Chris's throat constricted uselessly as he was denied breath, eyes watering from the strain and abuse even as he stroked himself, giving over everything for Blonsky to have--to control--with complete abandon. He sobbed for breath when it was permitted to him, moaning softly but profoundly around the soldier's cock as though it was the sweetest air he'd ever tasted. Though he tried in earnest to keep up with Blonsky's renewed clip, there was still little he could do but attempt to take everything, through the ache in his jaw and the burning in his lungs, throat raw and used.

His fingers tightened around the base of his own erection, prolonging the dual agony of being so expertly strung along the razor's edge between pleasure and pain as his gaze, clouded with lust though it was, found Blonsky's acidic glowing eyes and some spark of recognition awoke within him. Chris gasped out some approximation of the other's name to the best of his ability, given his position; not in warning or alarm, but as a plea.