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The Spanking

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   Wade has been observing Peter for some time now, given that they'd been “dating” long enough for Wade to spend most of his days taking up as much space as possible in Peter's tiny apartment. He had observed, for example, that the younger man was incredibly intelligent, loving, and somewhat needy when it came to affection. He had a few quirks, certainly. Peter mostly ate pureed foods, and seemed to wind down to an almost stupor when the weather turned bitterly cold, his limbs held close to his body as he stared off into the void. But those things aside, Wade had been most intrigued by the way in which Peter slept. Or, perhaps, didn't sleep. Less time spent sleeping meant more time spent fucking each other into a blissful state of incoherence.

    See, Peter didn't sleep as frequently a regular person - considerably less so, it seemed. He wasn't exactly human, so he got a bit of slack. But that didn't mean that he didn't need to sleep at all. Wade glares at his baby boy from his sprawling position on the couch as Peter stumbles toward the kitchen for a cup of coffee (which was distressing in its own right, given how caffeine affected him).

    “Go to sleep, snookums,” Wade makes a feeble attempt at having it sound like a suggestion, rather than a command.

    “Nah - jus’ got like… a lil chem…” Peter slurs, obviously no longer capable of complete sentences.

    Wade glares again. “You're not even speaking English anymore. Go. To. Sleep.” He crosses his arms for effect: “Or I'll make you.”

     His pet spider shuffles back in the direction of the desk, grumbling incoherently. Something about hydrocarbons and just a few more. Whatever. Wade didn't particularly give a shit. He snatches a wrist, spins his smaller partner around and lays him over his lap, keeping the thin wrist in an iron grip. Peter makes a noise of surprised irritation, swatting blindly at the older man.

    “Go to bed now, or get a spanking.” Wade offers darkly.

    “S’jus’ like… three more… things…” Peter responds, drunk on sleep deprivation. He’s struggling weakly, one hand pinned to his lower back, while the other fails ineffectually. Wade plucks the offending appendage out of the air, and tucks it away next to the already captive wrist.

    Wade sighs, “Oh, my little prince.”

    He had known that this was the way his ultimatum would go - Peter wasn't easily swayed at the best of times, and when he got tangled in his homework he turned into a right stubborn ass. It was testament to Peter's level of exhaustion that not only had he missed the use of that particular pet name, but he seemed to have forgotten that he could easily lift Wade's entire body weight - had done so any number of times, as a point of fact. Peter wriggled peevishly, his fingers flexing in fits and bursts.

    Wade lands the first blow gently, just a warning shot to let his little pet know what was coming. Peter gasps, jerking against Wade's thighs, and going very, very still. He holds his breath, perhaps breathing through his skin like he was wont to do when startled. Wade decides that he'd much rather hear Peter whining and gasping.

    “What did Daddy say about being quiet when we're at home?”

    The second blow lands with a stinging crack.

    Peter squeals.  

    Wade grins, beginning to lay down the punishment. He doesn't count, doesn't make Peter count. Just lands slap, after slap, after slap. Eventually he decides that Peter’s getting too quiet, and pulls down the hideous plaid pyjama pants, and tie-dye boxer briefs (for someone with such incredible colour perception, Peter's fashion sense was atrocious ). Peter began to squirm again, his knees pinching together as his wrists jerked in Wade's steely grasp. Wade shifts his stance, sliding his thigh farther down Peter's torso so he could press into his baby boy’s eager erection.

    “Daddy told you to go to bed, pet.” Wade growls. Peter tenses for a moment, then collapses as he usually does when Wade trots out the power play. “Good boys always listen to Daddy, don't they?”

   “Yes, Daddy,” Peter whispers, throat dry.

    Wade spanks him harder, earning a yelp.

    “Then why didn't you listen to Daddy?” Wade demands, now smoothing his palm over the abused flesh of his little prince's ass.

    “I thought I could do it…” Peter's coherency is coming back in with the adrenaline spike.

    “You thought you knew better than your Daddy?” They both knew it was a trap. There’s absolutely no way to answer that question that won't end in some sort of discomfort.

    “I'm sorry, Daddy…” Peter is still whispering, like that will lessen the gravity of his transgression.

