[Pietro hates himself for it, for understanding that shift in Wash's grip, what that tightening is signalling to him. And that he tries it, wills himself to rein in the anxious response, stilling the fingers of his left hand after a couple of failed attempts, but the right remains shaky, erratic movement. Over time. He understands that too, his "for now" reiterated in a different way, but there within that rumbling voice, very clear to him. Pietro shifts and squirms to get comfortable again the moment Wash pushes him down, wrists pinned above his head. His breathing comes more heavily, and before he even looks at Wash, he tips his head back to look at his hands, testing the restraint again as if it had changed and he doesn't already know what every piece of that belt rubbing against his skin feels like and exactly how far he could pull and twist his wrists.
Wash's presence steals his focus again, that knife at his jaw, knees between his thighs. He stares back boldly as Wash speaks again, telling him what he could do, offering, and letting his fingers run over the belt. Pietro's cock twitches and his chest tightens. Offering. That's what it is, has always been. If Pietro wants it, he can have it, have that control taken from him, but he needs to admit first that he wants it, admit it to himself as much as agree to it. But he doesn't, not verbally, only snorts dismissively and rolls his eyes.]
[ offered freely and easily, there for pietro to take. he's not there yet, and wash knows that. it'll probably take a lot more time. but for as long as pietro wants it wash will push him to get him there. pietro's shaking stills slightly under his grip -- he can tell it takes him a few attempts, that its still not quite there, one hand mostly stilling while the other keeps twitching, moving. but pietro had tried, responded. wash can't tell how much he'd done it on purpose, but there's something there that ne notes and files away, as always, his grip shifting to soothe his thumb briefly over pietro's left hand. a slight touch, brief, and wash doesn't say it or even make a sound but the intent of that is clear: a whisper of praise without a word. good.
pietro stares up at him, and he can see it in his eyes, arousal, want -- and even then he looks away, scoffs, rolls his eyes. wash hums a little in response, letting that knife shift in his grip, holding it so that as he lets his hand drag down over his front, the blade just barely skims his skin, too. down over the curve of his throat, to where that first cut starts at his clavicle, stilling briefly there to feel his racing heart as he follows the line further and further down to the mess of cum spilled across his abdomen, fingers smearing through it, knife gliding through. ]
I have options.
[ he keeps his weight braced over him with that hand pinning pietro's wrists down to the bed, leaning over to the beside table. wash keeps a spartan, practical apartment, has a few selections of belongings, has resisted the need to settle in or get anything more. in all honesty, many people he brings home don't usually make it to the bedroom, and he has less in here than one might think. but he did live here with someone especially fucking difficult. there's a drag and clink of metal from the bottom drawer wash is fishing through, but what he eventually returns with, as he leans back, is a length of rope. thick, corded, and doesn't really look like the kind of rope one might associate with bondage play if only because it looks more like the rope that a man might use to do more real, practical work, different from the more brightly colored lengths that pietro may distantly remember wash using in a classroom. it works for his purposes. a pragmatic man, in the end.
he doesn't wait or ask permission, shifting on the bed. he never lets go of the knife ( more an ingrained habit than anything else, an instinct, why would he let go of it when there's someone else here who might take it ) even as he drags pietro's bound wrists up to the barred headboard. he only needs one hand to undo the belt, fingers nimble and deliberate as always as he releases the buckle, and while he will let pietro have some amount of movement and freedom he immediately grabs one of pietro's writs and starts to bind it to one of the bars on the headboard. he lets pietro have his other hand, for now, for him to move or even to feel at the bonds that wash is putting in place, every loop of rope, every drag of it against his skin somehow feeling just as deliberate as wash's own touch. ]
[Pietro lets a frustrated noise settle in the back of his throat for a moment as Wash continues to tease, drag the knife over his throat, to where he'd made the first cut, down over his chest and abdomen, trailing through the drying come. So fucking slow, and so little pressure. He tries not to squirm, but by the end, he's fidgeting in that way where he doesn't know if he wants more or less of it. It ends with a short growl of both disappointment and relief when the knife leaves his skin and Wash leans over him, keeping that pressure on his wrists, that oppressive weight on top of him.
He's aware of every little sound, drawn out and heightened in his spike of apprehension, and he moves slightly, trying to shift over enough to get a look at things before Wash decides he gets to see them. It's pointless and he can't see over the edge of the bed. It doesn't take long at all, but Pietro is almost ready to demand Wash just pull something out of that drawer and get on with it when he finally does. Pietro's only experience with specific bondage rope was that one class, the only time he's seen it, and this is more familiar, a normal length of rope one would have for any number of things. Rougher, thicker, possibly easier to fray and more susceptible to friction, a notion Pietro sets aside for the time being. Wash moves his wrists again, and he watches it from an awkward angle looking above him, even as he inches himself up further on the bed, helping and hating himself for it.
His shift is immediate when Wash undoes the belt, a short burst of motion where Pietro shakes out his hands and squirms to get the stiffness out of his shoulders, but he doesn't pull that hand out of Wash's grip when he gets hold of it, settling down then as much as he can, even if he uses his free hand to poke at and play with everything he can touch, the rope, the headboard, fingers blurred in their quick movements, pulling at things, trying to wedge them underneath the coils of rope being wrapped around his other wrist, completely focused on that and no longer paying attention to Wash.]
[ interesting. wash is pleasantly surprised in the small movements pietro makes to actually help him, that slight subtle inching up the bed. part of him eager or at least curious, wanting to push himself further, wanting to see what's there. he's restless, though, and the apparent contradiction between what he's doing holds fascination for him. the wrist he's already binding to one of the bars of the headboard, that hand seems mostly settled, calm, as still as pietro tends to be without being literally unconscious as far as wash has seen, but the moment wash gave him the freedom of his other hand he's moving.
at first, wash thinks he's trying to get out -- but that other hand isn't moving, not trying to wiggle free, mostly trying to stay in place. he interprets pietro's movements then as just. fidgeting. like a restless child with too much energy except he moves so damn fast, willing that one hand to stay still but having to make up for it elsewhere. wash continues his work, managing to avoid pietro's interfering fingers as he finishes binding that one wrist in place, and then he's grabbing him by the forearm. doing what he can to actually still him, and making use of the knife tucked into his grip to get his attention, a sudden glide of metal along the length of his arm, one moment where the edge breaks the skin enough for it to sting the way pietro likes. ]
Restless, aren't you?
