[ 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.]
[ petulant as always, but wash finds that amusing, almost endearing if anything, especially when pietro has to be fully aware of how it sounds, defiant and contrary even through breathlessness, coming right after a desperate little whine. wash makes low humming sound that eases into a bit of that rumbling purr. ]
Is that so. [ wash is keeping his hand where it is, kneading nicely at his balls, at the base of his cock, sometimes letting his fingers brush up along the length of his shaft. its not exactly gentle, but its an easy pressure, but he knows that even that will seem like too much when pietro's clearly as sensitive as he is. ] Guess we'll have to fix that, huh.
[He chokes down another wine and tries not to squirm so obviously, but every stroke and press of Wash's fingers over his cock and balls are too much, bright sparks of arousal and a sensation bordering on painful from simply being too sensitive at this point. Shit.]
Well, get on with it.
[That's spoken too quickly, almost without pause, and after he says it, Pietro's breathing becomes more rapid, because he's already regretting it and squirming more insistently, a muted whine finding its way out.]
[ that uptick in his breathing doesn't go unmissed, met with a flick of wash's gaze, quiet and amused. getting in over his head appears to be how pietro handles things, speeding into absolutely everything and assuming that everything can be bulldozed through until he crashes into a wall that he didn't see coming. wash isn't about to go easy on him, either way.
he shuffles slightly closer on the bed, still fit between pietro's spread thighs, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to his knee -- and a moment later, letting his grip tighten over his cock. hard enough to hurt, twisting, fingers slick with spit and sliding across tender skin and over familiar faded bruises. his other hand is still pressed lightly against his stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his rapid breaths, the knife still in his hand resting against his skin.
wash lets that hand shift, too, but -- only slightly. just enough to let the knife shift against his skin. just to watch how pietro responds to it, in anticipation, fear, or both, even as his other hand wrenches hard at his already oversensitive cock. ]
[His stomach tightens as Wash looks at him, it's only a moment, but long enough for Pietro to catch the amusement in it. It irks him, and his eyes narrow as a soft growl forms in his chest as he tries to mentally grasp any thread of control while his body betrays him. His fingers shake, the muscles in his arms straining to pull at the restraints, muted panic sliding through him as he knows he's pushed too far for himself, but he can't back down. He waits forever in anticipation or apprehension until Wash tightens his grip on his cock, twisting his fingers, and Pietro writhes uncomfortably, letting out a high pitched almost-wailing noise he immediately tries to silence by biting his tongue, but it doesn't quite work.]
Fuck. Fuck...
[The words barely get formed, little squeaks of noise, and Pietro squirms with quick movements, uncertain if he wants to press up into that knife or pull away.]
[ wash makes that slight purring, humming sound again as he eases closer, this time rolling his hips forward and angling himself so that his own cock presses against the inside of pietro's bruised thigh, criss-crossed with thin, sharp cuts. he's so fucking hard, by now, neglected this entire time, his slit all but weeping pre as he rubs himself against him. a few easy rolls of his hips where his cock nudges against pietro's own, his grip unrelenting, and then he eases himself down, swollen cockhead pressing against his fucked out hole, stretched out again from his fingers, still wet with saliva.
wash actually relaxes his grip over his cock for a moment, and that's all the warning he gets before wash is thrusting forward, a low groan sounding in his throat as he sinks inside him all at once. inch by inch of him dragging against raw, sensitive walls, immediately adjusting his own angle to make sure he's hitting just where he wants, and.
he doesn't move aside from that. thrusting inside him, impaling him on his cock, staying there to revel in that tight pressure all around him -- and just as he hilts himself all the way inside him, buried as deep as he can reach, he punctuates it with another sharp slap, this time to pietro's already abused and oversensitive cock. his grip returns just a few moments later, fingers sliding into familiar spaces like he belongs there, his other hand still flat against his stomach, letting the edge of the knife press into his skin, without cutting. ]
[Each one of those thin lines on his inner thigh flare with renewed sharp sensations as Wash rubs his cock against them. Pietro whines at the harsh unrelenting grip on his cock, and the slight friction of Wash's cock now rubbing against his, and going lower. Fuck. He tenses his muscles when he shouldn't, some misfiring synapse in his brain as he has the time to relax himself, but he can't. The slight relief of pressure on his cock distracts him, and Wash presses his cock inside while Pietro makes a high despondent whining noise and squirms, muscles quivering as he feels that friction and pressure against his raw and sensitive insides, and it doesn't relent. Wash doesn't move.]
