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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.
gola: (089)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 12:38 am (UTC)(link)
[Pietro glares hotly in response to those words, annoyed Wash can get to him so easily, get under his skin and make him confront things. Torture blended into pleasure for him once, and like Wash's bruises, Pietro still knows where every trace of Ororo's switchblade ran over his chest and his thighs. He bears no scars from it, but he knows all the same. He'd thought about that with Wash last time too, how until him, it had been the closest Pietro had gotten to that space where nothing exists, been where he'd discovered it. A fierce pulse of heat runs down through his abdomen and his cock as Wash asks that question, palm now pushing against his throat, pulling hard at his hair. Yes. Yes, he wants it. Fuck. Pietro bites his lip to keep himself from saying so, because he is scared, not of knives or pain, not of choking on Wash's cock again. Of not being able to move, not having physical means of escape if he needs to, like he does here. It's his primary concern, and the deeper fears of his own self-reflection are buried for the moment.

Wash's fingers slide into his mouth and Pietro sets his teeth on them, not hard, but holding them there while he decides what he wants. If he wants to give up that much control, and that is what it would be, he realises it afterwards. He swallows thickly, and after another moment of indecision, releases Wash's fingers from the press of his teeth and licks at them instead, tasting himself. His words aren't the most intelligible with Wash's fingers in his mouth, but he gets them out, quick and clipped, a terse agreement.]


I do not want to think. Make me forget.

[The last part is issued as an order, but comes out in a heavy breath, shaky and with underlying desperation.]
gola: (182)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
[He whines as those fingers are pulled form his mouth, even though they had been a hindrance just a second ago. He licks his lips, swallows a couple of times while his throat is completely free, and starts to shift his legs around Wash's waist, in one position for far too long. Pietro sees the knife right away, and hadn't expected Wash to produce one, the unawareness of someone who doesn't have to worry about weapons, could handle himself without them. He watches Wash turn the knife in his hands, and it's familiar in a way, he can tell it's meant to be thrown, optimised for it. He handles knives like that at his gym, sees them all the time, but not like this. Eloise has never threatened him with them, and in the back of his mind, Pietro thinks maybe he should ask her to. Those thoughts slip away as Wash presses the blade against his throat. his abdominal muscles tighten hard again, and he squirms slightly while simultaneously trying not to move too much. And at that statement, Pietro rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, needing to make a show of things and press on fast before he can reconsider his choices.]

Yes, yes, you have said. "Come home with me", was it?

[He speaks quickly, words close to smashing into each other, but he still tries to downplay eager notes in them to irritated impatience. He brings one finger up to run over the knife as if he might push it away easily.]

We would be there already if you thought to take your cock out an hour ago.
gola: (474)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 03:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[Pietro inhales audibly as Wash slides the blade slightly over his neck. He feels the tiny prick of it dragging on forever, and his cock twitches. He makes a small frustrated noise at himself, and his reply is more snappish than the mocking he tries for.]

I know. I am irresistible. Established fact.

[He whines softly as Wash pulls his cock out, involuntarily clenching around it and shifting uncomfortably as sparks of arousal get set off again. Pietro braces himself against the wall and unhooks his legs from around Wash's waist. They're stiff and tingly from being there so long, and once his feet are on the ground, he keeps one hand on the bricks, leaning into it, until they stop shaking. It only takes a couple of seconds, but it feels like minutes to him, long enough to annoy him. Slipping out from between Wash and the wall quickly in a blur of blue and white, Pietro finds his discarded pants, and has them pulled up and buttoned, fiddling with the belt before he even turns to looks at Wash again, less than half a second later.]

Are we going, old man, or have you changed your mind?
gola: (456)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 05:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[He smirks at that look, knowing he still has Wash thinking about him constantly. Pietro glances down the alleyway. He'd seen the motorcycle when they came out into the alley, but hadn't thought anything of it. Apparently, it's Wash's, and Pietro runs over to it, to run his fingers along the sleek metal.]

