It hadn’t really started as a spanking thing. To be fair, it started before their relationship, a seed planted in Stiles’ brain one evening after he’d done particularly well during training.
“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about!” Chris shouted from the sidelines, making his way over to pat Allison on the shoulder and smack Stiles on the rump. That one impact rocked Stiles to his toes.
He was awkwardly hiding a stiffy before he could do more than blink in Chris’ direction. He shook himself, filed that away, and thought of the history of circumcision until he calmed down. With a topic like that, it didn’t take long, and he huffed out a relieved breath.
“Thanks, man, dude. Bro.” Stiles coughed and gave two thumbs up and a wink when Chris aimed a bemused look his way.
That was the first, but it wouldn’t be the last. It happened a few more times, always with a sporty kind of innocence, and every time it sent a thrilling shiver down his spine. Stiles only let himself think of it late at night or in the shower, when he could squeeze in the time rub one out between training, monster hunting, and college courses.
He may have tried to smack his own ass a time or two, but it was always weird, and never gave him that enticing prickle at the back of his neck, the warmth gathered in his belly and at the base of his spine.
But it wasn’t as if he could ask for it. Spankings were for disobedient kids or something, not grown men. And anyway, he wasn’t bad. Hell, he did everything Chris asked and then some, eager for his approval.
Over a year went by of increasingly flirtatious training, lingering looks and touches lasting just a hair longer than they used to. Hunting trips became an exercise in self-control, filled with so much sexual tension that Stiles had to actually build up an anti-spank bank to get through them.
Honestly, he thought he’d lose it, because this many erections around one person was really inconvenient. Especially during hand-to-hand, where neither of them mentioned his ill-timed boners.
The only rational option Stiles could think of was to try to get over it, and keep Chris in the mental box labeled ‘fantasy’. When he’d finally resigned himself to letting go of the hope that his feelings were returned in some way, that’s when it happened.
Stiles had stopped by to return a grimoire he’d borrowed. He’d meant to stay just a minute, return it, say thanks, and head back out before he did something stupid like fall to his knees and nuzzle Chris’ thighs, begging for a taste. God, that man tempted him like no one else.
Instead of the short handoff Stiles had anticipated, Chris invited Stiles inside. He set the book on the table in the foyer, then turned and crowded Stiles against the front door. Stiles quivered, held between the hard body of a man he desired more than was sensible and the very solid wooden door. Chris ran the tip of his nose down the side of Stiles’ left cheek.
“Yes or no, sweetheart?” Chris whispered, warm breath gentle on Stiles’ jaw, teeth suddenly much less gentle in a nip Stiles knew would leave a mark.
“Yes!” Stiles’ heart raced, but he brought his hands to Chris’ waist and twisted the fabric of his shirt as tight as he could before pulling him in even closer, lining their hips, trying to show Chris the magnitude of his desire.
When they finally kissed, it wasn’t what he’d expected. It was light, so light, the softness of Chris’ mouth and the shivery prickle of his scruff a wicked contrast that teased Stiles until he whined and opened to Chris, jaw relaxing as he licked his lips to see what he could taste.
Then it wasn’t light at all, but dark. Dark, hard, rough, and Chris plundered into his mouth, his tongue sliding in and out, tasting and taking as he rocked, cradled between Stiles’ thighs, until they both lost their breath and their control.
It wasn’t the first time Stiles had come in his pants, and though he had no fond memories of that particular sort of sticky mess, this was worth it. More than worth it.
And that was only the beginning.
After another year of dating, talking, and definitely fucking because neither of them could keep their hands to themselves any longer, they agreed to move in together.
His dad may not have approved at first, but that year had given him time to get used to it. Or get over it. Whichever, and anyway, he had no room to talk, not once Stiles caught a certain Deputy Derek Hale attempting to sneak out of the house early one morning. That had turned into such an awkward cup of coffee, but more for Derek than Stiles.
With Chris and Stiles’ three year anniversary upon them, Stiles had no guilt about leaving one of his paid projects to get some afternoon delight, riding Chris so enthusiastically that his cries echoed off the walls. Chris’ fingers dug so hard into the flesh of his hips that he knew there’d be bruises later that they’d both appreciate the sight of.
Stiles slid off of Chris’ lap into a panting and limp heap on their bed, sore in the most delicious of ways. On his way to dispose of the condom and clean up before dinner, Chris gave Stiles an absent smack on the ass.
Stiles moaned and wiggled, ass tilted up for a split second. He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried, come-drunk and fucked out as he was, the slight sting too tempting to resist.
“Really?” Chris drawled, and Stiles burned with embarrassment, but didn’t have the energy to hide.
