not new to wash in general, it's something he's come to expect, a consequence of having violent and feral on the list of things he's drawn to -- he's had felix spit on him, spit in his mouth, done the same to him in turn. sometimes its done out of reflex and anger, sometimes to goad him specifically into lashing out and fucking him harder, faster. this, wash doesn't quite know pietro enough to know for sure, but he knows its different, knows he's desperate, that he wants and he wants and is on right on the verge of breaking or begging or doing anything, anything, and he's reaching for everything he can to stop himself.
wash's expression twitches slightly, his head turning -- but he resets quickly, his gaze not even faltering. he does need a fraction of a second to process what'd just happened, his jaw working, but then his body twists, reacts on raw instinct. wash keeps fucking him, unrelenting, rhythm rough and steady and just enough to have his cock scraping and throbbing against the rawest, most sensitive parts of him. his hand still stays tight in his hair, twisting only a little more, just enough to wrench his head back. the knife gets tucked back against his palm as he pulls that hand away, and another sharp crack, another hard slap. hard across the face, over that same cheek. the smack rings through the air, and in that same moment as pietro is still reeling from it his hand drops back between them. no cutting, this time, but the knife eases over his stomach, his abs, the cool metal suddenly brushing raw and dry against the side of pietro's throbbing cock. wash's thrusts cause his body to lurch, pietro's cock bouncing, and wash is sure to keep the back of the knife facing upwards, no cuts or pain unless he permits it. the knife is solid, well made, lighter in shade than that other knife but darker than most common metal all the same, warming slightly just from contact with pietro's heated flesh.
wash doesn't repeat himself, just slides right back into place, his breath hot against pietro's lips and cheek as he mouths over that bruised and bitten lip, his hand still pulled taut through his hair. still a thousand things and a dozen ways to flood pietro with sensation all at once, more happening whenever he lashes out -- but till not enough. almost. not enough. watching him through half-lidded eyes, devouring, expecting, his rolling up as a hard thrust has his balls pressed flush to his ass, grinding to reach even deeper inside him before fucking inside him all over again. ]
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not new to wash in general, it's something he's come to expect, a consequence of having violent and feral on the list of things he's drawn to -- he's had felix spit on him, spit in his mouth, done the same to him in turn. sometimes its done out of reflex and anger, sometimes to goad him specifically into lashing out and fucking him harder, faster. this, wash doesn't quite know pietro enough to know for sure, but he knows its different, knows he's desperate, that he wants and he wants and is on right on the verge of breaking or begging or doing anything, anything, and he's reaching for everything he can to stop himself.
wash's expression twitches slightly, his head turning -- but he resets quickly, his gaze not even faltering. he does need a fraction of a second to process what'd just happened, his jaw working, but then his body twists, reacts on raw instinct. wash keeps fucking him, unrelenting, rhythm rough and steady and just enough to have his cock scraping and throbbing against the rawest, most sensitive parts of him. his hand still stays tight in his hair, twisting only a little more, just enough to wrench his head back. the knife gets tucked back against his palm as he pulls that hand away, and another sharp crack, another hard slap. hard across the face, over that same cheek. the smack rings through the air, and in that same moment as pietro is still reeling from it his hand drops back between them. no cutting, this time, but the knife eases over his stomach, his abs, the cool metal suddenly brushing raw and dry against the side of pietro's throbbing cock. wash's thrusts cause his body to lurch, pietro's cock bouncing, and wash is sure to keep the back of the knife facing upwards, no cuts or pain unless he permits it. the knife is solid, well made, lighter in shade than that other knife but darker than most common metal all the same, warming slightly just from contact with pietro's heated flesh.
wash doesn't repeat himself, just slides right back into place, his breath hot against pietro's lips and cheek as he mouths over that bruised and bitten lip, his hand still pulled taut through his hair. still a thousand things and a dozen ways to flood pietro with sensation all at once, more happening whenever he lashes out -- but till not enough. almost. not enough. watching him through half-lidded eyes, devouring, expecting, his rolling up as a hard thrust has his balls pressed flush to his ass, grinding to reach even deeper inside him before fucking inside him all over again. ]