[ wash would revel in a verbal admission about just why pietro had sought him out for this -- but there's something he takes a quiet, visceral pleasure in this, too. in knowing why when pietro himself doesn't entirely, usually just due to stubborn refusal but here because he can't grasp it, in the same way he can't quite hold wash's gaze. wash is a careful, disciplined man who doesn't so much as drink, but he's far from above indulgence in vices. and being someone's vice is a special kind of thrill. an indulgence all on its own.
he eases forward. still standing, his posture almost too casual for what he's doing, moving himself between pietro's legs with his grip still locked over his chin and jaw, forcing him even further back where he's seated. he shifts his hand just a little more, allowing two fingers to press into pietro's pulse, now. a light pressure, but present. ]
You called me here.
[ apparently his first port of call. his fingers push against his throat just a little more, that quiet predatory hunger looming in his eyes again. ]
[Pietro inhales sharply at being driven further back, the pressure of those fingers on his jaw making him feel hotter than the brandy had, and he growls slightly in irritation over that, cutting it off when Wash's fingers settle over his pulse point. He can't remain still, and he shifts uncomfortably as Wash speaks. He did call him, and he can't blame it on being inebriated. It's not a drunken mistake. Meeting Wash's gaze again, Pietro could drown in that presence, overbearing and ready to devour him like a prey animal. Fuck. His thoughts are all over the place. Pietro chokes down a squeaking noise at that question. Wash did make a promise, and Pietro knows he has every intention of going through with that.]
Not here.
[The words are out of his mouth before he understands he said them, quick and direct, and he looks confused about it for a moment, but he doesn't take them back. His eyes flicker off to the side, over the bar and taking in the other patrons. Pietro usually doesn't mind an audience, frequently craves one, wants people to watch him, but not like this. He's already embarrassed himself dancing and he thinks there may have been karaoke at some point. But that pales in comparison to what he wants Wash to do to him, for him. For him. His quiet whine at that realisation is almost mournful.]
[ interesting. pietro doesn't strike him as the type who would normally mind and audience, and wash is usually indifferent, one way or another -- he prefers private settings less because they can't be seen and more because it allows him greater focus, that it fuels that want in him to just lose himself in another person completely and utterly. but this is a bigger vulnerability, isn't it, the kind that he already knows pietro is loathe to admit even to himself, and he sees that confusion in his eyes, like he wasn't even sure why he asked for it.
but just like how pietro called him here, and just like what wash had told him the first time: in many, many ways, this is about what pietro wants. he lingers for a few moments, especially after that little whine, visceral memories of all the sweet kinds of sounds he knows pietro can make playing through his memories, and he keeps that light steady pressure against his throat, turning his hand until those fingertips are drawling a line straight up under his chin and jaw, tipping his head up even as he leans down to just briefly catch his mouth in a kiss. it's brief but there's a want in it, raw and possessive, his tongue lapping deep into his mouth before he's already pulling back, voice low and rumbled against his lips. ]
Alright.
[ and then he straightens, letting his hand fall away, taking half a step back and giving him an expectant tip of his head even as that hunger never quite leaves his expression. lead the way, speedy. you called him here, so you get to decide where you want him to choke you until you cry. ]
[For long minutes, Pietro feels the press of Wash's fingers, the drag of them as they move to tilt his head up more, and when Wash's mouth is on his, Pietro moans softly, accepting that tongue eagerly, and exhaling a huff of a noise once it's pulled away. The rumbling voice is so close to his mouth and Pietro bites his tongue to keep from shoving it in Wash's mouth as he speaks, opting to stare him down instead as he backs off.
Once Pietro isn't crowded against the back of his chair anymore, he has a moment of indecision, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head slightly before he gets up, hand on the back of the chair to steady himself as he almost trips over his own foot. He looks down at it, wondering where he left his shoes, he doesn't even remember taking them off. But it's not important, he's doing something here.
Wash is looking at him with that same intense hunger, waiting, for however long Pietro has just been standing there, probably half a second, but it feels like much longer to him and his face burns with the heat of embarrassment or the alcohol, he'd can't tell. He abruptly refocuses, pushing past Wash and heading for the green room in the back. Only it's not exactly a private place either, and any of the musicians could come through at any moment, people he knows. Pietro sighs irritably to himself and shifts direction in the middle of the hallway to exit a side door instead, it opens to an alleyway near the fire escape. It's not private either, but he expects it's less likely for someone to come wandering out from the bar or in from the street than he does someone walking into the green room. He steps further out into the alley and turns back to Wash, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, his tone irritated and somewhat disgruntled, unsettled. He shifts his weight and tries not to fidget too much.]
We will do it here.
[He manages some level of command in it, but he clearly isn't at his best.]
[ wash doesn't reach out to help or support him in any way, but he does watch, as always. the unsteadiness, confusion. normal for someone who's completely fucking drunk, of course, though wash has gathered between the abrupt request for food and the baskets of once-chicken wings that pietro's body has to work though things like that faster and easier than most. its harder for pietro to hold his gaze, more than before, that defiant streak still absolutely present, and wash follows him towards the greenroom and neatly steps out of his way when pietro shifts direction. out into the alleyway isn't entirely unexpected, but it's fine. not the first time he's been pulled into the alley by a bar, it won't be the last, and wash follows quietly as pietro moves further in, watching the way he moves, the shift of his muscles under his skin, the long line of his back.
pietro seems happy enough at a certain point. trying not to fidget, in a way that wash has come to see is habitual for him, his voice still trying to project some level of command, but the most damning thing about it would simply that wash doesn't bother to refute it. he even shift his posture to project more of his present, doesn't change the way he looks at him, isn't bothered by that at all. there's no need to act to reclaim any kind of control when he knows he has it. he had it the moment pietro called him here.
a nod, and he allows his gaze to drag up over the length of his body. following muscles and angles that he already has memorized, the last remnants of bruises he knows he placed -- and that sauce still spilled across his chest. pietro's lucky he's pretty. ]
About time.
[ dryly, like he's the one impatient instead -- but he is impatient, in his own way, wants to get his hands on him again, has definitely lingered on the memory of pietro on that rooftop goadinng him on as much as the memory of the way his voice shattered when he begged, the sound of his moans when his throat was too hoarse to even sound them. he moves quickly that, simply flattens one hand against his sternum and shoves him back against the alley wall, immediately moving in close to pin him bodily against it, apparently uncaring about the sauce and more concerned with pietro. it's familiar and immediate, the way that wash immediately moves to take up all of his space and crowd him back aganst the wall, but there's something a little different to it, too.
wash had learned much about pietro over time over their last encounter, gradual shifts and adjustments. but even after how long it's been since then, wash slots himself back in like he belongs here. there's a distinct familiarity to the way he runs his hand down over pietro's side, like he's not just touching him but feeling over muscles and tendons that he knows -- and he seems intent on drawing the memory back for pietro, too. he immediately presses a knee against the brick wall between his legs, sliding it up between his thighs, his other hand tangling through his hair to pull roughly on the strands even as he kisses him again. harder now, more demanding, tonguing over his bottom lip like he still remembers the split in it when he'd bitten down before. wash still has his own shirt on, but he's more focused on pietro, still, his hand sliding down over his front, over his abdomen, immediately starting to work at his belt and pants as much as he can with how his hand is trapped between them. ]
[Pietro feels the quick drop of a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach when Wash just nods and rakes his eyes over him like he can see everything. His fingertips feel hot, burning, and his breath catches in his chest, remembering the first time that hit him, that his persistent claims of control have little effect. Wash already knows Pietro holds the power, and he doesn't care, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. The only struggle for control here is within Pietro himself, which he understands on some basic level, but not completely, not to where he can stop fighting it. And Pietro has no response to that turn around, that dismissive brush off, because he is the one taking too long, too lost within trying to escape his own thoughts that he can't function as quickly.
