[ he didn't know that pietro was dead, actually. to his credit he doesn't falter, but there is a small flicker in his gaze. its not like it matters here, anymore, his closest friend here is dead back home too.
the bob of pietro's throat just talking as wash drags that knife down his throat is enough for that too-sharp knife to cut a little deeper. wash can't help but watch that, for a moment, clearly getting some visceral satisfaction from it the same way he makes some quiet, pleased sound when pietro almost automatically starts to grind against his thigh. the words, though. ]
You thought about it.
[ pointedly. that hesitation was clear. but he's less trying to accuse pietro of something and more trying to give him some assurance, another attempt to guide him a little further down that pietro doesn't quite seem ready for, but he'll make the attempts anyway. the more pietro can relax, can open himself up to letting wash work, the easier what he wants will come to him. the more he's willing to set lines, the more he frees himself up to let his body react and struggle and fight as much as he instinctively needs to while sill havng a way to escape. and wash isn't a stranger to just crossing every line, to not even attempting to find out anything, but pietro always seems to have just enough give, just enough awareness that he always seems to want to try. ]
I'm not going to go easy on you. You don't heal, doesn't matter. If it gets you off to have a knife in your gut and a gun down your throat, I'd still give it to you.
[ but alright. enough of that. his hand moves up slightly from his waist -- to where he'd cut those lines before, when they were walking side by side on the street. he lets his fingers press against them, tracing those lines, drawing back that same sting -- even as he turns the knife again. this time the tip is pressed against his shoulder, just the faintest pressure. he leans close, finally closing that distance between them again, his chest brushing against pietro's, breath warm against pietro's lips, close enough for that rumble to be felt. ]
You're going to tell me how deep.
[ and slowly, steadily, as carefully controlled and deliberate as he always is, he starts to press that blade down, the metal is so sharp it almost doesn't have that bite, simply starts to slide through as it pierces his skin. ]
no subject
the bob of pietro's throat just talking as wash drags that knife down his throat is enough for that too-sharp knife to cut a little deeper. wash can't help but watch that, for a moment, clearly getting some visceral satisfaction from it the same way he makes some quiet, pleased sound when pietro almost automatically starts to grind against his thigh. the words, though. ]
You thought about it.
[ pointedly. that hesitation was clear. but he's less trying to accuse pietro of something and more trying to give him some assurance, another attempt to guide him a little further down that pietro doesn't quite seem ready for, but he'll make the attempts anyway. the more pietro can relax, can open himself up to letting wash work, the easier what he wants will come to him. the more he's willing to set lines, the more he frees himself up to let his body react and struggle and fight as much as he instinctively needs to while sill havng a way to escape. and wash isn't a stranger to just crossing every line, to not even attempting to find out anything, but pietro always seems to have just enough give, just enough awareness that he always seems to want to try. ]
I'm not going to go easy on you. You don't heal, doesn't matter. If it gets you off to have a knife in your gut and a gun down your throat, I'd still give it to you.
[ but alright. enough of that. his hand moves up slightly from his waist -- to where he'd cut those lines before, when they were walking side by side on the street. he lets his fingers press against them, tracing those lines, drawing back that same sting -- even as he turns the knife again. this time the tip is pressed against his shoulder, just the faintest pressure. he leans close, finally closing that distance between them again, his chest brushing against pietro's, breath warm against pietro's lips, close enough for that rumble to be felt. ]
You're going to tell me how deep.
[ and slowly, steadily, as carefully controlled and deliberate as he always is, he starts to press that blade down, the metal is so sharp it almost doesn't have that bite, simply starts to slide through as it pierces his skin. ]