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. ]
[Pietro regrets asking the moment he does, an annoyed quiet noise in his throat when Wash rambles on, and he does consider it a lecture again, half-listening. Given what he's supposed to get out of picking a safe word, it seems contrary to it, having to be aware enough to find that specific word, which goes against losing himself like he wants to. He waves his hand in a 'hurry up' gesture, still playing with the rope, as he gets to limitations, because Pietro's already figured that out and it bores him. When it seems Wash is finally done, Pietro looks at him again, disinterest in his eyes and his tone.]
No. I do not care.
[Wash's limits or chosen word don't matter to him, as they're currently not engaging with any of that, as far as he's concerned.]
What you say does not make sense. You answer me one question — if you are at point of not thinking, how do you even remember safe word?
[It's not a genuine question, spoken like a statement and a one that Pietro clearly doesn't think can be argued with, as if he'd won a contentious discussion they aren't even engaging in.]
[ it's a good question, one wash doesn't blame him for having. even if his attitude is petulant and frustrating, and wash understands that pietro doesn't really mean it as a question as much as he means it as a self-important gotcha. he's going to answer was if it was a question, anyway, with the kind of infinite patience that only comes from a man who's spent far too much of his life grappling with self-important little bastards just like pietro. ]
It's a tool. Like many tools, it's imperfect, but not using any is worse. Its not just a way to get me to stop. The fact that it exists might make it easier for you to let go, to trust me, to give into instinct just a little more.
[ a shrug. ]
There's no shortcuts. If you're brand new, or even if you aren't, some things are just going to be messy. [ he gestures between them. ] If that's what you want, then that's fine. Safewords don't work for everyone, and I've had worse than you.
[ much worse. but clearly pietro is inexperienced enough that wash feels the need to at least make sure the tools and options are known to him. so that at least he has the option to consider them and dismiss them rather than just barreling staight ahead with nothing in sight.
he keeps watching pietro play with the rope -- partly interest, just to keep learning the way he moves, he fidgets, committing all of it to memory. partly to make sure that he doesn't start fraying the rope. another part just because when he knows that pietro is clearly uncertain about being restrained at all, letting him handle it more might be one way to help ease his mind into it, on some slight, subconscious level. ]
[Wash's explanation doesn't initially sink in for Pietro, and he doesn't understand it, how having a word would help him let go or ensure more trust. They're concepts that seem too oppositional for him to make sense of, not without taking the time to think it through, which he's disinclined to do. Twisting the rope through his fingers more tightly, what he does consider is choosing simply because he thinks it would be pointless. That he wouldn't use that word until he's too far gone to remember it as he's said, and then there wouldn't be a stopping point, if they establish "no" and "stop" don't mean that. And maybe that's what Wash wants him to get out of this, maybe it's something completely different, but it's what Pietro latches on to, fingers starting to shake more.]
I am not... ready for that.
[He looks away as he says it, like admitting to some other limitation he hadn't thought about. He can't give up that much control, not now, not yet.]
[ wash watches him, analytical as always, his eyes moving up from his fingers twisting and working and fidgeting with the rope and up to pietro's face. there's a discomfort and uncertainty there, and wash isn't quite sure if pietro understood everything that he's trying to communicate to him about this, but he is thinking about it. maybe not in depth, but he is hearing him, listening, thinking about it, enough to admit that they may have brushed up against something else he's not ready for, and that's still good.
he makes some quiet sound, reaching out to cover pietro's shaking hand with his own, though his grip quickly slips down to his wrist. he doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the rope, pietro's other hand is still free to do so. its meant to be steadying, grounding, but he's already come to expect that pietro doesn't seem to appreciate those gestures in themselves -- so he couches it in something else, leaning in, drawing pietro's hand up to his mouth so he can bite at the pad of his index finger, watching him through lidded eyes as he tongues against it. ]
Alright.
Then we can keep doing this. Messy as it might be. [ a quiet rumbling purr against his fingers, his tongue lazily wrapping around his index finger for a moment before pulling his head back. ] I gather you might like it better that way.
[ and like wash said before, he's dealt with worse. stubborn, uncommunicative little shitheads. pietro may not know what he wants but he understands he wants something, willing to even ask a question about what a safe word might do, to listen, to give an honest answer. there's more than enough here for wash to work with, to see just how far they can get. ]
[Pietro glares briefly, a quick narrowing of his eyes as Wash covers his hand before taking his wrist instead. It's a gesture Pietro uses himself frequently, and he associates it with comforting, something he hates to think that he ever needs. He clutches hard at the rope for a moment, until his finger is in Wash's mouth, and whines quietly as that tongue curls and the reverberations of Wash's rumbling travel down his finger.]