“Mm, s’nothing, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Stiles mumbled, burying his face in his pillow. Chris hummed, padded barefoot out of the room, and Stiles figured that was the end of that. He didn’t bring it up again, and he told himself he was grateful.
Almost a full week went by, and Stiles had put it out of his head. But then it was time for weekly training, which they did whether or not anyone else showed up. They prided themselves on keeping their skills sharp enough to match the supernatural set.
This time it was just them, and after working for two and a half hours, starting with weapons and ending with hand-to-hand, Stiles dripped with sweat, somewhat out of breath but his stamina better than ever before.
Chris looked edible, shirtless, muscles gleaming, and it was all Stiles could do not to jump him and take a bite. Something about the way he kept glancing at Stiles made butterflies flap around in his belly, and while that wasn’t exactly a new phenomenon, it made him shy even after all this time.
Stiles wiped his face with his flannel before balling it up and tossing it over the back porch railing. On the way over to the mini-fridge full of water bottles, Chris snagged him and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.
And then dropped an equally firm smack to his ass. Stiles choked back a moan, but his eyes flew open, only to find those piercing, perceptive blue eyes examining his every expression. That, it was that, a look as if Chris was mentally taking him apart, the same way he so often approached puzzles and tactical planning.
“You did such a good job, Stiles,” Chris murmured, low and throaty, and Stiles just melted. “I really think you deserve a reward.” With that, he gave another firm smack, same spot as before, just hard enough for Stiles to feel it through his pants.
Stiles trembled and ducked his head to hide against Chris’ neck. “What kind of reward?” he asked in a small, hopeful voice.
“Well, my good boy gets a spanking,” Chris said, his tone shifting in a way that made Stiles squirm. “Would you like that, Stiles?”
Stiles nodded, speechless. He knew what he wanted to say, but actually getting the words out, well. That scared him shitless. Chris guided him back into the house, their steps in sync from long practice, even as Stiles’ brain cycled through scenarios.
“Is it easier for you if I tell you what I want you to do, love?” Chris asked, running his hand through Stiles’ messy hair.
Stiles sucked his top lip into his mouth. It was like Chris knew, knew what Stiles needed deep down. He still took a moment to think about it, then nodded. “Yes, please.”
Oh, there was more he wanted to say, but he started gnawing on his bottom lip this time, trying to keep the words inside. That was a lie. It was just one word, one he’d never breathed in front of Chris, one that he’d only vaguely thought about before.
That was a lie, too.
He’d thought about it a lot.
Chris paused, as if sensing some of Stiles’ inner battle, then continued. “I want you to go to our room, get undressed, and lay face-down on the bed. Get comfortable, okay baby?”
“Yeah, D--ah, sure, okay.” Stiles practically sprinted away, his sweaty clothes landing sorta near the hamper. Mostly in it, and that counted more than a little.
He settled on the bed, still made because Chris was the kind of lunatic who liked to make the bed. With military corners, no less. Stiles never saw the point; they were just going to mess it up again anyway. Besides, he heard somewhere that it was important for the bed itself to air out after several hours of people sleeping on it. And other things.
So many other things. And now his mind was back on the topic at hand, namely sexy times with his incredibly gorgeous partner--and wow, there were hands on his ass, one hand per cheek.
“Yes, well, your ass fills them perfectly,” Chris responded. Which...meant...
“Did I say that out loud?” Stiles squeaked, but then groaned when Chris kneaded his cheeks. It wasn’t painful, but each squeeze was strong enough to make his ass feel tender, every touch magnified.
“Yeah, baby, you did.” Chris, still clad in jeans worn soft by time, crawled over Stiles and settled on his calves. The intense vulnerability of being naked while Chris stayed dressed made him arch into Chris’ grasp with a sharp breath. “You look perfect like this, all laid out for me.”
Stiles whimpered into the pillow when the first blow hit, a glancing thing that barely warmed his skin, and yet it ricocheted through him like a shotgun blast, making him rock back into the sensation.
“Are we good, baby?” Chris rubbed his hand over the spot he’d hit, soothing the tingles under Stiles’ skin, and seemed to wait for Stiles to answer.
Stiles nodded, lip caught between his teeth as he glanced back. “Yeah, I-I like it. You could do more?”
“Of course, sweetheart. As much as you’d like. I wanna hear you, though, so no more burying your face against that pillow. Tuck it under your chin if you have to.” Chris trapped Stiles in his gaze until Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.
“Yes, yeah, okay.” Stiles clung to the pillow, tucking the end under his chin as anticipation of the next blow made his skin prickle.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then let it all out. Stiles sank into the bed, trusting Chris to handle him, and maybe even his secrets, too.
