He makes a sharp, surprised little noise at the bite, something that in a higher-pitched voice would possibly qualify as a squeak, but it tumbles into a low groan as he rocks his hips back against Fives' thumb, aching for more.

You're so sweet, he'd said before, all fondness, but he's grateful for it now, for more thoughtfulness than he really expected from a teenager, even one as gracious and intelligent as Fives has proved in the last few days. Jedao tries to take the reminder to heart. He knows to breathe but it's easy to forget, with how wound up he is, with how long it's been and how hard it is to think. He breathes slow and shallow, long pulls between his teeth like a silk scarf pulled through a ring.

The sound he makes when Fives' fingers work in sounds crushed out of him, wrecked and oozing like oil from an olive press. He has to keep breathing, and he tries, even though it feels like he can't manage anything except keeping his elbows locked as he shudders. The stretch feels impossible, unbearable, even though he's so slick and keyed up that it barely hurts at all, smolders instead of burns, strains in the best way. He hangs his head, pants hard, entirely in his body and of his body, rocks so shallowly, torn between his desperation to adjust and the always-too-much intensity of being pried open.

And then, like a switch flipping somewhere between the nodes of his spine, his body adjusts, accepts, needs more.

"Now, now, I need you in me, Fives please -"