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.
Jedao breathes in soft, shallow pants, and he moves with a ginger, wincing slowness as he steps away from the table. He hisses as he goes down to his knees, the skin of his calves and hamstrings pulling in a new way with the motion, then screeching incandescently for a moment as he folds his legs, hot abused skin on both sides, pouring that heat back into the other side, his own sweat stinging in the raw places where weals built up and small black dots of blood had started to emerge.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jedao chants under his ragged breath, trying not to either pass out or come right away, not sure which is more likely. He sits on his heels, soles with their single fresh stripe fully exposed, the muscles in his back shifting as he braces and then relaxes. He sets his palms down on the tops of his thighs, digs his fingernails in slightly as he waits, closing his eyes. There's nothing but the pain, and the awareness of Astarion's body behind him, and the whistling tremolo of anticipation.
Astarion gives his hair a stroke, then a quick sharp tug.
"You asked for this," he reminds him, then gives him three strikes - one
deceptively gentle but over the exact red stripe on his soles, then two
across his shoulders with every bit of his strength.
The gentle pet and little yank on his hair almost does it; the glorious mean precision lashing across his feet and the bright line of fire across his shoulders crackle through his mind like lightning. Jedao yelps and bends forward, groaning and jolting as he comes. It feels like the the pleasure has been speared out of him, like the pain in his feet and shoulders has made a white searing box to hold the rest of it, like he's a glass ornament full of pain finally smashing.
It's perfect.
He drifts back into his body, still burning and aching, in an ungainly little hunch on the floor, ass still striped bright red, gulping breaths in between soft simmering whimpers, come splattered over the floor and his own chest, with the way he's folded up.
He feels scraped clean, despite the mess, like a leather hide stretched and scoured by a methodical tanner. He did ask for it, and Astarion gave it to him. "Thank you," he mumbles, slurring only slightly, when he's gathered a few thoughts back.
"There you are, darling. Well done," Astarion croons, crouching down at
his side to stroke his hair. He's so gentle now. "You needn't do anything
at all just yet, but let me know if I can help you, mm?"
"'m gonna roll in a second," Jedao warns, after enough contemplation to figure out that his current position, in addition to being filthy and cramp-prone, also probably looks pretty stupid.
It takes him another few seconds to figure out the motion, but then he manages it, only a little bit graceless, tipping onto his side so that he can keep his head in easy reach of Astarion's petting, but also stretch his legs out, wincing and whimpering softly, before gazing up at Astarion from the floor, his expression one of quiet, blissful gratitude.
"You don't always have to wait for me to be drunk and brave and then sober and brave, you know," Jedao points out, slightly dreamily. "Most times if you offered me a thrashing I'd've jumped at the chance."
Oh, this question. Astarion is not better at answering it than he was last time, or indeed at any other time. (At least not around Jedao. Small improvements have been observed in Rosita and Jacob's company.)
"Nothing at all, my sweet. I'm perfectly content."
"I feel so selfish, you know," Jedao murmurs ruefully. "You're always so wonderful to me. I can't tell if I'm respecting your need for self-control or just taking advantage of how hard it is for you to ask."
"Then consider it another element of my torment, and imagine the sadistic
satisfaction I take from it," Astarion says sweetly, and kisses the crown
of Jedao's head.
Jedao giggles, and relaxes a little - not that he believes that for a second, but it's the kind of excuse Astarion would give if he really didn't want Jedao to pry. So it's okay if he doesn't.
"That's such wolfshit," he mumbles fondly. He lifts a hand to idly caress the shape of Astarion's patella under his clothes.
"I would like to get you off. But I'm also happy to consider it another element of your torment if you'd prefer to deny me."
It's not a plea, it's not even a request. It's just information: that Jedao would be delighted either way, that the power remains Astarion's. He more-than-half hopes Astarion does deny him, and prove that it really is his own desire behind his stone-top self control.
