It’s been a few days since Peter’s encounter with the influenza virus and he’s glad to be going back to work. Two days of constant pampering from Deadpool had been wonderful, but he’s ready to be apart of civilization again and they’ve burned through all the Disney movies Netflix had to offer.
And no matter how much one loves their partner, there is such a thing as too much. He quells Deadpool’s insistent concerns that he should take one more day off, just to be sure. The furrowed brow and pouting lower lip is more than his conscience can handle and he offers a compromise. He’ll go back to work, but he’ll take one more day off from patrol as long as Deadpool will go stop a few muggings to keep up appearances.
It’s enough to make Deadpool brighten with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm. Peter shrugs it off. He’s probably just happy he doesn’t have to share him with the rest of New York for one more night.
Peter gives him a quick hug and kiss on the jaw, hand on the door knob when Daddy’s deep baritone stops him.
“Since you’re feeling good enough to go to work, you’re up for your punishment tonight, right?”
His knees wobble. Peter swallows dryly, glancing over his shoulder to meet Deadpool’s smug smirk. The ‘punishment’ referred to a repercussion delayed because he’d been ill. His transgression had been going to work, and then fighting Hulk, sick. Deadpool had threatened a spanking, but with that tone there was no way that’s all he had planned.
Deadpool is suddenly in front of him, one arm out straight, his palm flat on the door beside Peter’s head. His other hand grips Peter’s chin and forces him to look his Daddy in the eye. “You were a very naughty boy, weren’t you?” He purrs, leaning in to nuzzle Peter’s neck with an affection not matched in his dark tone. “Teasing Daddy with your flirting like a little slut.”
Peter’s thighs tremble and his adam's apple bobs as he gulps. He’d thought Deadpool had forgotten about that and now he’s not sure if he’s glad or terrified that he remembered.
“I’m ready for whatever Daddy wants to do to me.” He’d backed into the door when Deadpool approached him and he arches his spine unnaturally, taking full advantage of his enhanced flexibility.
Deadpool’s grin is sharp.
“You’re going to miss the bus.” He says, gripping Peter’s wrist and leading him to the bathroom. He opens a drawer, not looking at Peter as he orders him to drop his pants.
Peter does so without protest.
Deadpool knocks his feet apart with a much larger foot and shoves his torso down. Peter’s face is inches from the mirror and his breath fogs the toothpaste splattered surface. “You, young man,” Deadpool says, holding up what he’d grabbed from the drawer. “Are going to wear this all day.” Peter squints at the objects reflection because he won’t risk turning when Daddy has so deliberately put him in this position.
He’s not sure what it is, but it looks daunting. It’s a phallic shaped, silver cage with a ring at its base and the entire thing is attached to a black leather strap.
Oh. Oh God.
Deadpool watches the realization pour over his baby boy’s face and smiles. He puts the device on Peter, rough fingers skimming across the boy’s skin unnecessarily. A whine gets caught in Peter’s throat.
The ring slips under his sac and the cage has two inches of growing room for his flaccid cock. Deadpool admires the black leather that lies just below his hip bones. “You’re also going to wear this.”
He holds up something Peter is familiar with. A black silicone butt plug with a flared base and at its widest part no match for Deadpool’s girth. It’s only about four inches long and slips into Peter easily with only a little bit of lube.
The part of his mind that would have questioned this, insisted their sexual games shouldn’t leave the bedroom, had long ago abandoned him. He trusts Deadpool intrinsically. The man would always have his best interests at heart and if they erred in someway his safe word would end all games. If Deadpool--Daddy--thinks he can handle something like this he believes he can.
Peter fumbles to buckle his belt. He takes a moment to look at his reflection. It looks like he’s packing a little bit more in the front than usual, but otherwise his appearance doesn’t hint at the obscene display beneath the suit Tony gave him.
That has to do something for Deadpool.
An open palmed hand slaps his ass, jarring the plug inside him. “Better get going. Don’t want to be late.” Deadpool winks and Peter walks out into the world, blush staining his cheeks.