“You were so good today, Stiles.” The praise hit just before a firm smack to Stiles’ left cheek.
“Your form was amazing with that crossbow.” Another smack followed the praise, his right cheek heating under Chris’ hand.
Then they landed one after the other, alternating back and forth, falling into a predictable rhythm that built the heat one layer at a time.
“You are one of the smartest people I know.” A stinging blow this time, somehow sharper, and Stiles gasped, arms tightening around the pillow, hips rocking into the soft bedspread a little as electric desire sparked low in his belly.
“I love your wicked tongue. In every sense.” Both hands landed, and Stiles arched away, then pushed back into the dual blows, yelping when Chris squeezed. Stiles dissolved into soft gasps when Chris gentled his touch, running his palms across Stiles’ bottom.
“You’re so beautiful like this, you know that?” Chris asked. Stiles shook his head a little, he couldn’t help it, wouldn’t believe it.
Stiles’ skin prickled again, not from being spanked this time, but from Chris...looking, just staring at him. He could feel his gaze, and after a few more moments of quiet stillness, Stiles squirmed. More time passed, with only the weight of Chris on his legs, the sound of his breathing, and the heaviness of that look boring into Stiles--
“Please!” He couldn’t take it anymore, the weird sense of being alone, even with Chris right there behind him, and desperation brought tears to his eyes. “Please, I need you to--Daddy, please!”
Suddenly, instead of more spankings, Chris blanketed him. Arms braced at the top of the bed, warm puffs of breath by his right ear, and Chris’ erection, bound by his jeans, pressed against Stiles’ ass in a solid line.
“Shh, that’s a good boy, you’re so good for Daddy.” Chris’ voice rumbled through him, and more tears leaked out, Stiles sniffling as it hit home how much he needed to hear that.
“I didn’t tell you,” Stiles confessed in a burst, heart racing. “I couldn’t--it was so messed up, and it’s hard enough trying to get other people past the age thing.”
“Mmm, I know sweetheart. But you are not messed up. Nothing we do together is wrong. And that’s not really what this is, now, is it?” Chris nuzzled behind his ear, stubble scraping in a ticklish burn. “You just need someone to take care of you. To notice that you work hard, and acknowledge it. To appreciate you.”
Chris trailed his fingers up and down Stiles’ sides, bringing goosebumps up in a wave across his skin. They were still his favorite thing, those hands.
He’d fantasized about them for years, had enjoyed them for years now, too, but now he knew what it felt like to be spanked by them. He’d thought of it so many times, alone in the dark, Chris, his strong hands and his calluses--Stiles lost himself in those lingering caresses for a few moments more. It was time to let go, to give in.
To let his Daddy take care of him.
“Yeah, I need...that. I need you.” Stiles bit his lip again, then took as full and deep a breath as he could from under Chris’ body. “I need you, Daddy.”
Chris moaned, pressing rough kisses to his neck until Stiles was all but gasping. “And I need you, baby, just as much. I need you to let me take care of you. Guide you. Give you what you need.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asked, heart racing for a different reason now. “I need you, now, please.”
“Tell me, sweetheart, tell me everything.” Chris held Stiles’ hips in place and rocked against his ass. “Give me the rest of your secrets.”
He’d already given up what he was most afraid to ask for, already received something he hadn’t even had to ask for, and now, well. He’d taken the first few steps. Now it was time to stop waiting, and jump in with both feet.
“Spank me over your knee, Daddy? Until I come?” Stiles turned until their mouths slotted together in a loose kiss, safe in the shelter of Chris’ body. “And then...then can I suck you off?”
“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” Chris sat up, slow, and got off the bed, then began to unbutton his jeans.
“Wait! Can--” Stiles broke off as he sat up, tossing the pillow to the side. “Can you leave the pants on? I, uh, kinda like it. That you’re, you know, dressed.” He blushed, but didn’t look away, so he got to see the way Chris swallowed hard, the way he pressed his palm to his hard-on, the way a flush worked its way up his neck, but didn’t quite reach his cheeks.
“Get over here, sweetheart.” Chris settled on the edge of the bed and patted his lap, spreading his thighs as Stiles scrambled into place.
Once he was in the perfect position, he relaxed while Chris’ confident grip helped keep him securely in place.
His ass still warm from earlier, Stiles tensed when the first hit was featherlight. “Harder, Daddy, please.”
“You asked me to spank you until you came all over me, like the dirty boy you are,” Chris said, running his fingertips in ticklish circles over and over again until Stiles couldn’t resist rutting against his thigh. “But since you asked so sweetly.”