He hasn't made any specific promises to Jacob and Rosita - Hells, he told
Jacob specifically that he wouldn't promise monogamy - but it still feels
odd to be touched intimately by someone else.
Though thrashing Jedao to orgasm doesn't feel strange in the least. Just
immensely satisfying.
"Mmm. Yes, sir," Jedao says cheekily, eyes fluttering closed again as he slides into relaxation; he stretches out his aching legs with a soft hiss and then a warm hum, unselfconscious as a cat.
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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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Astarion laughs, almost a giggle, even as a familiar thrill of power rushes through him.
"So polite. Yes. On your knees for me."
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"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jedao chants under his ragged breath, trying not to either pass out or come right away, not sure which is more likely. He sits on his heels, soles with their single fresh stripe fully exposed, the muscles in his back shifting as he braces and then relaxes. He sets his palms down on the tops of his thighs, digs his fingernails in slightly as he waits, closing his eyes. There's nothing but the pain, and the awareness of Astarion's body behind him, and the whistling tremolo of anticipation.
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Astarion gives his hair a stroke, then a quick sharp tug.
"You asked for this," he reminds him, then gives him three strikes - one deceptively gentle but over the exact red stripe on his soles, then two across his shoulders with every bit of his strength.
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It's perfect.
He drifts back into his body, still burning and aching, in an ungainly little hunch on the floor, ass still striped bright red, gulping breaths in between soft simmering whimpers, come splattered over the floor and his own chest, with the way he's folded up.
He feels scraped clean, despite the mess, like a leather hide stretched and scoured by a methodical tanner. He did ask for it, and Astarion gave it to him. "Thank you," he mumbles, slurring only slightly, when he's gathered a few thoughts back.
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"There you are, darling. Well done," Astarion croons, crouching down at his side to stroke his hair. He's so gentle now. "You needn't do anything at all just yet, but let me know if I can help you, mm?"
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It takes him another few seconds to figure out the motion, but then he manages it, only a little bit graceless, tipping onto his side so that he can keep his head in easy reach of Astarion's petting, but also stretch his legs out, wincing and whimpering softly, before gazing up at Astarion from the floor, his expression one of quiet, blissful gratitude.
"You liked it?" Jedao asks, just slightly cheeky.
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"I tolerated it," Astarion says archly, and gives his ear a little pinch. "You put up with it too, it seems like."
His voice has warmed significantly by the end of that sentence.
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"You always hurt me so good," Jedao murmurs, languid, absolutely savoring every ache and burn.
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"You gave me such a lovely new canvas." Astarion strokes his hair delicately. "How could I fail to make an effort?"
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"...I know." He does. "Suffice to say I've been rather distracted, of late, and...less frustrated."
Less acutely in need of a pressure valve.
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"What would you like now?"
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Oh, this question. Astarion is not better at answering it than he was last time, or indeed at any other time. (At least not around Jedao. Small improvements have been observed in Rosita and Jacob's company.)
"Nothing at all, my sweet. I'm perfectly content."
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"Then consider it another element of my torment, and imagine the sadistic satisfaction I take from it," Astarion says sweetly, and kisses the crown of Jedao's head.
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"That's such wolfshit," he mumbles fondly. He lifts a hand to idly caress the shape of Astarion's patella under his clothes.
"I would like to get you off. But I'm also happy to consider it another element of your torment if you'd prefer to deny me."
It's not a plea, it's not even a request. It's just information: that Jedao would be delighted either way, that the power remains Astarion's. He more-than-half hopes Astarion does deny him, and prove that it really is his own desire behind his stone-top self control.
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"Denial it is, then."
He hasn't made any specific promises to Jacob and Rosita - Hells, he told Jacob specifically that he wouldn't promise monogamy - but it still feels odd to be touched intimately by someone else.
Though thrashing Jedao to orgasm doesn't feel strange in the least. Just immensely satisfying.
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