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cherry wine

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It starts off with a harmless day dream about fighting a big bad with Mr Stark.


Really, it’s mostly Calculus 101’s fault. Peter’s supposed to have skipped all this boring first year stuff, but somebody in the office had lost the paperwork that announced him knowledgeable enough for him to go straight into second year papers, so he’s stuck in classes that he doesn’t even need because he knows it all anyway until they sort the mess out.


So, Peter’s not really paying attention to the equations and graphs on the projector screen, he’s staring somewhere off to the left of the girl’s ear in front of him, thinking about the next big alien invasion or Dr Doom incident and fighting alongside Iron Man. Wouldn’t it be cool if Mr Stark gave him a ride on his back so he could build up some velocity before he swung off, oh, oh, and he could totally bounce off of Cap’s shield and go swinging into a mass of evil robots, utilising the awesome web bomb that he’d been working on, and everybody would pat him on the back and give him hugs at the end of it for being able to work alongside everybody but also display his own cool powers and tech.


Black Widow gave the best hugs. Peter blushes bright red and looks down at his textbook that he doesn’t need to read because he knows all of it already. Yeah, her curves were awesome, don’t get Peter wrong, but she has all this strength that she wasn’t afraid to use to squeeze Peter to her body. Cap’s hugs were totally cool as well, Cap could never be bad at anything, but he was too conscious of his super soldier strength and delicate in his bear hugs. Mr Stark was, well, Mr Stark, and he mostly gave pats on the back, and when he did give hugs, they were special, not the kind you blushed at. Hawkeye gave good one armed squeezes, and Dr Banner wasn’t much for hugs.


Thor though, Thor gave the best hugs out of them all.


Peter shifts his gaze over to the clock on the beige wall, frowning as he watches the second hand tick. He’s never really thought in depth about why Thor’s hugs were the best, they just kind of were, but now that he really thinks about it, it might have something to do with the fact that Peter is generally breathless afterwards from being squeezed so hard he thinks something might pop.


Thor is super, duper strong. Like, could lift a building containing ten elephants and a country’s worth of steel. He’s definitely stronger than Peter, and Peter recons he could hold him down with one big, muscular arm like Peter was weaker than a kitten. He probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelash as Peter struggled to get out from under him, he would probably just get between Peter’s legs and pin him down with a huge hand around his throat and squeeze until Peter’s vision went fuzzy, and then when all the fight had gone from him and Peter was limp with surrender he would spread Peter’s thighs wide and fuck into him-






Where in the heck had that come from?


Flushing bright red, Peter pulls his book bag over his crotch and looks surreptitiously around to his seat neighbours. Thankfully nobody seems to have noticed his impromptu boner.


But, holy hell, what was that thought?


Clearing his throat, Peter puts his head down and pretends to be trying to puzzle out the equation the lecturer was currently droning on about. Thor would never choke him out, or, or, do that, ever! And he’s never thought about Thor that way! Or any of the Avengers for that matter, well, except for the occasional fantasy about Black Widow doing that awesome take down thing where she basically strangled you with her thighs, but who hadn’t thought about that?


Okay, okay, no need to panic. He didn’t have a big huge crush on Thor; he was a dude, and dudes had random sexual thoughts about people all the time. Hadn’t there been a study on it? And the choking- well, Peter had just saved someone from being mugged the other day, and saving someone from being choked while getting their wallet stolen would stick to anyone, right? Anyway, Peter should just forget about it, it would never happen again.


The lecturer begins to wrap up, and Peter gathers his pens, notebook and textbook, concentrating on not thinking about Thor and choking, and more on his next physics class.




Peter doesn’t forget about it.


In fact, Peter can’t stop thinking about it.


He’s so distracted about having a big crush on Thor that he almost gets decapitated by a huge flying bug with razor wings coming at him. The only things that saves him is Hawkeye firing an arrow into the things big green eyeball, popping the membrane and getting goopy green shit all over Peter as he jumps out of the way of it’s falling corpse.