It is working, yes?
[The messiness. Pietro thinks it is, and he's learned a lot about himself tonight, and at Jolene's that first time, though he will never acknowledge it or say so, not to Wash. One thing Pietro knows now is that he can't completely rush into things here, not if he doesn't want another vulnerable moment like the knife pushing in too deep. He thought he was ready to break, but he's not. Close, on the edge of it, wanting it, but unwilling to push just that much further to get there.]
[sometimes people do need to be comforted or taken care of, or at least would benefit it -- and they just won't admit it, definitely don't want to be comforted. wash is used to dealing with that, really. wash makes some low, amused sound, and it rumbles slightly in his throat as it eases into a bit of a purr, easily felt as he keeps tonguing at his finger, as he nips and teases at the sensitive pad. ]
-- Yeah.
[ it is working. pietro is learning some things about himself, and wash is learning them in turn. its messy, but like wash keeps saying -- he really has dealt with worse, and pietro clearly actually wants to explore this, is interested in learning more and figuring things out about himself even as he steadfastly pushes back against him and is a pain in the ass about it the whole way. ]
Just wanted to give you options, anyway. [ even if he doesn't understand them yet. if and when he might need them, he just might remember. wash shifts his grip over his wrist, slides his thumb up against the inside of his palm. ] Not like you to not rush into things, is it?
[ teasing, playful, even as he slowly uses that grip over his wrist to guide pietro to lean back. a slight, subtle shift as he shifts the attentions of his tongue and teeth to the pad of his thumb. ]
[Pietro keeps his eyes fixed on Wash's mouth on his finger, and doesn't meet his gaze when he responds.]
Maybe I do not want options.
[His tone is half petulant and half sincere, huffing slightly even though he knows very well he rushes into almost everything and that it is, in fact, a problem. He lets Wash's hold on his wrist direct him where he's wanted, a quiet near moan of frustration getting swallowed back in his throat as Wash continues to tease him, biting his thumb and scraping his tongue so slowly over it. He finally lets go of the rope, bringing his free hand towards Wash's pants instead, to tug at the waistband.]
[ no options, huh. wash can hear that sincerity -- he might not know pietro especially well yet but he does know him well enough to have learned what he sounds like when he's giving in, giving up something he doesn't want to give up, what it sounds like when its forced from him and how he couches and hides it in something else if it's not. and he considers it.
wash has been with people who'd rather not have options. safety and consent are fine lines to go by, for most. but sometimes people don't want to be safe. felix had been like that, and for as difficult and outright toxic as their relationship had been -- physically, wash had thrived on it, on the simplicity of knowing how goddamn terrible of a person he was, on knowing there was no need to hold back. for either of them. wash doesn't tend to broach those lines with most people. not unless he's sure.
he can't be sure with pietro, not when pietro isn't sure of so many things himself. but that's still a direction to go in, and one wash will acknowledge, his eyes flicking up at the response even if he doesn't say anything, to preserve whatever sense of non-vulnerability that pietro was trying to avoid. it's heard and acknowledged, and being -- taken into consideration.
at that other response, though. the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly into a small smirk, another little nip at his thumb. and then he's moving, all at once, pushing pietro down onto the bed, using that grip on his wrist to pin pietro's hand down to the mattress, light but firm in his grasp. again, fitting himself between his legs, his other hand moving down to curve over pietro's -- but not to pull him away. he just pulls him to the front of his pants, instead, where he's obviously stll hard, painfully so. ]
Take it out.
[ that growl in his voice again, a demand -- and with a bit of a promise behind it, especially spoken from wash already braced above him, pressed so close. an offer. just fucking, rough, hard, simple. no rope. no knife. a simple reset to get them back on track. wash doesn't need rope or anything else to have him begging and desperate and on edge, after all, as they both remember from their time on the rooftop. ]
[Wash says nothing at his comment, and Pietro likes it that way. Discussion of these things is something that unsettles him, and he doesn't like it, doesn't like feeling that seen in his confusion over what he wants. Wash pushes him back and pins his wrist down, and this, this is what he wants more, he thinks, just feeling, that oppressive presence, no talking about limits or goals, or things that Pietro isn't sure of himself.
He pulls once at that grip, but keeps his hand where it's placed afterwards, unconsciously spreading his legs wider to accommodate Wash's movements. His fingers twitch as Wash brings his other hand to the front of his pants, and that growling demand makes Pietro's stomach coil viscerally. He glances at Wash's face once, catching his eyes, and then his attention is back where it should be. He hesitates, just a split second, before fumbling with the button and zipper and finally working Wash's cock out of his pants. Pietro's grip is harder than it needs to be, squeezing and intending to leave his own bruises.]
