Siffleur chuckles low in his chest and lets his teeth nip a little over the flesh. It's very tempting to dig these teeth into the marks his other teeth made, over extend his jaw to fit the jaw shape, and to bite, twist, tear, fill his mouth with flesh, blood, to chew slowly and to feel the texture of those bits of raw flesh as they turn into a pulp, to swallow it down and feel it fill his stomach-

Another time. He can settle with just the slightest texture of Jack between his teeth, the taste of blood on his tongue.

"Hunted a lot of men for spot. Fucked a lot of men for pleasure. Rarely overlapped the two." He spots a scar peeking just out of Jack's shirt and leans forward, running his tongue over the little tail of it. This close, he can smell the sweat and adrenaline, and see the flush of blood just under Jack's skin. He brings his head up, shifting onto his hands and knees to loom over Jack. "You've killed a lot of men."

No need to state the obvious second half, not when the smile on his face says it all.