I like the purple.

[It could be mocking, but it's not, his taste's aligning more with Sombra's. He crosses his arms and leans against the motorcycle for a moment, like he's making a decision, but it was already made the second Wash spoke. He hates transportation of any kind, all too slow and even if it would get him somewhere faster than walking at a normal person's pace, he moves less and it's therefore more torturous to endure.]

We are walking. Riding is worse. You want to take this? Tell me where you live and I will meet you there. Trust me to show up, yes?
gola: (122)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[Pietro scoffs at receiving a ping, digging his device out of his pocket like it's a tedious chore to check it. Which it is, when Wash could have verbally told him, but it also gets Pietro to step away from the motorcycle. The provided apartments in the Up. Pietro knows them, had lived there for all of three weeks with his first contract partner, Steve having never moved out either, despite being in the city for around a year. He could be there in the time it would take Wash to walk less than a quarter of a block, and he's very tempted to do that, just run off. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, hand starting to shake as he slides his phone back into his pocket. He wants to run there, but it's the public housing, and someone will see him waiting, waiting for this, half-dressed and barefoot with fresh bruises over his throat, lip red and puffy where it had been bitten. It's best to slink in from the street to minimize that, as Pietro knows he won't be allowed into the building ahead of time. His current contract partner doesn't live there.

He sighs in exasperation at the logistics, even as he glances at the knife in Wash's hand, how he moves it deftly, tempting him and making him lick his lips unconsciously. Fuck. A tight coil of heat forms in his stomach, realising he hadn't given any previous thought to option number three — running home. Wash puts the knife away and Pietro rushes by him to get out ahead, zipping off down the street like he might run all the way there, but he stops and turns two building away, lifting one hand impatiently and shouting, despite just considering he didn't want to be seen in this state.]


Hurry up, old man!
gola: (031)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 08:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[It takes forever for Wash to catch up with him, and Pietro taps his foot the entire time, fidgeting irritably, and he has other reasons for it besides impatience, trying to burn off every bit of pent-up energy before they get to the apartments, adrenaline and that underlying element of fear only making him far more restless. When Wash finally reaches him, grabbing his arm, Pietro rolls his eyes, and hadn't expected much else, that possessiveness muted but still there. Only the way Wash pulls him closer and slides his arm around him makes Pietro scoff indignantly, that friendly familiarity somehow more offensive than if Wash were to drag him off somewhere by his wrist, but it's a sound that trails off too soon into a soft gasp at the presence of that second knife, presumably kept up Wash's sleeve, the sharp point of it grazing Pietro's skin. His muscles tighten under it, and he feels that blade as if it's pressing up against a bruise that's no longer there, heat prickling in his stomach as he shivers once.

He furrows his eyebrows at that smile, both disturbed and further irritated by it. Wash doesn't need to keep up some kind of appearances out here. Pietro has never been respectful or leaning into his station in public, frequently doing the opposite with provocative intent, and it grates on him to be shoved into it like this. He huffs and wraps his trembling fingers around Wash's wrist, not pulling it away, but pressing the knife against himself more firmly, a reminder that they're not here to talk. That's not what Pietro wants, and only what he wants matters. The question gets ignored in favour of a raised eyebrow and a direct and level sideways look at Wash as they continue walking at a snail's pace. Pietro speaks casually, and his statement is true as far as he knows, unless that weird metal piece at the back of Wash's neck affords him some superhuman abilities to withstand such force.]


I could kill you in less than a second if I wanted. You realise that by now, yes?

[He is in control, and whether he needs to remind Wash or himself, he has to draw attention to it.]
gola: (173)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-13 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[Pietro's eyebrows knit together as he frowns, just once, a very quick movement, surprised that Wash would pull against that action and not immediately go along with pressing the knife harder. It throws him off. The offhand way Wash agrees to his proclamation doesn't, though. He knows, he knows what Pietro can do, and he doesn't care. Pietro huffs irritably, squirming slightly in Wash's hold until he moves the knife and breaks skin, a slow drag of a sharp sensation that isn't quite pain. Pietro hates himself for shuddering with it, for making a quiet mewling noise in the back of his throat, and mostly for wanting more.

