[ its not like wash minds praising him, minds admitting that he's terribly wrapped up in him too -- but there is part of him that might be doing it a bit on purpose just to see the way he responds to it, or the way he tries to. the instinct in him to bask in it, to preen, choked down with everything else, broken into something different, a shiver that wash can feel and that fierce vibration in his fingers that wash definitely feels. he can feel the answer even when pietro can't speak, and when especially when he doesn't move to touch himself -- wash rumbles a little in response, low and pleased. good. they'll see.
wash knows the signs of his impatience by now, too, not that they were too hard to notice even before, the way he writhes and fidgets in a way distinct from the little squirms and shivers from when he's just overwhelmed with sensation, but wash is pinning him almost bodily to the wall, pressed so close that he barely has any place to move, and as pietro starts to still wash moves more in turn. each forward roll of his hips drives harder, deeper, pushing pietro further up the wall before that grip over the back of his thighs drags him back down. his cock throbs hotly inside him, and fuck, he really does feel so good, hot and tight around him, trembling and falling apart as he scrambles to hold on and let go all at once.
that hand over his throat tightens, more and more. veins in his wrist and forearm throbbing, knuckles starting to go white. he shifts his hand again, not following any grip from before but shifting every touch and every point of pressure to squeeze as much air out of him as he can, fingers kneading and flexing into skin and corded muscle. his eyes are still closed, focusing purely on feeling, the heat and warmth of him, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in his lungs, close enough for pietro to feel al of his ragged breaths against his own lips, to feel every rumbling growl as he aims to drive him to the edge. ]
no subject
wash knows the signs of his impatience by now, too, not that they were too hard to notice even before, the way he writhes and fidgets in a way distinct from the little squirms and shivers from when he's just overwhelmed with sensation, but wash is pinning him almost bodily to the wall, pressed so close that he barely has any place to move, and as pietro starts to still wash moves more in turn. each forward roll of his hips drives harder, deeper, pushing pietro further up the wall before that grip over the back of his thighs drags him back down. his cock throbs hotly inside him, and fuck, he really does feel so good, hot and tight around him, trembling and falling apart as he scrambles to hold on and let go all at once.
that hand over his throat tightens, more and more. veins in his wrist and forearm throbbing, knuckles starting to go white. he shifts his hand again, not following any grip from before but shifting every touch and every point of pressure to squeeze as much air out of him as he can, fingers kneading and flexing into skin and corded muscle. his eyes are still closed, focusing purely on feeling, the heat and warmth of him, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in his lungs, close enough for pietro to feel al of his ragged breaths against his own lips, to feel every rumbling growl as he aims to drive him to the edge. ]