[ distantly amused, more teasing than mocking, voice still thrumming slightly with that same rumble, that almost-purr. his other hand is working with the remaining length of rope, as he shifts a bit more on the bed -- drags pietro's wrist to the other side of the headboard. this is good, strong rope, mostly cotton, but it definitely wouldn't be impossible or difficult to chew through if pietro really wanted to. but he'd still need to get the bindings to his mouth, bend his body enough to reach what he needs to undo. in wash's experience with pietro so far, he's strong, but not inhumanly so when he doesn't have the space to build up any kind of momentum. wash doesn't have that much on hand, but he does have some heavy duty cuffs that might be a lot stronger, but. he's choosing this. choosing rope. letting pietro think about escaping and how he might break free, just to see how much he can push him into not even wanting to.
though he is considering getting more specialized rope, now. a note to himself at the back of his mind. inspired by pietro, apparently. ]
[He whines irritably when Wash grabs his forearm and it drags his concentration back the moment that knife touches his skin again. He can't control his fingers yet, but he all but stops the rest of his movement, twitches here and there, whining in a more pleased way once the blade sinks into his skin and Wash cuts deep enough to spark the hint of pain that gets Pietro's cock to twitch and pulse with heat. He scoffs at the comment through, despite everything else, and his tone is patronising.]
Where did you get that idea?
[Pietro starts moving his bound wrist almost unconsciously, tugging, twisting his fingers, testing how much movement he has to turn his wrist within the rope, and how much he can rub it against the bar of the headboard. His other hand mostly stills, like a switch off, allowing Wash to tie that wrist with little struggle, nothing voluntary. Heat spreads through Pietro's chest over it, a wave of embarrassment at how much he's simply allowing, how much control he's giving up, but in the back of his mind, he knows he can escape. Unless he gets to the point where he's so desperate he can't think straight, he can get out of this too. Whenever he wants, and he doesn't even need to use his teeth. He has less movement in some ways, the restriction different, and he's distracted again by simply feeling that out, squirming and shifting, a mix of frustrated and pleased noises, little whines and growls, as his cock hardens and his abdominal muscles twitch and he's already getting impatient again, trying to move his hips enough to grind against Wash's knees.]
Are we fucking again or not? I do not have all night.
[ wash just admires him, for a few moments. his gaze is always intense, always hungry, searching, devouring every little detail and every movement, everything about him, but most of the time it's honed to a single purpose, to identifying every single fraying thread he can find. sometimes, though, its just want. hunger. naked lust and a quiet appreciation of just how fucking good pietro looks breathless and fucked out and tied to his bed, his gaze trailing over the length of his body, over the fresh bruises and cuts. those restless squirms and shifts, the sounds he makes, distinctly frustrated but still little pleased whines despite everything else, cock hardening again. letting himself be tied down, letting himself be held here, even if he's still in denial of it.
wash shifts his weight on the bed, pressing in so he can let pietro grind crudely against his knee against his thigh. leaning close, bearing over him, both his hands free now even though pietro's kept down. one hand slides against his jaw, palm scraping against his scruff as he cradles his cheek in his hand, red and bruising from being backhanded before. ]
I think we do have all night.
[ on a bit of a purr, but not even teasing. he says it like its fact. simple, indisputable. pietro had sought him out looking for something, followed him all the way here to keep getting it, and just like before when it took pietro reaching utter exhaustion and literal unconsciousness, wash clearly doesn't feel a need to stop until something forces him to.
a sharp bite to his lip, that hand sliding up to twist through his hair, wrenching his head back against the metal bars of the headboard to bare his throat. he kisses down over his neck, blatantly possessive, letting his tongue follow that cut over his chest and body, tonguing over drying come over his skin. he moves further down over his body, settling between his thighs, mouthing over his cock and balls with that same bruising intensity, sucking, kissing, biting, and his tongue works through the crease of his ass until he can drag it over his still-quivering hole, and without hesitation, press inside. ]
[As Wash stares down at him like that, hungry and predatory sill, but with something else in it, seeing him, Pietro writhes slightly, trying to keep himself still at the same time so Wash doesn't know how much it unsettles him. He pulls at the ropes in jerky erratic movements, reflexive more than testing any longer. It seems like forever that he feels Wash's hot gaze on him, flaying him open. Pietro's stomach twists with both loathing and desire as his cock hardens more, twitches, and he takes every opportunity given to him to grind shamelessly against Wash's thigh. He stops momentarily, a hitch in his movements when Wash settles his hand at his cheek. It's a gesture Pietro interprets as gentle and affectionate and he bristles at it. Wash's fingers brush over that bruise and Pietro swallows thickly. He'd rather be hit again than this, and he squirms and looks away. Wash's words are a threat now, where Pietro knows he isn't going to get exactly what he wants. Wash will push him into discomfort in any way he can find, grasping threads and fraying seams, and for a moment, Pietro wants to run. To turn back. He only whines lowly and tugs at the restraints again.
Wash bites his lip, and that sharp press of teeth against the bruised and torn spot sparks hot pain that makes Pietro moan, that gets him back and focused, those feelings of discontent vanishing as Wash tangles his fingers in his hair harshly, yanking his head back. Pietro's cock twitches again. He squirms and writhes under every kiss, whining when Wash pays any attention to bruises and cuts and abrasions, re-marking him with his tongue. Shit. Pietro makes a frustrated growling noise once Wash moves too far back and he can't grind his cock against him anymore. But it's quickly replaced by a shuddering intake of breath and a quiet whimpering as Wash gets his mouth on his cock, kissing, biting, sharp nips, sucks at his skin, along his cock, his balls, his ass, and Pietro whines impatiently the moment that tongue first drags over his hole, remembering that feeling of it undulating and curling inside him, how he came from just Wash's tongue, and he shivers. That tongue delves inside him, and spurs more squirming and desperate noises.]
Fuck. Fuck.
[The need and frustration leaks out in a low whine as Pietro moves more insistently, pulling at his wrists until the bed creaks, shifting and kicking a bit, pressing a heel hard into the mattress.]
[ pietro is always so sensitive, so responsive, and wash has come to thoroughly appreciate that about him in their encounters so far -- he's always been good at honing in on things, at picking up the slightest trembles and sounds and twitches, and with pietro he's already so tuned in. he knows those little sounds, by now the frustration at the brief moment when wash removes an easy point of friction for him and how quickly it curves into whimpers and whines as he starts to mouth down over him, over his cock, and as he gets down to his ass, he can feel it, those shakes, those shivers. he'd left an impression on pietro in many ways, he knows, but he definitely left one on him like this, and its something wash is more than happy to use
he tongues deeply into his ass, taste of him heavy on his tongue, tasting himself, too, wet and messy from moments before. wash shifts onto the bed until he's just settled neatly between pietro's thighs, one leg hiked over his shoulder, the other spread more out to the side as pietro digs his heel into the mattress in some desperate attempt to find something to anchor himself to. wash reaches out, knife tucked against his palm, the metal cool against pietro's heated flesh as he grips hard over his thigh, pushes his leg down to keep his legs spread.
