[ pietro looks visibly relieved when wash sets that knife aside -- and the way he looks at him, the arousal in his eyes. gratifying, arousing in its own way, but also all things wash note with quiet satisfaction. good. he knows he hit something deep, there, something deeper than he may have wanted to hit without knowing it was there, something that pietro didn't know was there. but for as much as it may have jarred him in that moment, he's far from of reach, and pietro is here again, present, feeling.
and arrogant, by the sound of that confidence and demand in his voice. but wash doesn't mind, a heat twisting through him at the words -- and it only turns hotter and brighter when pietro keeps talking. the distinct discomfort, trying to say something, not quite managing it, and then forcing it out. that's nice. that's good. pietro is starting to talk, even if only a little, and wash almost purrs in response, his eyes lidding, rubbing his thigh up against him even as pietro grinds steadily back. he starts to pull open the front of his pants, fingers deft and quick, and just as he's slipping his hand past the material to touch him, wash leans forward. close, until his chest is pressed against pietro's, until that rumble in his chest is not just heard but felt. ]
Good.
[ pietro's never responded particularly well to praise before. but it's still good, half-murmured against his mouth, and wash catches his mouth in another kiss. his free hand moves up to tangle through his hair, pulling sharply, the kiss immediately harsh and bruising, devouring, possessive. back down between them, wash's calloused fingers ease into place around the now-familiar heat of pietro's cock, squeezing over him nicely, a ripple of steady pressure running trough his fingers along the length of his shaft. ]
no subject
and arrogant, by the sound of that confidence and demand in his voice. but wash doesn't mind, a heat twisting through him at the words -- and it only turns hotter and brighter when pietro keeps talking. the distinct discomfort, trying to say something, not quite managing it, and then forcing it out. that's nice. that's good. pietro is starting to talk, even if only a little, and wash almost purrs in response, his eyes lidding, rubbing his thigh up against him even as pietro grinds steadily back. he starts to pull open the front of his pants, fingers deft and quick, and just as he's slipping his hand past the material to touch him, wash leans forward. close, until his chest is pressed against pietro's, until that rumble in his chest is not just heard but felt. ]
Good.
[ pietro's never responded particularly well to praise before. but it's still good, half-murmured against his mouth, and wash catches his mouth in another kiss. his free hand moves up to tangle through his hair, pulling sharply, the kiss immediately harsh and bruising, devouring, possessive. back down between them, wash's calloused fingers ease into place around the now-familiar heat of pietro's cock, squeezing over him nicely, a ripple of steady pressure running trough his fingers along the length of his shaft. ]