[ wash doesn't mind pietro's smugness expanding more here -- to him its a sign of a few things. that he's starting to really want to please him, starting to take some pride in not just wash's physical responses but simply just in his approval. that he's getting comfortable enough here, which means there's always room to push further, more. and most of all, it means that as much as part of pietro might hate himself for this, might burn with shame for it and everything they've done before. none of it is forgotten. all of it taken in, leaving marks on pietro that stay even when the bruises and scars fade.
playing into pietro's pride isn't contrary to any of wash's goals, as far as he's concerned. pietro is built, attractive, capable and clever, wash doesn't mind telling him that, finds no shame in the fact that he's drawn to him, that he wants him, wants this. and there's always something that wash just likes about pietro starting to wind ever so slightly towards wanting to please him, about pietro finding pride and arrogance even here, looking completely fucked out hair tousled, eyes dark, breathless with his chest marred with red lines and his cheek lingering red. wash growls a little in answer -- ]
-- Especially like this.
[ pietro looks fucking incredible, like this.
he notes his response to the flat of the blade at his cock, another little raw thrill running through him at every whine and twitch and squirm. he can see how much pietro is continuing to struggle against the restraints, as wash continues to deliberately keep him right on the edge of too much and not enough. everything all at once, a knife edge, his cock thrusting deep, the stinging reminders of cuts, that slap. his other hand urges pietro's other leg up, just to free him up more, until he can fuck him nice and hard up against the wall as the knife stays balanced right against his throat, his newly freed hand sliding up, deliberately pressing over every line and cut he'd just left in his skin before settling in his hair. a hard twist through the strands, wrenching back, his voice rumbling as always, possessive, demanding. ]
Tell me. [ he lets the knife glide and scrape over the pulse in his throat. still not cutting, not breaking skin, leaning forward to half-muffle a groan against his lips as he buries himself deep inside him, again, and again. ] And maybe I'll give it to you.
[ unsaid, but clearly implied: if you beg, if you beg nicely. he'll give it to you. ]
no subject
playing into pietro's pride isn't contrary to any of wash's goals, as far as he's concerned. pietro is built, attractive, capable and clever, wash doesn't mind telling him that, finds no shame in the fact that he's drawn to him, that he wants him, wants this. and there's always something that wash just likes about pietro starting to wind ever so slightly towards wanting to please him, about pietro finding pride and arrogance even here, looking completely fucked out hair tousled, eyes dark, breathless with his chest marred with red lines and his cheek lingering red. wash growls a little in answer -- ]
-- Especially like this.
[ pietro looks fucking incredible, like this.
he notes his response to the flat of the blade at his cock, another little raw thrill running through him at every whine and twitch and squirm. he can see how much pietro is continuing to struggle against the restraints, as wash continues to deliberately keep him right on the edge of too much and not enough. everything all at once, a knife edge, his cock thrusting deep, the stinging reminders of cuts, that slap. his other hand urges pietro's other leg up, just to free him up more, until he can fuck him nice and hard up against the wall as the knife stays balanced right against his throat, his newly freed hand sliding up, deliberately pressing over every line and cut he'd just left in his skin before settling in his hair. a hard twist through the strands, wrenching back, his voice rumbling as always, possessive, demanding. ]
Tell me. [ he lets the knife glide and scrape over the pulse in his throat. still not cutting, not breaking skin, leaning forward to half-muffle a groan against his lips as he buries himself deep inside him, again, and again. ] And maybe I'll give it to you.
[ unsaid, but clearly implied: if you beg, if you beg nicely. he'll give it to you. ]