his hand lifts, and he doesn't even need to look, his half-lidded eyes only glancing lazily to the side as the knife spins again between his fingers, gleaming metal catching in the light before the tip of the knife is pressed against his inner thigh. he presses in, just one cut, short and sharp, and he starts to work his tongue deeper, further. his lips seal against him, growling pleased and possessive as he laps inside him hungrily. deep as he can, deliberately pushing his tongue against those velvety muscled walls that he knows are raw and sensitive from his cock, knife lifting only to press it in somewhere else along those sensitive muscles of his inner thigh, finding somewhere else to drag in another sharp cut. ]
[His thigh quivers under that first touch of metal, and Pietro fidgets in annoyance, wanting simply to prop himself up on his elbows and get a better look at what Wash is doing, but he can't. He growls quietly and impatiently squeezes around Wash's tongue instead as the knife drags over his thigh, sharp pain flaring out and bringing a pulse of heat to his cock at the same time Wash delves deeper with his tongue. Pietro feels every movement and shift of it, every slide and stroke, scrape and curl, where it presses against sensitive muscles and nerves raw and tender from his cock. Wash has only just started again, but Pietro is well on his way towards overstimulation, having not had enough of a break in between. He can't get as much control to push and move the way he wants to with the pliant mattress under his back and not a hard wall, has less space to move in general with the way his wrists are tied and Wash positioning himself between his legs and keeping the knife at his sensitive inner thigh. Still, he digs his heel hard into Wash's back, grips the bars at the headboard for leverage, sending small vibrations through the frame with his tightly curled shaking fingers, and tries to drive himself bodily further down onto Wash tongue.]
[ wash could do this for hours, really. have pietro spread out beneath him, tied down or not, straining against his bonds or with his hands tangled through his hair, whining as he tries to push closer to him. he'd spread him open, eat him out, finger him, get him off again and again, criss-cross his skin with a thousand little tiny stinging cuts. wash really doesn't bring people home too often, and definitely not to his bed, and it does add a nice possessive bent to this that he's happy to revel in, seeing pietro wiling ( of sorts ) to let himself be tied down to his bed.
pietro would find it difficult to move and get enough leverage to prop himself up to get a good look at him -- but wash finds it easy enough to drag pietro further down, instead, shifting on the bed until he's on his knees with his weight resting on his shins, pietro's hips lifted into the air, free hand gripping hard over his ass to lift him against his mouth. much easier for pietro to see him, as he tongues deeply and hungrily into his ass.
his other hand is still holding the knife, now much more plainly visible to pietro as he eases it down the side of his thigh, cutting another steady, perfectly straight line. wash very occasionally pulls back just to give himself a moment to readjust, mouthing up over his balls, his cock, but every time he does he makes sure to press in just a little more with the knife, keeping pietro at a high level of stimulation, and then he's diving back down to tongue into his ass again, making pleased and possessive rumbling growls as he works. ]
[He doesn't have any control for long as Wash pulls him down further, and dragging himself back up by his awkward grip on the headboard isn't going to work. Pietro lets go of the frame then, letting his fingers twitch and spasm and vibrate, twisting his wrists and rubbing against the coils of rope, mindless sort of movements he doesn't seem completely aware of. He squirms as Wash lifts his hips and gives him even less movement, those fingers pressing hard into his ass and reminding him of the bruises left behind there that first night on the couch. Even as he growls in irritation, Pietro doesn't take his eyes off Wash, whining with every twist of his tongue, muscles quivering around it.
His thigh burns with the next drag of the knife, sharp pricks of pain drawing hot arousal through his abdomen and down to his twitching cock. His frustration hits peak after the second time Wash has taken a break from his tonguing and builds up sensation at Pietro's cock, his balls, just enough before retreating back, tongue driving deep as Wash's rumbling growls reverberate inside him. Pietro can't stand it, muscles twitching all over, squirming impatiently, every tendon in his body tense and jerky.]
Is this what you get off on, old man? Not letting anyone else participate?
[His tone is snappy and terse, with just a hint of underlying pleading in it, but Pietro refuses to phrase it as "let me touch something".]
[ that pleading note is still present in pietro's voice, underneath the words -- wash knows the sound of it by now, and before pietro's even entirely finished that question wash is answering by tonguing deeper into his ass, one long pointed lap of his tongue. the answer, of course, is that he does get off on it -- but the same way he gets off on most things, on overpowering someone, overwhelming them, driving them to an edge. he lifts his head again, this time taking a moment to meet pietro's gaze, watching him hungrily through half-lidded eyes as he mouths up over his balls, dragging his tongue up along the underside of his cock all the way along his shaft to the had in one long, deliberate lick.
he chases that with the knife. pulled away from his thigh now crossed with sharp marks and cuts, the uncomfortably cool flat of the blade suddenly pressed against the base of his cock. sliding up, wet with saliva and pre, wash just watching how he responds to it as he takes a moment to suck his swollen cockhead into his mouth, working his tongue against the slit. ]
-- Seems like it gets you going too, Pietro. [ a low growl, murmured half against his skin as he tips his head back just enough to let his cock spring free from his mouth with a wet pop, the knife still pressed against him. ] Maybe next time I'll tie you up with your hands around your cock. Let you fuck your own grip while I eat you out. Make you come over and over until you're so sensitive you'll be begging me to take your hands off of you.
[ his other hand squeezes tight over one cheek of his ass, hard enough to press bruises and marks into his skin -- and then immediately following it with one hard, sharp smack, the sound ringing through the air even as he forces pietro's hips up to push himself a little more against his mouth and tongue, against the knife. never cutting him anywhere quite so sensitive, but clearly and intentionally coming very, very close. ]
[Pietro whines as Wash's tongue drives just that much deeper, uncertain how he even manages to do that every time. That annoys him too. He swallows down more desperate noises when Wash licks over his balls and his shaft, a slow drag that sparks too many drawn out sensations and has his cock twitching and his abdominal muscles fluttering. He sucks in a quick breath as Wash brings the knife to his cock, following that lick, and Pietro squirms despite expending all of his efforts not to, to stay somewhat still with a knife at his cock, but he can't. Those horribly embarrassing mewling noises spill from his mouth once Wash starts sucking on the head of his cock. Shit. Every movement and sound has an underlying tinge of frustration in it.]
Fuck you.
[It's his only response to that comment, because he can't hide that he does like it. It's obvious and hates himself for it, even as he imagines the scenario Wash then puts forth, moaning quietly over it. Fuck. After his testy first response, what follows is almost breathy and pleading.]
Is that promise?
[It ends in a yelp as Wash slaps his bruised ass.]
Shit! Fuck, you... fuck.
[He writhes and whines, nerves frayed with overstimulation.]
