[ 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 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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