[Wash shoves him against the wall hard like he was unsatisfied with that answer, and Pietro doesn't know why, not immediately. He whines quietly as the knife is pressed flat under his jaw, keeping his head tilted up. The way Wash regards him hasn't changed, he still wants him, wants this, but he's lecturing again. Pietro glares even as he squirms slightly and swallows thickly when Wash presses the knife into the same place, that still open wound, enlarging it. His knee is back between Pietro's thighs, something so familiar now Pietro all but expects it. He grinds slowly on instinct. Wash rambles on in that rumbling voice, the timbre of which sends shivers down Pietro's spine, but the words make him roll his eyes and gesture animatedly, but awkwardly, with one hand while keeping his shoulders and head still, words spat out in a clipped and bitchy tone as Wash drags the knife down his throat.]

You choked me unconscious. I am already dead, you know that, yes? So, what, you think I expected to be treated nicely here? And I did not lie.

[That gets emphasised, because he doesn't know Wash is accusing him of just thinking about it.]

I do not need your lectures.