[ there is something just exceptionally satisfying about those small breaks, the seams between everything. he knows by now how much pietro lashes out, curses and thrashes and struggles, spits at him, even -- and knows that past that there's always something raw. pietro curses at him, unable to do much other than try to hurl a meaningless insult at him, but not long after his voice shifts into something almost sweet, almost pleading. right on that edge.
he keeps his hand right where he'd just smacked him, gripping and squeezing over sensitive flesh and muscle, his voice a low purr as he mouths languidly over his cock again, letting the flat of the blade slide down to tease over his balls. ]
It always is. [ when has wash ever said something to him he didn't mean, after all. that hand shifts slightly over his ass until his fingers can glide through his crease, slick and sticky wet with spit and saliva, immediately easing a finger inside him and hooking it back almost cruelly against his sensitive inner walls, right for where he knows he's most sensitive and worn. ] Careful. You're making me promise you so much, I'll start to think you actually like me.
[ this time he lets pietro feel his teeth, dragging along the length of his cock as it throbs and aches against his mouth. ]
You want me to make you come?
[ finally he turns the knife away from his cock -- only to immediately have the metal biting into his flesh, the other thigh, this time. another short, sharp cut, just the right depth, just the right pressure, an uncannily precise straight line. right at the same time he draws the head of his cock into his mouth again, sucking hard and pressing his tongue against the slit, just for a moment before immediately pulling back. just watching him, pietro still at an awkward angle on the bed with his arms spread and tied behind him, shoulders forced to the mattress as wash lifts his hips in the air, legs hiked up over his shoulders. ]
Go on.
[ ask him. beg him. bonus points if you tell him how you want him to make you come, with all the options he's presenting you with all at the same time. or be stubborn all you want. wash is hungry for all of it, that want dark and lurking in his eyes, ready to devour any response he has, swallow him whole. ]
[He makes a desperate pleading noise, but doesn't give it words, fidgeting and undecided if he wants to push himself further into Wash's mouth of down against the blade at his balls. His stomach tightens in an unsettling way as Wash asserts all of his statements are promises. It's another confirmation Pietro could have whatever he's offered, if it just says so. Pietro growls irritably, only to cut himself off with a high pitched whimper when Wash shoves his finger inside him, pressing against the raw spots like he knows exactly where to touch. He pulls at the ropes harder at the agonisingly slow graze of Wash's teeth over his cock, that question lingers hot in his ears, and he feels the sharp slide of the knife again over his thigh.]
Yes!
[It's a loud bark of a noise, Wash's tongue at the head of his cock sending too much arousal through him at once. Then it's gone, and Pietro lets out a frustrated whine, before he snaps and makes terse demands, heated and forceful.]
[ good. but not quite. now that he knows pietro can and will beg, he's going to push for it. more and more.
those pleading sounds give way to frustrated growls, which give way to whimpers and whines, which in turn give way to his demands, as heated as they are desperate. he demands for his mouth on his cock and wash answers with a twist of his wrist, a second finger alongside the first burying itself inside his ass, scissoring open to push at more of those sensitive walls and then gathering together to push pin-precise pressure on exatly where he once, on that sensitive bundle of nerves, frayed and raw. the knife keeps going, this time, a steady drag, drawing that brand new red line long and steady over his thigh as wash chases the cut with his mouth and tongue. kissing and licking at the cut, making it sting sharp with saliva.
wash shifts slightly on the bed, leaning further forward with pietro's hips still hiked in the air, almost but not quite folding him in half, those legs hiked up over wash's shoulders suddenly pressed down -- he lingers to suck one deliberate bruise against some sensitive stretch of muscle along his inner thigh. only then does he turn his attention back to pietro's cock, mouthing lightly over his balls, letting his tongue trail and tease up along the length of him even as pietro's hips strain for more. wash's voice low and heated and rumbling with that same possessive growl, that hunger, that want, the reverberations of it right against pietro's cock and balls. ]
Beg me.
[ he's gotten some begging from pietro already before now, sweet and surprisingly earnest on a shattered and broken voice -- but not when wash had explicitly asked it of him. not yet. he knows full well that hearing wash demand that of him will only make him more resistant, but wash is prepared to push that line. another twist of those fingers inside him, a press of the knife, wash pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the his cock and tonguing over his skin and mouthing his way up to the sensitive head only to immediately pull away.
it's very, very clear that wash will not hesitate to keep him on this edge for as long as it takes. ]
[It's torture, the continued build up, every bit of attention Wash gives him that's not where he wants it, keeping Pietro on edge. He can't get leverage to push down on Wash's fingers as much as he wants to, but clenches hard, and even that hard press inside him that sends shocks of sensation through his spine doesn't quite get him there. The pain from the knife is blending into everything else, his entire body on fire. Pietro fingers shake and curl and tendons in his arms are taught, vibrations starting to make their way down from his fingertips. Wash's tongue isn't enough, it's teasing, lathing over his cock and pulled away again.]
No.
[He hisses it out between clenched teeth, even though his body is all but doing the begging for him, twitching and writhing. He can hear that first "please" in his head even now, the one he'd let slip out on the roof, half aware it had even been real.]
[ wash doesn't answer verbally -- everything he's doing is answer enough. a low rumble as he mouths against the length of his shaft, feeling him throb and pulse under his tongue, the taste and scent of him settling heavily into his lungs. pietro is stubborn, and wash is patient, and wash already knows he's worn him down before. many times, by now, more than pietro would like to remember or admit, but wash can hear that first please on the rooftop perfectly in his ears, can still remember how he'd been so desperate to fuck into his fingers but how wash had always just barely pulled away, kept him right on the edge -- and just a while ago, against the wall with a belt wrapped around his wrists, a flurry of begging and pleading like a dam breaking. just from drawing it out. just from overwhelming him. he'll wear him down, more and more over time.
the way his mouth moves over him is lazy, languid. teeth dragging over too-tender skin, biting lightly at his balls, his tongue dragging between them -- this, too, he knows, like he's memorized so much about pietro. remembering how he'd gripped him tight enough to hurt, how he'd left bruises on his cock, racing those sensitive areas with his mouth and tongue now, every now and then he lifts his head to just barely draw the head of him into his mouth, one brief suckle, hard enough that his cheeks hollow around it, but then he's pulling free immediately.
everything else he does, though, doesn't slow down. that knife at his thigh is lifting and beginning to draw another cut, parallel to the first, steady despite the way pietro's thigh trembles and quivers under him. his other hand still working those fingers deep, deeper, pushing against every fraying nerve he already knows is there. and the only thing that changes, after too long, is the lift of the knife after another perfectly drawn line, the tip of it skimming dangerously over too-sensitive flesh as he runs the back of the knife down over his balls, as he follows it with his mouth with sharper kisses, bites.
he doesn't need to say anything. this is a promise, too. he shows no signs of slowing down, if anything seems to be shifting to different ways of stimulating him, none of them ever, ever enough. not until he says something. ]
[Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows his demands will bring nothing, his refusal to beg only draws things out more. He knows, but he still defaults to denial and obstinacy. Every instinct he has works against him. Wash continues to tease, sucking on the tip of his cock, so long that Pietro gets a pulse of arousal from it, but not long enough to sustain it to the level he needs.