Shit!
[Pietro hisses, pain sharp and hot as Wash slaps his cock. It makes him writhe to pull away, but then that grip is back, hard, firm, and the knife pressing further against his skin, as if waiting. If he lets this continue, he's going to fall apart, going to scream or cry or fucking beg. Instead, he growls irritably at himself, and whines lowly.]
[ that pressure around pietro's cock immediately stops, wash relaxing his grip, pulling his hand away -- he braces it against pietro's knee, instead, relatively unscathed from bruises and cuts. his other hand lifts from his stomach, taking the knife with it, and deliberately moving entirely within pietro's sight, making sure he never quite loses sight of the knife, he sets it down on the bedside table -- closer to wash's own reach than to pietro's even if his hands were untied, just as a matter of instinct, but still clearly set aside.
he doesn't pull away completely, however. still pressed inside him, nestled between his thighs, and his hand returns to curve his fingers just under his jaw. he is quite aware that pietro takes his attempts at soothing and grounding him more as insult than anything else, but it doens't stop him from at least providing that touch for him to take and refuse as he wants, his thumb stroking lightly just under his lower lip.
and wash just waits, for a few moments. lets pietro catch himself, steady back down as much as he wants -- but he still hasn't quite pulled away completely, still hasn't moved to undo the rope around his wrists. ]
Safewords might help you. [ his voice is quiet, gentle, but -- pointed. firm. ] Its a way for you to say no -- without saying no.
[ his thumb brushes back, this time over his lower lip, a gentle pressure against where he's bruised and bitten. its a way to let pietro's instinct take over. to thrash and fight back and say no if he wants to -- and for tha tto all be part of it. one step to bring him further to truly, utterly falling apart. wash knows that pietro was on the verge of something, here, and maybe that kind of break is not what he wants, and that's fine. but if it is, if it was. there's no shame in pulling away from that, either. but even simple things like swallowing his pride enough to do things like this will make it easier for him, in the long run.
its out of kindness that wash chooses to say something else immediately, there -- pietro doesn't have to respond to that immediately if he doesn't want to. wash hopes he'll at least think about it. instead; ]
[Some degree of relief is immediate when Wash takes his hand off his cock, though it takes a moment for Pietro's squirming to slow and leave him to occasional twitches, though his right hand shakes uncontrollably. He notes where the knife gets placed, rolling his eyes. If he'd wanted to hurt or kill Wash, he'd have done so long ago. That, and placing something further away from him doesn't mean he's not still going to get to it first if he wasn't bound. His thoughts on the knife are interrupted when Wash grips his jaw, his thumb running irritably under Pietro's lip, and he contemplates moving quickly to bite down on it. He doesn't need that gentleness, only that Wash listens to him and does what he says, which he's not. He says that instead, and Pietro begins to squirm again, agitated little movements.]
Why can I not just say no? Because you do not listen?
[He has every reason to believe any ridiculous safe word will be ignored completely, or questioned. There's no point to it. Wash's thumb grazes his lip, and he scoffs at the question that follows, and instead of answering it, he does bite Wash's thumb then, hard, quick, clamping his teeth down on it and growling.]
[ wash is surprisingly unresponsive to that bite, just a brief not-quite flinch, a tension -- resistant to pain and having dealt with more than his fair share of feral brats. he does pull his hand away, point taken. ]
Because what you say isn't always what you actually want.
[ because whatever it is pietro is trying to reach is clearly difficult, near-impossible, hidden away behind some barrier he can't quite bring himself to breach, and sometimes the freedom to say no when you mean yes, still secure in the knowledge that there is still something somewhere you can say to make it all stop, makes the difference. because clarity will help wash, too.
still. the point is taken. wash pulls way completely, then, making some quiet sound as his cock works free, leaning up over him to his bound wrists. for the complexity of the rope, he's quick and deft with undoing them, one followed by the other. ]
[He waits impatiently until Wash unties him before he responds, immediately pulling his hands close to his body, his fingers still shaking.]