    Wade sighs. Arranging his arms under Peter's body, he stands and brings his precious cargo to the bed. They had opted for a bedframe with posts for just such emergencies. Quickly yanking the comforter off the bed, he sets about positioning Peter to lay diagonally across the mattress on his side, he shackles the bottom ankle to the bedpost. Leaning up, he fastens both wrists to the opposite corner, and ferrets out the bottle of lubricant that they kept stashed in the pillows. Sitting back, he rubs his hand over the glowing skin of Peter's ass.

    “Daddy,” Peter sighs, his eyes fluttering, curling his pelvis back to arch into Wade's rough-sweet touch.

    “Daddy's gonna fuck you breathless, and then you're going to sleep. Okay, baby boy?”

     Peter wriggles against his bonds, testing. The soft, padded silk soothing him. Settling into the restraints, nodding, shifting his unrestrained leg up to display for his lover, his top, his Daddy.

    Wade sighs, pleased with the ease of Peter's submission. There were times that Peter fought against this like an enraged cat for no other reason than sometimes, he just liked it when they fought each other bloody before a romp. Perhaps his baby boy is simply too worn out, and he considers for a moment - just a nanosecond - that maybe he should simply leave Peter shackled to the bed, and retire to the couch. But Peter is more than capable of breaking the bonds - hell, he could probably rip apart the bedframe if he had even an eighth of a mind to do so - and Wade's erection is starting to ache from neglect.

    Wade can't really decide whether or not he wants to warm the gel between his fingers before he indulges in fingering Peter until he begs for relief. The soft lines of Peter's legs, spread and waiting for anything his Daddy will allow him make up Wade's mind. He opts to pour the lube directly onto the waiting ring of muscle, delighting in the strangled noise Peter makes in response. Peter may sound indignant, but the way he spreads his legs farther apart, turning his face farther into the bedsheets tells a different story.

    “There's Daddy's little prince,” Wade smiles, swirling his index finger through the mess of gel he's left in the valley of Peter's delectable ass. “Daddy's gonna wreck you.” he slips his finger in, lifting Peter's free leg to drape over his shoulder. He curls his finger to tease his baby boy’s prostate, brushing delicately, slowly, coaxing Peter's breathy moans into quiet pleading, and finally desperate begging.

    “Daddy, please,” Peter's thighs are quivering again, his shackled leg twitching and jerking against the bond.

    “‘Please’ what, little prince?” Wade's toying with him, now. He knows the combination of exhaustion, teasing, and the slow climb to subspace has Peter mostly back to incoherence. “More fingers, 'please’?” Wade grants the small mercy of relieving Peter of the need to articulate.

    “Please,” his baby boy agrees, the barest suggestion of his incredible strength pressing against Wade's shoulder. Wade chuckles, sliding his middle finger in to join his index. He's still playing soft-touch with Peter's prostate though, thoroughly enjoying way it makes his pet spider writhe.

    “Want another?” Wade prompts, patience shaken by the sight of Peter's flushed chest, drooling cock, his pretty little hole sucking on his fingers. He's sure that Peter's reached the point where he'd stay here without further demands, for hours if Wade so deigned. That also means he'll take most anything else Wade offers.

    Peter nods, his face hidden in the bed.

    Wade feeds his needy boy his ring finger, pressing just slightly, still too light for what he knows Peter wants, but enough to ratchet up the trembling in his thighs.

    “You're being so good, baby boy,” Wade breathes out the compliment, voice sounding like a fire starved of oxygen. “Look so hungry…” he arranges his fingers into a makeshift funnel and pours more lubricant into Peter's fluttering channel. He keens, the cold gel feeling like ice in comparison to Wade's warm fingers. Wade works his pinkie in while Peter's distracted by the lube.

    “Are you hungry, little prince?” Wade's never really considered this course before, but given current circumstances, he wants to see his little baby boy’s perfect ass swallow his whole hand. Wade's definitely not got little paws. The idea has his gut clenching in delight, the spike of desire almost brutal in intensity.

    Peter may not have noticed the pinkie at first, but he certainly does now all four fingers are down to the last knuckle. There's some vague consternation that's tickling the warm, cozy edge of his subspace, but he can't understand it. He whines, nodding: Anything for Daddy.

    Wade runs his free hand down Peter's leg from where his ankle is resting resting on Wade's shoulder, to the apex of Peter's thighs, gently petting the velvety skin of his baby boy’s sac where it's drawn close to the base of his throbbing member. Wade takes Peter's weeping cock in hand stroking firmly to distract his little pet while he works the hand inside him farther in.