Wash is being oppressive again, and Pietro feels just as trapped beside him as he did up against the wall. His stomach tightens hard and he has a visceral need to defy and not answer that question simply because Wash wants it answered. Pietro twitches and sucks in a snippy little breath through his nose, fighting with himself before he does address it. It still bothers him greatly that he squeezed Wash's arm that time, an admission that he couldn't deal with something. It bothers him more that Wash expects him to again, why else would he ask such a question?]


If I say no, you will stop. If you do not, I will hurt you.

[His words are fast and clipped, dismissive.]

It does not need to be more complicated.
gola: (482)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-14 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[He snorts quietly at that. If Wash wanted this discussion, he should have done it on the roof. This is belated and unnecessary and Pietro's restless energy is building over it, agitated at having to think about any of it. As Wash pulls him aside so someone can pass them on the sidewalk, Pietro glares after them with misplaced anger. He can stand in anyone's path if he wants to, and having Wash take it upon himself to control him in that way has his fingers shaking violently for half a second at Wash's wrist. He's distracted from that soon enough with another small cut across his hip, and he swallows another noise that threatens to leak out of his mouth, because he knows Wash likes it and right now, Pietro doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. Not with that voice rumbling those words into his ear. Pietro's response is immediate and acerbic, and he digs his fingers into Wash's wrist while he gestures emphatically with his free hand.]

Oh, now you want me to be chatty?

[Pietro stops then, abruptly, refusing to take one more step. If Wash wants to continue walking he'll have to drag him down the street.]

You need a line? You just crossed it. I contacted you for a reason. If you are not here for that, you can leave. We are not talking, understand?

[There are questions he's not going to answer, subjects he's not going to talk about.]
gola: (052)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-14 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
[He can feel the glass shake under his back, a slow undulating movement. People on the street are looking, and unlike Wash, Pietro's focus is on it, on them, on being watched. It fuels his irritation and his arousal and he squirms. Wash's voice draws him back, and he rolls his eyes again. He knows he wasn't asked for details of his entire life. Wash had one simple question, and Pietro will not answer it, will not tell him what he's afraid of, what he's apprehensive about. It's simplistic, to him, and he doesn't understand why he needs to. Wash crowds him again, looms, and the same sort of oppressiveness returns, that blade against his skin, and all Pietro wants is to grab Wash's wrist and turn it, to have the sharp edge of the blade slide across his skin, feel that sharp pain and heat of arousal he knows he can achieve. Ororo hadn't wanted to cut him, had been forced to, but Wash does want to, and it could be so much better with him because of it.

Pietro knows where Wash's hand is, when it had been there before, and that both annoys and excites him. Wash makes those same statements, what he could do for Pietro, and he starts to form a response, to be belligerent about it and say something along the lines of Wash promising those things, not delivering, and lecturing him instead, but the first word is only half formed before Wash's fingers are under his chin, the knife visible, and Pietro just wants again. The point of the blade presses right to his skin, on the edge of sinking in. You're the one holding yourself back. Is he? He fights when he doesn't want to, he knows this, it's a compulsion, ingrained in him so hard, he'd needed that so long just to survive that giving that up, giving in so completely, seems impossible. He thinks of it that way, pointless to try because he will wrench control back every chance he gets if it starts to feel like it's slipping away to a degree he can't tolerate.

