Fives doesn't answer, though he almost palpably glows at the praise. He's pretty much exhausted his own ability to produce coherent words, instead he rocks eagerly into every thrust, groaning deep in his chest. One foot presses into Jedao's back and the other's braced on the bed next to his calf, giving Fives what little leverage he can get. He doesn't need much, though, doesn't really want any significant control of this; mostly he just wants to take it, to feel Jedao splitting him open and lighting him up from the inside.
"Ner'kar'ta. Ner'kar'am. Ner'riduur. You're mine," Jedao growls, viciously giddily pleased as he takes Fives, thrust after thrust. His Fives, his traitor, his husband. His soul to keep, his life to share.
His life to -
"I can't believe you're letting me do this," he whispers, and he doesn't mean the sex.
He's stretched so taut between the cuffs and Jedao's cock that every muscle strains, and he pants and quivers and moans with each thrust, each endearment. He's so close, trembling at the edge of release and trying desperately to hold it off, to make it last as long as possible.
He knows exactly what Jedao means, what's put that almost awed tone in his voice, and he arches a little harder into him as he thinks about it. Digs his heel a little more viciously into his back.
"Want you... to... do it," he manages to slur. And for all the desperate lust in every line of his face and body there's still absolute adoration there as well. Complete, unquestionable trust.
"Want it," he repeats, lower, deeper, breathier as grew strains for the words. "Trust... you."
A sound wrenches out of Jedao, somewhere between a moan and a wail, his hips snapping forward, his rhythm going wild. He lets go of Fives' leg and leans forward enough that he can wrap one hand around Fives' throat, the other stroking his cock as Jedao hurtles toward his own climax.
"I will. Gonna take care of you. Make it so easy." A good clean gentle death, not desperate, not alone.
Fives isn't exactly quiet during sex--he likes to make noise, likes being able to make noise--but he's not generally loud either. He howls at this, though, at the words as much as the hands at his throat, his cock, Jedao hammering at his prostate with each ragged thrust. It's the promise that sends him over the edge, every muscle locking up tight, his eyes rolled back in his head as he spills messily over Jedao's hand and his own belly and chest. There's even a spattering of come in his beard as his body bears down on Jedao like a vise.
If it's not at the same moment, it might as well be; both of them are too far gone to really tell. The hand on Fives' throat spasms, and Jedao's own sounds cut out sharply, reflexively holding his breath even as he struggles desperately to keep his eyes open, not to miss an instant.
After, they're slumped together, Jedao still inside him, panting and nuzzling his face against Fives' chest, heedless of the mess.
Fives slumps beneath Jedao, wrung out and sated. His breathing is ragged and harsh and he cranes his neck so he can press his lips tup Jedao's temple before collapsing back again.
He's quiet for a moment, catching his breath, corralling his thoughts, and then- "Now?" he asks, voice strained. "Can you... do it now?" He knows Jedao a his knife within reach; he always has a knife within reach.
He can't manage to feel guilty for the request, he wants it now, while they're joined still, close and beyond infinite intimate. Wants to feel Jedao in him and against him as he slips the knife between his ribs. He knows it's probably perverse that his cock twitches faintly at the thought, not even soft yet and not likely to get that way until his blood's called for elsewhere.
Jedao shifts the hand on Fives' neck, from the faintly menacing discomfort of pressure against his windpipe to a much more subtle, much more dangerous pressure against his carotid. There's a swoopy, nervy rush as Fives' brain starts losing oxygen, albeit more slowly than an unaugmented human would experience. Black stars dance and fray across his vision, the world going soft and distant.
"I've got you," Jedao promises, kissing the notch between Fives' clavicle and his sternum. "I love you. I'll be with you when you wake up," he promises.