Pietro can't even focus on that, not when Wash still drags the knife over his sensitive inner thigh, fingers pushing and prodding inside him, scraping over raw spots and pressing against crackling nerves. Shit. The flat of the knife runs over his balls, and he squirms again with renewed effort to do... something.]
Shit!
[That exclamation forces itself out of his mouth when Wash bites the sensitive skin of his balls. Pietro can feel the hot itch of tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he gets too overwhelmed with sensations, and it doesn't take long for him to break again. Less than one minute, then his pleas spill forth, sharp and desperate, begging to come again.]
to wash's credit he doesn't draw it out any further. when pietro finally gives in to say a genuine please, even if it's more cried out and desperate rather than just whimpering-pleading, wash rewards him for it immediately. there's a quiet, pleased purr that punctuates the twist of the knife, metal scraping over his balls before pressing into the flesh of his inner thigh, biting in, yet another cut among the dozens he's already left.
once more, wash takes him into his mouth, nursing the swollen cockhead between his lips and feeling how fucking close he is, how much he throbs with it. again he pushes his tongue against his slit, warm and wet, his eyes closed as he sucks around his cock with that rumbling purr. in the moment where so many times before wash had simply pulled back and away, this time, he doesn't. this time he lets his eyes flutter open, half-lidded as he watches him with that same intensity, those fingers pressed inside his ass twisting deep and adding a firm, insistent pressure to those sensitive nerves, and he instead takes pietro's cock deeper into his mouth. he does it with surprising ease, letting pietro's cock slide over his tongue and letting him feel the scrape of his teeth as he swallows him whole, as he takes him fully down into his throat. ]
[Pietro huffs out an irritated noise as he hears that rumbling purr, and he knows that he's done what Wash wanted. He feels that struggle inside again, where he wants to tear himself away from the subtle confirmation, and also bask in the knowledge he's pleased this man. Shit. He whines desperately, the drag of the knife at his thigh again, sparking more threads of pain that weave into the rest of it all and have him twitching. Wash's mouth is finally, finally back on his cock, tongue trailing over the leaking slit, and Pietro feels that rumbling penetrate deep inside him again. Fuck. He squirms and clenches around Wash's fingers, whimpering quietly as Wash gives him what he wants, tongue cradling his cock, his teeth over sensitive flesh, more than he expected, deeper, further. It doesn't take him long at all, which Pietro is also irritated by, his muscles tensing abruptly as he comes down Wash's throat.]
[ wash stays where he is, lips wrapped around the base of his cock, sucking hard and swallowing him down even as pietro finally comes. even then wash is unrelenting, fingers an ever-insistent pressure against those raw spots inside of him, rubbing and pressing and only briefly pulling back to push against him again, almost like he's milking more out of him even as he comes. he sucks as hard as he can over his cock while it's pressed all the way down his throat, lips wrapped around the base of him.
when pietro is completely spent, wash doesn't pull back. he does ease up in exactly one place, lifting the knife from his thigh, not continuing to cut him, instead letting the now body heat warmed flat of the blade rest against his balls. everywhere else, wash doesn't let up. letting his cock slip slightly from his mouth just so its easier to suck, sucking at him even as he feels him quiver and soften after orgasm, those fingers relentless, kneading a steady circle against sensitive fraying nerve endings. ]
[Wash gives him absolutely no time to recover, pressing his fingers against raw nerves insistently, constantly, sucking every last drop of come from his cock. That knife is on his balls again, and that brings different stimulation, but not less of it. Pietro squirms the moment his muscles will obey him again, growling irritably and yanking hard at the ropes again though he can't enough leverage for it to come off as anything but pathetic struggling while he whines high in his throat.]
Fuck! You are done now, yes?
[He'd just said "please", he can't bring himself to stay "stop".]
at pietro's exclamation, wash pointedly sucks even harder, twisting his wrist to drive his fingers deeper for a moment, past that raw stretch of nerves to something else. but he does, after a moment, relent. slowly he works his fingers free, freeing his hand to grip tightly over his thigh, over bruised skin, fresh cuts from the knife, thin and precise and bright red. slowly he eases pietro's knees down, letting his hips settle back down -- not fully onto the bed, but in his own lap, and as he lowers him down he lets pietro's cock slip from his mouth. sucking and working his tongue along the length of him as he slides out, with one last moment to press his tongue against the oversensitive head. he looks down at him, pleased but still wanting, hungry, tracing every line in his body and how his chest and stomach rise and fall with his rapid breaths. the hand with the knife moves to settle against his abdomen, knife still in his grip as he thumbs at his navel. ]
Too much?
[ a murmur. amused, teasing, and even as he says it, his other hand is moving from pietro's thigh, fingers curving against pietro's cock and squeezing. just once, not even too forcefully, but more than enough given how sensitive he has to be. ]
[Pietro lets out a frustrated noise as Wash only gives him more intense sensations. His cock throbs and pulses even as the last waves or orgasm fade, and he mewls again as Wash's fingers pressing deeper and in a new area, seeing sparks behind his eyes. Every nerve is on fire, his skin feels flayed, and even when Wash pulls his fingers out, it doesn't relieve everything. His thigh muscles quiver under Wash's hand, pressure against bruises and cuts making Pietro whine again. It takes forever for Wash to get his mouth off his cock, and he squirms as the last lick at his aching cockhead seems to drag on so long. He whimpers when Wash brings that hand to his abdomen, just waiting for that cut doesn't come. He almost refuses to answer at all, but Wash squeezes his cock, and a loud whine works its way out of his throat before he spits the words out, petulant and contrary in tone, dismissive.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Wash's presence steals his focus again, that knife at his jaw, knees between his thighs. He stares back boldly as Wash speaks again, telling him what he could do, offering, and letting his fingers run over the belt. Pietro's cock twitches and his chest tightens. Offering. That's what it is, has always been. If Pietro wants it, he can have it, have that control taken from him, but he needs to admit first that he wants it, admit it to himself as much as agree to it. But he doesn't, not verbally, only snorts dismissively and rolls his eyes.]