He doesn't see the way 'lines in the sand' help with this, all of this sort of experience far out of his wheelhouse as someone who hadn't touched kink or even thought about it before arriving in this city. His experience fairly vast, but narrowly focused. And he is too proud to admit how clueless he is. He just knows what he wants for an endgame and the means of getting there don't matter to him. Wash pushes the knife into his skin, finally, only a little, a hint of that deeper pain Pietro craves and desires, and it stops him from considering just running home, which he hadn't quite realised he had been. He savours that feeling, the crackling nerves, the bloom of blood that starts to trickle down his throat. Wash's lips brush his, then he pulls the blade away and gives Pietro his space back, and he's only frustrated and agitated about it. He glares and huffs as Wash just starts for the apartments, playing with his knife in a way Pietro interprets as mocking. Wash expects him to follow, he knows this, and he hates himself for doing it. Once the door closes behind them though, and they're halfway through the lobby, Pietro finally speaks again, voice quiet, toneless, and with that same half-awareness over whether he's actually saying it, like his utterance of 'please' there on the roof weeks ago, he issues something of a limit.]


I need to move.
gola: (447)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-14 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[Alright. Wash has nothing else to say but that, and it both confuses Pietro a little, and irks him, spoken like he needs that confirmation, as if being placated. He lets out a heavy exhale from his nose, crossing his arms and half nodding in acknowledgement that this 'line' has been established. It makes his skin itch to have stated it. Pietro doesn't want to take that out given to him because of it, doesn't want to admit to further weakness by avoiding the elevator. He hates them, always had even before he'd been given abilities that make it worse. Elevators were death traps, hardly worked, got stuck between floors where people starved to death if the building was bombed and no one could get to them, or the whole thing plummeted and crumbled upon striking concrete rubble. Stairways collapse too, he knows this, knew people who died in them, but he feels less trapped in them, where at least there's a chance to get out.

He'd used this elevator in this building all of once, the first time Steve brought him here. They'd been on the 21st floor, and Pietro never opted for the elevator even once after that the entire time he lived in this building. Once he'd discovered the cave system during the blackout, he's traveled that way every time he needs to go to the Down, the ten minute elevator ride there feeling like an agonisingly slow descent that fueled nothing but panic and agitation. The pinging noise as the elevator doors open bring all his thoughts into sharp focus and makes him reconsider his determination to not look weak. Wash is watching him, studying him, the knife glinting in the overhead light as it slides effortlessly between Wash's fingers. Pietro's cock twitches, he fidgets and debates with himself, and then disappears, zipping off for the stairwell. When Wash arrives on the eighth floor, he'll be pacing the hallway a little or having settled down to lean against the wall, palm flat against it and drumming his fingers incessantly.]
gola: (070)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-14 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[Pietro's eyes are on the elevator the moment it opens, and he watches every twirl and movement of that knife as Wash heads for his apartment. He steps inside without any hesitancy, a little impatiently even, despite the pause in the flow of things down in the lobby. He spares a glance around the apartment, and it's much like his own. Pietro only has a few things set out in his, practical items that keep his hands busy, clothes here and there, and far too many pairs of shoes, but no decorations or keepsakes that didn't come with the place. He's only had his own apartment for a month, but rarely uses it, spending more time elsewhere, and doesn't consider it his home. Here in this building with Steve, it had been the same. He was another practical man whose apartment looked like he'd just moved into it when he'd been here a year. Every home is temporary, it's still the way Pietro thinks for the most part, though he doesn't want to. He wants to think there could be come permanency to what he's found in this place, but the moment he starts to live as if it is, he knows it will be taken away.

The lock clicks shut, and Pietro eyes the door once, scoffing to himself at that 'thanks'. It sparks the tiniest thread of regret, because he doesn't want to get more involved than what this is. There doesn't need to be pleasantries. Wash's hand is at his side again, pulling him close, looking down at him in that same way, like a raptor ready to strike, and a wave of arousal pulses through Pietro's abdomen and down to his twitching cock. His breath comes more rapidly as Wash brings the knife to his chest, pricking at the corner of his collarbone. It doesn't glint the same way most of the knives he's familiar with do. It's a different sheen, and he briefly thinks of Logan's claws, some unknown metal springing out from between the man's fingers, sharp and different, and Pietro had wanted then too, before he even realised it. The pressure deepens, a flash of just the taste of the pain he wants, dragging a bloody line across his chest, and Pietro makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, a wanting, needy sound that isn't quite a whine.