He never did get his pants off, only down; Jedao's sword is still at his thigh, if not his hip. He settles the rim of the hilt at just the right angle, then activates the blade. It's not hot like a lightsaber would be. It doesn't burn. The calendrical sword is a tiny disjunction in time, that creates a disjunction in the utterly crucial constant processes in flesh. It cuts into Fives so finey that the sting is almost an afterthought. Only a little blood seeps from the cut as Fives' heart is skewered.
Fives strains against the dark, struggling to keep his eyes on Jedao for every second he can. He appreciates Jedao trying to make it as painless as possible, but he wants every second of awareness of Jedao's presence he can manage, wants to feel death coming for him at Jedao's hand. There's only so much he can do as the blood stops reaching his brain, though, and Jedao's voice is the shadow of a whisper, his kiss a barely there touch as everything goes soft and warm and impossibly distant. He might feel the faint sting of Jedao's blade before his consciousness is completely extinguished but if he does it's with the soft impermanence of a dream. His last breath escapes on a sigh and he goes impossibly limp and still and it's over, nothing left to do but wait.
Jedao rests his head on Fives' chest, letting the sword dim and drop as he breathes, deep panting gulps, lets himself cling and shake. He has no idea what he's feeling, except that it's so much, like getting bowled over by an ocean wave. Not good, not bad, just powerful.
He's killed so many of the people he's loved. And now - Fives. Not out of arrogance, or calculated sacrifice, or any scheme of his. As a mutual gift, utterly shared between them. He takes long, deep breaths, and holds onto Fives' body for a while longer. Eventually he slips out, takes a two minute shower and then wipes Fives clean of sweat and lube and come and blood, and maneuvers him into his loosest work pants. He bends over Fives and presses their foreheads together, feeling Fives' skin already starting to cool. He takes another deep breath and goes to call Tris.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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His life to -
"I can't believe you're letting me do this," he whispers, and he doesn't mean the sex.
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He knows exactly what Jedao means, what's put that almost awed tone in his voice, and he arches a little harder into him as he thinks about it. Digs his heel a little more viciously into his back.
"Want you... to... do it," he manages to slur. And for all the desperate lust in every line of his face and body there's still absolute adoration there as well. Complete, unquestionable trust.
"Want it," he repeats, lower, deeper, breathier as grew strains for the words. "Trust... you."
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"I will. Gonna take care of you. Make it so easy." A good clean gentle death, not desperate, not alone.
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After, they're slumped together, Jedao still inside him, panting and nuzzling his face against Fives' chest, heedless of the mess.
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He's quiet for a moment, catching his breath, corralling his thoughts, and then- "Now?" he asks, voice strained. "Can you... do it now?" He knows Jedao a his knife within reach; he always has a knife within reach.
He can't manage to feel guilty for the request, he wants it now, while they're joined still, close and beyond infinite intimate. Wants to feel Jedao in him and against him as he slips the knife between his ribs. He knows it's probably perverse that his cock twitches faintly at the thought, not even soft yet and not likely to get that way until his blood's called for elsewhere.
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"I've got you," Jedao promises, kissing the notch between Fives' clavicle and his sternum. "I love you. I'll be with you when you wake up," he promises.
He never did get his pants off, only down; Jedao's sword is still at his thigh, if not his hip. He settles the rim of the hilt at just the right angle, then activates the blade. It's not hot like a lightsaber would be. It doesn't burn. The calendrical sword is a tiny disjunction in time, that creates a disjunction in the utterly crucial constant processes in flesh. It cuts into Fives so finey that the sting is almost an afterthought. Only a little blood seeps from the cut as Fives' heart is skewered.
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He's killed so many of the people he's loved. And now - Fives. Not out of arrogance, or calculated sacrifice, or any scheme of his. As a mutual gift, utterly shared between them. He takes long, deep breaths, and holds onto Fives' body for a while longer. Eventually he slips out, takes a two minute shower and then wipes Fives clean of sweat and lube and come and blood, and maneuvers him into his loosest work pants. He bends over Fives and presses their foreheads together, feeling Fives' skin already starting to cool. He takes another deep breath and goes to call Tris.