“Hey, kid, pay attention! You’re not usually this out of it, what’s going on?”


Swinging up next to Clint, Peter fires out some webbing to tangle up another one of those weird razor winged bugs.


“Nothing, it’s nothing!”


“Uh huh,” Clint shoots three arrows in succession, felling three more bugs. “Is it about a giiiiirl? Oh, or a boy, not going to make an assumptions here, you could totally swing both ways, it’s all cool, you’re nineteen right, I don’t have to give you the talk about the birds and the bees do I?”


“No, no, you definitely don’t, and it’s not about a girl!”


“Oh, so it’s a guy, huh?”


Peter groans and grabs Hawkeye around the middle and swings them up to a higher building and better vantage point. The bugs are coming less and less now, it looks like Mr Stark’s plan to down the Mother Bug is working.


“Well, um, maybe? I don’t really know, I hadn’t even thought about him that way until a few days ago, and it totally caught me by surprise and it totally doesn’t even make any sense! Like, we’ve hardly ever spoken!”


Clint grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him sideways to shoot another bug coming for them. Peter uses the momentum to bounce off his hands and flip into the air, firing off a big web net to drop a whole lot of the suckers out of the air.


Clint whistles appreciatively as he lands back down. “Nice one, Spider-Boy. So, tell me what you like about this guy then? Is he hot?”


“Uuh,” Peter squints behind his mask, spotting a civilian in a sticky situation down below. “Yeah, I guess so?” Thor had a nice face, and he’d recently grown a beard. Beards were hot, right? He propels himself off the ledge and swings down, kicking a big pink worm off of the man. Eurgh, so many bugs.


“Thanks, Spider-Man! That thing was seriously grossing me out!”


Peter salutes the guy, “no problem, if something else starts to bug you, just yell! I’m always happy to help!” And swings back up to Clint, leaving the civilian groaning.


“So, if you don’t think he’s good looking, and you haven’t had enough conversations with the guy to know him properly, what do you like about him?”


Seeing no monster insects around for the time being, Peter stops to think. What did he like about Thor? Sure, the dude was nice, and funny in a dorky sort of way, and admittedly hot, but that wasn’t what got Peter going in his calc class.


It was his huge muscles, and the thought that he could hold Peter down with no problem, that had him popping a boner in the most boring lecture he’d ever attended.


“Oh,” Peter squeaks. He didn’t have a crush on Thor. He had a crush on the guy’s muscles.




The epiphany carries over to Peter sitting down on his bed in his dorm room, fresh from a shower to get all the bug gunk that had seeped through his suit off of him.


Mr Stark had managed to wrangle a single room for him, since having a roommate would totally cramp his Spidey style, so Peter doesn’t feel bad for pulling out his shitty laptop and opening up an incognito window of his browser. And then opens up Pornhub.


Wincing, with his face burning, he tries to ignore the massive amounts of vagina and breasts displayed in the ads and clicks on the search bar.


Muscular, he types, and then presses enter.


He clicks on the first search result and watches through his fingers as a muscle bound man pounds a curvy woman into her bed. The sounds are so embarrassing that he mutes his laptop, but he can’t help but watch the guy’s biceps bulge as he moves his body over hers. Okay, kind of hot.


But he isn’t having the reaction that he thought he would. Biting his lip, he goes back one page and clicks on another video. This one is just a naked lady who’s super ripped flexing at the camera and groping her naked body. Yep, not doing anything for him. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just muscles that he liked?


He goes back to the search bar, adds choking and hits enter before he chickens out.


The first video is a girl getting fucked roughly by a big guy. Curious, Peter plugs his headphones in and listens to the sound. Along with the wet, sloppy sounds of his dick slamming into her are the sounds of her crying as she’s held down, and Peter pulls back in horror as the guy slaps her around the face and tells her to stop being a little bitch. He almost slams his laptop closed, but just before he does she lets out a loud moan; she’s enjoying this.


And something in him is enjoying it as well.