You do not know what I actually want.
[Pietro's cadence is terse and clipped, but the tone somewhat petulant and defiant. He makes no move to get off the bed yet, just shifting to curl up against the headboard, glaring and breathing heavily, though he isn't sure entirely what has him this agitated, maybe just the knowledge that he's shown enough vulnerability that Wash can make those assumptions Pietro denies.]
Which is exactly why having some clarity in communication is often important, yes.
[ just. so dryly. talking to him less forces him to make more assumptions, pietro.
if he's particularly bothered by being left out to dry with his own hard-on he makes very little indication of it -- pietro may have noticed in all their time together that his focus on his partner tends to be complete, total, and genuine. his own physical needs tend to fade away. he watches pietro curled up against the headboard, and he would offer, reach out, attempt at least some kind of steadying presence -- but pietro has shown enough that he doesn't want that, not from him. and that's fine.
he does stay on the bed, pulling back to give him a bit more space. pietro still had told him to stop, this time -- drawn quite a few lines, scattered as they may be. improvement, overall. ]
You don't know what you want, either. That gets messy. The clarity is helpful.
[Pietro feels more irritated than anything now that they've stopped. Sex is easier, even if it was getting too much, too overstimulating, he feels more exposed and flayed here pressed against the headboard and curling in on himself than he did tied to it with Wash's cock in his ass. He scoffs to himself in disgust, looking away.]
[ wash feels at least a little badly, even if he's a very controlled liar who knows how not to let that show -- for all of his conflicts and his very genuine desires to hurt, pietro had come to him for something very, very precise. to let go. to forget. he does want to be able to provide that. ]
You're figuring it out. Just takes some time. [ after he fixes his jeans, he retrieves his knife -- instinct, habit. letting it twirl in his hand. he stays on the bed, keeping a quiet eye on pietro out of the corner of his eye but not watching him directly, turning his attention to the window instead, giving him space and time. ] I'm trying to make that easier for you, but maybe you prefer things the harder way. I've known people like that.
[Pietro's eyes drift towards Wash's cock as he fixes his pants, but he's not going to offer to take care of that. Everything is awkward now as Wash plays with his knife and stares at the window. It somehow still makes Pietro feel oppressed and stifled. He snorts to himself at those words, but eventually stretches out a little, a more relaxed position, or it would be if he wasn't still tense and ready to flee any second, but that's generally a default for him. He sighs irritably and twists some of the rope in his fingers, just for something to keep his hands occupied. When he speaks, he doesn't look at Wash, eyes fixed on the rope instead.]
wash does actually turn to look at him, again. watching with some interest as he fiddles with the rope. its clearly a nervous gesture more than anything else, something to do with idle hands. there is a moment where it almost looks like he's going to reach out to take it from him -- but he relents, stays where he is, his body twisted around slightly where he's sitting to face pietro, now. ]
People [ and he is quite specific, he means people not just pietro ] find it difficult to let go as much as they want. The body, the mind, they might all give way before you really want it to. You can learn to lock down instincts, to control some aspects of it. But that comes with time, patience, practice -- and sometimes the point is that you want to give in to instinct. To not have to think.
Safeword means someone can scream, struggle, and say no. But I'll keep going until I hear a specific word, or see a signal.
[ pietro's smart enough to put things together to see how that applies to him, so wash won't be specific. purposeful, to give him -- plausible deniability. wash isn't lying, after all. he's not speaking to his specific experience with pietro and pietro alone, but to other people he's been with in the past. willing submissives or stubborn little shits, just like him or ten times worse, that deep down maybe wanted to be held down and used just as much as they wanted to bite his face off for even trying. but he could fight and thrash and spit in wash's face all he wants, and wash would be unrelenting -- until he genuinely wants it to stop. ]
Negotiations and hard limits are clarity, too. Without any lines, I have to be careful with everything I do. But a hard line means that as long as what I do isn't that, just about everything's possible. [ a shrug. a simplification: a level of care is always needed. but the tools enable things to go further. ] You don't have to know your limits yet. Most people don't. Running into them face-first and messily is sometimes the only way to find them.
[ a tip of his head. ]
You want to know mine?