[ the hesitation is brief but noticeable, a flash of something in wash's eyes, but he doesn't say or do anything about it, immediately preoccupied with pietro's fingers fumbling with the front of his pants and working to free his cock. he's still hard, aching and throbbing under pietro's touch, a sharp little inhale of breath at just how tightly pietro is squeezing him. not something he has done to him often, but the sharp pain of it has something tightening in the pit of his stomach, especially realizing that pietro is might be trying to leave bruises on him in the same way.
a low growl, and he lets himself bear down over him even more, pinning pietro's wrist down to the mattress somewhere next to his head so his entire body is braced over him, covering him completely with his bulk. he leans down, biting hard at his lower lip again before trailing bruising kisses down the side of his neck, over familiar bruises, over new ones that are already starting to darken, his voice hot and low in his ear; ]
Put it where you want it.
[ another demand, with that rumbling growl to it, but as always -- there is an aggression to it, but its just expectant. less about forcing someone to follow as he demands and more knowing he'll be listened to, knowing pietro wants it just as much as he does. ]
[He makes a quiet noise upon hearing that sharp inhale, another small victory to add to his column. That growl rumbles through him as Wash takes up all of his space again, all of his focus, a heavy atmosphere that Pietro struggles to breathe in, and despite his own internal protests against it, he likes it that way. He whines at that bite to his lip, a fresh sharp pain over the dull ache that lingered. Wash moves down over his neck again, hard kisses over bruises and memories of bruises, and Pietro squirms and makes a soft whimpering noise, starting to lose himself in it again.
Because it's growled in his ear like a command, pointed and without expectation of anything but obedience, Pietro doesn't want to do it. He huffs out a frustrated noise, writhing uncomfortably, but he does it anyway, his grip shifting to something lighter but still firm, guiding Wash's cock to his hole while he moves to wrap his legs around Wash's waist, digging his heels into his back in anticipation of something hard and rough that will clear his mind of everything they'd discussed, let Pietro return to his little bits of oblivion he allows himself without going too far. That he discovered he has a 'too far' irks him, and a part of him wants to dig further and push and break through it, but he maintains too much desperate self-control for it.]
[ wash wants to push hm further. to break through it, to break him, to see him shatter and fall apart and to pick up every piece -- but that takes patience, time, something that pietro himself may lack but wash has in abundance. there are things that wash could force if he really put his mind to it, and in certain times, with certain people, he has. but with this. he wants pietro to want it, to know he wants it, to want to be broken, to specifically want wash to do it. and they can get there. with time. with care. with guidance.
right now, though. this is good. more than good. just the two of them and the intensity of skin on skin and the way pietro whimpers as if he's starting to drown in wash's attentions, in his presence alone, how he wraps his legs around him, eager as he guides his cock to his hole. wash lets him, and he waits, waits until pietro actually says something, puts voice to what he wants.
and at those words, he immediately presses forward, his hips pressing down -- and his cockhead is pressed against his hole, suddenly inside him, sliding into him all too easily and all at once, already hilted inside of him, his balls flush to his ass, pietro already nice and stretched from everything else they've done tonight. it feels good, enough to draw a low rumbling groan from his throat that he half-muffles against his neck, feels almost like he belongs here, like pietro fits fucking perfectly around him, and god, that always feels so good.
pietro is impatient, he knows. and wash will give him what he wants. he's impatient, too, was buried in him just before and had to pull out suddenly -- and now he's back with his heat and warmth all around his cock and he just wants more of it. that predatory hunger sharpens through him again as he immediately starts to move, fucking him down against the mattress, his grip tightening over pietro's wrist where he has it pinned to the bed. his other hand moves down, squeezing roughly over his thigh, thumb pressing into those numerous sharp cuts he'd left with his knife even as wash lets his mouth kiss down over his throat, his collarbones, tonguing over the lines he'd drawn there before, neatly avoiding the one place where the knife had gone too deep. ]
[It's hissed under his breath as Wash presses inside him, relentless and hard and deep, and Pietro clamps his muscles down immediately, a whine catching in the back of his throat. Wash gives him what he wants, fucking him hard right away, not delaying or teasing him, holding him down, grabbing his thigh tightly where Pietro can feel the sharp sting of the small cuts, the bruising. He moans and squirms as Wash's mouth moves down his throat and his collarbones, feeling every cut and abrasion, every bit of tender skin reignite with sensation. He brings his free hand to Wash's hair, tightening his fingers in it.]
