Astarion smiles and takes up the washcloth, giving it a final squeeze
before passing it over Jedao's skin - more firmly than he needs to by far,
more brusquely, and with particular pressure when he passes over the
healing wounds he's inflicted.
Jedao shrieks, warm little yelps of half-delighted pain, panting and shivering as he has to put effort into not squirming away - or closer once again. He gives an especially low, emphatic whimper, squeezing his eyes shut, when Astarion presses on the small, deep cuts around the base of his dick, washcloth shivery-cool and dripping as it wipes the thick blood out of his pubic hair. Despite the cold, it's clear he was telling the truth: he's starting to get just a little bit hard again already. Once he's clean, though, he just smiles lazily, and goes to pick up his clothes, groaning every time he has to bend or twist to shimmy them on.
It's done a little to reawaken Astarion's interest, as well, but that's of no odds to him; it'll go away, and clothes are being donned.
"Let's go outside," he decides, assuming that Jedao gave today's environment an outdoors because he wanted to use it. "...Don't you find having hair down there annoying?"
"Not annoying enough to do anything about," he says, after blinking for a moment; he's never really thought about it. He doesn't have any chest hair, because - unbeknownst to him - Jedao One did get very annoyed having extremely patch chest hair grow in only in between the scar tissue, and had his follicles deadened everywhere between his neck and his belly button. But he still gets cheek scruff if he skips his depilatory cream for a few days, and maintains neat dark hair at his crotch.
"I could get rid of it if you wanted?"
Outside is a broad patio deck: a variety of cozy chairs and couches on warm flagstones, cool fresh breeze, and a day-bright night sky illuminated by a vast, silverwhite path of planetary rings arching across it. They're on a little bit of a hill, surrounded by low rolling moors, heather gleaming in the more-than-moonlight of the rings, dusky blue-grey deer grazing amidst butter-yellow sheep and tortoises the size of medium dogs.
"Oh, no, it doesn't bother me that you have it," he says, and chooses a couch to stretch out on. "I just...don't, personally. I can't. Is this a real place?"
"The planet is real. Ophanth. Probably not this patio? I haven't actually been there, I just used to watch a lot of documentaries about 'the 100 Most Beautiful Planets in the Stabglass March To Have Pastries On Before You Die' or whatever."
He groans a little as he settles down to kneel next to the couch, placing himself so that he isn't presuming to rest his head on Astarion's body, but he's in comfortably easy petting range.
"Before I came to the barge, I'd only ever been on enclosed ships or stations," Jedao confirms. "I had...some minimal walking-around privileges on one section of the Citadel of Eyes, but it was under intense surveillance and it put all my keepers on edge, so I mostly just stayed in my quarters unless I was summoned by my pysch team or to talk to Shuos-zho or something. His security chief's cats were the only animals I'd ever seen in real life."
Jedao says it matter of factly; not quite nostalgic, but not bitterly either. It's nothing compared to what plenty of inmates went through, Astarion included. But he does love seeing places like this: life, ground, real sky.
Jedao huffs a little, old aggravation he can't quite find the right shape for. But he's very relaxed, now, with his cuts throbbing in a low harmonious thrum, and Astarion's hand in his hair.
"Different things. My maker wanted power, and...a pet who would be reasonably entertaining forever. I'm supposed to be this tactical genius at warfare."
And, well. Astarion knows what he likes.
"After him...for a while I thought Shuos-zho just wanted to keep anyone else from using me, or to keep me from making trouble after I slipped someone else's leash. But really he wanted information." There's the bitterness, although quieter and plainer than it might have been otherwise. "Which I really should have guessed."
He's quiet for a long time. One of the baby goats jumps on top of the biggest tortoise and bugles proudly; the tortoise seems unperturbed.
"Some things about the...circumstances of my maker's death weren't my secrets to tell," he says finally. Which is almost as good as to say: he's taking a fall for someone, although not in the obvious way. He very much did kill Nirai Kujen.
"Oh, I don't really see myself going home," he drawls. "If the place
hasn't proven its appeal to me in the last two centuries, I don't really
see that changing."
"Well, I'd take almost anywhere which isn't on the brink of apocalypse. And not being hunted like a rabid dog for the mere act of existing would be nice, as well."
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Astarion smiles and takes up the washcloth, giving it a final squeeze before passing it over Jedao's skin - more firmly than he needs to by far, more brusquely, and with particular pressure when he passes over the healing wounds he's inflicted.
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It's done a little to reawaken Astarion's interest, as well, but that's of no odds to him; it'll go away, and clothes are being donned.
"Let's go outside," he decides, assuming that Jedao gave today's environment an outdoors because he wanted to use it. "...Don't you find having hair down there annoying?"
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"I could get rid of it if you wanted?"
Outside is a broad patio deck: a variety of cozy chairs and couches on warm flagstones, cool fresh breeze, and a day-bright night sky illuminated by a vast, silverwhite path of planetary rings arching across it. They're on a little bit of a hill, surrounded by low rolling moors, heather gleaming in the more-than-moonlight of the rings, dusky blue-grey deer grazing amidst butter-yellow sheep and tortoises the size of medium dogs.
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"Oh, no, it doesn't bother me that you have it," he says, and chooses a couch to stretch out on. "I just...don't, personally. I can't. Is this a real place?"
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He groans a little as he settles down to kneel next to the couch, placing himself so that he isn't presuming to rest his head on Astarion's body, but he's in comfortably easy petting range.
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"...I see."
He'll do some petting because why the fuck not, he recalls Jedao's hair feeling nice.
"I... gathered from what you've told me previously that you didn't get out much at all."
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Jedao says it matter of factly; not quite nostalgic, but not bitterly either. It's nothing compared to what plenty of inmates went through, Astarion included. But he does love seeing places like this: life, ground, real sky.
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"What did they actually want from you?" Astarion wonders aloud. "The people who...kept you."
They've talked about the fact that it happened, but not so much the why.
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"Different things. My maker wanted power, and...a pet who would be reasonably entertaining forever. I'm supposed to be this tactical genius at warfare."
And, well. Astarion knows what he likes.
"After him...for a while I thought Shuos-zho just wanted to keep anyone else from using me, or to keep me from making trouble after I slipped someone else's leash. But really he wanted information." There's the bitterness, although quieter and plainer than it might have been otherwise. "Which I really should have guessed."
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Astarion does remember the words over his head, from early in their acquaintance. Failed sex pet? Something like that.
"Information related to your tactical genius, or...?"
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"Some things about the...circumstances of my maker's death weren't my secrets to tell," he says finally. Which is almost as good as to say: he's taking a fall for someone, although not in the obvious way. He very much did kill Nirai Kujen.
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"I see," Astarion says mildly. It's not as if he cares about the minutiae. "You're going elsewhere when you're done here, I take it?"
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"Seems like the wisest choice."
He lightly scratches his nails against Jedao's scalp, petting him in a way not unlike how he treats his cat.
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"Oh, I don't really see myself going home," he drawls. "If the place hasn't proven its appeal to me in the last two centuries, I don't really see that changing."
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"Well, I'd take almost anywhere which isn't on the brink of apocalypse. And not being hunted like a rabid dog for the mere act of existing would be nice, as well."
His needs are so few!