[Wash adjusts his grip on his throat, and it's familiar, but in a different way. Pietro can't pinpoint it, that it was where his own fingers had been, so far gone at that point last time that the physical memory of it is fuzzy and just edging into something he knows is significant, but can't piece together in what way. Unconsciously, he does know, and his fingers at Wash's arm shift to mirror that hold, shaking and unstable like they had been against his throat. Barely formed noises die quickly, little huffs of breath that could have been groans or whines, as Wash bites and sucks on his lip, kisses him harder, brutal and violent, and Pietro digs his nails into his cock, abdominal muscles tightening and fluttering reflexively as the heat of arousal pools within him.
His movements become slower as Wash continues to push him, tightening his hand around his throat, taking over his mouth and his personal space, crushing him against the wall even as he continues to fuck him hard and deep. By the time Wash gets his fingers dug into the flesh of his ass, re-imprinting those bruises and marks, Pietro is slipping from his concentration on individual sensations, perceiving it all but unable to process it, shorting out his brain with too much input. He chokes and gasps for breath, his fingers shake more intensely, he writhes in both discomfort and arousal, cock twitching in his hand every time he almost reaches that point of oblivion and gets pulled back. It's not enough to make him black out, not enough that he needs to struggle that much to avoid it, but the euphoric feelings and sense of disconnect are the same. He's getting where he wants to be.]
no subject
His movements become slower as Wash continues to push him, tightening his hand around his throat, taking over his mouth and his personal space, crushing him against the wall even as he continues to fuck him hard and deep. By the time Wash gets his fingers dug into the flesh of his ass, re-imprinting those bruises and marks, Pietro is slipping from his concentration on individual sensations, perceiving it all but unable to process it, shorting out his brain with too much input. He chokes and gasps for breath, his fingers shake more intensely, he writhes in both discomfort and arousal, cock twitching in his hand every time he almost reaches that point of oblivion and gets pulled back. It's not enough to make him black out, not enough that he needs to struggle that much to avoid it, but the euphoric feelings and sense of disconnect are the same. He's getting where he wants to be.]