[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. ]
[Pietro makes note of every shift and unsteady moment that he can, holding tight to the idea that he's managed to put some cracks in Wash's near relentless display of control. His hand at his throat doesn't change, the same pressure and force, and without a moment of reprieve from it, Pietro finds it more restricting both physically and mentally in the way he can't escape the sensation that seems to linger for long minutes. A strangled whine lodges in his throat as Wash changes angles and strikes in the same spot that Pietro knows is rubbed raw and his nerves crackle and make his entire body twitch. The air he can grasp is stifling, hot, dragged from Wash's mouth and not enough. The edges of his vision darken, and things blend together into a background haze of overstimulation while his cock throbs with need, a release to make it all stop, but Pietro doesn't struggle for it, plead for it, because he wants to remain on the edge for as long as he can stand it, get to the point he can stop thinking altogether. He's close to it, can almost taste it, but something keeps snapping him back. His own apprehension of reaching it, the difficulty of fully letting go, he isn't sure.]
[ something always snaps him back, wash can see it. he's been able to push pietro to that brink, to that edge, of knowing nothing, remembering nothing, no thoughts at all -- but only briefly, only moments at a time. he knows its something pietro craves, and has some guesses as to what it might be that holds him back, but right now his task is clear. here. this. keep him like this.
the way he fucks him is unrelenting, hard and sharp, pietro's body jolted against the bed on every thrust. wash keeps kissing him, but that slows down, his tongue working almost languidly into his mouth even as pietro chokes and whines around it. just like he keeps adjusting that grip, tiniest shifts in pressure, shifts of his fingers and the angle of his wrist, sometimes he kisses him a little deeper. sometimes he breaks away altogether, focusing on his bruised and bitten lower lip, or dragging his teeth along his stubbled jawline, pressing kisses and bites to the hinge of his jaw.
wash craves his own kind of letting go -- losing himself in another person. everything about them. freeing himself from his own mind by putting himself and his focus wholly into someone else. and as the edges of pietro's vision may blur and darken, wash's only comes into focus more, as he tunes himself into every breath, every movement, every heartbeat, every throb of pietro's cock trapped between their bodies, every quiver of his muscles tight around him as he fucks him. he wants to reach that. just as badly as pietro does. ]
[Whining more intently, Pietro squirms as much as he can, every shift of Wash's grip, every hard thrust, making him want both more and less. The kisses are slower, and Pietro gathers the slightest bit more breath in between, Wash moving on to his abused and tender lip, teeth along his jaw. It's a constant assault on senses and nerves, and Pietro loses track of how long it's been. Hours. Minutes. All of Wash's focus is on him, and he can almost feel that in every touch, how honed and zeroed in he is, driving towards something as much as Pietro himself tries to. And knowing that, he gives more of himself over, letting his thoughts slide back, seeking out more of the sensations to focus and individualise, to lose himself in. A conscious decision to voluntarily try breaking into that space he wants to reach, and for a moment, he forgets.]
[ it's a moment that wash can sense, can feel -- not quite able to connect it to something as specific as forgetting, but he does know that there's something pietro has been striving to reach all this time, that they've come close, brushed against it, reached it for moments at a time, that pietro is the one who seems to mostly hold himself back, unable to let go as much as he needs. but there's something here, a moment where pietro shudders beneath him, and his eyes seem to roll back, his thoughts going with it, when he gives himself over.
and wash takes it. seizes onto it with a hunger and want, the intensity of his focus all driving him towards this. he understands instinctively that whatever pietro was looking for, they'd reached it before, but it's here now -- and that means that all he's here to do is to make it last. he actually slows down slightly, something he hasn't tended to do very often with pietro, every movement deliberate and purposeful. his thrusts are still hard and sharp, jolting his body against the bed, but he makes sure that every roll and angle of his hips is exactly where he wants it. that grip on his throat is constant, not enough to push him to unconsciousness, but just enough to keep pietro here with him on this knife's edge. pietro has his attention and focus, total and absolute, utterly unconcerned with his own body and physicality except for what he needs to do to push pietro and make him feel the way he wants.
