[Fuck. Shit. He'd said it, and now he can see the fallout already. Pietro has all the time to register each shift in Wash's expression and body language now that he's focused again and not drifting off, and what he sees has his abdomen tightening violently, a mix of fear and arousal locking down his muscles. Wash's eyes darken, spark momentarily, like Pietro hit on something that dredges up more primal and visceral need, and he can feel that in the way Wash's cock moves inside him. Pietro writhes slightly in response, stilling again when Wash repeats that word back to him. Pietro's stomach drops and he knows he's likely far in over his head already, and though his fingers shake more noticeably, his thighs quiver, and he glances down the alley to the street like he's marking an escape route, he stays right where he is, the burning flame of defiance now directed inwards. Pietro won't back down from the accidental challenge he's given himself, to see this out, discover if Wash is capable of driving all of his agonising intrusive thoughts from his mind, where he can forget about his sister and the guilt that comes with it, almost palpable to him still even as he desperately means to shake it in any way he can.
Wash moves his hips, shoves him harder against the wall, those fingers in his hair more considering, twisting and playing. It's dissonant, and Pietro squirms again. Wash doesn't ever seem to be easily provoked or rattled like Pietro, but that's what he can hear now, in the way Wash's words come with less precision, are less clear and purposeful, running on instinct and his own desires he lets come through them. Pietro can't help but feel he's broken through something, and that self-satisfaction of making even a small crack is enough to have Pietro huff a quiet amused noise. Those words echo in his ears, weighing down on him as he tightens his muscles around Wash's hardening cock, licks his lips as those fingers press more firmly into his throat.]
You would love that, yes?
[His voice is almost a whisper, but with a harsh edge to it, tone half mocking and half full of want.]
no subject
Wash moves his hips, shoves him harder against the wall, those fingers in his hair more considering, twisting and playing. It's dissonant, and Pietro squirms again. Wash doesn't ever seem to be easily provoked or rattled like Pietro, but that's what he can hear now, in the way Wash's words come with less precision, are less clear and purposeful, running on instinct and his own desires he lets come through them. Pietro can't help but feel he's broken through something, and that self-satisfaction of making even a small crack is enough to have Pietro huff a quiet amused noise. Those words echo in his ears, weighing down on him as he tightens his muscles around Wash's hardening cock, licks his lips as those fingers press more firmly into his throat.]
You would love that, yes?
[His voice is almost a whisper, but with a harsh edge to it, tone half mocking and half full of want.]