[ there's some dryness in his tone, as he's very much expecting pietro to tell him off for being an old man giving a lecture, but the offer is genuine. pietro is clearly uncomfortable at the vulnerability of this, for him. he can offer some of his own. make it a little less one-sided. ]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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!
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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. ]
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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. ]
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Fuck! You are done now, yes?
[He'd just said "please", he can't bring himself to stay "stop".]
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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. ]
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No. You were boring me, old man.
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Is that so. [ wash is keeping his hand where it is, kneading nicely at his balls, at the base of his cock, sometimes letting his fingers brush up along the length of his shaft. its not exactly gentle, but its an easy pressure, but he knows that even that will seem like too much when pietro's clearly as sensitive as he is. ] Guess we'll have to fix that, huh.
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Well, get on with it.
[That's spoken too quickly, almost without pause, and after he says it, Pietro's breathing becomes more rapid, because he's already regretting it and squirming more insistently, a muted whine finding its way out.]
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he shuffles slightly closer on the bed, still fit between pietro's spread thighs, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to his knee -- and a moment later, letting his grip tighten over his cock. hard enough to hurt, twisting, fingers slick with spit and sliding across tender skin and over familiar faded bruises. his other hand is still pressed lightly against his stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his rapid breaths, the knife still in his hand resting against his skin.
wash lets that hand shift, too, but -- only slightly. just enough to let the knife shift against his skin. just to watch how pietro responds to it, in anticipation, fear, or both, even as his other hand wrenches hard at his already oversensitive cock. ]
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Fuck. Fuck...
[The words barely get formed, little squeaks of noise, and Pietro squirms with quick movements, uncertain if he wants to press up into that knife or pull away.]
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wash actually relaxes his grip over his cock for a moment, and that's all the warning he gets before wash is thrusting forward, a low groan sounding in his throat as he sinks inside him all at once. inch by inch of him dragging against raw, sensitive walls, immediately adjusting his own angle to make sure he's hitting just where he wants, and.
he doesn't move aside from that. thrusting inside him, impaling him on his cock, staying there to revel in that tight pressure all around him -- and just as he hilts himself all the way inside him, buried as deep as he can reach, he punctuates it with another sharp slap, this time to pietro's already abused and oversensitive cock. his grip returns just a few moments later, fingers sliding into familiar spaces like he belongs there, his other hand still flat against his stomach, letting the edge of the knife press into his skin, without cutting. ]
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Shit!
[Pietro hisses, pain sharp and hot as Wash slaps his cock. It makes him writhe to pull away, but then that grip is back, hard, firm, and the knife pressing further against his skin, as if waiting. If he lets this continue, he's going to fall apart, going to scream or cry or fucking beg. Instead, he growls irritably at himself, and whines lowly.]
Stop.
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he doesn't pull away completely, however. still pressed inside him, nestled between his thighs, and his hand returns to curve his fingers just under his jaw. he is quite aware that pietro takes his attempts at soothing and grounding him more as insult than anything else, but it doens't stop him from at least providing that touch for him to take and refuse as he wants, his thumb stroking lightly just under his lower lip.
and wash just waits, for a few moments. lets pietro catch himself, steady back down as much as he wants -- but he still hasn't quite pulled away completely, still hasn't moved to undo the rope around his wrists. ]
Safewords might help you. [ his voice is quiet, gentle, but -- pointed. firm. ] Its a way for you to say no -- without saying no.
[ his thumb brushes back, this time over his lower lip, a gentle pressure against where he's bruised and bitten. its a way to let pietro's instinct take over. to thrash and fight back and say no if he wants to -- and for tha tto all be part of it. one step to bring him further to truly, utterly falling apart. wash knows that pietro was on the verge of something, here, and maybe that kind of break is not what he wants, and that's fine. but if it is, if it was. there's no shame in pulling away from that, either. but even simple things like swallowing his pride enough to do things like this will make it easier for him, in the long run.
its out of kindness that wash chooses to say something else immediately, there -- pietro doesn't have to respond to that immediately if he doesn't want to. wash hopes he'll at least think about it. instead; ]
Do you want to stop?
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Why can I not just say no? Because you do not listen?