I will believe that when I see it.
no subject
pietro stares up at him, and he can see it in his eyes, arousal, want -- and even then he looks away, scoffs, rolls his eyes. wash hums a little in response, letting that knife shift in his grip, holding it so that as he lets his hand drag down over his front, the blade just barely skims his skin, too. down over the curve of his throat, to where that first cut starts at his clavicle, stilling briefly there to feel his racing heart as he follows the line further and further down to the mess of cum spilled across his abdomen, fingers smearing through it, knife gliding through. ]
I have options.
[ he keeps his weight braced over him with that hand pinning pietro's wrists down to the bed, leaning over to the beside table. wash keeps a spartan, practical apartment, has a few selections of belongings, has resisted the need to settle in or get anything more. in all honesty, many people he brings home don't usually make it to the bedroom, and he has less in here than one might think. but he did live here with someone especially fucking difficult. there's a drag and clink of metal from the bottom drawer wash is fishing through, but what he eventually returns with, as he leans back, is a length of rope. thick, corded, and doesn't really look like the kind of rope one might associate with bondage play if only because it looks more like the rope that a man might use to do more real, practical work, different from the more brightly colored lengths that pietro may distantly remember wash using in a classroom. it works for his purposes. a pragmatic man, in the end.
he doesn't wait or ask permission, shifting on the bed. he never lets go of the knife ( more an ingrained habit than anything else, an instinct, why would he let go of it when there's someone else here who might take it ) even as he drags pietro's bound wrists up to the barred headboard. he only needs one hand to undo the belt, fingers nimble and deliberate as always as he releases the buckle, and while he will let pietro have some amount of movement and freedom he immediately grabs one of pietro's writs and starts to bind it to one of the bars on the headboard. he lets pietro have his other hand, for now, for him to move or even to feel at the bonds that wash is putting in place, every loop of rope, every drag of it against his skin somehow feeling just as deliberate as wash's own touch. ]
no subject
He's aware of every little sound, drawn out and heightened in his spike of apprehension, and he moves slightly, trying to shift over enough to get a look at things before Wash decides he gets to see them. It's pointless and he can't see over the edge of the bed. It doesn't take long at all, but Pietro is almost ready to demand Wash just pull something out of that drawer and get on with it when he finally does. Pietro's only experience with specific bondage rope was that one class, the only time he's seen it, and this is more familiar, a normal length of rope one would have for any number of things. Rougher, thicker, possibly easier to fray and more susceptible to friction, a notion Pietro sets aside for the time being. Wash moves his wrists again, and he watches it from an awkward angle looking above him, even as he inches himself up further on the bed, helping and hating himself for it.
His shift is immediate when Wash undoes the belt, a short burst of motion where Pietro shakes out his hands and squirms to get the stiffness out of his shoulders, but he doesn't pull that hand out of Wash's grip when he gets hold of it, settling down then as much as he can, even if he uses his free hand to poke at and play with everything he can touch, the rope, the headboard, fingers blurred in their quick movements, pulling at things, trying to wedge them underneath the coils of rope being wrapped around his other wrist, completely focused on that and no longer paying attention to Wash.]
no subject
at first, wash thinks he's trying to get out -- but that other hand isn't moving, not trying to wiggle free, mostly trying to stay in place. he interprets pietro's movements then as just. fidgeting. like a restless child with too much energy except he moves so damn fast, willing that one hand to stay still but having to make up for it elsewhere. wash continues his work, managing to avoid pietro's interfering fingers as he finishes binding that one wrist in place, and then he's grabbing him by the forearm. doing what he can to actually still him, and making use of the knife tucked into his grip to get his attention, a sudden glide of metal along the length of his arm, one moment where the edge breaks the skin enough for it to sting the way pietro likes. ]
Restless, aren't you?
[ distantly amused, more teasing than mocking, voice still thrumming slightly with that same rumble, that almost-purr. his other hand is working with the remaining length of rope, as he shifts a bit more on the bed -- drags pietro's wrist to the other side of the headboard. this is good, strong rope, mostly cotton, but it definitely wouldn't be impossible or difficult to chew through if pietro really wanted to. but he'd still need to get the bindings to his mouth, bend his body enough to reach what he needs to undo. in wash's experience with pietro so far, he's strong, but not inhumanly so when he doesn't have the space to build up any kind of momentum. wash doesn't have that much on hand, but he does have some heavy duty cuffs that might be a lot stronger, but. he's choosing this. choosing rope. letting pietro think about escaping and how he might break free, just to see how much he can push him into not even wanting to.
though he is considering getting more specialized rope, now. a note to himself at the back of his mind. inspired by pietro, apparently. ]
no subject
Where did you get that idea?
[Pietro starts moving his bound wrist almost unconsciously, tugging, twisting his fingers, testing how much movement he has to turn his wrist within the rope, and how much he can rub it against the bar of the headboard. His other hand mostly stills, like a switch off, allowing Wash to tie that wrist with little struggle, nothing voluntary. Heat spreads through Pietro's chest over it, a wave of embarrassment at how much he's simply allowing, how much control he's giving up, but in the back of his mind, he knows he can escape. Unless he gets to the point where he's so desperate he can't think straight, he can get out of this too. Whenever he wants, and he doesn't even need to use his teeth. He has less movement in some ways, the restriction different, and he's distracted again by simply feeling that out, squirming and shifting, a mix of frustrated and pleased noises, little whines and growls, as his cock hardens and his abdominal muscles twitch and he's already getting impatient again, trying to move his hips enough to grind against Wash's knees.]
Are we fucking again or not? I do not have all night.
no subject
wash shifts his weight on the bed, pressing in so he can let pietro grind crudely against his knee against his thigh. leaning close, bearing over him, both his hands free now even though pietro's kept down. one hand slides against his jaw, palm scraping against his scruff as he cradles his cheek in his hand, red and bruising from being backhanded before. ]
I think we do have all night.
[ on a bit of a purr, but not even teasing. he says it like its fact. simple, indisputable. pietro had sought him out looking for something, followed him all the way here to keep getting it, and just like before when it took pietro reaching utter exhaustion and literal unconsciousness, wash clearly doesn't feel a need to stop until something forces him to.
a sharp bite to his lip, that hand sliding up to twist through his hair, wrenching his head back against the metal bars of the headboard to bare his throat. he kisses down over his neck, blatantly possessive, letting his tongue follow that cut over his chest and body, tonguing over drying come over his skin. he moves further down over his body, settling between his thighs, mouthing over his cock and balls with that same bruising intensity, sucking, kissing, biting, and his tongue works through the crease of his ass until he can drag it over his still-quivering hole, and without hesitation, press inside. ]
no subject
Wash bites his lip, and that sharp press of teeth against the bruised and torn spot sparks hot pain that makes Pietro moan, that gets him back and focused, those feelings of discontent vanishing as Wash tangles his fingers in his hair harshly, yanking his head back. Pietro's cock twitches again. He squirms and writhes under every kiss, whining when Wash pays any attention to bruises and cuts and abrasions, re-marking him with his tongue. Shit. Pietro makes a frustrated growling noise once Wash moves too far back and he can't grind his cock against him anymore. But it's quickly replaced by a shuddering intake of breath and a quiet whimpering as Wash gets his mouth on his cock, kissing, biting, sharp nips, sucks at his skin, along his cock, his balls, his ass, and Pietro whines impatiently the moment that tongue first drags over his hole, remembering that feeling of it undulating and curling inside him, how he came from just Wash's tongue, and he shivers. That tongue delves inside him, and spurs more squirming and desperate noises.]
