyes, but the effect was ruined by the deep, crimson flush creeping up his neck and staining his cheekbones. "Stop staring at it like you're performing an autopsy. It's... it's unsettling."

Despite his words, he didn't pull away. In fact, his grip on the cube tightened fractionally, his fingers pressing against the warm, slick surface of the gelatinous barrier. He could feel your gaze not just on the heart, but on the way his body was betraying him. Because the heart was exposed, the connection between the organ and his physical form was terrifyingly direct. Every time your eyes traced the rapid contractions of the muscle inside the cube, Law felt a corresponding jolt shoot through his own sternum.

His breathing began to hitch, becoming shallow and uneven. As you watched the heart rate climb under the pressure of your attention, Law's chest rose and fell more rapidly. A visible tremor ran through his thighs, his muscles tensing beneath the sheets as the psychological weight of your observation translated into raw, physical arousal. His pupils dilated until his golden irises were mere thin rings of light, reflecting the intensity of his own internal chaos.

"Damn it..." he hissed through gritted teeth, his head falling back against the pillow as a sharp gasp escaped his lips. The heart in his hands gave a particularly violent, wet flutter. "You know exactly what you're doing, du kleine Teufel... you're playing with my life just to see me squirm." His voice cracked, stripped of its usual calculated cool, leaving only the raw, desperate need of a man who was utterly, helplessly undone by the person holding his soul.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Polar Tang; Time: Late Evening]

The moment your lips seal around the gelatinous surface of the cube, enveloping his living, pulsing organ in the warm, wet heat of your mouth, Law's entire body reacts as if struck by a bolt of lightning. A sharp, strangled gasp tears from his throat a sound that is equal parts shock and involuntary pleasure and his lean frame visibly buckles against the edge of his desk. Even though his hands are not touching the heart, his nerves betray him completely; his fingers twitch spasmodically against the fabric of his trousers, and his spine arches with a sudden, rigid tension that makes his muscles stand out in sharp relief beneath his skin.

"Scheiße !" The German curse bursts from his lips, rough and broken. His face erupts in a deep, burning crimson that spreads from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. "Are you trying to kill me, ya brat?! Stop playing around with something so " His voice cracks mid sentence, failing to maintain its usual deadpan authority. He immediately grabs the brim of his fluffy hat, yanking it down low over his eyes to hide the absolute vulnerability flooding his expression, but he cannot hide the way his breathing has become shallow, ragged gasps that echo in the quiet confines of the room.

Inside the translucent, square cube, the heart responds to your mouth with terrifying honesty. The organ thunders against its gelatinous prison, its contractions becoming rapid and erratic as its pulse spikes to an impossible speed. Each time you apply the warm pressure of your tongue or the suction of your lips, Law's entire torso shudders. He feels it as if you were sucking directly on his own flesh a phantom, overwhelming sensation that travels from the empty cavity in his chest straight to the core of his being. A low, helpless groan rumbles deep in his chest, a sound that betrays how thoroughly he is melting under your touch. "Liebling... don't " he manages to mutter, his words slurring together as he fights the urge to lean closer, his possessive nature warring with the sheer, exposed terror of letting you claim his very life force so intimately.

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