[In that space of time between his impatient question and Wash's hand at his neck, Pietro sucks in a breath and tightens his throat instinctively. Wash's grip is lighter than expected, but more painful than it should be for the amount of pressure, his throat raw inside. It's uncomfortable, both physically with those fingers on his throat, but also on some emotional or psychological level that Pietro is starting comprehend, Wash overbearingly close again and taking all of his focus, pressed against his hard cock and scraping that tongue over his bleeding lip. Pietro attempts to swallow awkwardly as a pulse of heat runs through his abdomen, and he doesn't know which uncomfortable thing set it off. That annoys him and he fidgets for a moment, huffy breaths coming out of his nose.
He settles again and takes that 'maybe' as a promise too. Wash's eyes have that intensity in them again, the kind that Pietro had learned quickly to recognise, and it registers with him now, the effects of the brandy nearly out of his system. He's paying more attention, anticipating in a more calculated way, and as Wash tightens his hand at his thigh and shifts his hips, and Pietro feels that first press of his cock into his hole, he brings one hand to Wash's forearm at his throat. Wash pushes forcefully inside him, relentless and hard, that low groan sounds in his ear, and Pietro can only whine and moan for a moment, noises that don't quite make it out of his throat. He shoves his free hand down between their bodies, grasping his cock hard, stroking slightly faster than in rhythm with Wash's thrusts, and uses the wall for leverage to try to push his hips back, tightening his muscles around Wash's cock. His actions come from two incongruent lines of thought, as a part of him still wants to control something in any way, and another seeks more of exactly what Wash is giving him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Pietro knows he's getting what he wants, that Wash is fucking him how he wants, knows which angles to drive from, where Pietro likes his cock and how fast, focused on him.]
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He settles again and takes that 'maybe' as a promise too. Wash's eyes have that intensity in them again, the kind that Pietro had learned quickly to recognise, and it registers with him now, the effects of the brandy nearly out of his system. He's paying more attention, anticipating in a more calculated way, and as Wash tightens his hand at his thigh and shifts his hips, and Pietro feels that first press of his cock into his hole, he brings one hand to Wash's forearm at his throat. Wash pushes forcefully inside him, relentless and hard, that low groan sounds in his ear, and Pietro can only whine and moan for a moment, noises that don't quite make it out of his throat. He shoves his free hand down between their bodies, grasping his cock hard, stroking slightly faster than in rhythm with Wash's thrusts, and uses the wall for leverage to try to push his hips back, tightening his muscles around Wash's cock. His actions come from two incongruent lines of thought, as a part of him still wants to control something in any way, and another seeks more of exactly what Wash is giving him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Pietro knows he's getting what he wants, that Wash is fucking him how he wants, knows which angles to drive from, where Pietro likes his cock and how fast, focused on him.]