Harder.
[It's almost a mewling plea of a noise, as if he'd waited too long for another round even though he'd been the one to stop them.]
[ the word is barely out of pietro's mouth and it seems like wash already knows what he's about to demand -- but really, its just because its what wash wants, too. harder, faster, more, especially after having been buried inside him and then interrupted, its all too easy for wash to sink into him again, to lose himself in him. to align everything about himself to everything about pietro instead, to focus everything in him to overwhelming him and driving him to the edge as much as possible.
he shifts even more on the bed, his grip tightening over his thigh to hike pietro's hips up slightly as he moves a little further up the mattress -- until, as he bears down over him, he's almost folding him in half. its likely uncomfortable, causing pietro's hips and thighs to stretch and burn, but wash drives down into him and reaches deeper, punctuating it with his teeth sinking into his shoulder, a blatantly possessive growl sounding through him.
wash lingers there for a moment, two, adjusting himself against the bed to keep this adjusted angle, this position -- and then immediately starts to fall back into the rhythm he'd found before. hard, sharp, unrelenting. his hand keeps pressing into those cuts in his thigh, and he lifts his head to go right back to kissing and biting at his neck, his jawline, in between heated breathless murmurs against his skin where the words come tumbling from his mouth, where it's clear that wash isn't entirely cognizant of everything he's saying. just occasional disjointed murmurs about how good he is, how pretty he is all beneath him, all breathless and fucked out, how hot and tight he is around his cock, his movements getting a wilder, more feral energy to them, his grip starting to tighten over pietro's wrist pinned to the bed. ]
[Pietro lets out an irritated growl at being shoved into that position again, it's awkward and uncomfortable, but at the same time, the strain makes his muscles burn in ways he likes, makes him feel trapped and overwhelmed. Wash slams into him hard, deep, striking raw spots inside him and Pietro moans and clenches tighter to get more abrading friction. The bites feel hot and sharp, adding to the wealth of sensations starting to build. Wash never lets him have just one or two to focus on, it's always too much too fast, and exactly what Pietro wants, what he needs. The cuts on his thigh sting, the bruises on his neck throb with the pressure of Wash's teeth on them. Somewhere along the line, Pietro feels a shift in it, like Wash lets some of his control slip, something Pietro holds onto and focuses on, all those words that leak out, all praise and compliments, and Pietro hates that he fucking basks in it, even where he is, what he's letting this man to do him, he still wants that kind of attention. He hisses as Wash tightens his fingers around his wrist, pulling slightly, a little jerk of movement as his fingers shake more erratically.]
Cannot get enough of me, can you?
[His voice is raw and scratchy, the flow of words interrupted by sharp inhales, but still mocking in tone.]
[ playing to an ego is far from unfamiliar thing -- for all the types of people he's drawn to, wash knows very well how to play into someone's self-importance when it benefits him, knows how to blunt it when it doesn't. but the truth of it is, really, that -- none of it is ungenuine. this is good, feels fucking incredible, and for as much as pietro may crave the feeling of being held down, trapped, overwhelmed, wash craves doing that to someone, especially someone who wants it. there's a visceral thrill, a raw pleasure to it even beyond the friction and heat and pressure. there's more than a few things about pietro that draw him in, and wash won't deny that pietro feels good beneath him, that pietro feels incredible around his cock, that pietro looks and sounds so fucking good when he has him pushed to an edge.
pietro says it like its meant to be something to hold over his head. wash just lifts his head, meets his eye, letting his hips grind forward and anchor in deep, his hand lifting from his thigh where it was pressing into all those cuts lifts until his hand is braced under his jawline, forcing pietro's head up slightly as he looks at him. ]
-- Yeah.
[ to both those things. wash had waited, patient, like he was supposed to do whenever someone tells him to stop, but the temptation is always there to push him down and make him want it all over again. pietro sought him out tonight, called for him, but wash's revisited the memory of the rooftop more than once in the time since.
that slight break in rhythm doesn't last long, and he falls right back into his hard, rough pace as he lets his hand ease further down. fingers sliding into places where old bruises were left around his throat, almost like he's slotting them back where they belong. not choking him outright, but he starts to push down, enough pressure to force the air from his throat, to make it hard but not impossible to speak -- and one shift in his grip, slight, just enough for him to press harder against the cut wash had left just under his chin with his knife. his voice is low, another rumbling growl as he leans down, folding pietro's body even more as his voice ghosts against pietro's own lips. ]
Just like you wanted me here.
