His smile in response is almost beatific. "Love you," he murmurs, stroking Quentin's arm, reaching back to thread his fingers through Jedao's hair then stopping partway, entranced by the sight of the dragonfly on his forearm.
"Skin's gonna fit right again," he almost whispers, and completes the motion, tugging gently at Jedao's hair as he turns his head to nuzzle at his jaw.
Jedao moans just a little for the tug on his hair, kisses Fives again, sloppy and strained, stroking a hand down Fives' chest, a moment of mindless indulgence before he takes up the needle again.
He groans into the kiss, and when it breaks turns back to beam at Quentin again as he bandages over the completed ink, unspeakably grateful for his understanding. Unspeakably grateful for both of these men, their touches and their care and their understanding of things he wasn't sure anyone but his brothers would ever get more than an inkling of.
Fives rolls easily, happily, and sprawls between Quentin's legs, pillowing his head on his thigh. "Smell like me," he murmurs, just as pleased. Him and sex and sweat and magic. At least he imagines magic has a smell. Imagines he can still feel it, pulsing warm under his skin.
He shifts as Jedao directs, then shifts a little more, getting his hips settled, feeling himself still half hard against the sheets as Jedao settles over him. "Vor entye," he murmurs his thanks to both of them as he drapes an arm over Quentin's leg and goes limp in preparation for the first touch of the needle.
Asks Quentin, who's picking up the edges of the language here and there. He snuggles Fives in cozily, makes sure he's supported and draped comfortably, that he himself is at an angle where there's no bad pressure on his back.
"Mmmm, that," Fives confirms, his voice low and hazy and warm as he reaches his hand up under the hem of Quentin's shirt to just touch skin. "Thank you for this, and for everything," he mumbles, reaching back with his other hand to pat blindly for Jedao's knee.
The pain is deeper, harsher, brighter; so much of the main body eel is inked directly over the bone of Fives' spine, grounded by Jedao's steady weight on top of him.
"You're taking it so well, baby," Jedao murmurs as he slowly works his way down Fives' back.
The pain is grounding, perfect, beautiful. Fives goes absolutely lax beneath Jedao's weight, breath going slow and deep and even as he sinks into it. Even his hand on Quentin's skin goes perfectly still.
He can picture every line as Jedao brings them to life on his skin, can smell the faint metallic tang of blood on the air. "'S perfect," he slurs, eyelids fluttering as he sinks and sinks into the warm haze of Quentin's skin, Jedao's weight over his hips, his hands guiding the needle as it pierces his flesh. Perfect.
"We won't even need to prep him much before we fuck him," Jedao suggests - exaggerates - far more for the erotic impact of the idea on both of them than because that's actually his plan.
Fives hums contentedly in response to Quentin, wallowing in the warmth of his voice and the feel of his fingers in his hair. And then Jedao chimes in and he groans, deep and low, and barely has the presence of mind to keep from shifting his hips in reaction to the thought of both of them pushing into him, barely any prep, just stretching him wide as he takes it.
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"Skin's gonna fit right again," he almost whispers, and completes the motion, tugging gently at Jedao's hair as he turns his head to nuzzle at his jaw.
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He agrees, patching him up for safety, letting his touches linger as he does, vowing to himself to find them some edible paint for the future.
"The stories it contains-"
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"We're filthy," he observes, low and more than a little pleased, "look at us."
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"Shift a little, there, flat canvas -" he encourages Fives with a nudge or two before straddling his hips again, from other side this time.
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He shifts as Jedao directs, then shifts a little more, getting his hips settled, feeling himself still half hard against the sheets as Jedao settles over him. "Vor entye," he murmurs his thanks to both of them as he drapes an arm over Quentin's leg and goes limp in preparation for the first touch of the needle.
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Asks Quentin, who's picking up the edges of the language here and there. He snuggles Fives in cozily, makes sure he's supported and draped comfortably, that he himself is at an angle where there's no bad pressure on his back.
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"Ready."
He'll drift while they work.
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"You're taking it so well, baby," Jedao murmurs as he slowly works his way down Fives' back.
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He can picture every line as Jedao brings them to life on his skin, can smell the faint metallic tang of blood on the air. "'S perfect," he slurs, eyelids fluttering as he sinks and sinks into the warm haze of Quentin's skin, Jedao's weight over his hips, his hands guiding the needle as it pierces his flesh. Perfect.
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Murmurs Quentin, fingertips stroking easy circles, feeling the heavy puddle of him settle down and in.
"You're radiant like this, you know."
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"You're giving me such nice things to dream about."
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"Want you both... both in me," he slurs warmly. "No... sleeping."
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He promises, even if he is lightly adrift with him, eyes half shut. It's just warm and safe and still.