[Pietro hasn't used his speed like this with Wash, and he's paying attention to how he reacts to it — that short hiss, grinding into his hand, the growl that rumbles in his his throat, teeth on his neck. He could go harder, so much faster, abrading the skin, building up heat. Pietro hadn't intended it to be a display of his control of things, just an impatient action, but he feels like it is now, with the way Wash takes to it. Pietro doesn't protest when his wrist is grabbed again, he can do this another time, keeps it in the back of his mind to experiment with again. He moves his hips more insistently after the loss of that friction, more desperate for something now that the rub of Wash's cock against his feels dull and muted in comparison. He does let out a ragged little growl in frustration when Wash grabs his other hand too, irritated as they're pulled up over his head. He pulls at that grip slightly, fidgeting, but his eyes are on the knife between Wash's teeth. The belt slides against his neck, under his jaw, that not quite smooth drag of leather over his skin, and Pietro immediately thinks about what he knows he's supposed to, and that irritates him further. He imagines that belt around his neck, how different it would feel to Wash's hand, crushing from all sides at once, what Wash could do to him with both his hand free, while still giving him that restricted feeling as he struggles to breathe. Fuck. Shit.
The thought occurs to him again that he's in over his head, even if he's made some choices, given some direction, because his mind goes to dangerous places and Pietro knows he wouldn't say no to that, not right now. His fingers start vibrating the moment Wash slides the belt around his wrists, pulling them tightly together. Pietro's immediately trying to pick at them, reflexively, moving his fingers and twisting his wrists as much as they'll move, reaching for the edge of the belt that his fingertips just can't quite brush with the way his hands are positioned. He doesn't start tugging against it entirely until Wash is moving his hands behind his head. It's a little more panicked than the testing Pietro had done before when it had just been Wash's hand around his wrist, pinning it to the railing or the wall in that room. His breathing becomes shallower and he bites his lip as he keeps his eyes on that knife, not looking at Wash, not wanting to see those intense and assessing eyes. Then the knife is pressed against his chest, his collarbone, and it stays there. Stays there. For so long that Pietro gets close to squirming, muscles twitching and whines starting to build in the back of his throat, and he bites his tongue before he makes any more comments, pushes any more.
He freezes momentarily when Wash increases the pressure and the knife breaks his skin, a visceral hard pull in his stomach as an echo of that deep pain from his shoulder floods back to him. Pietro lets a quiet whimper escape, and he hates himself for it. It stays shallow, that cut, and the warmth he's come to associate with that light level returns, crackling sensations from firing nerves and arousal pooling in his abdomen. But that question irks him, has him huffing and fidgeting again, his right hand shaking faster and more erratically, and Pietro feels like Wash is mocking him again, all while that rumbling bleeds into his chest and that rough hand strokes over their cocks, and he can't help pressing himself into it and whining.]
You are still making me wait.
[It's spoken too fast and his breath hitches in between a couple of words. He can't stop squirming, unconsciously pulling at the belt because it's there and an annoyance, but constantly working its way to the forefront of things when he wants to focus on the knife and his cock. There are too many points of stimulation.]
no subject
The thought occurs to him again that he's in over his head, even if he's made some choices, given some direction, because his mind goes to dangerous places and Pietro knows he wouldn't say no to that, not right now. His fingers start vibrating the moment Wash slides the belt around his wrists, pulling them tightly together. Pietro's immediately trying to pick at them, reflexively, moving his fingers and twisting his wrists as much as they'll move, reaching for the edge of the belt that his fingertips just can't quite brush with the way his hands are positioned. He doesn't start tugging against it entirely until Wash is moving his hands behind his head. It's a little more panicked than the testing Pietro had done before when it had just been Wash's hand around his wrist, pinning it to the railing or the wall in that room. His breathing becomes shallower and he bites his lip as he keeps his eyes on that knife, not looking at Wash, not wanting to see those intense and assessing eyes. Then the knife is pressed against his chest, his collarbone, and it stays there. Stays there. For so long that Pietro gets close to squirming, muscles twitching and whines starting to build in the back of his throat, and he bites his tongue before he makes any more comments, pushes any more.
He freezes momentarily when Wash increases the pressure and the knife breaks his skin, a visceral hard pull in his stomach as an echo of that deep pain from his shoulder floods back to him. Pietro lets a quiet whimper escape, and he hates himself for it. It stays shallow, that cut, and the warmth he's come to associate with that light level returns, crackling sensations from firing nerves and arousal pooling in his abdomen. But that question irks him, has him huffing and fidgeting again, his right hand shaking faster and more erratically, and Pietro feels like Wash is mocking him again, all while that rumbling bleeds into his chest and that rough hand strokes over their cocks, and he can't help pressing himself into it and whining.]
You are still making me wait.
[It's spoken too fast and his breath hitches in between a couple of words. He can't stop squirming, unconsciously pulling at the belt because it's there and an annoyance, but constantly working its way to the forefront of things when he wants to focus on the knife and his cock. There are too many points of stimulation.]