[Pietro keeps his eyes on the knife, slowly shifting between Wash's fingers, glinting in the light, until it's finally set aside, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. A hot flush of relief pools in his chest, and Pietro closes his eyes for just a second, shaking his head as if to dismiss everything that just happened. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is on Wash removing his shirt. He licks his lips as it slides up slowly and reveals Wash's hard muscles and broad chest, and fuck. Pietro still want this, wants him, and the other things he can do. It doesn't have to be about driving him to the absolute brink of something, not yet, and he understands that now, even if patience is hardest thing for him to gather.
Wash crowds him again, thumb running roughly over those thin lines at his hip, the ones that barely cut, and still Pietro feels the tiny sting of them, shivering underneath that touch, cock twitching, arousal sparking through his abdomen. Pietro starts to grind again, slow and steady against Wash's thigh. For now. For now. Keeping one hand on the wall, Pietro brings the other to the front of Wash's pants, fingers picking at his belt.]
Fuck me. That is what I want.
[His tone is confident, a little demanding now that the offending weapon is gone form his sight. He swallows thickly, starts to say something else, stops, makes an irritated noise, and then blurts it out quickly.]
I like the other knife. Shallows cuts. That is fine.
[He manages not to let his voice waver, though his skin burns with the uncomfortable sort of heat that makes him feel flayed and exposed.]
no subject
Wash crowds him again, thumb running roughly over those thin lines at his hip, the ones that barely cut, and still Pietro feels the tiny sting of them, shivering underneath that touch, cock twitching, arousal sparking through his abdomen. Pietro starts to grind again, slow and steady against Wash's thigh. For now. For now. Keeping one hand on the wall, Pietro brings the other to the front of Wash's pants, fingers picking at his belt.]
Fuck me. That is what I want.
[His tone is confident, a little demanding now that the offending weapon is gone form his sight. He swallows thickly, starts to say something else, stops, makes an irritated noise, and then blurts it out quickly.]
I like the other knife. Shallows cuts. That is fine.
[He manages not to let his voice waver, though his skin burns with the uncomfortable sort of heat that makes him feel flayed and exposed.]