[All too familiar with having his air cut off (more often in less safe, sane or consensual circumstances) part of Dick's mind automatically stands aside as a distant observer measuring the exact moment he should take defensive action while the rest exists within the sensation. It'll take him a long time, if ever, to be able to give up even that silent fragment of self control.
But the sensation is so easy to get lost in. The world narrowing and everything within its smaller frame becoming bright with intensity as his airflow goes from too little to almost nothing, the natural instinct to panic taken over by something lightheaded, almost giddy, and Wash's voice is far away as he says mine.
There's no question what's his. Dick's craning into the hold on his throat just to meet that kiss. It's not romantic, it's claiming, and he needs it - right now, more than he needs air.
At his sides, his fingers finally flex out of the fists he's kept them in and drag at the front of Wash's shirt instead, only pulling him closer, asking for more. Dick's hands look for purchase as Wash wraps another around him, this grip firm but not crushing, working him over with a calculated intent and it's so – much that there's a moment he should be more embarrassed about where Dick's legs could almost give way. It's 0 to almost complete overwhelm faster than should be possible, tears springing sharp to the corners of his eyes as he gasps airlessly into Wash's mouth, trying to catch the hint of a breath around the demands of his kiss. His adams apple tugs desperately under Wash's grip as he swallows and chokes, trying to mouth the word please without a voice to speak it. It's not a plea to stop. The way he tugs at Wash, closer, closer, is begging for the exact opposite.]
no subject
But the sensation is so easy to get lost in. The world narrowing and everything within its smaller frame becoming bright with intensity as his airflow goes from too little to almost nothing, the natural instinct to panic taken over by something lightheaded, almost giddy, and Wash's voice is far away as he says mine.
There's no question what's his. Dick's craning into the hold on his throat just to meet that kiss. It's not romantic, it's claiming, and he needs it - right now, more than he needs air.
At his sides, his fingers finally flex out of the fists he's kept them in and drag at the front of Wash's shirt instead, only pulling him closer, asking for more. Dick's hands look for purchase as Wash wraps another around him, this grip firm but not crushing, working him over with a calculated intent and it's so – much that there's a moment he should be more embarrassed about where Dick's legs could almost give way. It's 0 to almost complete overwhelm faster than should be possible, tears springing sharp to the corners of his eyes as he gasps airlessly into Wash's mouth, trying to catch the hint of a breath around the demands of his kiss. His adams apple tugs desperately under Wash's grip as he swallows and chokes, trying to mouth the word please without a voice to speak it. It's not a plea to stop. The way he tugs at Wash, closer, closer, is begging for the exact opposite.]