[ pietro had called on him for a reason, after all. ]
[Wash just looks at him, and Pietro knows, again, that his attempts to claim some sort of superiority or hold over him do not work. Those fingers curl under his jaw and tilt his head up, and all Pietro can think about is wanting them around his throat or in his hair, tight and forceful, and he hates himself for it. Yeah. Fuck. Wash has no apparent shame to expose and Pietro doesn't know how to work with that, how to poke at it in a way that won't just backfire and have his stomach twisting uncomfortably.
Pietro whines as Wash starts his driving rhythm again, and he writhes unconsciously with the need to move in a restrictive position. Despite his efforts to choke it down, a pleased mewling sound escapes his throat as Wash's fingers tighten around it. He can almost feel the bruises as if they were fresh, and his muscles tighten and twitch when it gets harder to breathe easily. A visceral pulse of heat travels down to his cock. Wash thumbs the cut on his chin, the sting coming back and making Pietro think about the knife again, splitting his focus in too many ways, the low growl mocking him, he can feel Wash's hot breath at his lips. It's a struggle to speak, throat working, strangled noises and wheezing, but when he manages to painfully force something through, it's simply:]
Yes.
[Yes, he wanted Wash here. He wants this, asked for it, and he knows that. He presses his heels harder into Wash's back, twists his fingers more tightly into his hair before letting that hand drop to Wash's forearm, where his trembling fingers hold firmly.]
[ pietro's been so adamant about pushing back against him that wash isn't expecting that answer, simple as it is, forced out through strangled gasps and sweet little mewls. pietro really has been learning. about himself, about the sounds he can make, to admit certain things to himself -- and there's that, too, when pietro's fingers almost instinctively find their way to his forearm when wash starts to throttle him. recognition at what he needs to do, compliance, an unspoken understanding, and there's something about that coming from pietro that has heat thrumming through wash's entire body in response.
he lets his fingers tighten once over his throat, and and then relax a moment later. his voice is approving and possessive all at once, a rumbling purr murmured right against his lips. ]
You are learning. [ a nip at his lower lip, his cock driving in deep. ] Good boy.
[ and before pietro can muster a protest at the praise, he's kissing him, letting his hand tighten. just like he did before, fingers sliding right into the same places where he knows it works best, where he remembers placing them before, forcing pietro to choke on his mouth and tongue. this time, though, there is no steadily ramping pressure to find an edge -- its just constant, steady. enough to make him choke and gag, enough to put him on an edge, kissing him like he means to draw the air from his lungs himself. ]
[That one tighter hold over his throat has a spark of heat pulsing hard through his cock, and he almost whines when Wash relaxes his fingers, as if he's being deprived of something, a frustrated half-noise as he fidgets as much as he can with little room to move. The words have him letting out a huffy audible breath from his nose, but he can't manage more than the beginning of a "fuck you" before Wash is kissing him, drowning that defiant protest, fingers tight over old bruises, familiar and effective, and without the build-up to it. Wash has learned too, and Pietro feels a cold shiver down his spine at it. Soon, it's too difficult to breathe, to get enough air into his lungs, and he sputters and chokes on Wash's tongue, but he doesn't tighten his grip on Wash's forearm, and he only clenches harder around his cock, viciously, forcefully, any way to get some control to offset that which he's freely giving up.]
[ pietro's choking and sputtering only seems to spur him on. there is a falter in his rhythm, a shudder running through his body, a moment where he doesn't quite stop kissing him but stutters to drown a moan against pietro's tongue in response to the way his body clenches up around him, to all that pressure around him tightening all at once. it feels good, and wash's grip around his throat stays locked and constant but that hand pinning his wrist to the mattress does have his grip not faltering but shifting, adjusting, steadying himself again.
he takes that moment to adjust himself more, angle his hips just right again -- and then slamming back inside him, the head of his cock driving right where he wants it to, raw nerves and sensitive walls that he knows all too well already. and this time, as he keeps kissing him, the pressure doesn't increase. its just constant. this seems to be what works best, keeping pietro right on this edge. he is making the slightest adjustments, here and there, almost unnoticeable, shifting his fingers and pressing in ever so slightly tighter when he feels pietro starting to get more air than he likes, giving him a little bit more room to breathe if it starts seeming like too much. it's all uncannily precise, every part of him honed to the single purpose of keeping him right there as he keeps fucking him into the bed, as he feels pietro's cock trapped between their bodies, rubbing against his stomach. ]
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no subject
[ 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.
no subject
I will figure it out.
[What he wants.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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No. I do not care.
[Wash's limits or chosen word don't matter to him, as they're currently not engaging with any of that, as far as he's concerned.]
What you say does not make sense. You answer me one question — if you are at point of not thinking, how do you even remember safe word?
