[ no options, huh. wash can hear that sincerity -- he might not know pietro especially well yet but he does know him well enough to have learned what he sounds like when he's giving in, giving up something he doesn't want to give up, what it sounds like when its forced from him and how he couches and hides it in something else if it's not. and he considers it.
wash has been with people who'd rather not have options. safety and consent are fine lines to go by, for most. but sometimes people don't want to be safe. felix had been like that, and for as difficult and outright toxic as their relationship had been -- physically, wash had thrived on it, on the simplicity of knowing how goddamn terrible of a person he was, on knowing there was no need to hold back. for either of them. wash doesn't tend to broach those lines with most people. not unless he's sure.
he can't be sure with pietro, not when pietro isn't sure of so many things himself. but that's still a direction to go in, and one wash will acknowledge, his eyes flicking up at the response even if he doesn't say anything, to preserve whatever sense of non-vulnerability that pietro was trying to avoid. it's heard and acknowledged, and being -- taken into consideration.
at that other response, though. the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly into a small smirk, another little nip at his thumb. and then he's moving, all at once, pushing pietro down onto the bed, using that grip on his wrist to pin pietro's hand down to the mattress, light but firm in his grasp. again, fitting himself between his legs, his other hand moving down to curve over pietro's -- but not to pull him away. he just pulls him to the front of his pants, instead, where he's obviously stll hard, painfully so. ]
Take it out.
[ that growl in his voice again, a demand -- and with a bit of a promise behind it, especially spoken from wash already braced above him, pressed so close. an offer. just fucking, rough, hard, simple. no rope. no knife. a simple reset to get them back on track. wash doesn't need rope or anything else to have him begging and desperate and on edge, after all, as they both remember from their time on the rooftop. ]
no subject
wash has been with people who'd rather not have options. safety and consent are fine lines to go by, for most. but sometimes people don't want to be safe. felix had been like that, and for as difficult and outright toxic as their relationship had been -- physically, wash had thrived on it, on the simplicity of knowing how goddamn terrible of a person he was, on knowing there was no need to hold back. for either of them. wash doesn't tend to broach those lines with most people. not unless he's sure.
he can't be sure with pietro, not when pietro isn't sure of so many things himself. but that's still a direction to go in, and one wash will acknowledge, his eyes flicking up at the response even if he doesn't say anything, to preserve whatever sense of non-vulnerability that pietro was trying to avoid. it's heard and acknowledged, and being -- taken into consideration.
at that other response, though. the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly into a small smirk, another little nip at his thumb. and then he's moving, all at once, pushing pietro down onto the bed, using that grip on his wrist to pin pietro's hand down to the mattress, light but firm in his grasp. again, fitting himself between his legs, his other hand moving down to curve over pietro's -- but not to pull him away. he just pulls him to the front of his pants, instead, where he's obviously stll hard, painfully so. ]
Take it out.
[ that growl in his voice again, a demand -- and with a bit of a promise behind it, especially spoken from wash already braced above him, pressed so close. an offer. just fucking, rough, hard, simple. no rope. no knife. a simple reset to get them back on track. wash doesn't need rope or anything else to have him begging and desperate and on edge, after all, as they both remember from their time on the rooftop. ]