His tone is not kind. But it is not mean. There's something of informing, as well as accusation in it. It matches the way his fingers glide down Carlisle's spine and small back, as a warning.

"I'll always-" His lips followed the line of his jaw. "-be yours." Down the juncture of his ear and neck. "I will never--" light as a feather almost, as he spoke. "-not want you."

Until he bit down against Carlisle's throat, erring down the razor's edge, his fingers bunching the cloth of his shirt and his pants where his hand was stopped.