[ such a good boy. despite everything else. an interesting shift, a sign of just how deep this runs, of how far wash really had managed to push him on the rooftop the last time they met -- and of just how much pietro needs to escape whatever it is he's trying to get away from. he'd ask, except that's not his place, not his role, here. his role is simply to make it happen.
pietro's teeth give way to his tongue lapping at his fingers instead, his words clipped and muffled around his fingers. but clear. perfectly clear. desperate and still clawing at some sense of control, again, but wanting, willing to say the words, and wash will reward him for that.
he drops his hand from pietro's throat, from his jaw, fingers slipping from his mouth. he's quick, but for pietro that moment might last longer, long enough to wonder, to be irritated, impatient.
and then that hand is back, but his fingers are curled around the hilt of a knife. wash is rarely completely unarmed, tends to carry at least one or two knives on his person. Where he'd drawn this one out from it's not clear, but pietro with his legs wrapped around his waist might've felt the movement, the brush of wash's arm. wash brings it in front of him, between them, spinning it a little and letting the hilt land back in his palm, small and deft and balanced for throwing -- and now pressed flush to pietro's throat. what he'd said about the knife had been a guess. an offer, of what wash can do. it didn't go missed just how positively pietro seemed to react to the thought of it.
nothing else about wash moves -- save for the throb of his cock still pressed inside him. he's practiced, fluid with this, the pressure of cool metal against his neck perfect and calculated to not quite be enough to break skin. ]
I will.
[ matter of fact. said not like its a promise, but a statement of truth. he can. and he will. he doesn't glide the knife against his throat, just angles it up, ever so slightly, enough for that edge to bite a little more against his throat. still not quite enough to cut him. ]
I can do more, if I took you elsewhere.
[ simple. the calm practicality of the statement almost seems to make it ring louder, his voice still low and rumbling quiet. it's a question without asking one, a decision for pietro to make, another reminder that its his choice to put himself in wash's hands. there's much that wash can do just armed with a knife -- but for the rest of his promises, they'd need a little more than what he has. he could take pietro home, reconvene a different time . . . but he does hear that desperation in him. see it in his eyes. and the more desperate pietro is, the more wash's own want burns in response. ]
no subject
pietro's teeth give way to his tongue lapping at his fingers instead, his words clipped and muffled around his fingers. but clear. perfectly clear. desperate and still clawing at some sense of control, again, but wanting, willing to say the words, and wash will reward him for that.
he drops his hand from pietro's throat, from his jaw, fingers slipping from his mouth. he's quick, but for pietro that moment might last longer, long enough to wonder, to be irritated, impatient.
and then that hand is back, but his fingers are curled around the hilt of a knife. wash is rarely completely unarmed, tends to carry at least one or two knives on his person. Where he'd drawn this one out from it's not clear, but pietro with his legs wrapped around his waist might've felt the movement, the brush of wash's arm. wash brings it in front of him, between them, spinning it a little and letting the hilt land back in his palm, small and deft and balanced for throwing -- and now pressed flush to pietro's throat. what he'd said about the knife had been a guess. an offer, of what wash can do. it didn't go missed just how positively pietro seemed to react to the thought of it.
nothing else about wash moves -- save for the throb of his cock still pressed inside him. he's practiced, fluid with this, the pressure of cool metal against his neck perfect and calculated to not quite be enough to break skin. ]
I will.
[ matter of fact. said not like its a promise, but a statement of truth. he can. and he will. he doesn't glide the knife against his throat, just angles it up, ever so slightly, enough for that edge to bite a little more against his throat. still not quite enough to cut him. ]
I can do more, if I took you elsewhere.
[ simple. the calm practicality of the statement almost seems to make it ring louder, his voice still low and rumbling quiet. it's a question without asking one, a decision for pietro to make, another reminder that its his choice to put himself in wash's hands. there's much that wash can do just armed with a knife -- but for the rest of his promises, they'd need a little more than what he has. he could take pietro home, reconvene a different time . . . but he does hear that desperation in him. see it in his eyes. and the more desperate pietro is, the more wash's own want burns in response. ]