He’s missed his bus and taking a cab goes against his frugal upbringing. Peter sighs, gait skewed as he power walks. The plug isn’t painful, per say, just uncomfortable. After a block he decides fuck it and starts sprinting.
His hair is a wind swept mess and he needs to reapply his body spray, but he gets to work on time. Superhuman endurance is a blessing he always appreciates.
His supervisor crosses her arms and raises a sculpted eyebrow at him.
“Are you still sick?” She asks. Peter shakes his head.
Her skepticism is tangible. “You’re all red.”
Peter, if it was possible, blushes harder. “I, uh, missed the subway. Had to run to get here.” He flashes a grin. It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
“Whatever you say, Parker. Get to work.” Her attention and scrutiny leave him and Peter exhales.
It’s an hour before his phone buzzes in his pocket. The additions to his outfit have Peter on edge and he yelps when his phone goes off. He whips it out, anxiously opening the message from Deadpool.
Hows my little fuckboy?
Peter grits his teeth. That is not fair. He types a terse fine and adds, Daddy, as an afterthought.
Daddy has so much in store for his bad little boy. You’re going to need crutches when I’m through with your tight little ass.
Reading that makes his cock twitch and Peter shifts in his seat, unintentionally clenching around the plug. His fingers fly across the screen. He might as well play the game.
Want you so much, Daddy.
Are you alone? Deadpool asks.
Peter glances around the room. He’s currently at his desk, going over schematics for any mistakes. He’s not alone, there are a handful of other people working around him, but they’re all engrossed in their own tasks.
He pulls out a tangled mess of ear buds and shoves them into his ears. He taps on Deadpool’s contact information, calling him.
“Baby boy,” Deadpool greets huskily.
“I have my headphones in, I can’t really talk… but I can listen.”
“Listen is all you need do, baby boy.” Deadpool assures. “Daddy’s going to tell you a little story, make sure you keep working. We don’t want big bad Stark to be upset with you, do we?” Peter shakes his head and then answers verbally, because Deadpool obviously can’t see him. He hopes, anyway. “Tell me you want me to pick up kettle corn from the store if you need me to stop.” Deadpool says, and then launches into his ‘story’.
“Once upon a time there was a little superhero called Spider-Hood.” He continues through Peter’s snort. “Spider-Hood was a good little boy. He always did what he thought was right. He helped everyone he met. One day the Big Bad Wolf visited New York and he was getting his ass beat by some punk ass little bitches. Spider-Hood saw this and swooped in to save him. He, like, did some badass karate kicks and webbed up the little bad guys, having no idea he’d just saved the ultimate bad guy.” Deadpool talks quickly and Peter can picture his lovers wild gestures.
“The Big Bad Wolf saw this precious little superhero and instantly knew he had to eat him up. Seriously, who walks around in spandex that tight, showing off how hot they are? His butt was begging to be violated.” Deadpool’s voice drops back into that sexy tone. “The Wolf starts hanging out with the little hero, waiting for his moment. But before he can jump the pretty little boy something strange happens. He,” Deadpool hesitates. “He starts to fall in love, for real. Little Spider-Hood is so sweet and good, too good for the Big Bad Wolf to ruin.”
Peter frowns at his desk. Deadpool’s embellished fairytale version of their meeting is cute, but he’s always been one to delve beneath the surface. Perhaps without even realizing it, Deadpool is telling Peter he views himself as a predator whose intent had only been to corrupt.
Peter doesn’t believe that for a moment. Deadpool may be a pervert, but he’s always respected the boundaries Peter sets. They’ll have to have a talk about that later, uncover and work at fixing Deadpool’s self-esteem issues. And Peter knows there are many.
“The Wolf didn’t just want to shove Spider-Hood onto his knees and fuck his smart little mouth, he wanted to take him home and cook for him and go to bed with him every night.” Deadpool clears his throat. “Well, one day Spider-Hood comes to the Wolf and says he wants to go steady--steady? How old are we? People still say steady! Are we going to give him our lettermans jacket and class ring too? We didn’t even graduate. I’ll buy him a damn ring, shut up, I’m trying to tell a goddamn story! Shit am I talking out loud?”
