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WASHINGTON. ([personal profile] protocol) wrote2021-10-16 12:49 pm
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duplicity inbox





placeholder content up here until rocket gets his shit together

expect nsfw.
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[personal profile] covert 2022-02-22 02:57 am (UTC)(link)
[Dick watches Wash put things together with some degree of satisfaction of his own. He wouldn't have come chasing after this if Wash had been capable of dumb brutalities and nothing more - Dick can pick up that kind of date in any bar in town after a certain time of night. There's so much more here than idle threat and teased reward. It takes a particular mind to know how to pick him apart, and more and more Dick's sure that he hasn't misjudged Wash's.

Not that he plans to make it easy. There are times he'll play the perfect submissive, put in the work, but that in itself requires earning in return.

That subtle little withdrawal of pressure is a case in point - a perfectly timed tug on the leash, and even if the breath that Dick lets go might contain something whisperingly close to a curse, he straightens up.

The comment about keeping him and the unexpected possessiveness in Wash's low tone lands another perfect hit, flashing up all the images he's sure Wash intends it to. Being kept and used, and used again. The perfect surrender of control, being little more than a receptacle. Already past any attempt at a snappy comeback, Dick's searching for words when Wash snatches them away from him. His grip's cruelly tight and Dick doesn't think he can have been hard at all for how painfully he's suddenly aware of his pressing erection. His pulse flares at the exact same time. Fuck.

He tests his airway, scrabbling and rasping for air even as his hips rock desperately forward, trying to rut up against Wash's hand.]


You'll... [The word trails to a scratch, almost a whine. He heaves a breath and tries again.] You'll be the only one who does.

[There's something in that, a harmony to the possessive note struck before.]
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[personal profile] covert 2022-03-06 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
[All too familiar with having his air cut off (more often in less safe, sane or consensual circumstances) part of Dick's mind automatically stands aside as a distant observer measuring the exact moment he should take defensive action while the rest exists within the sensation. It'll take him a long time, if ever, to be able to give up even that silent fragment of self control.

But the sensation is so easy to get lost in. The world narrowing and everything within its smaller frame becoming bright with intensity as his airflow goes from too little to almost nothing, the natural instinct to panic taken over by something lightheaded, almost giddy, and Wash's voice is far away as he says mine.

There's no question what's his. Dick's craning into the hold on his throat just to meet that kiss. It's not romantic, it's claiming, and he needs it - right now, more than he needs air.

At his sides, his fingers finally flex out of the fists he's kept them in and drag at the front of Wash's shirt instead, only pulling him closer, asking for more. Dick's hands look for purchase as Wash wraps another around him, this grip firm but not crushing, working him over with a calculated intent and it's so – much that there's a moment he should be more embarrassed about where Dick's legs could almost give way. It's 0 to almost complete overwhelm faster than should be possible, tears springing sharp to the corners of his eyes as he gasps airlessly into Wash's mouth, trying to catch the hint of a breath around the demands of his kiss. His adams apple tugs desperately under Wash's grip as he swallows and chokes, trying to mouth the word please without a voice to speak it. It's not a plea to stop. The way he tugs at Wash, closer, closer, is begging for the exact opposite.]
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[personal profile] covert 2022-03-09 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
[It should be shameful being this ready, this needy, even if - had Dick given in to the draw of his memories rather than the thread of caution telling him that things might not match up in this more tangible existence - he'd have been ready to walk into this room and offer himself over without much more than a remember me? This city, and this month in this city in particular has him frayed and reckless. At night he'll walk into fights most people wouldn't walk out of, and by day?

Well, he's here. Chasing the same kind of freedom from thought that he finds mid fight when its brutal enough. That moment where instinct kicks in. That high where the pain bursts through and whites out the world.

Memories merge as the present moment loses its clarity and he's in a shitty hotel room instead, face pressed down until he can taste the polish of Wash's boots before being dragged back up by the throat and thrown against the nearest surface - bed or table or wall. He remembers resenting it, resenting him and circling back to him like a dog anyway. Craving it in spite of himself. He remembers peeling wallpaper and his mouth full of sour tasting blankets. And he thinks hazily he might be trying to tell Wash about it, struggling for air and for words - thoughts - anything.

He's not really aware of the tear that slides down his cheek as Wash examines him, except for the slight sting.

And finally he's pushing – hands gripping Wash's shoulders, though not with all the strength he could use to fight him off if he had to, just pushing back as a desperate sound gets caught against the hand round his throat and he's coming, hard and messy into his palm.]
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[personal profile] covert 2022-03-13 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
[It's truly skirting the edge of danger - that silent observer Dick set within himself is ready to set off every alarm going - and yet Dick lets it happen. His grip tightens on Wash's shoulders, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises of their own, dark smears capped by the drag of red where his nails have caught deep enough to scratch. But he lets it happen. Lets Wash choke the breath from him and deny him more until his lungs are burning and his vision can't be trusted, flashing colors like fireworks around them.

He lets Wash thrust two - three fingers into his dry mouth, almost grateful for the moisture despite the tang of salt. He can't swallow around him at first, and almost forgets to breathe even when the pressure lets up the faintest amount.

His body can't forget, though, a soft whine picking up where the air tries to find a pathway round Wash's hand, Dick's tongue, and then a painful gasp as he lets go. He coughs harshly around the fingers invading his mouth, pulling his head back as far as the solid barrier of the ball behind will allow. But only long enough for air to re-establish itself in his lungs. For the world to swing back into focus and bring Wash's heavy-lidded gaze with it. Dick finds himself trying to read something there, to know if he's been good enough.

Then, careful not to drop his gaze, he sets about licking his hand clean of the mess its coated in.]