Wash shoves him hard against the wall, and he becomes both more and less aware at the same time, shocked a bit out of the haze of alcohol by a rush of adrenaline as his back scrapes across the rough wall, but sudden arousal spiking a drop in cohesive thoughts. Wash's presence is just as Pietro remembers it, oppressive and confining, and daring him to pay attention to anything else. In the back of his mind, he notes the alley was a good choice, and there won't be a couch to linger on afterwards, to deal with Wash clinging and touching him differently, more gently, it's the worst time for that. Wash's rough hand runs along his side, an intimate touch that makes Pietro squirm internally with the knowledge, the familiarity in those fingers.]
Shit.
[His legs are shoved further apart, Wash wedging his knee up against the wall, and it takes every bit of restraint Pietro has not to grind against Wash's thigh. But those fingers are in his hair, pulling hard, drawing high pitched whines of both annoyance and pleasure from him, and Pietro moves his hips. Once, quick, before he can stop himself, tightening his abdominal muscles. He responds to the kiss immediately though, hungry for it and moaning when Wash's tongue glides over his lip, right there. Wash reaches down between them and Pietro makes an impatient noise he can't swallow fast enough, sliding his own hand down to assist, or hinder as he's not too coordinated with it. His voice is just a hiss of frustration.]
[ just like that wash has found the familiar space around pietro again and immediately sliding into it, filling every waiting gap and molding himself around him. whatever it is drove pietro to drink and specifically seek him out and ask to have his hands around his throat, wash doesn't need to know, understands that that kind of information isn't his to take and demand. all that matters is what pietro wants, to be fucked up, to be driven over an edge, to lose himself for a while. and sometimes ( all of the time ), wash craves that too.
pietro remembers too, it would seem, more responsive and willing than before, eager, impatient for what he knows will come. wash keeps kissing him hard and groans into his mouth at the familiar taste of him, a sound that quickly twists into a possessive growl as his fingers twist tighter through his hair. he can feel it when pietro grinds forward, when he locks his muscles tight to will himself to stop, and that's fine. pietro won't be able to help himself before too long. wash's fingers are deft and nimble even now, mostly ignoring pietro's uncoordinated impatient help as he unbuckles his belt, popping open the front of his pants, tugging at the zipper.
wash doesn't hesitate, immediately slipping his hand under the fabric until he's palming roughly over his cock, curving his fingers around him, squeezing tight. not as hard as he's done before, but hard enough for it to hit that line where pleasure bleeds into pain, and the way his fingers immediately shift around him betrays a familiarity here, too. its like he's done this a dozen, a thousand times with him already. and yet.
he breaks away from the kiss with a low growl, mouthing down over the side of his neck, seems to remember exactly where pietro squirmed the most whenever he kissed him here before and going straight bite down into the joint of his neck and shoulder. wash keeps kissing over his neck, his throat, over faded bruises that he knows were there, his hand relaxing and then squeezing again over pietro's cock, and then abruptly pulling his hand free. his grip moves up to his shoulder and with one smooth motion he forces pietro painfully down to his knees, that hand that used to be twisted in his air now braced by the forearm against the brick wall as he leans over him, leaving pietro facing the very noticeable bulge in wash's own jeans.
instead of moving to undo his own belt, however, he instead twists his fingers back through his hair and pull him forward away from the wall, pushing his face against him through the denim, close enough that he can feel the throb of his cock through the material. ]
-- Promise's a promise. [ low, growling. frankly it's criminal he already hasn't had that mouth around his cock. ] Get my cock nice and wet for your ass, Pietro.
[It's difficult to keep himself controlled enough, muscles twitching at erratic intervals even as he tries to hold them tight, Wash's growl rumbling over his tongue too much of a distraction. Wash gets his pants open after an excruciatingly long time, and Pietro moves his trembling and useless fingers out of the way unconsciously, giving up as Wash grabs his cock. It's painful, but on the edge of it, like he knows exactly how much pressure to use, and Pietro is both pleased and irritated by it, feeling every individual point of contact and only wanting Wash's fingers to tighten. He fidgets and whines about it, but groans roughly in an almost desperately needy way when Wash lets go all too soon. Those fingers instead dig into his shoulder and push him down to his knees, the brick wall rough over his back until he breaks from it as his knees and shins hit the concrete. Pietro sucks in a breath as Wash's hand is back in his hair, yanking him forward instead of wrenching his head back, pressing him against his crotch, the rough material of his jeans against his face, that pulsing heat underneath throbbing slowly and felt. Shit. Fuck.
Pietro knew this was coming, it's what had been promised and in that moment he asked for that promise, the thought of it had made his abdomen tighten fiercely with heat, but now that he's here, he stalls for a long half a second as his mind blanks and he can't figure out what to do with his hands. But his fingers latch on to Wash's belt as he draws his head back a little, his fingertips hot and tingling as he picks at the buckle and gets it freed, working the button through the hole, an act that seems to take forever as Pietro's entire body continues to overheat, and finally yanking the zipper down, fast and hard and sudden. He wraps his fingers around Wash's cock, a firm hold to keep them from shaking, and once he's pulled that cock out right in front of his face, he pauses again before tentatively licking along the head, the new texture of hard and heated flesh odd and almost salty on his tongue. He tightens his grip on Wash's shaft, adjusting it a few times, and takes the head into his mouth, not being careful of his teeth and scraping along the bottom of it, but eventually he opens his jaw wide enough, making a sputtering noise before he shifts to breathing completely through his nose.]
[ pietro is slower than usual, uncoordinated -- and unfamiliar, wash notes, though its unclear if that's from genuine unfamiliarity or simply because of pietro's current state. wash is patient enough, watching as pietro fumbles with he front of his jeans, a quiet pleased sound rumbling from his chest when pietro finally frees his cock and wraps his trembling fingers around it firmly. that one lick especially seems hesitant, new, that sudden warm wet pressure enough to draw a small shudder from wash, and then pietro's finally taking him into his mouth. he's slightly hesitant with it too, and wash braces more of his weight against his forearm pressed to the alley wall, making some quiet sound of pleasure and irritation both when that heat starts to envelop him -- but not entirely, that scrape of teeth only sending another little shiver through him.
god, pietro makes a pretty sight like this, though. on his knees, those lips stretched wide around his cock. he tugs sharply on his hair just for pietro to feel that pressure, letting him adjust to just having his cockhead in his mouth, feeling the way he's adjusting his jaw, shifting his breathing. ]
New to this too? [ he murmurs, only just loud enough for pietro to hear him down on his knees, still low and rumbling as always, somehow even lower than before, thick with want and arousal and a possessive bent. ] That's a shame. You look real good on your knees.
[ wash doesn't actually know with the same certainty if this really is a first or not, but pietro certainly seems unfamiliar, and wash is happy to revel more in those little possessive thoughts, on the quiet thrill of being anywhere near the first. a promise is a promise, though, and that hand in his hair drops to pietro's shoulder, to one of his hands against his shaft, pulling it away firmly but gently and re-settling pietro's trembling hand over one muscled thigh, instead. ]
Just like before. Squeeze twice.
[ that's the only warning pietro gets. most other people wash wouldn't mind going slower, letting them take their time, but he's here for one specific purpose and he already knows pietro wants to be pushed. wash's hand returns to his hair, tangling tight through the strands, and he pulls sharply to angle pietro's head slightly -- opening up his throat just enough for wash to thrust forward. not too hard, but still all at once, one smooth movement as he moves to fuck himself deeper into his mouth and then down his throat. ]
[Pietro doesn't give as much attention to Wash's reactions as he would normally, trying to figure him out or take small victories at each growl or moan or pleased noise. They fade into the background over his own perceptions, the taste of Wash's cock, the awkward position of his jaw that he wants to snap shut, how his tongue cradles the head almost automatically, that sharp pull on his hair that makes him moan softly. Pietro huffs out an irritated noise at that question, but he knows it's obvious from the way he's handling things that he's never even attempted to suck someone's cock before. Wash's voice lowers and that Pietro pays attention to, the possessiveness and blatant arousal in his tone, but what he says has Pietro sucking in a sharp breath through his nose and grazing his teeth on Wash's cock again. Oh, I do. I look very good on my knees. Is that what you want? He squirms uncomfortably, whining in the back of his throat as he recalls words he'd spoken himself, arrogant and full of pride and challenge, but it's exactly where he is now, and Wash's appreciation of his position makes him both loathe himself and scrape together remnants of that pride over it, and Pietro hates himself even more for that.