“Honey,” Peter says evenly. “Are the boxes chatty today?”
“Fuck yeah we are, baby!” That would be Yellow. “This guy really likes you, did you know? What a sap. Steady, he says. We’re old, but not teenager in the 1950’s old!”
Peter laughs. “I’m jiggy with the lingo. I’m not some jive ass turkey. I can use all the radical, tubular slang as kids do. It’s righteous, amiright? And I really like him, too.”
Deadpool replies, deadpan. White, then. “You really are cute. I wish you’d rip the bandaid off, though. Waiting for the other foot to drop is no way to live.”
“I’m in this for the long haul, guys. I wish you’d stop thinking I’m going to up and leave.”
“...Everyone else does.” Is that White or Wade?
“Well, if that means you and me got together, that’s not all bad, is it? You deserve someone who knows what a catch you are. Someone who treats you like a king.”
He hears the sharp intake of a breath and his heart flutters. He hopes he said the right thing.
Deadpool doesn’t get the chance to reply.
“As much as I find this conversation entertaining, you’re not being paid to woo your husband.”
Peter almost falls out of his seat. “Sorry Angela! Babe I gotta go!” He hangs up and laughs nervously, sinking in his seat under Angela’s heavy gaze. She shakes her head, failing to hide her amused smile.
“Sorry,” Peter calls after her. She just laughs.
He goes back to his work, again aware of the plug inside him. His phone buzzes with a new message.
Sorry. Kinda ruined the mood. Still gonna wreck your ass, Spider-Hood.
Deadpool sends him a picture, and Peter glances over his shoulder to make sure there are no prying eyes on his phone before opening the message. The man’s tongue is rolled out of his mouth between two fingers that form a V-shape. Blue eyes smolder.
When I’m through with you you’ll be begging for a spanking. I’m gonna give your throat a work out and leave your knees bruised. Your going to have to prove you want that cage off, baby boy. Gonna make you wetter than a preteen girl at a Jonas Brothers concert.
Daddy is going to make sure you never go to work sick again, baby boy. Maybe I’ll eat you out, make you scream. Daddy can keep hard all night, maybe I won’t let you come. Work you so hard you pass out before you’ve earned taking that cage off. What do you think, baby boy? I have the stamina to paint you white. Would you like that? Wearing Daddy’s come? Or would you rather swallow it? Or maybe--
The message ends mid sentence and Peter stares at his phone like he’s trying to solve the most complex math problem in the world.
Or maybe you’d rather I fill you to bursting with my come. I can stay in you all night. When I’m done with you we can put that plug back in, keep Daddy’s come inside you all day. Sloshing around your filthy hole. What do you think about that?
His inflating cock bumps against the confines of metal. He checks the time.
Three more hours.
He types back, whatever Daddy wants.
On his lunch break he gets another call. His voice absolutely does not crack when he answers.
“Want to see something cool?” Deadpool immediately asks.
There’s a short pause and then Peter leaps out of his seat, a startled scream making everyone look at him. Face bright red he stutters something about spilling his water on his lap. There are a few curious stares, but everyone goes back to their work.
The plug is vibrating. It’s silent, thank God. Where the hell did Deadpool buy this thing?
“Asshole,” he hisses into the phone.
“Oh good it works. How does it feel, baby boy? It just barely touches your G-spot, doesn’t it?”
“I am not a girl.” Peter whispers, eyes darting around the room. No one is looking at him. He then processes the question. Deadpool is right. The vibrating device grazes his prostate and the base is to wide for him to suck the toy in further. “Yes, actually.”
Deadpool hums. “I thought so. I got that special for you.”
“I should hope so. I’d be offended if you’d gotten it for someone else.”
He can hear Deadpool’s smile. “Oh, baby boy, your the only one for me. Be good for Daddy, no taking that cage off.” He adds, “well, unless you have to piss. Then you’d better take it off. There’s no way that’s sanitary.”
He hangs up abruptly. Peter holds his phone to his ear, flabbergasted.
