[ This reminds him a bit of that first conversation they had in the training room. It's more comfortable, here, strangely -- maybe because now they already know how mirrored they are. But ah, he understands immediately, the way she shakes her head, the way she says I wouldn't.
Wash is the same. He wouldn't, either. As terrible as he is, as much as he seeks out people to indulge the terrible impulses he struggles with -- he seeks them out carefully, finds people who understand what the fuck they're getting into. Wash does take, but only what he's given, at least when it comes to this, and for him that might be part of the thrill, anyway, that willing exchange, the idea that someone is giving him that much, trusting him with that much. The complete control. It's been a while, a long while since he's done anything like it, but he does always love that moment when their eyes start to roll back a little, when it's clear how much they're fighting that instinctive impulse to struggle and buck and squirm for the sake of making this last, when Wash leans close with his hand tightening over their throats and he murmurs something fucking filthy right against the breaths they're struggling to take. And the bruises, after. The marks on their skin. he does always like that, too.
He nods. An implicit understanding. And venturing a little, even if it seems a little obvious at this point, drifting half a step closer and reaching out to her hand where she's rubbing over her knuckles, just barely closing his fingers over the back of her hand, thumb lightly tracing over where her skin split against Byerly's teeth. ]
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Wash is the same. He wouldn't, either. As terrible as he is, as much as he seeks out people to indulge the terrible impulses he struggles with -- he seeks them out carefully, finds people who understand what the fuck they're getting into. Wash does take, but only what he's given, at least when it comes to this, and for him that might be part of the thrill, anyway, that willing exchange, the idea that someone is giving him that much, trusting him with that much. The complete control. It's been a while, a long while since he's done anything like it, but he does always love that moment when their eyes start to roll back a little, when it's clear how much they're fighting that instinctive impulse to struggle and buck and squirm for the sake of making this last, when Wash leans close with his hand tightening over their throats and he murmurs something fucking filthy right against the breaths they're struggling to take. And the bruises, after. The marks on their skin. he does always like that, too.
He nods. An implicit understanding. And venturing a little, even if it seems a little obvious at this point, drifting half a step closer and reaching out to her hand where she's rubbing over her knuckles, just barely closing his fingers over the back of her hand, thumb lightly tracing over where her skin split against Byerly's teeth. ]
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