[Pietro's eyes are on the elevator the moment it opens, and he watches every twirl and movement of that knife as Wash heads for his apartment. He steps inside without any hesitancy, a little impatiently even, despite the pause in the flow of things down in the lobby. He spares a glance around the apartment, and it's much like his own. Pietro only has a few things set out in his, practical items that keep his hands busy, clothes here and there, and far too many pairs of shoes, but no decorations or keepsakes that didn't come with the place. He's only had his own apartment for a month, but rarely uses it, spending more time elsewhere, and doesn't consider it his home. Here in this building with Steve, it had been the same. He was another practical man whose apartment looked like he'd just moved into it when he'd been here a year. Every home is temporary, it's still the way Pietro thinks for the most part, though he doesn't want to. He wants to think there could be come permanency to what he's found in this place, but the moment he starts to live as if it is, he knows it will be taken away.
The lock clicks shut, and Pietro eyes the door once, scoffing to himself at that 'thanks'. It sparks the tiniest thread of regret, because he doesn't want to get more involved than what this is. There doesn't need to be pleasantries. Wash's hand is at his side again, pulling him close, looking down at him in that same way, like a raptor ready to strike, and a wave of arousal pulses through Pietro's abdomen and down to his twitching cock. His breath comes more rapidly as Wash brings the knife to his chest, pricking at the corner of his collarbone. It doesn't glint the same way most of the knives he's familiar with do. It's a different sheen, and he briefly thinks of Logan's claws, some unknown metal springing out from between the man's fingers, sharp and different, and Pietro had wanted then too, before he even realised it. The pressure deepens, a flash of just the taste of the pain he wants, dragging a bloody line across his chest, and Pietro makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, a wanting, needy sound that isn't quite a whine.
Pietro looks up sharply at that question, and he considers lying, pushing. Ororo had carved a design into his torso, all over, her small knife going too deep for a normal person's easy recovery. She'd known a version of him in her own world, one who had more advanced abilities, one who healed quickly. She'd gone harder on him because she'd made the assumption he could heal fast enough too. Pietro never stopped bleeding, and she needed to have a healer come in at the end. It's why he has no marks there, no deep jagged lines in the shape of a lightning bolt in between the puckered circular scars that mar his chest. He runs a finger around the edge of one of them near his naval, biting his lip. There's a hint of disappointment in his simple answer.]
no subject
The lock clicks shut, and Pietro eyes the door once, scoffing to himself at that 'thanks'. It sparks the tiniest thread of regret, because he doesn't want to get more involved than what this is. There doesn't need to be pleasantries. Wash's hand is at his side again, pulling him close, looking down at him in that same way, like a raptor ready to strike, and a wave of arousal pulses through Pietro's abdomen and down to his twitching cock. His breath comes more rapidly as Wash brings the knife to his chest, pricking at the corner of his collarbone. It doesn't glint the same way most of the knives he's familiar with do. It's a different sheen, and he briefly thinks of Logan's claws, some unknown metal springing out from between the man's fingers, sharp and different, and Pietro had wanted then too, before he even realised it. The pressure deepens, a flash of just the taste of the pain he wants, dragging a bloody line across his chest, and Pietro makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, a wanting, needy sound that isn't quite a whine.
Pietro looks up sharply at that question, and he considers lying, pushing. Ororo had carved a design into his torso, all over, her small knife going too deep for a normal person's easy recovery. She'd known a version of him in her own world, one who had more advanced abilities, one who healed quickly. She'd gone harder on him because she'd made the assumption he could heal fast enough too. Pietro never stopped bleeding, and she needed to have a healer come in at the end. It's why he has no marks there, no deep jagged lines in the shape of a lightning bolt in between the puckered circular scars that mar his chest. He runs a finger around the edge of one of them near his naval, biting his lip. There's a hint of disappointment in his simple answer.]
No.