[Pietro takes another victory in drawing out that soft purr, smirk only faltering once Wash starts to suck on his lip, and Pietro moans quietly. He gasps quickly, a choked little noise stuck in the back of his throat along with it, as he feels the knife at his cock. He stills almost completely then, muscles tightening and tense except for his fingers that still tremble. It drags over his shaft, even just the flat of the blade making his nerves crackle and arousal pool heavily in his abdomen, pulsing down through his cock, hard and continuously leaking. Shit. He's almost desperate to come already. Wash drags the knife higher, and Pietro begins to move again, twitches and light writhing, abdominal muscles fluttering under the blade as it stops near his navel. He wants to press himself against it. Pietro runs his tongue over his lower lip, a quiet breathy laugh escaping at that comment, and he immediately has a response, confident and spoken like it's immutable fact.]
Everyone does. Even like this.
[He can't help but be arrogant about it, even in this position, with red streaks lining his chest, hands bound behind his head, Wash's cock shoved deep in his ass, throbbing impact of that slap still felt against his cheek. He's hot. He knows. It's not as bad as it had been on the roof, and this hasn't yet crossed his threshold into too embarrassing to be proud of, a line that keeps moving further along if Pietro were to be honest with himself.]
Fuck.
[That comes out squeakier than Pietro would have liked, and shifts into a series of high pitched whines as Wash starts to move, hard and insistent, the knife now at his throat, bringing that awareness of arousing fear and anticipatory need for the lighter pain that doesn't come, teasing, not enough. He's on the edge, kept there perpetually with so much stimulation, but not enough, and every strike of Wash's cock scraping along sensitive places inside him increases the irritation and frustration right along with his level of arousal and desperation.]
Fuck. I need-
[He bites his lip and doesn't finish that thought. Pietro's fingers flex and curl and he squirms, he just wants to touch himself and take it that one bit further, completely focused on that task and more annoyed than ever with the belt.]
no subject
Everyone does. Even like this.
[He can't help but be arrogant about it, even in this position, with red streaks lining his chest, hands bound behind his head, Wash's cock shoved deep in his ass, throbbing impact of that slap still felt against his cheek. He's hot. He knows. It's not as bad as it had been on the roof, and this hasn't yet crossed his threshold into too embarrassing to be proud of, a line that keeps moving further along if Pietro were to be honest with himself.]
Fuck.
[That comes out squeakier than Pietro would have liked, and shifts into a series of high pitched whines as Wash starts to move, hard and insistent, the knife now at his throat, bringing that awareness of arousing fear and anticipatory need for the lighter pain that doesn't come, teasing, not enough. He's on the edge, kept there perpetually with so much stimulation, but not enough, and every strike of Wash's cock scraping along sensitive places inside him increases the irritation and frustration right along with his level of arousal and desperation.]
Fuck. I need-
[He bites his lip and doesn't finish that thought. Pietro's fingers flex and curl and he squirms, he just wants to touch himself and take it that one bit further, completely focused on that task and more annoyed than ever with the belt.]