"Perfect."

The temptation to touch him, to follow the trail of precome with his fingertips and make him lick his own mess from his skin, is damned near irresistible - but he does resist.

"You know, some people would consider this an act of worship," he murmurs, delicately drawing the blade from Jedao's knee up towards his inner thigh. "My world has a goddess, Loviatar. The Scourge Mistress. Her worshippers hold that pain has a sacred power."