Pietro looks up sharply at that question, and he considers lying, pushing. Ororo had carved a design into his torso, all over, her small knife going too deep for a normal person's easy recovery. She'd known a version of him in her own world, one who had more advanced abilities, one who healed quickly. She'd gone harder on him because she'd made the assumption he could heal fast enough too. Pietro never stopped bleeding, and she needed to have a healer come in at the end. It's why he has no marks there, no deep jagged lines in the shape of a lightning bolt in between the puckered circular scars that mar his chest. He runs a finger around the edge of one of them near his naval, biting his lip. There's a hint of disappointment in his simple answer.]


No.
gola: (485)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-14 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[Wash shoves him against the wall hard like he was unsatisfied with that answer, and Pietro doesn't know why, not immediately. He whines quietly as the knife is pressed flat under his jaw, keeping his head tilted up. The way Wash regards him hasn't changed, he still wants him, wants this, but he's lecturing again. Pietro glares even as he squirms slightly and swallows thickly when Wash presses the knife into the same place, that still open wound, enlarging it. His knee is back between Pietro's thighs, something so familiar now Pietro all but expects it. He grinds slowly on instinct. Wash rambles on in that rumbling voice, the timbre of which sends shivers down Pietro's spine, but the words make him roll his eyes and gesture animatedly, but awkwardly, with one hand while keeping his shoulders and head still, words spat out in a clipped and bitchy tone as Wash drags the knife down his throat.]

You choked me unconscious. I am already dead, you know that, yes? So, what, you think I expected to be treated nicely here? And I did not lie.

[That gets emphasised, because he doesn't know Wash is accusing him of just thinking about it.]

I do not need your lectures.
gola: (443)

[personal profile] gola 2023-07-15 02:58 am (UTC)(link)
[It's a small flicker, but Pietro catches it. Wash hadn't known, hadn't assumed, and considering he asked that question about whether or not Pietro could heal, he probably had never thought about it. Pietro likes to think it's obvious from his scars, but he rarely says those words. Wash might be the first one who hadn't known Pietro in his own world that has confirmation he's dead back there. He hasn't even told Eloise, and she knows far more about his past than even those from his world, than anyone else but his sister. Fuck. Pietro shakes that thought from his head immediately, still unable to stop coming back to her. Wanda. Wash hasn't pushed him far enough since the alley, and Pietro's getting more and more restless about it. He tries to focus on the sharp slide of the knife over his throat, where it had pressed in slightly deeper while he spoke.

He shoots a quick glare at Wash for pointing that out, his hesitation that betrayed him, how he'd struggled in those precious seconds to tell the truth, thinking he might be setting another limit inadvertently. Wash hits on that too. His words, Pietro thinks, are supposed to be stating something important underneath their straightforwardness, but he doesn't grasp it, and he doesn't believe them either.]


No you would not.

[Pietro mutters that to himself under his breath. Wash wouldn't go that far, not if he needs to talk at length about limits and lines. The thought Pietro held previously with their last encounter, that Wash might be able to break him, it no longer holds. He can't. Push Pietro far, yes, make him uncomfortable in a way that might let him drift for a while, but break him? No. No, Wash doesn't stand a chance.

Wash's fingers slide over the the singing cuts on his hip, press down, and Pietro hisses. He shifts slightly against the wall as Wash brings the knife to his shoulder, closing in on him and taking up all the space and air until Pietro feels suffocated for a moment. His abdominal muscles tighten reflexively at the rumbling he can feel through his chest, but the words do nothing but irritate him. He waits until the blade has sunk in a few millimetres before he speaks, and he's sure it's nothing Wash wants to hear, pointed and frustrated.]


If I wanted to choose how deep, I would do it myself.

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