his other hand, pinning pietro's wrist to the bed, finally shifts, letting go -- and immediately moving down between them. his fingers wrap around his cock, squeezing, a nice pressure that's just on the verge of too much, just enough to cause him some pain, some discomfort, just the way wash has learned pietro likes it -- but not enough to distract him too much from everything else. one more sensation to add to the onslaught of everything else, for them all to blend and blur together, to overwhelm him and stretch the moment out for as long as it can possibly last, until it has to shatter and break under its own tension. ]
[It's difficult for Pietro to register everything, each individual sensation, anymore. But he knows Wash is slowing down his movements, bringing that perception back at a time where Pietro is too far gone to think about it. He just feels it, the hard driving thrusts striking places inside him that burn and pulse with pain and pleasure together, that constant pressure at his throat firm and unyielding and controlled, nothing he needs to stop or adjust or come back to the moment to deal with. Pietro continues to drift, aware and not aware, at the edge of either going too far or sliding back to where this state of mind is out of his reach again. Wash keeps him there, and later, he might acknowledge and appreciate it, but he doesn't think of those things now. Doesn't move his wrist when its released, only whines almost unconsciously when Wash squeezes his cock, his hips jerking, a spasm that seems to go through his entire body with the way he's positioned.
He's not sure how long it's been when he does come back, the pull of visceral need at the peak of arousal sharply sliding things back into focus. His whining is louder and he begins to squirm with a desperate intensity, his eyes refocusing on Wash, dark with lust and want, words spilling quickly from his lips.]
[ wash tends to have an uncanny sense of time -- it comes with the memory, not quite perfect but as close as a normal human might be able to get, counting seconds and minutes with near mechanical accuracy somewhere in the back of his mind. but it's all those things he wants to escape, too. he can never let go of his own clawing need for control, but he can shift his attention from himself to someone else. and that sense of time slides away, that sense of measuring exactitude and needing to be aware of every part of himself at all times just in case something might slip.
instead, there's this, there's them, heat and friction and want, raw physical pleasure and the arch of pietro's body under his own. how he can feel his wheezing breaths under his hand at his throat even as he watches them stutter in his chest. all of his focus narrowed in on pietro and the way he looks and feels and how fucking good that is, spread out beneath him, tight around his cock, and the time slips away from him, too.
something pulls them back. a thread of pleasure, arousal and want that breaks through, and wash is already narrowed in on it before pietro even starts to say something. noticing his squirming, that shift in his eyes going from glazed over to focused. he takes quiet satisfaction in how easily he begs him, this time, a quiet purr sounding in his chest that quickly curves into a more possessive growl. one moment to shift above him, to brace himself again, his hand squeezing tight over his cock -- and then he falls right back into that earlier rhythm. faster, harder, almost no ramp up to it. his works his hand over him, rough strokes just out of time with his thrusts, letting his own hips push pietro's into his touch and his hand.
his grip over his throat locks, and while that pressure has been constant this entire time -- he lets it ramp up. steady, slight, not enough to push him over the line into unconsciousness but enough to push him further, further, his own cock throbbing inside him with want and need as he ducks his head down to kiss him again. ]
[That familiar purr makes his abdominal muscles flutter, the growl reverberating through him, and Wash gives him what he wants. Hard and fast again, driving back into that rhythm immediately. Pietro whines and mewls, squirming more as all of the sensations he'd let fall into the background are now prominent again. Wash squeezes his cock hard, stroking roughly and out of sync, giving Pietro one more source of stimulation. The hand around his throat tightens and it's hard to catch his breath at all when Wash's lips crush against his. Pietro mutters a 'fuck' and gathers enough focus to clench hard around Wash's cock, trying to pull even more out of him, just a little harder, a little faster, striking exactly the right place. It doesn't take him long to crest over the edge, his release abrupt and almost surprising for him, like it had been once before, and despite his best efforts and what little he can force from his throat into Wash's mouth, a keening sound escapes.]