[It's not a genuine question, spoken like a statement and a one that Pietro clearly doesn't think can be argued with, as if he'd won a contentious discussion they aren't even engaging in.]
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It's a tool. Like many tools, it's imperfect, but not using any is worse. Its not just a way to get me to stop. The fact that it exists might make it easier for you to let go, to trust me, to give into instinct just a little more.
[ a shrug. ]
There's no shortcuts. If you're brand new, or even if you aren't, some things are just going to be messy. [ he gestures between them. ] If that's what you want, then that's fine. Safewords don't work for everyone, and I've had worse than you.
[ much worse. but clearly pietro is inexperienced enough that wash feels the need to at least make sure the tools and options are known to him. so that at least he has the option to consider them and dismiss them rather than just barreling staight ahead with nothing in sight.
he keeps watching pietro play with the rope -- partly interest, just to keep learning the way he moves, he fidgets, committing all of it to memory. partly to make sure that he doesn't start fraying the rope. another part just because when he knows that pietro is clearly uncertain about being restrained at all, letting him handle it more might be one way to help ease his mind into it, on some slight, subconscious level. ]
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I am not... ready for that.
[He looks away as he says it, like admitting to some other limitation he hadn't thought about. He can't give up that much control, not now, not yet.]
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he makes some quiet sound, reaching out to cover pietro's shaking hand with his own, though his grip quickly slips down to his wrist. he doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the rope, pietro's other hand is still free to do so. its meant to be steadying, grounding, but he's already come to expect that pietro doesn't seem to appreciate those gestures in themselves -- so he couches it in something else, leaning in, drawing pietro's hand up to his mouth so he can bite at the pad of his index finger, watching him through lidded eyes as he tongues against it. ]
Alright.
Then we can keep doing this. Messy as it might be. [ a quiet rumbling purr against his fingers, his tongue lazily wrapping around his index finger for a moment before pulling his head back. ] I gather you might like it better that way.
[ and like wash said before, he's dealt with worse. stubborn, uncommunicative little shitheads. pietro may not know what he wants but he understands he wants something, willing to even ask a question about what a safe word might do, to listen, to give an honest answer. there's more than enough here for wash to work with, to see just how far they can get. ]
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It is working, yes?
[The messiness. Pietro thinks it is, and he's learned a lot about himself tonight, and at Jolene's that first time, though he will never acknowledge it or say so, not to Wash. One thing Pietro knows now is that he can't completely rush into things here, not if he doesn't want another vulnerable moment like the knife pushing in too deep. He thought he was ready to break, but he's not. Close, on the edge of it, wanting it, but unwilling to push just that much further to get there.]
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-- Yeah.
[ it is working. pietro is learning some things about himself, and wash is learning them in turn. its messy, but like wash keeps saying -- he really has dealt with worse, and pietro clearly actually wants to explore this, is interested in learning more and figuring things out about himself even as he steadfastly pushes back against him and is a pain in the ass about it the whole way. ]
Just wanted to give you options, anyway. [ even if he doesn't understand them yet. if and when he might need them, he just might remember. wash shifts his grip over his wrist, slides his thumb up against the inside of his palm. ] Not like you to not rush into things, is it?
[ teasing, playful, even as he slowly uses that grip over his wrist to guide pietro to lean back. a slight, subtle shift as he shifts the attentions of his tongue and teeth to the pad of his thumb. ]
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Maybe I do not want options.
[His tone is half petulant and half sincere, huffing slightly even though he knows very well he rushes into almost everything and that it is, in fact, a problem. He lets Wash's hold on his wrist direct him where he's wanted, a quiet near moan of frustration getting swallowed back in his throat as Wash continues to tease him, biting his thumb and scraping his tongue so slowly over it. He finally lets go of the rope, bringing his free hand towards Wash's pants instead, to tug at the waistband.]
Are you taking this out again or not?
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wash has been with people who'd rather not have options. safety and consent are fine lines to go by, for most. but sometimes people don't want to be safe. felix had been like that, and for as difficult and outright toxic as their relationship had been -- physically, wash had thrived on it, on the simplicity of knowing how goddamn terrible of a person he was, on knowing there was no need to hold back. for either of them. wash doesn't tend to broach those lines with most people. not unless he's sure.
he can't be sure with pietro, not when pietro isn't sure of so many things himself. but that's still a direction to go in, and one wash will acknowledge, his eyes flicking up at the response even if he doesn't say anything, to preserve whatever sense of non-vulnerability that pietro was trying to avoid. it's heard and acknowledged, and being -- taken into consideration.
at that other response, though. the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly into a small smirk, another little nip at his thumb. and then he's moving, all at once, pushing pietro down onto the bed, using that grip on his wrist to pin pietro's hand down to the mattress, light but firm in his grasp. again, fitting himself between his legs, his other hand moving down to curve over pietro's -- but not to pull him away. he just pulls him to the front of his pants, instead, where he's obviously stll hard, painfully so. ]
Take it out.
