[He finds it even more difficult to breathe with Wash so close, the oppressive and domineering presence sucking all of the air out of the space. Pietro digs his heels into Wash's back, to exert some pressure of his own, to have an illusion of control within his illusion of giving it up. At this moment, he realises exactly how completely fucked up this is, that he wants this, needs this, has to have it ripped from him because he clings too tightly to it and it's impossible to do it on his own. Wash's compliment sends a cold shiver down Pietro's spine despite how hot he feels, and he struggles to speak, automatic response, yes I am, so good. His fingers shake more violently, nearly vibrating, as Wash tightens his grip on his throat.
When Wash lets go of his wrist, Pietro drops his hand to his thigh, digging his fingers in. He could grab for his cock again, but he wants to find out too. His cock is so hard, and leaking, and every rub against Wash's abdomen has his balls tightening. Yes, he could come from just this, just getting to the edge of nothing. After that one hard press of his fingers, Wash is starting in increments again, and Pietro wants to complain about it, his impatient fidgeting just amounts to scraping his back uselessly against the bricks, Wash is too close to allow him room he needs to squirm incessantly. His movements still soon enough, and the first bright sparks bloom at the edges of his vision even with his eyes closed. The harder Wash chokes him, the more pain Pietro takes from it, bruises forming, the inside still raw and now compressed, the reflexive attempts at swallowing that just hurt, it all gives way to a sense of drifting warmth Pietro gets lost in.]
no subject
When Wash lets go of his wrist, Pietro drops his hand to his thigh, digging his fingers in. He could grab for his cock again, but he wants to find out too. His cock is so hard, and leaking, and every rub against Wash's abdomen has his balls tightening. Yes, he could come from just this, just getting to the edge of nothing. After that one hard press of his fingers, Wash is starting in increments again, and Pietro wants to complain about it, his impatient fidgeting just amounts to scraping his back uselessly against the bricks, Wash is too close to allow him room he needs to squirm incessantly. His movements still soon enough, and the first bright sparks bloom at the edges of his vision even with his eyes closed. The harder Wash chokes him, the more pain Pietro takes from it, bruises forming, the inside still raw and now compressed, the reflexive attempts at swallowing that just hurt, it all gives way to a sense of drifting warmth Pietro gets lost in.]