TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

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[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[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."

[deuceoftears]

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

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Really. It's a...complex flavour, I don't know about an everyday indulgence, but rather heady."

[deuceoftears]

"Well...I like that you like it," Jedao says sweetly, almost a little shyly. It feels like a warm glow of satisfaction, low in his stomach, deep in his chest. He likes the idea of being an indulgence.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion licks his lips and smiles.

"It's been my pleasure, darling."

He moves down to start untying Jedao's ankles.

[deuceoftears]

He can't sit up, since his wrists are still tied; he ends up staring at the ceiling instead, warm wooden timbers in an imaginary room.

"Do you want -" he isn't sure how to end that sentence without sounding whiny, or needy, or passive aggressive. He just -

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion flinches a little smile.

"No need for that. I've already gotten exactly what I want."

He slides a hand up one arm before untying his wrists.

[deuceoftears]

"Good," Jedao says warmly, genuinely.

"If I ever come too fast, though," which is distinctly possible, Astarion is so fucking good at winding him up, "For next time. And you haven't gotten what you wanted yet, just know that I enjoy being tormented after, and also I can come at least ten times in an afternoon, so."

His voice has gone wryly amused in a self-deprecating sort of way. He's probably not a bottomless pit, but he hasn't actually found the bottom yet. "So if you ever want more pain or more blood or more begging or more mess - we don't have to be done until you've gotten it."

And he mentions absolutely nothing else. He flexes his hand once he's untied, then reaches to touch some of the cuts along his collarbone. The neat sharpness of the obsidian blade means they've been healing faster than the claw-marks - not to a visible degree but he can feel the difference as he runs his fingertips along the line of one slice, shuddering a little aching satisfaction.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion hums, brows lifting.

"Are you telling me you're not done yet, my sweet?"

[deuceoftears]

Jedao shakes his head.

"I'm telling you that even though I am done, and perfectly satisfied, that I'm not at my limit. And I don't want to be selfish just because you're so wonderful."

He ducks his head, laughing softly, eyes twinkling. "I would hate to punish you for your success. For the record."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"You're too kind. Maybe another time, I'll take you up on that."

He's not sure how long he could let himself work him over without simply...losing himself in it all.

"Today, though, I'm more than happy to leave you as you are."

[deuceoftears]

"Good, then."

He stretches his arms out, groaning a little as the new motions tug on his fresh cuts - and the still-deep claw lines - in new ways, and it is meant to be flirting but not meant to be a real temptation to anything. It's just that his only choices, covered in his own blood and come, are silly and flirty, or gross and awkward, and he doesn't want to be awkward. So - leaning into it.

"Fox and hound, I feel wonderful," he murmurs, a little dreamy, as he finally shifts to sit on the edge of the of table, stretching out a leg to feel the cuts there before stepping all the way.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Good."

Astarion, for his part, is already veering into the crash after the peak, but he's very good at hiding it and also not really aware of top drop being a thing.

"Shall I leave you to collect yourself, then?"

[deuceoftears]

Jedao does know know that top drop is a thing, but he isn't confident in reading Astarion or what he might want during drop. Especially when he might just want to get alone to jerk off at this point, or prefer to feel it where he doesn't have to keep his face on.

Still. He'd insisted he didn't mind holding Jedao last time.

"I made this room with a back porch this time," Jedao says instead. "I was thinking...I'd like to clean up and get dressed, and then just kneel for you for a little while? If that's alright?"