Wash takes his hand and Pietro lets him move it to his thigh, where he presses his fingers somewhat firmly against hard muscle. They vibrate on and off a couple of times, then still as much as they had been, little tremors. His breathing is too fast and he does make attempts to suck in air through his mouth as Wash yanks on his hair again, making him choke down a moan before he thrusts forward, deep, without pause, and Pietro's throat works reflexively as he whines around that intrusion, sliding over his tongue and partially down his throat so fucking slowly. He keeps his hand mostly steady at Wash's thigh, the other gripping far too tight at his own. He struggles to breathe, gagging and choking almost violently at first before the sounds come less harshly, and he releases frustrated and irritable high pitched whines as his eyes water. But it's working. Pietro's thoughts have ceased to exist beyond what's happening to him right now, consumed by every new sensation and point of stimulation of pain or discomfort. And part of him revels in it.]
[ wash groans, low and rumbling and not bothering to muffle it, feeling his cock slide over pietro's tongue and down his throat and further, feeling how pietro's body reflexively works around it choking and gagging around the sudden intrusion. he only grips his hair tighter and keeps forcing himself down, those sounds harsh and enough to give anyone else pause -- but wash knows what that's wanted, has already given him a way to tap out if he needs it. eventually the sound subsides into whines muffled around his cock, those pretty eyes watering from having the entire length of wash's cock pressed into his mouth, and wash stays there for a moment, savoring the feeling of it, his balls pressed flush to his chin and jaw.
he curses a little to himself, a sharp hiss just under his breath, fuck pietro really does look good like this, his cock throbbing noticeably against pietro's tongue just as wash watches him. but again, he's not here to go easy on him. he twists his hand harder through his hair, but he doesn't move his head up or down on his cock, simply locks his arm and grip to keep him in place.
wash rolls his hips back, nice and easy, his cock sliding against his throat and feeling the texture of his tongue -- and with no warning this time, thrusts back forward. all the way way down, no pause, forcing him to swallow it all at once, and even as pietro's throat works around him wash starts to move again. his other hand drops from the wall, moving to fist both into pietro's hair, pulling roughly at his hair and holding him still as he starts to fuck his mouth. he builds quickly into a nice, steady rhythm, hard and sharp. even here, even like this he's watching, listening, and chasing after the right angles and the right rhythm and the right amount of force, aiming force him to gag and choke noticeably around his cock as he fucks him, working himself against his mouth and down his throat just like he would if he was fucking him from behind. ]
[Pietro's nails dig into the fabric of his pants as he presses his fingers hard against his thigh, but careful to only grip with that hand and let his other stay fixed to Wash's leg without an increase in pressure for as long as he can manage it, the muscles in his arm tight and forcing it. As Wash pulls his cock back, Pietro chases it with his tongue, trying to press it hard enough to the underside of Wash's cock to make it uncomfortable for him, but it's difficult to move and feels very heavy in his mouth. When he starts to thrust back, in the fractions of a second where Pietro can anticipate things, he braces himself, and that ends up making it worse, accidentally tightening his throat and unprepared for that additional fight to open it up again, loud whines choked down, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically as he gags like he could spit that cock back out if he tried hard enough.
Wash twists his fingers tighter in his hair, and the moan that wants to rise of his throat goes nowhere, only forcing another wet choking noise. Pietro wants to shift, to move his knees off the hard pavement as every thrust makes him feel unbalanced. Wash goes hard, relentless, and Pietro thinks his jaw might break at the hinges from the strain of keeping his mouth open and not biting down. His throat feels inflamed soon enough, raw and abraded, would be bleeding if he didn't have that barrier of resistance to friction that's harder to break through. But it hurts, a sharp sort of pain all over the soft tissue of his throat, exacerbated every time he chokes or gags, and that's often. He can't breathe well, unable to focus on it and continuing to try to pull air into his mouth when there isn't any room for it. Still, his fingers remain twitching at Wash's thigh, but otherwise unmoving.]
[ pietro is having a hard time adjusting to this, wash can tell -- and wash isn't making it easy for him. but pietro isn't tapping out, either, and knowing that he wants to be pushed, that he wants to get fucked up tonight, wash won't pull back until he asks for it. the raw pressure of his throat especially as he continues to gag and choke on him, as he feels those muscles work reflexively around the invasions and struggle to make sounds other than wet sputtering.
and how much visceral pleasure wash gets out of those sounds and that struggle is something that wash questions, sometimes. but not now, not here. pietro is trying to lose himself in this, to have all coherent thought slip from his mind and lean into wash's overbearing presence, and wash is trying to do the same in his own way, tune himself so completely to pietro and his body and his wants and needs that there's nothing else for wash to do but act and feel, and fuck when he fucks into his throat just right that has him choking, it makes him want.
eventually, though, wash does slow down. not to go easy on him, but simply to shift tracks. he still works his hips in slow, easy rolls, but now the movement and pressure shifts to his fingers in pietro's hair. on one thrust when he pulls back, he pushes pietro's head down, and then pulls his head back. working him on his cock using that grip in his hair. ]
-- Fuck. [ a breath, low and ragged. ] Use your tongue, pretty boy. I know you like it dry, but I want my cock sliding right into your tight little ass.
[ is he maybe indirectly teaching pietro how to do this a little even as he fucks his throat raw. maybe. ]
[He's gotten his breathing under control again only for Wash to change things, slow down, and that first shift to it gives Pietro enough time to reorient himself. Wash's fingers twist in his hair, adjust, and force him to move his head forward instead. As much as that exclamation of 'fuck' has Pietro finally clinging to it as a victory and returning to that mindset, he's also annoyed and manages a whiny growl at the command, as if he hadn't known that, wouldn't have done that if he'd been given a chance to start before Wash shoved his cock down his throat. Those thoughts occur to him, what he's irritated with and his chest burns with the shame of being grateful he can't speak, can't voice his indignant complaints about being underestimated or make some boastful comments over how talented he could be in theory. He doesn't want to laud his own untapped potential here while on his knees in a dirty alley like this, but he also does.
Pietro whines instead, an almost offended noise at the implication he's subpar at this, focusing his eyes on Wash's face long enough to glare sharply. He moves with the rhythm set at first, curling his tongue along Wash's shaft, swirling it over the head when he's pulled back, getting enough control over his own mouth to actually suck while he lathes his tongue over the hard flesh like he does his fingers. Pietro moves his hand from his own thigh to grip Wash's balls, firm, but not quite squeezing, twisting his fingers a little before he lets his hand drop and braces it flat on the ground for leverage to drive some of this himself. Trying to move faster, he ignores the way his throat throbs, the way his tongue and lips feel bruised, the more fiery tingling sparks of pain as he pulls in opposition to Wash's hold on his hair. Pietro bites once, letting his teeth scrape over the length of Wash's cock. Then his tongue vibrates, and Pietro lets out a soft huff of a noise, an arrogant little 'hm'.]
