[Pietro's smirk falters as Wash tightens his hold on his hair and stares at him, that desire naked in his eyes as he blatantly admits it. He's not sure what to do about it, that kind of response to him, and Pietro furrows his eyebrows slightly, confused over it all. Nothing he says has any effect on this man, and it's something he'd figured out before, but the concept of which hadn't fully sunken in. It still doesn't, not entirely, though Pietro notes that Wash's voice is that normal controlled intensity again, no hint of what Pietro perceived as a vulnerability to poke, to prod and unravel. It's no longer there. He glances away for a moment, away from that steady gaze, eyes flicking up to Wash again only when he continues speaking, want and desire in his voice again like before. And Pietro scoffs, rolling his eyes, dismissive about that class they first met in.]
I signed up for a lot of classes.
[An echo of what he'd said then, his excuse for interrupting that class and being a general nuisance about it, that he'd had no attachment to the subject matter. It held no interest any more than the other classes he'd chosen, nearly randomly. It has been a long time, especially for Pietro, and he remembers little of the actual topics at hand. Was there something you wanted in that there? No. No, he could say so then, hadn't even considered such things, still inexperienced and unaware of what it could do for him, unaware he even wanted what he now knows he does. At that time, Pietro never would have allowed himself into that position voluntarily, and it's why he hadn't shown up for the exam, keeping his tight hold on control.
Wash keeps talking, rumbling against his chest, and Pietro listens to the timbre of his voice, takes in the changes in him, how he'd let himself get too stimulated too. Not just taking, giving in to Pietro, to his body, not as intent on breaking him here. He understands that. Wash wants more, and Pietro thinks he expects to get it without question. That irritates him, and he writhes and fidgets as the proposition worms its way inside him. Fuck. He wants to move incessantly just thinking about it, fingers shaking violently, his muscles twitching so fast they're on the verge of vibrating as Wash's fingers dig into his jaw. When Pietro speaks, his voice is unsteady, whether it's from vibrations or fear or something else is difficult to discern, even to him, but his statement is flat, factual.]
no subject
I signed up for a lot of classes.
[An echo of what he'd said then, his excuse for interrupting that class and being a general nuisance about it, that he'd had no attachment to the subject matter. It held no interest any more than the other classes he'd chosen, nearly randomly. It has been a long time, especially for Pietro, and he remembers little of the actual topics at hand. Was there something you wanted in that there? No. No, he could say so then, hadn't even considered such things, still inexperienced and unaware of what it could do for him, unaware he even wanted what he now knows he does. At that time, Pietro never would have allowed himself into that position voluntarily, and it's why he hadn't shown up for the exam, keeping his tight hold on control.
Wash keeps talking, rumbling against his chest, and Pietro listens to the timbre of his voice, takes in the changes in him, how he'd let himself get too stimulated too. Not just taking, giving in to Pietro, to his body, not as intent on breaking him here. He understands that. Wash wants more, and Pietro thinks he expects to get it without question. That irritates him, and he writhes and fidgets as the proposition worms its way inside him. Fuck. He wants to move incessantly just thinking about it, fingers shaking violently, his muscles twitching so fast they're on the verge of vibrating as Wash's fingers dig into his jaw. When Pietro speaks, his voice is unsteady, whether it's from vibrations or fear or something else is difficult to discern, even to him, but his statement is flat, factual.]
That is torture.