[Each one of those thin lines on his inner thigh flare with renewed sharp sensations as Wash rubs his cock against them. Pietro whines at the harsh unrelenting grip on his cock, and the slight friction of Wash's cock now rubbing against his, and going lower. Fuck. He tenses his muscles when he shouldn't, some misfiring synapse in his brain as he has the time to relax himself, but he can't. The slight relief of pressure on his cock distracts him, and Wash presses his cock inside while Pietro makes a high despondent whining noise and squirms, muscles quivering as he feels that friction and pressure against his raw and sensitive insides, and it doesn't relent. Wash doesn't move.]
Shit!
[Pietro hisses, pain sharp and hot as Wash slaps his cock. It makes him writhe to pull away, but then that grip is back, hard, firm, and the knife pressing further against his skin, as if waiting. If he lets this continue, he's going to fall apart, going to scream or cry or fucking beg. Instead, he growls irritably at himself, and whines lowly.]
no subject
Shit!
[Pietro hisses, pain sharp and hot as Wash slaps his cock. It makes him writhe to pull away, but then that grip is back, hard, firm, and the knife pressing further against his skin, as if waiting. If he lets this continue, he's going to fall apart, going to scream or cry or fucking beg. Instead, he growls irritably at himself, and whines lowly.]
Stop.