Fuck. Fuck.
[The need and frustration leaks out in a low whine as Pietro moves more insistently, pulling at his wrists until the bed creaks, shifting and kicking a bit, pressing a heel hard into the mattress.]
no subject
he tongues deeply into his ass, taste of him heavy on his tongue, tasting himself, too, wet and messy from moments before. wash shifts onto the bed until he's just settled neatly between pietro's thighs, one leg hiked over his shoulder, the other spread more out to the side as pietro digs his heel into the mattress in some desperate attempt to find something to anchor himself to. wash reaches out, knife tucked against his palm, the metal cool against pietro's heated flesh as he grips hard over his thigh, pushes his leg down to keep his legs spread.
his hand lifts, and he doesn't even need to look, his half-lidded eyes only glancing lazily to the side as the knife spins again between his fingers, gleaming metal catching in the light before the tip of the knife is pressed against his inner thigh. he presses in, just one cut, short and sharp, and he starts to work his tongue deeper, further. his lips seal against him, growling pleased and possessive as he laps inside him hungrily. deep as he can, deliberately pushing his tongue against those velvety muscled walls that he knows are raw and sensitive from his cock, knife lifting only to press it in somewhere else along those sensitive muscles of his inner thigh, finding somewhere else to drag in another sharp cut. ]
no subject
no subject
pietro would find it difficult to move and get enough leverage to prop himself up to get a good look at him -- but wash finds it easy enough to drag pietro further down, instead, shifting on the bed until he's on his knees with his weight resting on his shins, pietro's hips lifted into the air, free hand gripping hard over his ass to lift him against his mouth. much easier for pietro to see him, as he tongues deeply and hungrily into his ass.
his other hand is still holding the knife, now much more plainly visible to pietro as he eases it down the side of his thigh, cutting another steady, perfectly straight line. wash very occasionally pulls back just to give himself a moment to readjust, mouthing up over his balls, his cock, but every time he does he makes sure to press in just a little more with the knife, keeping pietro at a high level of stimulation, and then he's diving back down to tongue into his ass again, making pleased and possessive rumbling growls as he works. ]
no subject
[He doesn't have any control for long as Wash pulls him down further, and dragging himself back up by his awkward grip on the headboard isn't going to work. Pietro lets go of the frame then, letting his fingers twitch and spasm and vibrate, twisting his wrists and rubbing against the coils of rope, mindless sort of movements he doesn't seem completely aware of. He squirms as Wash lifts his hips and gives him even less movement, those fingers pressing hard into his ass and reminding him of the bruises left behind there that first night on the couch. Even as he growls in irritation, Pietro doesn't take his eyes off Wash, whining with every twist of his tongue, muscles quivering around it.
His thigh burns with the next drag of the knife, sharp pricks of pain drawing hot arousal through his abdomen and down to his twitching cock. His frustration hits peak after the second time Wash has taken a break from his tonguing and builds up sensation at Pietro's cock, his balls, just enough before retreating back, tongue driving deep as Wash's rumbling growls reverberate inside him. Pietro can't stand it, muscles twitching all over, squirming impatiently, every tendon in his body tense and jerky.]
Is this what you get off on, old man? Not letting anyone else participate?
[His tone is snappy and terse, with just a hint of underlying pleading in it, but Pietro refuses to phrase it as "let me touch something".]
no subject
he chases that with the knife. pulled away from his thigh now crossed with sharp marks and cuts, the uncomfortably cool flat of the blade suddenly pressed against the base of his cock. sliding up, wet with saliva and pre, wash just watching how he responds to it as he takes a moment to suck his swollen cockhead into his mouth, working his tongue against the slit. ]
-- Seems like it gets you going too, Pietro. [ a low growl, murmured half against his skin as he tips his head back just enough to let his cock spring free from his mouth with a wet pop, the knife still pressed against him. ] Maybe next time I'll tie you up with your hands around your cock. Let you fuck your own grip while I eat you out. Make you come over and over until you're so sensitive you'll be begging me to take your hands off of you.
[ his other hand squeezes tight over one cheek of his ass, hard enough to press bruises and marks into his skin -- and then immediately following it with one hard, sharp smack, the sound ringing through the air even as he forces pietro's hips up to push himself a little more against his mouth and tongue, against the knife. never cutting him anywhere quite so sensitive, but clearly and intentionally coming very, very close. ]
no subject
Fuck you.
[It's his only response to that comment, because he can't hide that he does like it. It's obvious and hates himself for it, even as he imagines the scenario Wash then puts forth, moaning quietly over it. Fuck. After his testy first response, what follows is almost breathy and pleading.]
Is that promise?
[It ends in a yelp as Wash slaps his bruised ass.]
Shit! Fuck, you... fuck.
[He writhes and whines, nerves frayed with overstimulation.]
no subject
he keeps his hand right where he'd just smacked him, gripping and squeezing over sensitive flesh and muscle, his voice a low purr as he mouths languidly over his cock again, letting the flat of the blade slide down to tease over his balls. ]
It always is. [ when has wash ever said something to him he didn't mean, after all. that hand shifts slightly over his ass until his fingers can glide through his crease, slick and sticky wet with spit and saliva, immediately easing a finger inside him and hooking it back almost cruelly against his sensitive inner walls, right for where he knows he's most sensitive and worn. ] Careful. You're making me promise you so much, I'll start to think you actually like me.
[ this time he lets pietro feel his teeth, dragging along the length of his cock as it throbs and aches against his mouth. ]
You want me to make you come?
[ finally he turns the knife away from his cock -- only to immediately have the metal biting into his flesh, the other thigh, this time. another short, sharp cut, just the right depth, just the right pressure, an uncannily precise straight line. right at the same time he draws the head of his cock into his mouth again, sucking hard and pressing his tongue against the slit, just for a moment before immediately pulling back. just watching him, pietro still at an awkward angle on the bed with his arms spread and tied behind him, shoulders forced to the mattress as wash lifts his hips in the air, legs hiked up over his shoulders. ]
Go on.