[ pietro might not actually be able to talk but wash thinks he could almost hear him with that indignant glare to his eyes, that irritation. he makes some quiet sound, almost amused, but that quickly twists into a groan as pietro gains enough of himself to move, to work his tongue over his cock and suck over him, that pressure on his balls. and then that damn speed, that vibration, the same thing he knows he can do with his hands. a shudder runs through the length of his spine, a deep heat twisting in him in response to that sensation, something he's never quite felt before, the wet heat of pietro's mouth and the warm undulating pressure of his tongue, the scrape and pressure of his teeth as he bites along with the vibration of it.
wash gathers himself quickly enough, fingers twisting even harder through his hair. as much as he's entertained by pietro's arrogance, he does want to rip it from him -- and he knows why he's here. that's too much choice, too much conscious thought. whatever drove pietro to down that entire bottle of brandy and want to be fucked with wash's hands around his throat, pietro doesn't want to be thinking through any of that. and wash can and will drive him there.
both of his hands twist through the strands of his hair and force his head down, accompanied by a sharp thrust of his hips, another shudder running through him when his cock slides over that vibrating tongue and straight down his throat. this time it's clear he's aiming to make him choke and gag. he starts to fuck his mouth, again, hard sharp thrusts with his vicelike grip pulling on his hair and keeping his head in place, and this time he eventually lets one hand slide down, fingers curving under his jaw, down towards his neck and throat. he can feel it under his fingers, whenever he hilts himself in his mouth, and and he lets his touch just barely start to ease a bit more pressure against his throat. strategic applications, here and there, both to make him struggle more when he fucks himself especially deep but also just to feel the way his throat locks and gags. a reminder of what's to come, for the rest of his promise. ]
[He can feel it, that shudder that ripples slowly through Wash, Pietro got to him, and he does have enough coherency in his thoughts to be pleased with himself over it. And to be frustrated when Wash wrests control back right away, making him whine loudly in protest before his cock is down in Pietro's throat again, cutting off that noise, and he can't breathe, choking wetly as the vibration of his tongue stutters and dies. His fingers scrape hard against the concrete and he can feel the bloom of blood under his nails. Pietro loses his hold on things mentally, only able to concentrate on Wash fucking his mouth, the pain in his throat and his jaw, the tight hold in his hair that sends heat down his chest and makes his cock twitch hard. Wash moves his hand, and Pietro squirms with a mix of desire and trepidation as those fingers trail down to his throat and slowly apply force. Pietro can't help the reflexive responses, his throat working constantly, struggling for air and against the internal and external pressure. It all feels raw and forceful and Pietro's eyes start to roll before he catches himself instinctively and focuses on breathing even as he chokes and wheezes, and finally lifts his hand off the ground to force it between his thighs, shifting as much as he can almost desperately, and gets his fingers wrapped around his cock.]
[ for as nice as that vibration feels, its nicer when he feels it stutter and fade, knowing that that's the result of pietro unable to concentrate enough to keep up the fine control it requires, losing himself to the feel of everything else. wash continues to feel pietro's throat struggle around his cock, feeling him choke and gag reflexively, and even if it's hard for wash to see from where he is he catches the moment when that defiant glare in his eyes glazes over and slips out of focus and his eyes start to roll back.
fuck, that feels good, looks good, pietro on his knees fighting for air around his cock and clearly wanting it, and wash decides enough is enough. his grip tightens through his hair as he wrenches his head back against the alley wall, and he actually moves forward with it, pressing his cock down his throat, balls flush to his chin. then with a slow roll of his hips he draws back, pulling himself mostly free, letting the swollen head of his cock rest on his tongue. ]
Fuck. [ a little hiss through his teeth, watching pietro's lips still stretched around him, his mouth dribbling saliva around him. Slowly, he frees his cockhead too, thrilling at the lewdness of the sight of it as he lets his cock rest against his lips, smearing precome from his slit. ] You're so good.
[ breathless, whispered praise, a little uncharacteristic from everything they've done so far, but genuine -- he feels good, looks good, and wash lets his cock slide against his cheek before his hands move. he hauls him back to his feet bodily, lifting his entire weight with surprising ease, pushing him right back against the wall and pressing close to kiss him again, harsh and bruising. ]
[Pietro's whine as Wash yanks his head back against the wall is abrupt and loud even half-drowned out by Wash's cock. He sputters as Wash pulls back and leaves just the head of his cock in his mouth. Pietro swirls his tongue around it once, a quick little slurp, before it's out of his mouth along with an excessive amount of saliva. The corner of lips turn up slightly into a smirk as Wash whispers those words.]
I know.
[His voice is raw and his words mostly vowel sounds as he tries to form them when half of his mouth feels numb, but the tone holds confidence, an automatic response to anything Pietro can take ownership of, even if it's being good at this. His gloating doesn't last long, and Pietro scrambles to get his feet under him as Wash hauls him up from his knees and crowds him against the wall again, looming and oppressive. Wash's mouth is on his, and Pietro's contribution to the kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated for a moment before he drives to deepen it, biting at Wash's lip. He reaches up to twist his fingers in Wash's hair and pull him closer, taking command where he thinks he can grab it, even if he'd called Wash here to stop him from thinking and functioning.]
[ while pietro will try to hold it over his head wash won't deny how much he's already been drawn in by him, doesn't mind playing into his ego. he is good at this, just looking damn good on his knees or good anywhere else, good with his mouth and tongue and that vibrating touch. pietro may have called him here, a clear sign of the mark that wash has left on him, but wash didn't have to answer or come so immediately. but he did. simply because he wanted to.
he growls low against pietro's mouth when he kisses him back, when he feels those fingers twisting through his hair, when he can feel him grasping at control again, trying to wrench it back even as wash knows he wants it taken away. but that's fine, that's good, because wash thrives at tearing it out from someone's grasp, and he answers by turning his head and pressing deeper, biting down even harder at pietro's lip until he tastes blood. just like before, almost exactly the same place, precise as he can manage it with both of them tangled up in each other.
one hand drops down to pietro's leg, running up his thigh, again squeezing and pressing almost exactly where those bruises used to be -- or still are, some fading slower than others. he slides his hand up to grip roughly over his ass, only stopping so he can actually fist his fingers in the fabric and yank his pants down along with his underwear. once he gets them down far enough, a low sound of want rumbling in his chest and throat, he breaks the kiss. mouthing down over his neck, moving to palm over the bare skin of pietro's thigh instead as he hikes his leg up over his hip.
he knows where those bruises are, every single one, can still perfectly picture pietro trapped against the wall in that room or spread out against the couch, corners of his eyes stained with ears as he struggled and gasped for air. the memory drives him further, sealing his lips over the pulse in his throat and sucking to start leaving new marks all over again. he lets his saliva-slick cock rub against pietro's, his other hand fitting between them briefly to take both of them in his hand, squeezing roughly and giving a few nice rough strokes. but he's impatient, wanting more, wants to feel him and before too long his hand pulls away again as he angles his hips to slide his cock against his hole, rubbing against it, hot and wet. ]
[Despite his best efforts, Pietro moans lowly and raggedly in the back of his throat as Wash bites down on his lip, sharp and hard and a trickle of blood rolls onto his tongue. He squirms as Wash runs his hand up his thigh, and every time his fingers press harder, Pietro knows it's where he'd left bruises before, the memory of how they felt, deep and lingering and present still there in his mind though it's been months for him and not weeks, months to forget and he hasn't. Pietro stills his squirming only to help Wash tug his pants off easier, and he growls at himself for it, far more of a stuttering discontented sound than the deep rumbling from Wash he also can't forget. Pietro breathes in sharply the moment Wash breaks the kiss and moves down to his neck.
He keeps his leg where Wash sets it, pressing it hard against his hip, resting most of his weight on the ball of his other foot and against the wall at his back. He whines lowly as Wash sucks at his throat and grinds against him, and he writhes before he can rein that in as Wash's hand is there too, squeezing over their cocks and he remembers that, against the wall in that room, another night at Jolene's. Shit, shit, shit. He wants that again, he wants all of it again, and not just to be choked and released from his current most pressing intrusive thoughts. Pietro tries to rub himself harder against Wash's cock the moment he's gotten it there against his ass and he whines irritably.]
[ wash likes him desperate, likes him impatient, likes him needy and wanting when that whine reaches that certain pitch, high but irritated like he's angry he isn't already getting what he wants. he answers him easily -- that hand that was gripping over their cocks immediately lifting up to grip over his throat, not hard enough to choke him just yet but hard enough to briefly stop his airflow, to get his breath to hitch and stop, fast enough that pietro is only just barely able to get that last word out of his mouth. he presses close, feeling pietro's cock trapped against the muscle of his own stomach, tonguing over his newly bitten lower lip. ]
Maybe.