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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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the way he fucks him is unrelenting, hard and sharp, pietro's body jolted against the bed on every thrust. wash keeps kissing him, but that slows down, his tongue working almost languidly into his mouth even as pietro chokes and whines around it. just like he keeps adjusting that grip, tiniest shifts in pressure, shifts of his fingers and the angle of his wrist, sometimes he kisses him a little deeper. sometimes he breaks away altogether, focusing on his bruised and bitten lower lip, or dragging his teeth along his stubbled jawline, pressing kisses and bites to the hinge of his jaw.
wash craves his own kind of letting go -- losing himself in another person. everything about them. freeing himself from his own mind by putting himself and his focus wholly into someone else. and as the edges of pietro's vision may blur and darken, wash's only comes into focus more, as he tunes himself into every breath, every movement, every heartbeat, every throb of pietro's cock trapped between their bodies, every quiver of his muscles tight around him as he fucks him. he wants to reach that. just as badly as pietro does. ]
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and wash takes it. seizes onto it with a hunger and want, the intensity of his focus all driving him towards this. he understands instinctively that whatever pietro was looking for, they'd reached it before, but it's here now -- and that means that all he's here to do is to make it last. he actually slows down slightly, something he hasn't tended to do very often with pietro, every movement deliberate and purposeful. his thrusts are still hard and sharp, jolting his body against the bed, but he makes sure that every roll and angle of his hips is exactly where he wants it. that grip on his throat is constant, not enough to push him to unconsciousness, but just enough to keep pietro here with him on this knife's edge. pietro has his attention and focus, total and absolute, utterly unconcerned with his own body and physicality except for what he needs to do to push pietro and make him feel the way he wants.
his other hand, pinning pietro's wrist to the bed, finally shifts, letting go -- and immediately moving down between them. his fingers wrap around his cock, squeezing, a nice pressure that's just on the verge of too much, just enough to cause him some pain, some discomfort, just the way wash has learned pietro likes it -- but not enough to distract him too much from everything else. one more sensation to add to the onslaught of everything else, for them all to blend and blur together, to overwhelm him and stretch the moment out for as long as it can possibly last, until it has to shatter and break under its own tension. ]
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He's not sure how long it's been when he does come back, the pull of visceral need at the peak of arousal sharply sliding things back into focus. His whining is louder and he begins to squirm with a desperate intensity, his eyes refocusing on Wash, dark with lust and want, words spilling quickly from his lips.]
Fuck. Shit. I need to come. Please.
[Fuck, he said 'please' again.]
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instead, there's this, there's them, heat and friction and want, raw physical pleasure and the arch of pietro's body under his own. how he can feel his wheezing breaths under his hand at his throat even as he watches them stutter in his chest. all of his focus narrowed in on pietro and the way he looks and feels and how fucking good that is, spread out beneath him, tight around his cock, and the time slips away from him, too.
something pulls them back. a thread of pleasure, arousal and want that breaks through, and wash is already narrowed in on it before pietro even starts to say something. noticing his squirming, that shift in his eyes going from glazed over to focused. he takes quiet satisfaction in how easily he begs him, this time, a quiet purr sounding in his chest that quickly curves into a more possessive growl. one moment to shift above him, to brace himself again, his hand squeezing tight over his cock -- and then he falls right back into that earlier rhythm. faster, harder, almost no ramp up to it. his works his hand over him, rough strokes just out of time with his thrusts, letting his own hips push pietro's into his touch and his hand.
his grip over his throat locks, and while that pressure has been constant this entire time -- he lets it ramp up. steady, slight, not enough to push him over the line into unconsciousness but enough to push him further, further, his own cock throbbing inside him with want and need as he ducks his head down to kiss him again. ]
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