    Peter's whole body is shaking, his chest has stopped heaving as he breathes through his skin, tears glittering at the edges of his lashes. He's chewed his bottom lip raw, trying to relax for his Daddy, trying to take what Daddy's giving him.

    “Daddy,” he's back to gasping, “I don't… I don't think I can,” and his voice sounds broken, like he's admitting some terrible fault.

    “Of course you can, baby boy,” Wade reassures, slowly working his thumb in. “You just need to let Daddy in.” Maybe it's playing dirty, but he suspects it'll work: “Give yourself to Daddy,” he demands, his harsh-sweet voice leaving no room for disagreement. And sure as it worked in the coatroom, it works now: Peter's resistance bleeding away, leaving him pliant and accepting. Wade slips his massive hand in, up to the wrist.

    His baby boy, his sweet little prince, his Peter feels like silken hellfire (and Wade would know), the blazing heat of his clenching channel squeezing Wade's hand fitfully. Wade grins triumphantly, Peter whines softly, gasping at the intrusion.

    “Such a good boy for Daddy,” Wade's sulphur and saltpetre voice is softened with awe. “You're fucking perfect,” he curls his hand into a fist, pulling more insistently at Peter's leaking cock, grinding his knuckles over Peter's prostate torturously slowly. “Daddy's perfect baby boy, always giving me what I want…” Peter's eyes are unfocused when he looks up, his lower lip is bleeding, and his mouth can't seem to close.

    “Daddy…” he whines, and Wade can't resist feeding in a few more inches, grating the knuckle of his thumb against his baby boy’s prostate, twisting his wrist in time over the swollen, purpling head of Peter's cock.

    Peter screams. Not a loud whine, not a shout. An ear-piercing, unabashed scream, and Wade watches, entranced, as Peter's orgasm rages through his delicate body like an avalanche, a slow tremble at first that crescendos into Peter's back arching like a drawn bow.

    Wade quickly uncurls his fist, slipping out of Peter's body as gently and swiftly as he can while Peter's still struck mute and blind with the power of his orgasm. He rushes forward, uses Peter's still-hot spend to lube up, and slides his aching cock into Peter's still spasming ass in his hand’s stead. He hugs Peter's shaking leg to his chest, smearing the mess on his hands all over Peter's thigh, kissing his knee reverently as he fucks him desperately.

    “So good for me, so perfect.” Wade whispers against Peter's calf. He's not sure Peter's capable of hearing at the moment, let alone comprehending, but it needs to be said. “Such a good baby boy, my baby boy,” he's been teetering on the edge of orgasm since Peter opened up, letting him slide his hand inside. “God, you're unlike anyone-” his control is beyond frayed, the final few threads unraveling without his permission. He doesn't want to leave this place, this feeling, this scene, because fuck, he's just seen the face of God: It looks like Peter's screaming orgasm while Wade fists him.

    “I love you, Peter,” and that's it. White-hot C4 blast level pleasure ruins him, and he bites down on Peter's calf so he doesn't scream too, because some miniscule part of his brain that's not currently entrenched firmly in topspace doesn't want the neighbours calling the cops. He shakes and claws his way through his orgasm, feeling like he's just survived being dismembered again.

    He pulls out slowly, carefully. He's completely sure that Peter's healing factor is already on duty, shoring up any bruised tissue, but just the same. He gently sets Peter's free leg down, unclasping the other ankle from the bedpost. He massages Peter's bird-boned feet, warming them with his filthy hands. He pets his way up Peter's legs, detouring for just a moment to massage the seed dripping from Peter onto his thighs and ass, reveling in the slick-hot mess. Stroking along Peter's ribs and up powerful arms, unshackling his wrists, kissing his palms, licking his fingers, paying homage to his beautiful sub.

    Wade snatches the blankets up as quickly as possible, and lays down next to Peter to continue petting him, gentling him down from his high. Peter sighs softly. His eyes are twitching in REM, mouth a tiny moue of exhaustion. Peter shivers happily, rolling to face Wade, murmuring softly,

    “I love you, too, Wade.”

    Wade jerks slightly. Apparently, Peter's comprehension wasn't as shot as he had thought. The world is better for it. He tucks Peter's head under his chin, happy to sleep in their combined mess.