[ what if he takes all night again, pietro? what if being in an alleyway instead of a room doesn't stop him, what if he keeps pressing and pushing and taking his time to peel you apart all over again? his gaze as hungry as always, snapping into that absolute focus, and again, it's just a little different. before, he'd been learning his prey, and while there's always more to learn and even more things to tune himself to. now, he knows, already has so much about his body perfectly memorized.
that hand over the back of his thigh grips tighter, leaving new fresh marks in his skin and forcibly angling his hips in just the right way so that when he thrusts forward he hits him just right. he fucks inside him all in one smooth movement, slick and wet and forcing himself inside even with how tight pietro is, immediately turning his head to groan deep and loud, breath ragged against his jawline. he sinks in deep, balls pressed flush to his ass, lingers there only for the barest moment before he's starting to move, building quickly into a rhythm. and not just any rhythm, of course, one that he knows pietro likes, one that he remembers him responding to, his hips snapping against him hard and fast, that hand still around his throat, starting to press in just a little more. ]
[In that space of time between his impatient question and Wash's hand at his neck, Pietro sucks in a breath and tightens his throat instinctively. Wash's grip is lighter than expected, but more painful than it should be for the amount of pressure, his throat raw inside. It's uncomfortable, both physically with those fingers on his throat, but also on some emotional or psychological level that Pietro is starting comprehend, Wash overbearingly close again and taking all of his focus, pressed against his hard cock and scraping that tongue over his bleeding lip. Pietro attempts to swallow awkwardly as a pulse of heat runs through his abdomen, and he doesn't know which uncomfortable thing set it off. That annoys him and he fidgets for a moment, huffy breaths coming out of his nose.
He settles again and takes that 'maybe' as a promise too. Wash's eyes have that intensity in them again, the kind that Pietro had learned quickly to recognise, and it registers with him now, the effects of the brandy nearly out of his system. He's paying more attention, anticipating in a more calculated way, and as Wash tightens his hand at his thigh and shifts his hips, and Pietro feels that first press of his cock into his hole, he brings one hand to Wash's forearm at his throat. Wash pushes forcefully inside him, relentless and hard, that low groan sounds in his ear, and Pietro can only whine and moan for a moment, noises that don't quite make it out of his throat. He shoves his free hand down between their bodies, grasping his cock hard, stroking slightly faster than in rhythm with Wash's thrusts, and uses the wall for leverage to try to push his hips back, tightening his muscles around Wash's cock. His actions come from two incongruent lines of thought, as a part of him still wants to control something in any way, and another seeks more of exactly what Wash is giving him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Pietro knows he's getting what he wants, that Wash is fucking him how he wants, knows which angles to drive from, where Pietro likes his cock and how fast, focused on him.]
[ wash has taught about this in the time since that eventful might at this same establishment -- how could he not, when the memories are so easy for him to revisit, when he can close his eyes and see it all play out crystal clear. he'd pushed pietro further than he'd been pushed before, he knows, pressed him to a point where he was no longer comfortable or knew what to do, very nearly forced him to reckon with some deep-seated wants within himself, and clearly, given that he's back here again, he'd left marks that seared deeper than the bruises and bites. but wash knows and understands that he'd been pushed that night, too, that much about pietro had drawn him in -- and he understands himself a little too well to be blame that entirely on the aphrodisiac-laced smoke. there's something about this. there's something about him. and god, he wants to push him there again.
pietro might almost be able to feel it, how that hunger is present but -- runs deeper, hits at something primal and raw, just like how all his movements come with a renewed intensity as he benefits from memory. pietro clamps tight around his cock and wash moans, half-hiding the sounds against the crook of pietro's shoulder between kisses and bites, already starting to bruise and mark him all over again. if anything there's an increased ferocity and possessiveness to it now, like now that he's seen those marks faded away, he damn well wants them to stay.
he fucks him hard and fast, one hand still braced against his throat. his other tight over his hip, occasionally sliding down to his thigh just so he can move him how he wants. angling him back into position and pushing him back into place any time pietro might slightly slip against the wall or jolted out of position wash's rutting thrusts, wash moves him back, knows exactly how he wants to fuck him, how deep, how hard. slowly his other hand shifts until pietro's head is forced back against the alley wall, his hand wrapping around his neck, fingertips scraping the brick.
a different time, a different person, wash might give his warning again. but he doesn't, especially when pietro so immediately lifted his hand to his forearm. pietro knows. pietro remembers. and just like before, wash leans in to kiss him, tonguing surprisingly slowly into his mouth as he starts to tighten his grip over his throat. not enough to push him to that edge just yet, but more than enough for him to choke and sputter especially in combination with wash's invading tongue, more than enough to feel his throat jump and struggle under his grip. ]
[Pietro makes a pleased noise that ekes its way out of his throat like an exhale. Wash can try to muffle his sounds, but he feels them against his skin right along with the biting and sucking, penetrating as much as the bruises Wash is leaving behind. He isn't testing or prodding at Pietro like before, having gathered his information that first time, and Pietro grasps that shift, the further lean into possessive behaviour, the urge to claim obviously more present, and he still takes pride in that, the fact that this man wants him so badly he needs to mark again when the evidence has faded. The corner of his lips turn up into a smirk and his throat works like he might want to laugh, but can't. He thumbs the head of his cock, running his nail through leaking precum while he can still coordinate his fingers enough.
The physical sensations build and Pietro focuses on them individually before he gets too overstimulated to enjoy that — his own hand on his cock, the scrape of the brick against his back, the uncomfortable position of his hips that allows for the perfect angle, the force of Wash's cock slamming deep into his ass, reigniting the fiery crackling of his nerve endings at still-sensitive places inside him from their last encounter, and the way Wash manhandles him so easily, with no care for how he might break. Because he won't, not physically. Wash tightens his grip around his neck, fingers slowly pressing harder over Pietro's throat, keeping him pinned against the wall, tongue drifting into his mouth agonisingly slowly. Pietro would whine for it, more of it, if he could make any noise at present besides choked gasps for air as his lungs start to burn.]
[ pietro can't actually make those sounds but wash can almost feel them, when he's pressed this close, when he can feel the way every sound and gasp for air bubbles up in his throat under his palm. his impatience is something wash finds almost -- charming, despite himself, that sense of demand, to get what he wants now. and like he has done before, sometimes he wants to draw that out, force him give into the need, to beg, but right now.
wash's grip shifts further against pietro's neck. an echo not of the first time he'd choked him, but of pietro's hand against his own throat. wash's hand is different, rougher, but he still slides his fingers into the right spaces around his throat, almost like slotting them perfectly into place against old bruises and marks. pietro might barely have the time to realize that's happening, though, because wash is starting to kiss him harder, all teeth and tongue, sucking on his bottom lip. He shifts quickly into kissing him with such a viciousness that that alone might've been enough to cause someone to struggle in discomfort, but that hand against his throat starts to grip tighter, too.
its steady, even, ramp-up of pressure, cutting off what's left of pietro's air even as he kisses him like he means to steal the oxygen from his lungs. pietro's hand over his forearm would be able to feel the muscles and tendons work, how he locks his arm sharply in place, how he makes those minute adjustments. wash is pressed so close now, his presence oppressive as always, surrounding pietro in this, in him, aiming to drown him in sensation, on himself -- and again he's starting to push for that edge. any time pietro starts to lose too much air, wash adjusts, gives him a little bit back, not quite keeping him on the same knife's edge but keeping him damned close.
he's relentless, growling and gasping against pietro's own mouth and tongue as he keeps fucking him, every thrust jolting his body against the wall and causing him to need to adjust that hand on his throat, against his hips. but he does it every time, with almost mechanical precision, a well-oiled machine tuned to a single purpose, that hand over his waist starting to slide to grip over his ass and leave more marks and bruises there even as he keeps using that touch to keep him just where he wants him. ]
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he eases forward. still standing, his posture almost too casual for what he's doing, moving himself between pietro's legs with his grip still locked over his chin and jaw, forcing him even further back where he's seated. he shifts his hand just a little more, allowing two fingers to press into pietro's pulse, now. a light pressure, but present. ]
You called me here.
[ apparently his first port of call. his fingers push against his throat just a little more, that quiet predatory hunger looming in his eyes again. ]
And I made you a promise, didn't I?
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Not here.
[The words are out of his mouth before he understands he said them, quick and direct, and he looks confused about it for a moment, but he doesn't take them back. His eyes flicker off to the side, over the bar and taking in the other patrons. Pietro usually doesn't mind an audience, frequently craves one, wants people to watch him, but not like this. He's already embarrassed himself dancing and he thinks there may have been karaoke at some point. But that pales in comparison to what he wants Wash to do to him, for him. For him. His quiet whine at that realisation is almost mournful.]
