[ 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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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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