[ that growl in his voice again, a demand -- and with a bit of a promise behind it, especially spoken from wash already braced above him, pressed so close. an offer. just fucking, rough, hard, simple. no rope. no knife. a simple reset to get them back on track. wash doesn't need rope or anything else to have him begging and desperate and on edge, after all, as they both remember from their time on the rooftop. ]
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He pulls once at that grip, but keeps his hand where it's placed afterwards, unconsciously spreading his legs wider to accommodate Wash's movements. His fingers twitch as Wash brings his other hand to the front of his pants, and that growling demand makes Pietro's stomach coil viscerally. He glances at Wash's face once, catching his eyes, and then his attention is back where it should be. He hesitates, just a split second, before fumbling with the button and zipper and finally working Wash's cock out of his pants. Pietro's grip is harder than it needs to be, squeezing and intending to leave his own bruises.]
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a low growl, and he lets himself bear down over him even more, pinning pietro's wrist down to the mattress somewhere next to his head so his entire body is braced over him, covering him completely with his bulk. he leans down, biting hard at his lower lip again before trailing bruising kisses down the side of his neck, over familiar bruises, over new ones that are already starting to darken, his voice hot and low in his ear; ]
Put it where you want it.
[ another demand, with that rumbling growl to it, but as always -- there is an aggression to it, but its just expectant. less about forcing someone to follow as he demands and more knowing he'll be listened to, knowing pietro wants it just as much as he does. ]
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Because it's growled in his ear like a command, pointed and without expectation of anything but obedience, Pietro doesn't want to do it. He huffs out a frustrated noise, writhing uncomfortably, but he does it anyway, his grip shifting to something lighter but still firm, guiding Wash's cock to his hole while he moves to wrap his legs around Wash's waist, digging his heels into his back in anticipation of something hard and rough that will clear his mind of everything they'd discussed, let Pietro return to his little bits of oblivion he allows himself without going too far. That he discovered he has a 'too far' irks him, and a part of him wants to dig further and push and break through it, but he maintains too much desperate self-control for it.]
Fuck me.
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right now, though. this is good. more than good. just the two of them and the intensity of skin on skin and the way pietro whimpers as if he's starting to drown in wash's attentions, in his presence alone, how he wraps his legs around him, eager as he guides his cock to his hole. wash lets him, and he waits, waits until pietro actually says something, puts voice to what he wants.
and at those words, he immediately presses forward, his hips pressing down -- and his cockhead is pressed against his hole, suddenly inside him, sliding into him all too easily and all at once, already hilted inside of him, his balls flush to his ass, pietro already nice and stretched from everything else they've done tonight. it feels good, enough to draw a low rumbling groan from his throat that he half-muffles against his neck, feels almost like he belongs here, like pietro fits fucking perfectly around him, and god, that always feels so good.
pietro is impatient, he knows. and wash will give him what he wants. he's impatient, too, was buried in him just before and had to pull out suddenly -- and now he's back with his heat and warmth all around his cock and he just wants more of it. that predatory hunger sharpens through him again as he immediately starts to move, fucking him down against the mattress, his grip tightening over pietro's wrist where he has it pinned to the bed. his other hand moves down, squeezing roughly over his thigh, thumb pressing into those numerous sharp cuts he'd left with his knife even as wash lets his mouth kiss down over his throat, his collarbones, tonguing over the lines he'd drawn there before, neatly avoiding the one place where the knife had gone too deep. ]
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[It's hissed under his breath as Wash presses inside him, relentless and hard and deep, and Pietro clamps his muscles down immediately, a whine catching in the back of his throat. Wash gives him what he wants, fucking him hard right away, not delaying or teasing him, holding him down, grabbing his thigh tightly where Pietro can feel the sharp sting of the small cuts, the bruising. He moans and squirms as Wash's mouth moves down his throat and his collarbones, feeling every cut and abrasion, every bit of tender skin reignite with sensation. He brings his free hand to Wash's hair, tightening his fingers in it.]
Harder.
[It's almost a mewling plea of a noise, as if he'd waited too long for another round even though he'd been the one to stop them.]