[He has every reason to believe any ridiculous safe word will be ignored completely, or questioned. There's no point to it. Wash's thumb grazes his lip, and he scoffs at the question that follows, and instead of answering it, he does bite Wash's thumb then, hard, quick, clamping his teeth down on it and growling.]
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Because what you say isn't always what you actually want.
[ because whatever it is pietro is trying to reach is clearly difficult, near-impossible, hidden away behind some barrier he can't quite bring himself to breach, and sometimes the freedom to say no when you mean yes, still secure in the knowledge that there is still something somewhere you can say to make it all stop, makes the difference. because clarity will help wash, too.
still. the point is taken. wash pulls way completely, then, making some quiet sound as his cock works free, leaning up over him to his bound wrists. for the complexity of the rope, he's quick and deft with undoing them, one followed by the other. ]
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You do not know what I actually want.
[Pietro's cadence is terse and clipped, but the tone somewhat petulant and defiant. He makes no move to get off the bed yet, just shifting to curl up against the headboard, glaring and breathing heavily, though he isn't sure entirely what has him this agitated, maybe just the knowledge that he's shown enough vulnerability that Wash can make those assumptions Pietro denies.]
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[ just. so dryly. talking to him less forces him to make more assumptions, pietro.
if he's particularly bothered by being left out to dry with his own hard-on he makes very little indication of it -- pietro may have noticed in all their time together that his focus on his partner tends to be complete, total, and genuine. his own physical needs tend to fade away. he watches pietro curled up against the headboard, and he would offer, reach out, attempt at least some kind of steadying presence -- but pietro has shown enough that he doesn't want that, not from him. and that's fine.
he does stay on the bed, pulling back to give him a bit more space. pietro still had told him to stop, this time -- drawn quite a few lines, scattered as they may be. improvement, overall. ]
You don't know what you want, either. That gets messy. The clarity is helpful.
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I will figure it out.
[What he wants.]
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You're figuring it out. Just takes some time. [ after he fixes his jeans, he retrieves his knife -- instinct, habit. letting it twirl in his hand. he stays on the bed, keeping a quiet eye on pietro out of the corner of his eye but not watching him directly, turning his attention to the window instead, giving him space and time. ] I'm trying to make that easier for you, but maybe you prefer things the harder way. I've known people like that.
[ a surprising number, honestly. ]
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How is this "no but not no" clarity?
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wash does actually turn to look at him, again. watching with some interest as he fiddles with the rope. its clearly a nervous gesture more than anything else, something to do with idle hands. there is a moment where it almost looks like he's going to reach out to take it from him -- but he relents, stays where he is, his body twisted around slightly where he's sitting to face pietro, now. ]
People [ and he is quite specific, he means people not just pietro ] find it difficult to let go as much as they want. The body, the mind, they might all give way before you really want it to. You can learn to lock down instincts, to control some aspects of it. But that comes with time, patience, practice -- and sometimes the point is that you want to give in to instinct. To not have to think.
Safeword means someone can scream, struggle, and say no. But I'll keep going until I hear a specific word, or see a signal.
[ pietro's smart enough to put things together to see how that applies to him, so wash won't be specific. purposeful, to give him -- plausible deniability. wash isn't lying, after all. he's not speaking to his specific experience with pietro and pietro alone, but to other people he's been with in the past. willing submissives or stubborn little shits, just like him or ten times worse, that deep down maybe wanted to be held down and used just as much as they wanted to bite his face off for even trying. but he could fight and thrash and spit in wash's face all he wants, and wash would be unrelenting -- until he genuinely wants it to stop. ]
Negotiations and hard limits are clarity, too. Without any lines, I have to be careful with everything I do. But a hard line means that as long as what I do isn't that, just about everything's possible. [ a shrug. a simplification: a level of care is always needed. but the tools enable things to go further. ] You don't have to know your limits yet. Most people don't. Running into them face-first and messily is sometimes the only way to find them.
[ a tip of his head. ]
You want to know mine?
[ there's some dryness in his tone, as he's very much expecting pietro to tell him off for being an old man giving a lecture, but the offer is genuine. pietro is clearly uncomfortable at the vulnerability of this, for him. he can offer some of his own. make it a little less one-sided. ]
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