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sixfeetofdirt

Careful; I bite.

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From:

sixfeetofdirt

Astarion feels his cock twitch. It is so lovely to hear a handsome man begging.

"Please, what?"

He moves down, carefully drawing the blade along the crease between hip and thigh.

From:

deuceoftears

He makes a mangled, warbling cry - a sort of ahhHHahaughH - breath coming in short little gulps, shuddering and twitching under the knife.

"Fuck, fuck - please - please tie me down - pin me - with anything, I don't care, please, please I want it so bad -"

He didn't miss Astarion's reaction, but also it's the easiest thing in the world to let himself be utterly, breathlessly sincere about it -

From:

sixfeetofdirt

Astarion licks his lips and sets down the knife carefully.

"Since you asked so nicely, pet."

The bench doesn't have cuffs built into it, but it does have enough of a frame to tie someone onto - and there are ropes provided by the room, naturally.

"Get yourself comfortable, mm?"

Whatever position Jedao chooses is the one he's going to tie him down into.

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao whines a little more; he stretches before he settles, and feels almost deliriously shameless about it.

"Fuck, okay," he mutters after a second, in which he realizes he's going to have to decide what to do with his legs. It's easy to drape his arms up over his head again; it takes an absurd act of will, under the circumstances, to spread his legs the way he does want to do. It'll mean he has less leverage to squirm from his core, and it feels deliciously, unbearably exposed. He closes his eyes and focuses on bringing his breathing back to something that can halfway fake calm.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"Good."

Astarion ties his wrists first, tight enough to hold him in place but not enough to pinch. One hand runs slowly from his hip, down his thigh, over his knee and calf, before tying one ankle and then the other into place.

"You look so good like this," he purrs. "Legs spread for me. Hurting just like I want."

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao twitches and shudders, groaning softly at the praise, and the rope holds him. It doesn't matter if he strains against them, it doesn't matter, it won't get him anywhere. Precome slides down his dick and he relaxes back against the bench with a deep sigh, giving Astarion a dopey smile.

"Yes. Want to hurt like you want."

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"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."

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao whimpers, a softer noise, as tender as the skin Astarion is slicing open. The sting of it feels - different, more insistent, more alive, in such a sensitive place.

"No gods," he insists, a hoarse half-whisper. "If this is an offering, it's for you."

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"No gods," he agrees. "I'm delighted to accept this on my own behalf, my sweet."

He lifts the blade away, then cuts in just above Jedao's erection, using the tip of the blade - a series of deep but tiny cuts in an arch over the root of his cock, with the slightest cruel twist each time.

From:

deuceoftears

There is no Scourge Mistress in the Heptarchate. Only the High Calendar, with its bottomless demand for heretics to torture, and Kujen, at the center of it all. That pain had much power - power taken not by worship but by overwhelming force. Jedao doesn't want to think of the remembrances, no matter how suggestive the position. He wants - he wants this to be personal.

So his gaze is on Astarion's face, rather than carefully tracking the shifting position of the blade, and the new tactic catches him by surprise. He makes a short, sharp scream, a quivering strip of noise sliced out of him. His cock visibly twitches, and the muscles in his abdomen seize and clutch as he struggles to hold himself still against even the tiniest motions of his hips.

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, stars, skullfucking hells -" Jedao curses, in percussive, desperate bursts, as though he could expel some of his own formless desperation on his breath. His eyes water with the intensity of the pain, the awareness of the depth, stomach twisted-up in shocked desire for the audacity and the threat of it.

Edited Date: 2024-05-10 12:08 pm (UTC)

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"Good?"

Astarion smiles wickedly, fingertips pressing against the cuts, rocking lightly back and forth, tormenting.

"Do you think this would be enough to push you over, darling?"

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao makes a high, strained, keening noise; a few tears drip out of the corners of his eyes.

"Muhh - may I?" he asks, panting shallowly, legs twitching slightly in their bonds. The answer is absolutely yes.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"Oh, you may. I actually think you should."

He slides the knife between two of his fingertips, cutting a long, shallow sting between the two deeper wounds.

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao's whimpers turn into a shaky, quavering wail. The encouragement is almost all he needs on its own. The new cut feels like - he doesn't have words for what it feels like, doesn't have thoughts, but it's so much despite being so small. He's being draped in wounds or cut to pieces, he doesn't know what the cut is for or what's next, but Astarion is looking at him, wants him to take it.

His hips shudder, back arching up into it if Astarion lets him, moaning as he comes, so sudden and forceful and overwhemling that when he runs out of breath, it's a good ten or fifteen seconds before he remembers to breathe in again.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

Astarion feels his cock throb in vicious vicarious pleasure, painfully restricted in his clothes, as he watches Jedao come. It's such a gorgeous spectacle that in the moment, it's easy to forget whatever reservations he might have had.

"Good," he breathes, setting the knife aside to run his hand up and down Jedao's chest.

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao beams up at him, utterly relaxed, utterly content, a messy bloody puddle of a person. Being touched now is exactly what he would have wanted. He makes a soft hum of happiness; if he were a cat he would be purring.

His eyes do drift down to Astarion's very strained pants, lazy and shameless, less smug than simply pleased, then glide back up to his face.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

Astarion's hand drifts up higher, gently tracing his jawline, his cheekbone, combing through his hair. He can ignore his own arousal.

"You're a vision," he murmurs. "How do you feel?"

From:

deuceoftears

His eyes go a little cross-eyed from trying to 1) follow the motion of Astarion's hand, and 2) think of words. He moans a little softly, eyes fluttering closed when Astarion pets his hair, tilting gently into it.

"Easy," he says warmly. Because it's true - because everything feels easy right now. He doesn't have to do anything but be in his body, all sweet aches and glimmering stings and hazy lassitude, and let Astarion do whatever he decides to do. And he feels like he is easy, and - he likes that feeling too.

He doesn't say he feels safe, even though it's true, because that seems like a great way to send Astarion running.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

It absolutely is. But Astarion feels good too, satisfied, even despite the...physical frustration. That's not important; getting off isn't what he's here for.

Which isn't to say that he won't be letting this come to mind when he's alone.

"I'd ask if that's a good thing, pet, but I'm quite confident I already know."

From:

deuceoftears

"Mmm. Cause you're smart," Jedao replies, eyes still closed, still nuzzling a little into Astarion's hand.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"Smart enough to see the obvious, perhaps," he murmurs, and glances at the dark thick blood smeared on his fingers. "May I taste this?"

Is it toxic? It doesn't look like blood in the way he understands it.

From:

deuceoftears

"Uh. Godric didn't like it? But you can." It hadn't killed him, or Dorian's vampire friend either, and they'd gone for full throat bites.

"He attacked me, during the sword curse thing."

Jedao loves him very much, but they aren't - like this.

From:

sixfeetofdirt

"Impolite," Astarion says mildly, and then places two fingertips on his tongue, licking off the black viscous stain. It's...strongly flavoured in a way he'd struggle to quantify, but it definitely tastes like blood, and he's content to clean off his other fingertips.

"I can't speak to Godric's tastes, darling. I rather like it."

From:

deuceoftears

Jedao, who had been bracing himself for a little moue of disgust, well-contained no doubt, just lights up, breaking into a shocked, beaming smile.

"Really?"

Edited Date: 2024-05-11 06:07 pm (UTC)