The presence of body hair does make it more noticeable, the way his skin prickles and goosebumps in the wake of Astarion's touch.
Jedao shakes his head. "I feel the same, I heal the same. I just...look a little different." The way he expects to look, in his head, the way he'd expected before he woke up with twenty-eight years of Jedao One's wars written on his body.
He spreads his hands flat on the table, his breath hitching as Astarion touches him more roughly, little ahs and gasps as he feels the edges of Astarion's nails dig in.
Those sounds are as much a warmup for Astarion as the rubdown is intended
to be for Jedao; he can feel those gasps right in his core, like a slow
burn igniting there. It's hard not to think about reaching for a dagger,
opening that lovely flawless skin, leaving him marked in new ways. Ways
he'll beg for.
He is, perhaps, getting ahead of himself.
He steps back and picks up the cane he set down, running the tip of it down
Jedao's spine.
"Good," Astarion murmurs. "Now - let's make a real start, shall we?"
He doesn't ease in. He brings the cane down across Jedao's shoulders like
he's trying to break it - once in a horizontal stripe, then again across
his ass on the backswing.
Jedao hisses at the first strike, a strangled sound that's half-sigh sputtering out of him, the muscles of his back tensing minutely only for an instant before relaxing into it. He squeaks for the stripe on his ass, definitely taken more by surprise, rising for a moment onto the balls of his feet, then forcing himself to set back down.
Astarion giggles at that sound. He can't help it. It's just delightful.
"Lovely thing," he murmurs, and gives him another couple of swats across
his ass and thighs before hitting across his thighs like he means it. "Do
you want to take off the rest? I can keep going like this."
"You may not," but this is only because he's going to do the honours
himself. He tugs down Jedao's trousers and underwear to mid-calf, hobbling
him slightly. His hands run back up his bared legs in a firm drag,
fingernails leaving pink stripes behind.
Jedao whines happily, leaning into it slightly in his enthusiasm, breath coming a little faster as he starts to get aroused in earnest, rather than just intellectual anticipation.
"You make such pretty noises," Astarion sighs, then swats him lightly across his calves, just above where his waistband clothes have settled. The next few strikes land across the marks he left through his trousers, his clothes no longer able to disperse or cushion the impact.
The sounds and the sight of his pain feel like things Astarion can consume - he's not feeling deprived in some ambiguous sense, the way he once did, but they're no less delicious.
Jedao squeaks a little more at the strikes to his calves; he hasn't played with that as often, and it's part surprise, part sting, part novelty thrill.
"You're very encouraging," Jedao breathes, voice a little huskier than usual.
Astarion trails the tip of the cane up from the back of Jedao's knee to his
inner thigh, then whisks back the cane and stripes it across his ass, over
and over until he's losing count.
Jedao's breath goes ragged as the caning goes on, his thoughts dissolving away in the relentless sting and the building, fizzing heat. His arms on the table stay steady, but occasionally one of the big muscles in his legs will twitch or quiver, soft moans and whimpers rolling steadily from his mouth.
Astarion, for his part, is very happy to keep going, to keep marking this
new pretty skin over and over in a deepening pink stretch from his tailbone
to his knees. Each shiver and sound feels like honey on his tongue, sweet
and rich.
And if Jedao should happen to twitch in a way that exposes the sole of a
foot, that gets a sharp hit too. Astarion knows very well how much that
hurts.
Jedao is completely hard now, though it's mostly hidden by the table, the occasional jostle causing him to drip precome onto the floor. He's groaning continuously, drinking in the savage, relentless strikes, the deep bruised ache and the ragged sting of each fresh wheal, the feeling of fire feasting and creeping over his skin.
He does push up onto the balls of his feet at one point, just to stretch his aching calves, and yelps as the switch catches him across both soles, almost stumbling.
"Fuck, oh fuck, fire and ash -" he stammers, shocked afresh.
Astarion chuckles, low and satisfied. He's hard too, his erection straining
against his leathers, but he's paying it little mind.
"I almost forgot how beautifully you take it, darling," he purrs, putting a
cool bare hand onto the hot welts across Jedao's ass, kneading hard at the
muscle.
Jedao makes a sound that starts off as a soft cry and turns into throaty, helpless moan; he quivers all over. He can feel a hot blush crawling down his face and throat; Astarion can see it on the back of his neck, and maybe even on his ears.
