wash is quick to reward it ( it's tempting, always tempting to keep him there even longer, force him to not just break but shatter and -- he will, with time ), except for the few moments he takes to simply savor it. the sight of pietro on the edge of something, utterly overwhelmed, breathless and flushed and looking like a complete mess, skin blooming red, wash's own fingers twisted in his hair, those lean muscles twitching and working and rippling under his skin as he struggles for more that he isn't getting, that he can't get, that wasn't isn't allowing him to have. the feel of him hot and tight around his cock, legs wrapped tight around his waist with his heels digging into the small of his back. those sounds, high pitched and so familiar to him now, whining and mewling, getting louder, more insistent, and how it all seems to burst from him all at once, words slurred together like he doesn't even know what he's saying, begging for something, anything.
his entire body shifts, and its punctuated with the glide of the blade aganst pietro's cock as he allows it to press in deeper where the knife point is settled against his skin. the perfect amount of pressure, right depth that he knows pietro wants, maybe flirting at the edge of deeper, drawing a bright red line up from his lower stomach, up towards his navel. wash leans in close to kiss him -- a mercy, really, considering how much he would love to let those words keep spilling out from him, but god he wants him, wants to taste, wants to feel. pietro is still mewling desperate and wash swallows those last few rambling words on his tongue, lapping deep into his mouth with another rumbling purr. pleased, wanting, possessive, demanding, all at once.
wash lets his other hand drop from his hair, ease down between them. that knife keeps cutting, a neat geometric arc around his navel, the metal gliding against pietro's shaft as he works, and he only angles the knife to break that contact from his cock when he replaces that pressure with his own hand. calloused fingers slide around him with a distinct familiarity, like he knows the weight of him in his palm, immediately giving his cock a sharp squeeze, hard enough for it to hurt. he eases back, fists his hand around him, a crude hole for pietro's cock to fuck into as wash's thrusts keep jarring his hips up on every thrust, pumping his hand over him, nice and hard. the pressure in wash's own body is building, building, and that pleased purr eases into a growl the closer he gets, his thrusts getting harsher as he works his hand over pietro's cock, as he keeps cutting into his skin, as he kisses him hard and deep. ]
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wash is quick to reward it ( it's tempting, always tempting to keep him there even longer, force him to not just break but shatter and -- he will, with time ), except for the few moments he takes to simply savor it. the sight of pietro on the edge of something, utterly overwhelmed, breathless and flushed and looking like a complete mess, skin blooming red, wash's own fingers twisted in his hair, those lean muscles twitching and working and rippling under his skin as he struggles for more that he isn't getting, that he can't get, that wasn't isn't allowing him to have. the feel of him hot and tight around his cock, legs wrapped tight around his waist with his heels digging into the small of his back. those sounds, high pitched and so familiar to him now, whining and mewling, getting louder, more insistent, and how it all seems to burst from him all at once, words slurred together like he doesn't even know what he's saying, begging for something, anything.
his entire body shifts, and its punctuated with the glide of the blade aganst pietro's cock as he allows it to press in deeper where the knife point is settled against his skin. the perfect amount of pressure, right depth that he knows pietro wants, maybe flirting at the edge of deeper, drawing a bright red line up from his lower stomach, up towards his navel. wash leans in close to kiss him -- a mercy, really, considering how much he would love to let those words keep spilling out from him, but god he wants him, wants to taste, wants to feel. pietro is still mewling desperate and wash swallows those last few rambling words on his tongue, lapping deep into his mouth with another rumbling purr. pleased, wanting, possessive, demanding, all at once.
wash lets his other hand drop from his hair, ease down between them. that knife keeps cutting, a neat geometric arc around his navel, the metal gliding against pietro's shaft as he works, and he only angles the knife to break that contact from his cock when he replaces that pressure with his own hand. calloused fingers slide around him with a distinct familiarity, like he knows the weight of him in his palm, immediately giving his cock a sharp squeeze, hard enough for it to hurt. he eases back, fists his hand around him, a crude hole for pietro's cock to fuck into as wash's thrusts keep jarring his hips up on every thrust, pumping his hand over him, nice and hard. the pressure in wash's own body is building, building, and that pleased purr eases into a growl the closer he gets, his thrusts getting harsher as he works his hand over pietro's cock, as he keeps cutting into his skin, as he kisses him hard and deep. ]