[He's gotten his breathing under control again only for Wash to change things, slow down, and that first shift to it gives Pietro enough time to reorient himself. Wash's fingers twist in his hair, adjust, and force him to move his head forward instead. As much as that exclamation of 'fuck' has Pietro finally clinging to it as a victory and returning to that mindset, he's also annoyed and manages a whiny growl at the command, as if he hadn't known that, wouldn't have done that if he'd been given a chance to start before Wash shoved his cock down his throat. Those thoughts occur to him, what he's irritated with and his chest burns with the shame of being grateful he can't speak, can't voice his indignant complaints about being underestimated or make some boastful comments over how talented he could be in theory. He doesn't want to laud his own untapped potential here while on his knees in a dirty alley like this, but he also does.
Pietro whines instead, an almost offended noise at the implication he's subpar at this, focusing his eyes on Wash's face long enough to glare sharply. He moves with the rhythm set at first, curling his tongue along Wash's shaft, swirling it over the head when he's pulled back, getting enough control over his own mouth to actually suck while he lathes his tongue over the hard flesh like he does his fingers. Pietro moves his hand from his own thigh to grip Wash's balls, firm, but not quite squeezing, twisting his fingers a little before he lets his hand drop and braces it flat on the ground for leverage to drive some of this himself. Trying to move faster, he ignores the way his throat throbs, the way his tongue and lips feel bruised, the more fiery tingling sparks of pain as he pulls in opposition to Wash's hold on his hair. Pietro bites once, letting his teeth scrape over the length of Wash's cock. Then his tongue vibrates, and Pietro lets out a soft huff of a noise, an arrogant little 'hm'.]
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Pietro whines instead, an almost offended noise at the implication he's subpar at this, focusing his eyes on Wash's face long enough to glare sharply. He moves with the rhythm set at first, curling his tongue along Wash's shaft, swirling it over the head when he's pulled back, getting enough control over his own mouth to actually suck while he lathes his tongue over the hard flesh like he does his fingers. Pietro moves his hand from his own thigh to grip Wash's balls, firm, but not quite squeezing, twisting his fingers a little before he lets his hand drop and braces it flat on the ground for leverage to drive some of this himself. Trying to move faster, he ignores the way his throat throbs, the way his tongue and lips feel bruised, the more fiery tingling sparks of pain as he pulls in opposition to Wash's hold on his hair. Pietro bites once, letting his teeth scrape over the length of Wash's cock. Then his tongue vibrates, and Pietro lets out a soft huff of a noise, an arrogant little 'hm'.]