[ pietro's impatience is endearing, in a way. reliable, something he can use, and count on, draw a bit of visceral satisfaction for because who doesn't enjoy it when someone just wants you, now, when you can drive them to desperation just by holding back. he hisses a little through his teeth when pietro's touch starts to speed up, the friction hitting a point where it starts to edge into something different.
he grinds into it, rocking his hips forward, dragging himself against pietro's cock and up into his touch, growling low in the back of his throat and biting down at his neck. ]
My bad. [ he'll speed up.
he wrenches pietros hand back again, just leaving their cocks pressed together, letting his hips continue to roll forward, to grind himself against him. this time he's reachng up to grab pietro's hand out of his hand, too, pressing closer, using his body weight to shove him once against the wall. he pulls pietro's hands up, over his head -- though along the way. he stops for a moment to catch the knife in his teeth, just to free up his hands better, his tongue running along the flat of the blade slightly, and in that moment as his hands shift he lets the leather of the belt slide briefly against pietro's neck. purposefully, deliberately, the material brushing up under his chin and jaw, a whisper of a promise of what else could be done, a seed he purposefully pushes into pietro's mind and imagination.
for now, though, he's doing something else. pietro's hands pulled up over his head, wrists pulled together. he does this surprisingly -- quickly, like he's done this a too many times before, looping the belt around his wrists, wrapped tight and snug, the buckle clicking shut in place. pietro can still move, of course, wash has yet to actually use anything to restrain him, and this is a first as he guides those bound hands down behind his head, behind his neck.
his hands freed, he grabs the knife from his own teeth. spinning it once, deft and nimble, letting his tongue run briefly against the edge before letting the point settle against pietro's chest, resting against his collarbone. he just watches him, for a while, watches how he adjusts to being newly restrained, watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest and how the knife moves with it with the gentle pressure he's applying. and before pietro has the time to whine too much about it, he starts to cut. pushing the knife in, just deep enough to where wash now knows pietro likes it. a sharp string, a trickle of red, right on the edge of bleeding and not, a straight line from his clavicle, down over his chest. ]
-- Better?
[ with a bit of that purr, that rumble, leaning close again. his free hand dropping down between them to fist his calloused hand around their cocks, smearing his palm with pre and working wetly down over them both. ]
no subject
he grinds into it, rocking his hips forward, dragging himself against pietro's cock and up into his touch, growling low in the back of his throat and biting down at his neck. ]
My bad. [ he'll speed up.
he wrenches pietros hand back again, just leaving their cocks pressed together, letting his hips continue to roll forward, to grind himself against him. this time he's reachng up to grab pietro's hand out of his hand, too, pressing closer, using his body weight to shove him once against the wall. he pulls pietro's hands up, over his head -- though along the way. he stops for a moment to catch the knife in his teeth, just to free up his hands better, his tongue running along the flat of the blade slightly, and in that moment as his hands shift he lets the leather of the belt slide briefly against pietro's neck. purposefully, deliberately, the material brushing up under his chin and jaw, a whisper of a promise of what else could be done, a seed he purposefully pushes into pietro's mind and imagination.
for now, though, he's doing something else. pietro's hands pulled up over his head, wrists pulled together. he does this surprisingly -- quickly, like he's done this a too many times before, looping the belt around his wrists, wrapped tight and snug, the buckle clicking shut in place. pietro can still move, of course, wash has yet to actually use anything to restrain him, and this is a first as he guides those bound hands down behind his head, behind his neck.
his hands freed, he grabs the knife from his own teeth. spinning it once, deft and nimble, letting his tongue run briefly against the edge before letting the point settle against pietro's chest, resting against his collarbone. he just watches him, for a while, watches how he adjusts to being newly restrained, watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest and how the knife moves with it with the gentle pressure he's applying. and before pietro has the time to whine too much about it, he starts to cut. pushing the knife in, just deep enough to where wash now knows pietro likes it. a sharp string, a trickle of red, right on the edge of bleeding and not, a straight line from his clavicle, down over his chest. ]
-- Better?
[ with a bit of that purr, that rumble, leaning close again. his free hand dropping down between them to fist his calloused hand around their cocks, smearing his palm with pre and working wetly down over them both. ]