Eyes wide, he watches as the guy gets a big hand around her neck and starts to choke her, and after a while she convulses and has a pretty over the top orgasm, excessively screaming out her pleasure as the guy slaps her breasts bright red with his other hand. The entire time she’s pinned down and abused, and Peter shouldn’t be enjoying it, but he is.


He isn’t imagining being the guy however, he’s imagining being her. Being held down and fucked and slapped around the face. Just thinking about being in her place has him squirming.


The video ends with the money shot of the guy coming over her bright red breasts, and Peter does slam his laptop closed, hand over his mouth. He looks down as his dick, tenting up his pants and harder than he thinks it’s ever been, and is absolutely horrified at himself.


Who the fuck gets off thinking about being hurt like that?!




Peter’s pretty sure he’s had almost no sleep the past few nights. He just can’t get over the fact that there’s something wrong with him, that now all he can think about is someone holding him down and forcing into him as he screams and cries and only half tries to get away, because he doesn’t really want to escape as somebody hurts him as they fuck him, and that is so fucked up in so many ways.


Rape is a terrible, horrible, inhumane thing. It’s disgusting, and Peter would never ever wish it upon anybody, so why is he fantasizing about it happening to him? It’s happened to so many people out there, and they’ve been hurt in the worst way, they’re traumatised and will probably never be the same, and here he is, getting off to the thought of being raped by choice, and that is just so wrong.


“Peter, hey, are you alright?”


“Huh?” Peter looks up from staring into the depths of his stone cold coffee. MJ is staring at him from across the table, her face worried.


“You look way more tired than usual. Your usual bags have like, tenfolded in the last two days. What the hell is going on, you nerd? I know you haven’t been up late playing video games, otherwise Ned would be in the same state as you, and he’s as annoying chipper as always.”


Peter’s knee jerk reaction is to deny everything and anything. “Nothing’s wrong! Absolutely nothing! I’m completely normal, everything is normal, yep, super duper normal, nothing wrong with me at all.”


Of course, MJ doesn’t buy it. “Pete, I’m not an idiot. We’ve been friends for years now, even though you’re a complete loser and I don’t know why I still hang out with you, and the last time I saw you this freaked out is was when you realised that you liked dick as much as you liked pussy.”


Peter flushes bright red. MJ had been the one who he’d confided to, because he would die before he’d talk to Aunt May about this stuff, and Ned, Ned was a great friend, but not someone you talked to about liking dick more than vagina about. MJ had been super supportive and not weird about it at all, and she’d been the only thing that had stopped him from having a complete breakdown about it all. Looking back, he’d been so silly about it. Being bi wasn’t a huge deal, especially now a days with everybody being so open and supportive about it, but he’d been so busy freaking out about being different that he hadn’t thought about the fact that if one of his friends came out bi, he would be completely fine with it.


And he’s freaking out about this shit now. Like, really bad. Maybe talking about this stuff to MJ would help? She’s the most open minded person Peter has ever met, if he was going to talk to someone about the stuff going on in his head, she was the person to do it with.


“MJ… I think, I think there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he whispers, and they end up back at her dorm room, Peter’s face hidden in her pillow in shame as he confesses.


She’s silent for a moment, and Peter waits anxiously for her scathing words to come down on him like a tonne of bricks.


But all she does is put a hand on his shoulder. “Peter, there’s nothing wrong with you. People can have rape fantasies, it doesn’t mean that you actually want to get raped, and it doesn’t mean that you think real rape is okay, it just means that you like to get hurt while having sex, and maybe want to get into some heavy roleplaying. Peter- oh, Peter, don’t cry,” and then she’s hugging him as he sobs into her shoulder, and she pats his back and soothes his hair back and hands him some tissues when he finally pulls back.


“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Peter sniffs, hiding his face in a tissue. “Fuck, I’m so weird.”


“No, you just have some pretty heavy kinks that I did not see coming, wow, what else are you hiding behind that pretty goody two shoes face and those tasteless nerdy slogan tees, huh?”


Peter gets busy wiping away the tears and snot on his face so he doesn’t have to answer that. In his state, he might just let his Spidey secret slip, and he is so not ready for that to come out just yet.