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but just like how pietro called him here, and just like what wash had told him the first time: in many, many ways, this is about what pietro wants. he lingers for a few moments, especially after that little whine, visceral memories of all the sweet kinds of sounds he knows pietro can make playing through his memories, and he keeps that light steady pressure against his throat, turning his hand until those fingertips are drawling a line straight up under his chin and jaw, tipping his head up even as he leans down to just briefly catch his mouth in a kiss. it's brief but there's a want in it, raw and possessive, his tongue lapping deep into his mouth before he's already pulling back, voice low and rumbled against his lips. ]
Alright.
[ and then he straightens, letting his hand fall away, taking half a step back and giving him an expectant tip of his head even as that hunger never quite leaves his expression. lead the way, speedy. you called him here, so you get to decide where you want him to choke you until you cry. ]
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Once Pietro isn't crowded against the back of his chair anymore, he has a moment of indecision, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head slightly before he gets up, hand on the back of the chair to steady himself as he almost trips over his own foot. He looks down at it, wondering where he left his shoes, he doesn't even remember taking them off. But it's not important, he's doing something here.
Wash is looking at him with that same intense hunger, waiting, for however long Pietro has just been standing there, probably half a second, but it feels like much longer to him and his face burns with the heat of embarrassment or the alcohol, he'd can't tell. He abruptly refocuses, pushing past Wash and heading for the green room in the back. Only it's not exactly a private place either, and any of the musicians could come through at any moment, people he knows. Pietro sighs irritably to himself and shifts direction in the middle of the hallway to exit a side door instead, it opens to an alleyway near the fire escape. It's not private either, but he expects it's less likely for someone to come wandering out from the bar or in from the street than he does someone walking into the green room. He steps further out into the alley and turns back to Wash, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, his tone irritated and somewhat disgruntled, unsettled. He shifts his weight and tries not to fidget too much.]
We will do it here.
[He manages some level of command in it, but he clearly isn't at his best.]
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pietro seems happy enough at a certain point. trying not to fidget, in a way that wash has come to see is habitual for him, his voice still trying to project some level of command, but the most damning thing about it would simply that wash doesn't bother to refute it. he even shift his posture to project more of his present, doesn't change the way he looks at him, isn't bothered by that at all. there's no need to act to reclaim any kind of control when he knows he has it. he had it the moment pietro called him here.
a nod, and he allows his gaze to drag up over the length of his body. following muscles and angles that he already has memorized, the last remnants of bruises he knows he placed -- and that sauce still spilled across his chest. pietro's lucky he's pretty. ]
About time.
[ dryly, like he's the one impatient instead -- but he is impatient, in his own way, wants to get his hands on him again, has definitely lingered on the memory of pietro on that rooftop goadinng him on as much as the memory of the way his voice shattered when he begged, the sound of his moans when his throat was too hoarse to even sound them. he moves quickly that, simply flattens one hand against his sternum and shoves him back against the alley wall, immediately moving in close to pin him bodily against it, apparently uncaring about the sauce and more concerned with pietro. it's familiar and immediate, the way that wash immediately moves to take up all of his space and crowd him back aganst the wall, but there's something a little different to it, too.
wash had learned much about pietro over time over their last encounter, gradual shifts and adjustments. but even after how long it's been since then, wash slots himself back in like he belongs here. there's a distinct familiarity to the way he runs his hand down over pietro's side, like he's not just touching him but feeling over muscles and tendons that he knows -- and he seems intent on drawing the memory back for pietro, too. he immediately presses a knee against the brick wall between his legs, sliding it up between his thighs, his other hand tangling through his hair to pull roughly on the strands even as he kisses him again. harder now, more demanding, tonguing over his bottom lip like he still remembers the split in it when he'd bitten down before. wash still has his own shirt on, but he's more focused on pietro, still, his hand sliding down over his front, over his abdomen, immediately starting to work at his belt and pants as much as he can with how his hand is trapped between them. ]
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Wash shoves him hard against the wall, and he becomes both more and less aware at the same time, shocked a bit out of the haze of alcohol by a rush of adrenaline as his back scrapes across the rough wall, but sudden arousal spiking a drop in cohesive thoughts. Wash's presence is just as Pietro remembers it, oppressive and confining, and daring him to pay attention to anything else. In the back of his mind, he notes the alley was a good choice, and there won't be a couch to linger on afterwards, to deal with Wash clinging and touching him differently, more gently, it's the worst time for that. Wash's rough hand runs along his side, an intimate touch that makes Pietro squirm internally with the knowledge, the familiarity in those fingers.]
Shit.
[His legs are shoved further apart, Wash wedging his knee up against the wall, and it takes every bit of restraint Pietro has not to grind against Wash's thigh. But those fingers are in his hair, pulling hard, drawing high pitched whines of both annoyance and pleasure from him, and Pietro moves his hips. Once, quick, before he can stop himself, tightening his abdominal muscles. He responds to the kiss immediately though, hungry for it and moaning when Wash's tongue glides over his lip, right there. Wash reaches down between them and Pietro makes an impatient noise he can't swallow fast enough, sliding his own hand down to assist, or hinder as he's not too coordinated with it. His voice is just a hiss of frustration.]
Move it, let's go.
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pietro remembers too, it would seem, more responsive and willing than before, eager, impatient for what he knows will come. wash keeps kissing him hard and groans into his mouth at the familiar taste of him, a sound that quickly twists into a possessive growl as his fingers twist tighter through his hair. he can feel it when pietro grinds forward, when he locks his muscles tight to will himself to stop, and that's fine. pietro won't be able to help himself before too long. wash's fingers are deft and nimble even now, mostly ignoring pietro's uncoordinated impatient help as he unbuckles his belt, popping open the front of his pants, tugging at the zipper.
wash doesn't hesitate, immediately slipping his hand under the fabric until he's palming roughly over his cock, curving his fingers around him, squeezing tight. not as hard as he's done before, but hard enough for it to hit that line where pleasure bleeds into pain, and the way his fingers immediately shift around him betrays a familiarity here, too. its like he's done this a dozen, a thousand times with him already. and yet.
he breaks away from the kiss with a low growl, mouthing down over the side of his neck, seems to remember exactly where pietro squirmed the most whenever he kissed him here before and going straight bite down into the joint of his neck and shoulder. wash keeps kissing over his neck, his throat, over faded bruises that he knows were there, his hand relaxing and then squeezing again over pietro's cock, and then abruptly pulling his hand free. his grip moves up to his shoulder and with one smooth motion he forces pietro painfully down to his knees, that hand that used to be twisted in his air now braced by the forearm against the brick wall as he leans over him, leaving pietro facing the very noticeable bulge in wash's own jeans.
instead of moving to undo his own belt, however, he instead twists his fingers back through his hair and pull him forward away from the wall, pushing his face against him through the denim, close enough that he can feel the throb of his cock through the material. ]
-- Promise's a promise. [ low, growling. frankly it's criminal he already hasn't had that mouth around his cock. ] Get my cock nice and wet for your ass, Pietro.
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Pietro knew this was coming, it's what had been promised and in that moment he asked for that promise, the thought of it had made his abdomen tighten fiercely with heat, but now that he's here, he stalls for a long half a second as his mind blanks and he can't figure out what to do with his hands. But his fingers latch on to Wash's belt as he draws his head back a little, his fingertips hot and tingling as he picks at the buckle and gets it freed, working the button through the hole, an act that seems to take forever as Pietro's entire body continues to overheat, and finally yanking the zipper down, fast and hard and sudden. He wraps his fingers around Wash's cock, a firm hold to keep them from shaking, and once he's pulled that cock out right in front of his face, he pauses again before tentatively licking along the head, the new texture of hard and heated flesh odd and almost salty on his tongue. He tightens his grip on Wash's shaft, adjusting it a few times, and takes the head into his mouth, not being careful of his teeth and scraping along the bottom of it, but eventually he opens his jaw wide enough, making a sputtering noise before he shifts to breathing completely through his nose.]