The next was harder, and the one after that...stayed the same. Not harder, but thankfully not softer, and Stiles’ skin buzzed with the pleasure of it.
Every scorching smack pushed him across the soft denim, but the heavenly drag was not enough, not yet, and when he got used to it, he begged again, “More, Daddy, please, harder. I need it!”
Only then would Chris up the force, his patience and endurance just about endless, until Stiles’ entire world was made up of burning blows to his ass. They vibrated through him until he clenched around nothing, having to shove two of his own fingers into his mouth to sate his need to be filled.
Sweeter still was the approaching wave of his orgasm, building and building. His cock, leaking precum until the thin denim under it was smooth and slick, moved back and forth, back and forth, jerked forward with every strike.
Tears dripped down Stiles’ cheeks, rolling over his crossed arms in ticklish streams as his breath came in gasps around his fingers. He couldn’t even beg anymore, too needy, too overwhelmed.
“Let go. Come, now, beautiful,” Chris ordered, and added, “It’s okay, just let go for me. You’re being so good.”
That, the permission mingled with the praise, caught him by surprise and sparked him off, pleasure crashing over him until he lay there, a quivering wreck in Chris’ lap.
Chris drew him up, tucking him against his chest. “Shh, shh, you did so well, love.”
Stiles squirmed, oversensitive. “Mmm.” He let his fingers slip from his mouth, limp and wet, to fall between them. For endless moments, there was only being in his Daddy’s lap, Stiles coming down from his orgasmic high while Chris ran his hands over Stiles’ back, tracing his spine, his shoulder blades, down to the dimples above his ass before circling up again.
He remembered the second part of his request in a sudden rush, and he wiggled his backside pointedly. “Daddy, let me suck you, please? Maybe, uh--” he broke off, blushing, and refused to look Chris in the eye.
Chris tsked and tilted his chin back up with one finger. “Maybe, what?”
“Maybe fuck my face? Not, like, enough to gag or choke, but--” Stiles broke off again and shut his eyes this time. “I like your hands in my hair. I like your hands, period. Might’ve noticed.” Stiles laughed, a little bashful and awkward, but honest.
“That sounds so hot, baby.” Chris trailed kisses across Stiles’ face, stopping at his jaw to leave a sharp nibble, one of his favorite spots. “On your knees.”
Stiles’ cock twitched from the sheer fuck-me-hotness of the order, and let Chris help him slide to the floor. Chris unbuttoned and unzipped, shoving his messy jeans down and carefully kicking them away.
Scooting closer, Stiles nuzzled at Chris’ thighs, then his balls, breathing in his scent before taking the head of his cock into his mouth. He suckled there, the drops of precum slightly bitter on his tongue, and moaned when fingers carded through his hair before taking hold.
He relaxed his jaw, letting his mouth gape open, and glanced up when Chris gasped. “Fuck, baby, let me, just let me,” he babbled, and gave a thrust that hit the roof of Stiles’ mouth, then another, and another.
Stiles enjoyed the tugs on his scalp as Chris adjusted the tilt of his head to smooth things out, his mouth in the perfect position to be used. He gave a low whine when Chris sped up, finding his rhythm, his breathing ragged. Every thrust
“Shh, you’re doing so good baby, so good, fuck, fuck!” Chris groaned, long and low, the deep sound dragged out of him as he came in bitter-salty spurts across Stiles’ tongue.
Stiles shuddered, swallowing, his own dick half-hard from the rush of power flooding through his veins, knowing he’d pleased his Daddy. Chris pulled him away from his softening cock, and he mewled, chasing the flavor with his tongue, lapping gently at the head as postcum beaded at the tip.
“Fuck, that was--” Chris palmed the back of Stiles’ neck and pulled him up for a kiss, then pressed their foreheads together. Stiles purred in agreement, angling his face into Chris’ palm.
“Amazing?” Stiles offered, climbing back into Chris’ lap, and aimed for another kiss. Their mouths slid together, and the world tilted when Chris lay back, bringing Stiles with him. Stiles giggled when Chris kept going, rolling them until he pressed Stiles into the bed.
“Yeah, you were amazing, sweetheart,” Chris said, voice warm with a pride that Stiles could see reflected in his gaze.
It didn’t feel as piercing, now, when Chris looked at him. It felt safe, being seen, being known. Stiles savored the fierce happiness so plain to see on Chris’ face.
“Thanks, Daddy. You were pretty damn incredible, too.” Stiles tugged Chris down for another kiss, reveling in the grounding weight of his body, and the headiness of knowing he wasn’t just accepted, but eagerly matched, kinks and all.