The plug turns off and on intermittently, keeping him on the literal and figurative edge of his seat. It’s insanely powerful, sending waves of pleasure up his spine and knocking his bones around. His cock is leaking precome, straining against the bars of its prison.
“Parker, are you sure you’re not still sick? Your face is really red.” Angela asks and curse her for being a considerate, hands on boss.
“Maybe I should have waited one more day.” Peter says through a tense smile. “I’m fine though, really. I won’t throw up or anything.”
“As long as it’s not on any carpet,” Angela shrugs, “do you have any idea how much that carpet costs?”
At five on the dot he’s out the door, running past Angela and her instructions not to come in if he’s still sick tomorrow.
He dead sprints all the way home, up two flights of stairs and bursts in through the door.
“Daddy!” He calls breathlessly, leaning on a wall and fantically seeking his lover. The plug is again rattling around inside him.
He is surely a sight. His hair unkempt and his clothes jostled from running. “Daddy, please.” He tries, and the plug vibrates harder. His knees hit the floor and he doubles over, shocked. He blinks away tears and looks up to see Deadpool towering over him.
“Daddy,” he says again, softer. Reverent. A hand cradles the curve of his cheek and he presses into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Missed Daddy so much.”
“Did you run?” Deadpool asks, bemused. Peter nods, looking up at him desperately. Two hours with a plug vibrating in his ass has brought him to a new level of depravity. “You must be thirsty.”
Peter nods eagerly. “Please, Daddy.”
Deadpool’s cock bobs as his sweatpants pull down off it and Peter’s mouth is attached to the head in an instant. He sucks, distantly wondering why and how long Deadpool has been hard. Peter swallows and decides he doesn’t care.
Daddy’s cock is thick and heavy in his mouth. The smell of heady arousal invades his nostrils and he forces himself forward until his nose is pressed to Wade’s pelvis. He holds himself there, throat convulsing around Deadpool’s length. His lips are a seal around the cock and he glances up, hollowing his cheeks as they make eye contact.
A hand grasps the back of his head and pulls him off before Deadpool shoves back in. His hips, ripping with muscle, set a hard tempo. With a cock jammed deep in his throat, Peter can only breathe through his nose. Everytime Deadpool pulls back, the head ghosting on his lips and staining them with the taste of precome, Peter gulps for air. He doesn’t resist when Deadpool holds him down on his length, making him dizzy for breath. Every time he’s held in place just long enough for his lungs to start to burn. He feels his heartbeat in his chest and Deadpool pulls out, the sudden rush of air into his system setting him afloat on an endless sea.
“Such a slut for Daddy’s cock.” His hips rock and Deadpool’s fingers have an unrelenting grip on Peter’s hair. “Sucking me off like a whore. Daddy’s cocksleeve.” Peter hums and Deadpool laughs. “You like that, being Daddy’s fucktoy? You’re good at it,” He seems to be thinking aloud now, and Peter doubles his efforts to see what Daddy thinks of him. His hands snake around Deadpool’s thighs for purchase as he works. “Mm, I love your little mouth, stretched around me. And you’ve gotten so good at taking all of Daddy.” The praise twists around Peter and he whines. “So good for Daddy.”
The words fill his head with fog and his vision blurs. He feels lost to the rest of the world, floating on the ocean of Wade’s voice and presence. He’s been approaching this place all day and now the sensation of Daddy’s cock in his mouth and Daddy’s praise in his ears gives him release.
All tension bleeds out of him and he slumps on Deadpool’s member.
The hand on his head pets him. “There’s my good boy.”
This is the fastest Peter has ever gotten to his subspace and Deadpool is going to make the most of it. He thrusts into that liquid heat, pumping come down Peter’s waiting throat. Velvety walls spasm around him as he swallows, eyelids falling shut over pleasure blown eyes. He stays in Peter’s mouth until he’s hard again and then pulls out, taking a moment to admire the boy’s easy submission before him.
Peter looks perfectly content on the floor between Daddy’s legs, painting the image of some debatched businessman in his rumpled suit. Deadpool drags Peter to his feet, his body sliding up to press flush with Deadpool’s. Deadpool’s arms constrict around Peter’s thin waist. The boy feels so tiny against his much larger frame.