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god, pietro makes a pretty sight like this, though. on his knees, those lips stretched wide around his cock. he tugs sharply on his hair just for pietro to feel that pressure, letting him adjust to just having his cockhead in his mouth, feeling the way he's adjusting his jaw, shifting his breathing. ]
New to this too? [ he murmurs, only just loud enough for pietro to hear him down on his knees, still low and rumbling as always, somehow even lower than before, thick with want and arousal and a possessive bent. ] That's a shame. You look real good on your knees.
[ wash doesn't actually know with the same certainty if this really is a first or not, but pietro certainly seems unfamiliar, and wash is happy to revel more in those little possessive thoughts, on the quiet thrill of being anywhere near the first. a promise is a promise, though, and that hand in his hair drops to pietro's shoulder, to one of his hands against his shaft, pulling it away firmly but gently and re-settling pietro's trembling hand over one muscled thigh, instead. ]
Just like before. Squeeze twice.
[ that's the only warning pietro gets. most other people wash wouldn't mind going slower, letting them take their time, but he's here for one specific purpose and he already knows pietro wants to be pushed. wash's hand returns to his hair, tangling tight through the strands, and he pulls sharply to angle pietro's head slightly -- opening up his throat just enough for wash to thrust forward. not too hard, but still all at once, one smooth movement as he moves to fuck himself deeper into his mouth and then down his throat. ]
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Wash takes his hand and Pietro lets him move it to his thigh, where he presses his fingers somewhat firmly against hard muscle. They vibrate on and off a couple of times, then still as much as they had been, little tremors. His breathing is too fast and he does make attempts to suck in air through his mouth as Wash yanks on his hair again, making him choke down a moan before he thrusts forward, deep, without pause, and Pietro's throat works reflexively as he whines around that intrusion, sliding over his tongue and partially down his throat so fucking slowly. He keeps his hand mostly steady at Wash's thigh, the other gripping far too tight at his own. He struggles to breathe, gagging and choking almost violently at first before the sounds come less harshly, and he releases frustrated and irritable high pitched whines as his eyes water. But it's working. Pietro's thoughts have ceased to exist beyond what's happening to him right now, consumed by every new sensation and point of stimulation of pain or discomfort. And part of him revels in it.]
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he curses a little to himself, a sharp hiss just under his breath, fuck pietro really does look good like this, his cock throbbing noticeably against pietro's tongue just as wash watches him. but again, he's not here to go easy on him. he twists his hand harder through his hair, but he doesn't move his head up or down on his cock, simply locks his arm and grip to keep him in place.
wash rolls his hips back, nice and easy, his cock sliding against his throat and feeling the texture of his tongue -- and with no warning this time, thrusts back forward. all the way way down, no pause, forcing him to swallow it all at once, and even as pietro's throat works around him wash starts to move again. his other hand drops from the wall, moving to fist both into pietro's hair, pulling roughly at his hair and holding him still as he starts to fuck his mouth. he builds quickly into a nice, steady rhythm, hard and sharp. even here, even like this he's watching, listening, and chasing after the right angles and the right rhythm and the right amount of force, aiming force him to gag and choke noticeably around his cock as he fucks him, working himself against his mouth and down his throat just like he would if he was fucking him from behind. ]
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Wash twists his fingers tighter in his hair, and the moan that wants to rise of his throat goes nowhere, only forcing another wet choking noise. Pietro wants to shift, to move his knees off the hard pavement as every thrust makes him feel unbalanced. Wash goes hard, relentless, and Pietro thinks his jaw might break at the hinges from the strain of keeping his mouth open and not biting down. His throat feels inflamed soon enough, raw and abraded, would be bleeding if he didn't have that barrier of resistance to friction that's harder to break through. But it hurts, a sharp sort of pain all over the soft tissue of his throat, exacerbated every time he chokes or gags, and that's often. He can't breathe well, unable to focus on it and continuing to try to pull air into his mouth when there isn't any room for it. Still, his fingers remain twitching at Wash's thigh, but otherwise unmoving.]
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and how much visceral pleasure wash gets out of those sounds and that struggle is something that wash questions, sometimes. but not now, not here. pietro is trying to lose himself in this, to have all coherent thought slip from his mind and lean into wash's overbearing presence, and wash is trying to do the same in his own way, tune himself so completely to pietro and his body and his wants and needs that there's nothing else for wash to do but act and feel, and fuck when he fucks into his throat just right that has him choking, it makes him want.
eventually, though, wash does slow down. not to go easy on him, but simply to shift tracks. he still works his hips in slow, easy rolls, but now the movement and pressure shifts to his fingers in pietro's hair. on one thrust when he pulls back, he pushes pietro's head down, and then pulls his head back. working him on his cock using that grip in his hair. ]
-- Fuck. [ a breath, low and ragged. ] Use your tongue, pretty boy. I know you like it dry, but I want my cock sliding right into your tight little ass.
[ is he maybe indirectly teaching pietro how to do this a little even as he fucks his throat raw. maybe. ]
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Pietro whines instead, an almost offended noise at the implication he's subpar at this, focusing his eyes on Wash's face long enough to glare sharply. He moves with the rhythm set at first, curling his tongue along Wash's shaft, swirling it over the head when he's pulled back, getting enough control over his own mouth to actually suck while he lathes his tongue over the hard flesh like he does his fingers. Pietro moves his hand from his own thigh to grip Wash's balls, firm, but not quite squeezing, twisting his fingers a little before he lets his hand drop and braces it flat on the ground for leverage to drive some of this himself. Trying to move faster, he ignores the way his throat throbs, the way his tongue and lips feel bruised, the more fiery tingling sparks of pain as he pulls in opposition to Wash's hold on his hair. Pietro bites once, letting his teeth scrape over the length of Wash's cock. Then his tongue vibrates, and Pietro lets out a soft huff of a noise, an arrogant little 'hm'.]
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wash gathers himself quickly enough, fingers twisting even harder through his hair. as much as he's entertained by pietro's arrogance, he does want to rip it from him -- and he knows why he's here. that's too much choice, too much conscious thought. whatever drove pietro to down that entire bottle of brandy and want to be fucked with wash's hands around his throat, pietro doesn't want to be thinking through any of that. and wash can and will drive him there.
both of his hands twist through the strands of his hair and force his head down, accompanied by a sharp thrust of his hips, another shudder running through him when his cock slides over that vibrating tongue and straight down his throat. this time it's clear he's aiming to make him choke and gag. he starts to fuck his mouth, again, hard sharp thrusts with his vicelike grip pulling on his hair and keeping his head in place, and this time he eventually lets one hand slide down, fingers curving under his jaw, down towards his neck and throat. he can feel it under his fingers, whenever he hilts himself in his mouth, and and he lets his touch just barely start to ease a bit more pressure against his throat. strategic applications, here and there, both to make him struggle more when he fucks himself especially deep but also just to feel the way his throat locks and gags. a reminder of what's to come, for the rest of his promise. ]
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fuck, that feels good, looks good, pietro on his knees fighting for air around his cock and clearly wanting it, and wash decides enough is enough. his grip tightens through his hair as he wrenches his head back against the alley wall, and he actually moves forward with it, pressing his cock down his throat, balls flush to his chin. then with a slow roll of his hips he draws back, pulling himself mostly free, letting the swollen head of his cock rest on his tongue. ]
Fuck. [ a little hiss through his teeth, watching pietro's lips still stretched around him, his mouth dribbling saliva around him. Slowly, he frees his cockhead too, thrilling at the lewdness of the sight of it as he lets his cock rest against his lips, smearing precome from his slit. ] You're so good.
[ breathless, whispered praise, a little uncharacteristic from everything they've done so far, but genuine -- he feels good, looks good, and wash lets his cock slide against his cheek before his hands move. he hauls him back to his feet bodily, lifting his entire weight with surprising ease, pushing him right back against the wall and pressing close to kiss him again, harsh and bruising. ]
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I know.