He feels - he doesn't even know the words for how he feels, exposed and praised and squeezed like he's just a pretty thing for Astarion to enjoy, the cool relief of his hand and the hot sting of his sore flesh all singing together. It feels like prickling is running all over his skin, even where he hasn't been caned, and excruciating delicate wonderful awareness of every inch of his body, self-consciousness without shame, embarrassment and enthusiasm and raw thrill.
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Jedao shakes his head. "I feel the same, I heal the same. I just...look a little different." The way he expects to look, in his head, the way he'd expected before he woke up with twenty-eight years of Jedao One's wars written on his body.
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"You feel different," Astarion notes. "I didn't even know this body could grow hair."
It's not an unreasonable assumption! His can't!
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Soft-locked to Kujen's cosmetic presets.
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"I like it," he decides, then steps back behind him, hands running from his shoulders and down his back. "You seem...more comfortable."
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"Yeah," he breathes. The thing he became when he was crushed still perturbs him, if he thinks about it too much, but the body now - it's good.
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"Mm. Use both hands, brace yourself."
His fingers are digging in harder now, a kneading massage with nails involved, leaving faint marks.
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Those sounds are as much a warmup for Astarion as the rubdown is intended to be for Jedao; he can feel those gasps right in his core, like a slow burn igniting there. It's hard not to think about reaching for a dagger, opening that lovely flawless skin, leaving him marked in new ways. Ways he'll beg for.
He is, perhaps, getting ahead of himself.
He steps back and picks up the cane he set down, running the tip of it down Jedao's spine.
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"Good," Astarion murmurs. "Now - let's make a real start, shall we?"
He doesn't ease in. He brings the cane down across Jedao's shoulders like he's trying to break it - once in a horizontal stripe, then again across his ass on the backswing.
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Astarion giggles at that sound. He can't help it. It's just delightful.
"Lovely thing," he murmurs, and gives him another couple of swats across his ass and thighs before hitting across his thighs like he means it. "Do you want to take off the rest? I can keep going like this."
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"....I do. May I?"
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"You may not," but this is only because he's going to do the honours himself. He tugs down Jedao's trousers and underwear to mid-calf, hobbling him slightly. His hands run back up his bared legs in a firm drag, fingernails leaving pink stripes behind.
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"You make such pretty noises," Astarion sighs, then swats him lightly across his calves, just above where his waistband clothes have settled. The next few strikes land across the marks he left through his trousers, his clothes no longer able to disperse or cushion the impact.
The sounds and the sight of his pain feel like things Astarion can consume - he's not feeling deprived in some ambiguous sense, the way he once did, but they're no less delicious.
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"You're very encouraging," Jedao breathes, voice a little huskier than usual.
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"I try."
Astarion trails the tip of the cane up from the back of Jedao's knee to his inner thigh, then whisks back the cane and stripes it across his ass, over and over until he's losing count.
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Astarion, for his part, is very happy to keep going, to keep marking this new pretty skin over and over in a deepening pink stretch from his tailbone to his knees. Each shiver and sound feels like honey on his tongue, sweet and rich.
And if Jedao should happen to twitch in a way that exposes the sole of a foot, that gets a sharp hit too. Astarion knows very well how much that hurts.
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He does push up onto the balls of his feet at one point, just to stretch his aching calves, and yelps as the switch catches him across both soles, almost stumbling.
"Fuck, oh fuck, fire and ash -" he stammers, shocked afresh.
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Astarion chuckles, low and satisfied. He's hard too, his erection straining against his leathers, but he's paying it little mind.
"I almost forgot how beautifully you take it, darling," he purrs, putting a cool bare hand onto the hot welts across Jedao's ass, kneading hard at the muscle.
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He feels - he doesn't even know the words for how he feels, exposed and
praised and squeezed like he's just a pretty thing for Astarion to enjoy, the cool relief of his hand and the hot sting of his sore flesh all singing together. It feels like prickling is running all over his skin, even where he hasn't been caned, and excruciating delicate wonderful awareness of every inch of his body, self-consciousness without shame, embarrassment and enthusiasm and raw thrill.
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"What would it take to finish you off, pet?" he wonders, cane tapping so lightly against the red stripes on his calves. "Tell me what you need."
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"Almost anything," he admits. A bite, a kiss, a swipe of claws - it would be so easy to push him over the edge.
"I want - I want - " the image is so clear in his head, but words are harder.
"I want. To. Kneel for you? So you can...get my feet, and my shoulders. May I, please?"
He can feel his own pulse throb and ache in his cock just for the asking.
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