[He might have taken another victory in that small twitch of a reaction, but he doesn't process it, isn't looking for it. Pietro isn't even sure why he did it, it was something, something that wasn't giving in. That fraction of a second is enough for him to have his focus on Wash's cock again, continuing to thrust inside him where Pietro can feel every scrape against raw nerves, every bit of friction and pressure, the stretch of his muscles even as he clamps down onto it, and all of it is not enough. His frustration builds quickly again, and he's completely lost track of even his own slow perception of time when Wash wrenches his head back further and slaps him again. Hard, in the same place already tinged with lingering pain, and now the additional impact sending a deep and not-quite-sharp pulse of it through his jaw. The sound is louder than it should be, heightened to him like everything else, not yet cresting over the edge where it all fades into nothing and background sensations. Wash won't allow it. Allow it. Pietro makes a soft noise as he thinks it, as that knowledge sinks into his brain, a despondent little whine on the edge of a sob he won't let escape.
The knife is back at his abdomen, metal running over his twitching muscles, precise and controlled even as Wash slams into him so brutally. Pietro's nerves are frayed, his fingers feel hot as they vibrate and shake, his muscles ache from straining and flexing and twitching and he still can't stop squirming, moving, desperate for more attention. His breathing comes heavier as Wash slides the knife down to his cock, and Pietro is unaware when he starts mewling, tiny high pitched almost tormented sounds. Wash's mouth is on him again, pressing over the raw place on his lip, over that fresh bruise forming on his cheek. Every thrust is driving sparks behind Pietro's eyes as Wash fucks him hard and deep, and still Pietro pulls at that belt, as if he could make it all stop if he could touch himself. His eyes burn and he bites down hard on his lip, sparking pain that isn't enough to help dull the rest of the sensations, and that's when he breaks. A choked half sob of a noise followed by a slurred stream of words, spilled out together and cracking in places.]
Too much, not enough, please, I need to come, please, let me touch...
no subject
The knife is back at his abdomen, metal running over his twitching muscles, precise and controlled even as Wash slams into him so brutally. Pietro's nerves are frayed, his fingers feel hot as they vibrate and shake, his muscles ache from straining and flexing and twitching and he still can't stop squirming, moving, desperate for more attention. His breathing comes heavier as Wash slides the knife down to his cock, and Pietro is unaware when he starts mewling, tiny high pitched almost tormented sounds. Wash's mouth is on him again, pressing over the raw place on his lip, over that fresh bruise forming on his cheek. Every thrust is driving sparks behind Pietro's eyes as Wash fucks him hard and deep, and still Pietro pulls at that belt, as if he could make it all stop if he could touch himself. His eyes burn and he bites down hard on his lip, sparking pain that isn't enough to help dull the rest of the sensations, and that's when he breaks. A choked half sob of a noise followed by a slurred stream of words, spilled out together and cracking in places.]
Too much, not enough, please, I need to come, please, let me touch...
[Fuck.]