[His voice is raw and his words mostly vowel sounds as he tries to form them when half of his mouth feels numb, but the tone holds confidence, an automatic response to anything Pietro can take ownership of, even if it's being good at this. His gloating doesn't last long, and Pietro scrambles to get his feet under him as Wash hauls him up from his knees and crowds him against the wall again, looming and oppressive. Wash's mouth is on his, and Pietro's contribution to the kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated for a moment before he drives to deepen it, biting at Wash's lip. He reaches up to twist his fingers in Wash's hair and pull him closer, taking command where he thinks he can grab it, even if he'd called Wash here to stop him from thinking and functioning.]
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he growls low against pietro's mouth when he kisses him back, when he feels those fingers twisting through his hair, when he can feel him grasping at control again, trying to wrench it back even as wash knows he wants it taken away. but that's fine, that's good, because wash thrives at tearing it out from someone's grasp, and he answers by turning his head and pressing deeper, biting down even harder at pietro's lip until he tastes blood. just like before, almost exactly the same place, precise as he can manage it with both of them tangled up in each other.
one hand drops down to pietro's leg, running up his thigh, again squeezing and pressing almost exactly where those bruises used to be -- or still are, some fading slower than others. he slides his hand up to grip roughly over his ass, only stopping so he can actually fist his fingers in the fabric and yank his pants down along with his underwear. once he gets them down far enough, a low sound of want rumbling in his chest and throat, he breaks the kiss. mouthing down over his neck, moving to palm over the bare skin of pietro's thigh instead as he hikes his leg up over his hip.
he knows where those bruises are, every single one, can still perfectly picture pietro trapped against the wall in that room or spread out against the couch, corners of his eyes stained with ears as he struggled and gasped for air. the memory drives him further, sealing his lips over the pulse in his throat and sucking to start leaving new marks all over again. he lets his saliva-slick cock rub against pietro's, his other hand fitting between them briefly to take both of them in his hand, squeezing roughly and giving a few nice rough strokes. but he's impatient, wanting more, wants to feel him and before too long his hand pulls away again as he angles his hips to slide his cock against his hole, rubbing against it, hot and wet. ]
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He keeps his leg where Wash sets it, pressing it hard against his hip, resting most of his weight on the ball of his other foot and against the wall at his back. He whines lowly as Wash sucks at his throat and grinds against him, and he writhes before he can rein that in as Wash's hand is there too, squeezing over their cocks and he remembers that, against the wall in that room, another night at Jolene's. Shit, shit, shit. He wants that again, he wants all of it again, and not just to be choked and released from his current most pressing intrusive thoughts. Pietro tries to rub himself harder against Wash's cock the moment he's gotten it there against his ass and he whines irritably.]
Are you going to take all night?
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Maybe.
[ what if he takes all night again, pietro? what if being in an alleyway instead of a room doesn't stop him, what if he keeps pressing and pushing and taking his time to peel you apart all over again? his gaze as hungry as always, snapping into that absolute focus, and again, it's just a little different. before, he'd been learning his prey, and while there's always more to learn and even more things to tune himself to. now, he knows, already has so much about his body perfectly memorized.
that hand over the back of his thigh grips tighter, leaving new fresh marks in his skin and forcibly angling his hips in just the right way so that when he thrusts forward he hits him just right. he fucks inside him all in one smooth movement, slick and wet and forcing himself inside even with how tight pietro is, immediately turning his head to groan deep and loud, breath ragged against his jawline. he sinks in deep, balls pressed flush to his ass, lingers there only for the barest moment before he's starting to move, building quickly into a rhythm. and not just any rhythm, of course, one that he knows pietro likes, one that he remembers him responding to, his hips snapping against him hard and fast, that hand still around his throat, starting to press in just a little more. ]
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He settles again and takes that 'maybe' as a promise too. Wash's eyes have that intensity in them again, the kind that Pietro had learned quickly to recognise, and it registers with him now, the effects of the brandy nearly out of his system. He's paying more attention, anticipating in a more calculated way, and as Wash tightens his hand at his thigh and shifts his hips, and Pietro feels that first press of his cock into his hole, he brings one hand to Wash's forearm at his throat. Wash pushes forcefully inside him, relentless and hard, that low groan sounds in his ear, and Pietro can only whine and moan for a moment, noises that don't quite make it out of his throat. He shoves his free hand down between their bodies, grasping his cock hard, stroking slightly faster than in rhythm with Wash's thrusts, and uses the wall for leverage to try to push his hips back, tightening his muscles around Wash's cock. His actions come from two incongruent lines of thought, as a part of him still wants to control something in any way, and another seeks more of exactly what Wash is giving him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Pietro knows he's getting what he wants, that Wash is fucking him how he wants, knows which angles to drive from, where Pietro likes his cock and how fast, focused on him.]
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pietro might almost be able to feel it, how that hunger is present but -- runs deeper, hits at something primal and raw, just like how all his movements come with a renewed intensity as he benefits from memory. pietro clamps tight around his cock and wash moans, half-hiding the sounds against the crook of pietro's shoulder between kisses and bites, already starting to bruise and mark him all over again. if anything there's an increased ferocity and possessiveness to it now, like now that he's seen those marks faded away, he damn well wants them to stay.
he fucks him hard and fast, one hand still braced against his throat. his other tight over his hip, occasionally sliding down to his thigh just so he can move him how he wants. angling him back into position and pushing him back into place any time pietro might slightly slip against the wall or jolted out of position wash's rutting thrusts, wash moves him back, knows exactly how he wants to fuck him, how deep, how hard. slowly his other hand shifts until pietro's head is forced back against the alley wall, his hand wrapping around his neck, fingertips scraping the brick.
a different time, a different person, wash might give his warning again. but he doesn't, especially when pietro so immediately lifted his hand to his forearm. pietro knows. pietro remembers. and just like before, wash leans in to kiss him, tonguing surprisingly slowly into his mouth as he starts to tighten his grip over his throat. not enough to push him to that edge just yet, but more than enough for him to choke and sputter especially in combination with wash's invading tongue, more than enough to feel his throat jump and struggle under his grip. ]
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The physical sensations build and Pietro focuses on them individually before he gets too overstimulated to enjoy that — his own hand on his cock, the scrape of the brick against his back, the uncomfortable position of his hips that allows for the perfect angle, the force of Wash's cock slamming deep into his ass, reigniting the fiery crackling of his nerve endings at still-sensitive places inside him from their last encounter, and the way Wash manhandles him so easily, with no care for how he might break. Because he won't, not physically. Wash tightens his grip around his neck, fingers slowly pressing harder over Pietro's throat, keeping him pinned against the wall, tongue drifting into his mouth agonisingly slowly. Pietro would whine for it, more of it, if he could make any noise at present besides choked gasps for air as his lungs start to burn.]
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wash's grip shifts further against pietro's neck. an echo not of the first time he'd choked him, but of pietro's hand against his own throat. wash's hand is different, rougher, but he still slides his fingers into the right spaces around his throat, almost like slotting them perfectly into place against old bruises and marks. pietro might barely have the time to realize that's happening, though, because wash is starting to kiss him harder, all teeth and tongue, sucking on his bottom lip. He shifts quickly into kissing him with such a viciousness that that alone might've been enough to cause someone to struggle in discomfort, but that hand against his throat starts to grip tighter, too.
its steady, even, ramp-up of pressure, cutting off what's left of pietro's air even as he kisses him like he means to steal the oxygen from his lungs. pietro's hand over his forearm would be able to feel the muscles and tendons work, how he locks his arm sharply in place, how he makes those minute adjustments. wash is pressed so close now, his presence oppressive as always, surrounding pietro in this, in him, aiming to drown him in sensation, on himself -- and again he's starting to push for that edge. any time pietro starts to lose too much air, wash adjusts, gives him a little bit back, not quite keeping him on the same knife's edge but keeping him damned close.
he's relentless, growling and gasping against pietro's own mouth and tongue as he keeps fucking him, every thrust jolting his body against the wall and causing him to need to adjust that hand on his throat, against his hips. but he does it every time, with almost mechanical precision, a well-oiled machine tuned to a single purpose, that hand over his waist starting to slide to grip over his ass and leave more marks and bruises there even as he keeps using that touch to keep him just where he wants him. ]
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cw: references to eroticized violence, and also belatedly there's knifeplay in here, whoops
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