Peter stumbles after him to the bedroom, where he stands lost and awaiting direction.
Deadpool sits on the edge of their bed and beckons Peter with one hand. “Strip.” Peter struggles with his buttons and sheds his clothes. Deadpool drinks in the sight. Seeing Peter’s body, be it a glimpse in the foggy shower or when he changes into his ridiculous Hello Kitty pajama pants and tourist T-shirt, is the most religious experience as he’s ever had.
Peter is a contradiction, he realizes as he looks at the boy. He’s naked, cock dripping so steadily his pubic hair is slick, there’s a vibrator up his ass, and he still manages to look as innocent as a virgin. Part of it is an act, he knows. Part of the game they play, but part of it is real.
Peter, despite all of the awfulness he’s witnessed and suffered, remains an idealist. He believes goodness exists, something Deadpool hadn’t even believed until he met Peter. The world had yet to beat the youthful hope out of him, and Deadpool hopes it never does. Looking at Peter is a reminder that good things, good people, are real.
The boy isn’t innocent, not truly, but he looks at the chaos that is the world and thinks ‘we can fix this’, instead of accepting it as ineluctable.
He is, and always will be, Deadpool’s light in the darkness.
Deadpool is momentarily gripped with the impulse to end their game and take Peter right then, slow and gentle and domestic.
But Peter is enjoying himself and he won’t take that away.
“It’s time for your punishment, baby boy.”
Peter lays on his lap, languid and twitching. Deadpool maneuvers him so he’s laid across one of his thighs, his other leg hooked over both of Peter’s, pinning him in place. He clicks a switch on the plugs base and it powers off. He doesn’t want it’s sweet vibrations to lessen the effect of his baby boy’s punishment.
Peter jerks forward from the first blow, mouth falling open. Deadpool’s arm draws back and slices through the air, the slap of skin on skin ringing out. Peter gasps.
“Count ‘em.” Deadpool instructs. “If you lose count or stop counting, we’re starting over.”
“...How many?” Peter’s voice is small and wobbly, like a terrified child’s. It almost makes Deadpool feel guilty.
“Twenty-five. And I want you to tell me a reason you’re sorry after everyone.”
Peter nods, says nothing else. Deadpool’s hand hits his ass in the center, just above his sac.
“Two,” Peter grinds out. “I’m sorry I went to work.” The next two blows hit each cheek with a crack and nudge the plug deeper inside him. “Three, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was sick. Four, I’m sorry I fought Hulk.”
Deadpool rubs the reddening flesh and then begins the punishment again, harder and faster. Peter doesn’t have time to breathe, let alone speak, between the five hits. “Five,” he stutters, his head swimming. “I--uh, I’m sorry I worried Daddy. Six, I’m sorry I passed out. Seven, I’m sorry I put myself into a position I could be hurt. Eight, I’m sorry for teasing Daddy. Nine… Daddy I don’t know!” His voice takes a high, whining pitch.
“It’s okay, baby boy. Just count for me.” The boy’s ass is rosey and Deadpool targets pale thighs. This earns a small cry and Peter, who had been supporting himself on his elbows, is knocked down, head hung. “Ten… eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen.”
The flesh ripples under the slaps and Deadpool feels the slickness of Peter’s restrained arousal on his leg. Peter begins to cry, body shaking, hiccuping tears. Deadpool stops five slaps short and comforts the quaking mess that is his lover. “Shh, you did good. You did so good, baby boy. Daddy is so proud of you.”
Deadpool massages the abused cheeks and then pulls Peter up so he sitting on his lap, facing him. Peter collapses against him, limp.
“Daddy, Daddy, please.”
“You have been good.” Deadpool begins, grinning wickedly at the hopefulness that blossoms on Peter’s face. “But Daddy is supposed to go patrol. Maybe you need to wait a little longer.”
The sob that wrenches from Peter is gorgeous.
“Don’t leave me, Daddy. It hurts.”