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he shifts even more on the bed, his grip tightening over his thigh to hike pietro's hips up slightly as he moves a little further up the mattress -- until, as he bears down over him, he's almost folding him in half. its likely uncomfortable, causing pietro's hips and thighs to stretch and burn, but wash drives down into him and reaches deeper, punctuating it with his teeth sinking into his shoulder, a blatantly possessive growl sounding through him.
wash lingers there for a moment, two, adjusting himself against the bed to keep this adjusted angle, this position -- and then immediately starts to fall back into the rhythm he'd found before. hard, sharp, unrelenting. his hand keeps pressing into those cuts in his thigh, and he lifts his head to go right back to kissing and biting at his neck, his jawline, in between heated breathless murmurs against his skin where the words come tumbling from his mouth, where it's clear that wash isn't entirely cognizant of everything he's saying. just occasional disjointed murmurs about how good he is, how pretty he is all beneath him, all breathless and fucked out, how hot and tight he is around his cock, his movements getting a wilder, more feral energy to them, his grip starting to tighten over pietro's wrist pinned to the bed. ]
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Cannot get enough of me, can you?
[His voice is raw and scratchy, the flow of words interrupted by sharp inhales, but still mocking in tone.]
Did I make you wait too long?
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pietro says it like its meant to be something to hold over his head. wash just lifts his head, meets his eye, letting his hips grind forward and anchor in deep, his hand lifting from his thigh where it was pressing into all those cuts lifts until his hand is braced under his jawline, forcing pietro's head up slightly as he looks at him. ]
-- Yeah.
[ to both those things. wash had waited, patient, like he was supposed to do whenever someone tells him to stop, but the temptation is always there to push him down and make him want it all over again. pietro sought him out tonight, called for him, but wash's revisited the memory of the rooftop more than once in the time since.
that slight break in rhythm doesn't last long, and he falls right back into his hard, rough pace as he lets his hand ease further down. fingers sliding into places where old bruises were left around his throat, almost like he's slotting them back where they belong. not choking him outright, but he starts to push down, enough pressure to force the air from his throat, to make it hard but not impossible to speak -- and one shift in his grip, slight, just enough for him to press harder against the cut wash had left just under his chin with his knife. his voice is low, another rumbling growl as he leans down, folding pietro's body even more as his voice ghosts against pietro's own lips. ]
Just like you wanted me here.
[ pietro had called on him for a reason, after all. ]
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Pietro whines as Wash starts his driving rhythm again, and he writhes unconsciously with the need to move in a restrictive position. Despite his efforts to choke it down, a pleased mewling sound escapes his throat as Wash's fingers tighten around it. He can almost feel the bruises as if they were fresh, and his muscles tighten and twitch when it gets harder to breathe easily. A visceral pulse of heat travels down to his cock. Wash thumbs the cut on his chin, the sting coming back and making Pietro think about the knife again, splitting his focus in too many ways, the low growl mocking him, he can feel Wash's hot breath at his lips. It's a struggle to speak, throat working, strangled noises and wheezing, but when he manages to painfully force something through, it's simply:]
Yes.
[Yes, he wanted Wash here. He wants this, asked for it, and he knows that. He presses his heels harder into Wash's back, twists his fingers more tightly into his hair before letting that hand drop to Wash's forearm, where his trembling fingers hold firmly.]
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he lets his fingers tighten once over his throat, and and then relax a moment later. his voice is approving and possessive all at once, a rumbling purr murmured right against his lips. ]
You are learning. [ a nip at his lower lip, his cock driving in deep. ] Good boy.
[ and before pietro can muster a protest at the praise, he's kissing him, letting his hand tighten. just like he did before, fingers sliding right into the same places where he knows it works best, where he remembers placing them before, forcing pietro to choke on his mouth and tongue. this time, though, there is no steadily ramping pressure to find an edge -- its just constant, steady. enough to make him choke and gag, enough to put him on an edge, kissing him like he means to draw the air from his lungs himself. ]
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he takes that moment to adjust himself more, angle his hips just right again -- and then slamming back inside him, the head of his cock driving right where he wants it to, raw nerves and sensitive walls that he knows all too well already. and this time, as he keeps kissing him, the pressure doesn't increase. its just constant. this seems to be what works best, keeping pietro right on this edge. he is making the slightest adjustments, here and there, almost unnoticeable, shifting his fingers and pressing in ever so slightly tighter when he feels pietro starting to get more air than he likes, giving him a little bit more room to breathe if it starts seeming like too much. it's all uncannily precise, every part of him honed to the single purpose of keeping him right there as he keeps fucking him into the bed, as he feels pietro's cock trapped between their bodies, rubbing against his stomach. ]
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