[Pietro hates himself for it, for understanding that shift in Wash's grip, what that tightening is signalling to him. And that he tries it, wills himself to rein in the anxious response, stilling the fingers of his left hand after a couple of failed attempts, but the right remains shaky, erratic movement. Over time. He understands that too, his "for now" reiterated in a different way, but there within that rumbling voice, very clear to him. Pietro shifts and squirms to get comfortable again the moment Wash pushes him down, wrists pinned above his head. His breathing comes more heavily, and before he even looks at Wash, he tips his head back to look at his hands, testing the restraint again as if it had changed and he doesn't already know what every piece of that belt rubbing against his skin feels like and exactly how far he could pull and twist his wrists.
Wash's presence steals his focus again, that knife at his jaw, knees between his thighs. He stares back boldly as Wash speaks again, telling him what he could do, offering, and letting his fingers run over the belt. Pietro's cock twitches and his chest tightens. Offering. That's what it is, has always been. If Pietro wants it, he can have it, have that control taken from him, but he needs to admit first that he wants it, admit it to himself as much as agree to it. But he doesn't, not verbally, only snorts dismissively and rolls his eyes.]
no subject
Wash's presence steals his focus again, that knife at his jaw, knees between his thighs. He stares back boldly as Wash speaks again, telling him what he could do, offering, and letting his fingers run over the belt. Pietro's cock twitches and his chest tightens. Offering. That's what it is, has always been. If Pietro wants it, he can have it, have that control taken from him, but he needs to admit first that he wants it, admit it to himself as much as agree to it. But he doesn't, not verbally, only snorts dismissively and rolls his eyes.]
I will believe that when I see it.