“Patience is a virtue, baby boy.” Deadpool pretends to think, loving the way Peter squirms, and then reaches for the cage. He removes it and jerks Peter to full attention with only a few flicks of his wrist. He flips them so Peter lays on his back, legs open. Fingers slip in alongside the plug and he pulls it out, Peter’s hole clenching as if fighting to keep it in. His thumbs spread lush cheeks, putting Peter’s pucker on display. It had gaped for a moment after he pulled the plug out, but now it’s closed. It’s amazing, Deadpool thinks, how Peter is still tight after all this time. How he’s still as sweet as that first time they made love.
His baby boy is so wonderful.
He replaces the plug in one smooth thrust. Peter’s moan is sinful. Deadpool rocks at a painfully slow pace.
“You feel so good, baby boy. Always hot and tight like a fucking vice. Made just for me.”
It seems to be taking most of Peter’s attention remembering to breathe, and Deadpool is surprised when Peter answers.
“Yours.” He affirms. “Your baby boy. Always Daddy’s.”
Deadpool rams into Peter as a reward, the keening wail the action earns telling him that stopping is not an option. As fun as it would be to leave Peter hanging, fit him with another cock ring and leave him writhing while he patrols, Deadpool doesn’t have the restraint for that. He flattens a hand on Peter’s lower stomach and presses, feels the push of his thrusts traveling through his lover.
“I bet you could come just like this, your cute little cock untouched.”
Peter doesn’t respond this time, too far gone to form any coherent thoughts. In all the time they’ve been together, he’s never seen Peter this uninhibited. That Peter trusts him enough to be in this state with him warms Deadpool’s heart. He grasps the dribbling cock, thumbs the weeping slit.
Peter comes with a shout, ropes of white spurting onto his abdomen. Deadpool kisses him, their teeth clashing, and drives home into Peter’s prostate. He groans, thrusts breaking their rhythm as he empties into Peter.
He huffs, but doesn’t lie down. He stays looming over Peter, basking in the afterglow on Peter’s face. His baby boy’s eyes are closed, his lashes resting on his flushed cheek. He is boneless.
Peter cracks an eye open, smiles his sunny smile that will always make Deadpool’s heart soar. He kisses Peter’s forehead impulsively. “I love you.” He says, whispered like it’s a secret and like he hasn’t proclaimed his love for Spider-Man time and time again. Peter grins, wraps his arms around Deadpool’s neck.
“Cuddles.” Peter accounces, yanking Deadpool down to lay beside him. “And then a shower. And then dinner.”
Deadpool agrees wholeheartedly, sighing happily as Peter’s chest presses to his back, the smaller man curling around him. “I found an awesome recipe for cheeto mac and cheese, wanna make it with me?”
Peter kisses his shoulder tenderly. “Love to. We can get some cream for my ass while we’re at the store.”
Deadpool gasps theatrically, although his worry is real, if exaggerated. “Was I too hard? Oh baby boy I’m sorry!”
Peter soothes him sleepily. “Shut up, you were wonderful. You’re always wonderful.”
“...Really?” Deadpool’s tone holds the same smallness as it had on their earlier phone call. A tentative hopefulness.
“Really really.” Peter peppers kisses on Deadpool’s head, squeezes him tightly.
“...Your boss thinks we’re married?”
Peter stiffens. “She, and everyone else in the office. And the takeout people. Like, all of them. The Chinese lady actually calls you my husband when I order food.”
Deadpool squeals. He turns around and yanks Peter into a crushing embrace. “I’m the luckiest man in the whole wide world!”
Peter smiles, loses himself in Deadpool’s sky-blue eyes. He nods, pulls away.
“You and me both. I’m going to shower, and you should to. You’re all smeared with my… stuff.”
“Spunk, baby making batter, essense, jizz?” Deadpool says impishly.
Peter’s face bursts into flames, as red as he’d been with a cock up his ass from Deadpool’s schoolyard teasing.
He runs to the bathroom, Deadpool close on his heels. If they have a water gun fight that floods the room, neither of them regrets it.
And if they hold hands when they go shopping, calling each other ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and ‘sweetums’, no one comments.