[ ask him. beg him. bonus points if you tell him how you want him to make you come, with all the options he's presenting you with all at the same time. or be stubborn all you want. wash is hungry for all of it, that want dark and lurking in his eyes, ready to devour any response he has, swallow him whole. ]
no subject
Yes!
[It's a loud bark of a noise, Wash's tongue at the head of his cock sending too much arousal through him at once. Then it's gone, and Pietro lets out a frustrated whine, before he snaps and makes terse demands, heated and forceful.]
Keep your fucking mouth on my cock!
no subject
those pleading sounds give way to frustrated growls, which give way to whimpers and whines, which in turn give way to his demands, as heated as they are desperate. he demands for his mouth on his cock and wash answers with a twist of his wrist, a second finger alongside the first burying itself inside his ass, scissoring open to push at more of those sensitive walls and then gathering together to push pin-precise pressure on exatly where he once, on that sensitive bundle of nerves, frayed and raw. the knife keeps going, this time, a steady drag, drawing that brand new red line long and steady over his thigh as wash chases the cut with his mouth and tongue. kissing and licking at the cut, making it sting sharp with saliva.
wash shifts slightly on the bed, leaning further forward with pietro's hips still hiked in the air, almost but not quite folding him in half, those legs hiked up over wash's shoulders suddenly pressed down -- he lingers to suck one deliberate bruise against some sensitive stretch of muscle along his inner thigh. only then does he turn his attention back to pietro's cock, mouthing lightly over his balls, letting his tongue trail and tease up along the length of him even as pietro's hips strain for more. wash's voice low and heated and rumbling with that same possessive growl, that hunger, that want, the reverberations of it right against pietro's cock and balls. ]
Beg me.
[ he's gotten some begging from pietro already before now, sweet and surprisingly earnest on a shattered and broken voice -- but not when wash had explicitly asked it of him. not yet. he knows full well that hearing wash demand that of him will only make him more resistant, but wash is prepared to push that line. another twist of those fingers inside him, a press of the knife, wash pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the his cock and tonguing over his skin and mouthing his way up to the sensitive head only to immediately pull away.
it's very, very clear that wash will not hesitate to keep him on this edge for as long as it takes. ]
no subject
No.
[He hisses it out between clenched teeth, even though his body is all but doing the begging for him, twitching and writhing. He can hear that first "please" in his head even now, the one he'd let slip out on the roof, half aware it had even been real.]
no subject
the way his mouth moves over him is lazy, languid. teeth dragging over too-tender skin, biting lightly at his balls, his tongue dragging between them -- this, too, he knows, like he's memorized so much about pietro. remembering how he'd gripped him tight enough to hurt, how he'd left bruises on his cock, racing those sensitive areas with his mouth and tongue now, every now and then he lifts his head to just barely draw the head of him into his mouth, one brief suckle, hard enough that his cheeks hollow around it, but then he's pulling free immediately.
everything else he does, though, doesn't slow down. that knife at his thigh is lifting and beginning to draw another cut, parallel to the first, steady despite the way pietro's thigh trembles and quivers under him. his other hand still working those fingers deep, deeper, pushing against every fraying nerve he already knows is there. and the only thing that changes, after too long, is the lift of the knife after another perfectly drawn line, the tip of it skimming dangerously over too-sensitive flesh as he runs the back of the knife down over his balls, as he follows it with his mouth with sharper kisses, bites.
he doesn't need to say anything. this is a promise, too. he shows no signs of slowing down, if anything seems to be shifting to different ways of stimulating him, none of them ever, ever enough. not until he says something. ]
no subject
Pietro can't even focus on that, not when Wash still drags the knife over his sensitive inner thigh, fingers pushing and prodding inside him, scraping over raw spots and pressing against crackling nerves. Shit. The flat of the knife runs over his balls, and he squirms again with renewed effort to do... something.]
Shit!
[That exclamation forces itself out of his mouth when Wash bites the sensitive skin of his balls. Pietro can feel the hot itch of tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he gets too overwhelmed with sensations, and it doesn't take long for him to break again. Less than one minute, then his pleas spill forth, sharp and desperate, begging to come again.]
Please! Please, just let me come!
no subject
to wash's credit he doesn't draw it out any further. when pietro finally gives in to say a genuine please, even if it's more cried out and desperate rather than just whimpering-pleading, wash rewards him for it immediately. there's a quiet, pleased purr that punctuates the twist of the knife, metal scraping over his balls before pressing into the flesh of his inner thigh, biting in, yet another cut among the dozens he's already left.
once more, wash takes him into his mouth, nursing the swollen cockhead between his lips and feeling how fucking close he is, how much he throbs with it. again he pushes his tongue against his slit, warm and wet, his eyes closed as he sucks around his cock with that rumbling purr. in the moment where so many times before wash had simply pulled back and away, this time, he doesn't. this time he lets his eyes flutter open, half-lidded as he watches him with that same intensity, those fingers pressed inside his ass twisting deep and adding a firm, insistent pressure to those sensitive nerves, and he instead takes pietro's cock deeper into his mouth. he does it with surprising ease, letting pietro's cock slide over his tongue and letting him feel the scrape of his teeth as he swallows him whole, as he takes him fully down into his throat. ]
no subject
no subject
when pietro is completely spent, wash doesn't pull back. he does ease up in exactly one place, lifting the knife from his thigh, not continuing to cut him, instead letting the now body heat warmed flat of the blade rest against his balls. everywhere else, wash doesn't let up. letting his cock slip slightly from his mouth just so its easier to suck, sucking at him even as he feels him quiver and soften after orgasm, those fingers relentless, kneading a steady circle against sensitive fraying nerve endings. ]
no subject
Fuck! You are done now, yes?
[He'd just said "please", he can't bring himself to stay "stop".]
no subject
at pietro's exclamation, wash pointedly sucks even harder, twisting his wrist to drive his fingers deeper for a moment, past that raw stretch of nerves to something else. but he does, after a moment, relent. slowly he works his fingers free, freeing his hand to grip tightly over his thigh, over bruised skin, fresh cuts from the knife, thin and precise and bright red. slowly he eases pietro's knees down, letting his hips settle back down -- not fully onto the bed, but in his own lap, and as he lowers him down he lets pietro's cock slip from his mouth. sucking and working his tongue along the length of him as he slides out, with one last moment to press his tongue against the oversensitive head. he looks down at him, pleased but still wanting, hungry, tracing every line in his body and how his chest and stomach rise and fall with his rapid breaths. the hand with the knife moves to settle against his abdomen, knife still in his grip as he thumbs at his navel. ]
Too much?
[ a murmur. amused, teasing, and even as he says it, his other hand is moving from pietro's thigh, fingers curving against pietro's cock and squeezing. just once, not even too forcefully, but more than enough given how sensitive he has to be. ]
no subject
No. You were boring me, old man.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)