They talk about it a little more, and MJ does a lot to assuage his fears about it all. Peter starts feeling better about his weird affinity to being held down and hurt during sex, and stops thinking that he’d have to punch himself out next time he was Spider-Man.


Before he leaves, she gives him a couple links to a few websites and even a club that he might want to check out, winking as she does so. Blushing bright red, Peter stuffs the post it note into his pocket and flees down the hallway to the sound of her cackling.




The post-it note is unbelievably heavy in his pocket and refuses to be ignored.


Peter tries his hardest, getting through some readings for a second year bio engineering paper he’s actually excited about, but gives in that night, pulling out his laptop and putting his headphones in to listen to some calming music.


The websites are BDSM websites, and Peter thinks that his face is going to be permanently red for the rest of his life as he reads through it all. There’s talk about consent and contracts and safe words and lists of kinks and words like bondage and scat-play and sounding and it all boggles his mind and kind of freaks him out so completely that he ends up clicking out of them all and looking up the club MJ suggested instead.


It’s pretty far away from campus so there’s hopefully no chance of anybody recognising him, and as Peter scrolls through the site, seems pretty safe. It’s all anonymous, with a cover charge on weekends, and they have some pretty good security.


Biting his lip, Peter promises himself that he’ll go next week after handing in his physics project, even if he can already feel the nerves fluttering like butterflies in his stomach. He’ll just check it out, maybe just get a feel for the place, see if he actually likes it, before trying anything with anybody.


Mind made up, he clicks over to his email to see if his course coordinator has gotten back to him about being able to skip all his first year papers yet.


Things are looking up; there is an email from her. And apparently Peter isn’t a super freak, well, more of a super freak. Not a bad day, all in all.




“Dude, you’re Spider-Man, you can go into one stupid club.”


Peter’s fake ID is burning a hole in his wallet as he lingers across the street, eyeing up the discreet door below a discreet sign that reads cherry wine. He’s so nervous that he’s pretty sure people can hear the change jingling in his pocket from his leg twitching, and he’s wearing some pretty tight jeans.


The fake ID had come from Natasha of all people. It had only taken like two words from him lamenting about how he had to wait two more years to drink even though he was saving New York from big baddies alongside the Avengers and she’d hooked him right up. Peter probably had the most authentic fake ID in all of America.


She probably didn’t envision him using it to get into a kinky night club, however.


Taking a deep breath, Peter finally musters up the courage and steps out across the road. Slips in through the door and hands the bouncer his ID, smiling in what he hopes is a confident way as the bouncer peers at his photo, peers up at him, and then back down at the card.


“They look younger every fucking year,” the guy grunts and hands Peter’s fake ID back to him. He then opens the second door, this one dark red and lit up with dim lights.


The deep bass of the music washes over Peter as he steps through. He jumps a little as it slams closed behind him, feeling like it’s trapping him inside like a mouse in a cage, but he doesn’t lose his nerve and quickly moves away into the dim club.


Thankfully, it’s a Thursday night and early, and the place isn’t busy yet. There’s a few stages elevated from the main floor, but all of them are empty except for rack of instruments that Peter doesn’t look too closely at. There are some booths and couches along the wall, some of them occupied with people, and a small empty dance floor. He spots the bar, and for lack of anything else that he can think of doing, heads over.


The bartender is a tall blonde woman with a multitude of piercings in her ears. She’s wearing a leather corset that shows off the curve of her waist and makes her breasts bulge, but what really catches Peter’s eye is the thick black collar around her neck. A little flower charm hangs off of it, sitting in the hollow of her throat.


“What’ll it be, sugar?” She asks him.


Tearing his eyes away from the collar, Peter looks up at her face. “Um, a vodka and cranberry? Please?” Thank god he’d done some research on drinks before he’d done this.


She smiles at him. “Jeez, you’re a doll. Are you here with anybody?”


Peter smiles a little at her. She seems really nice. “No, just me. I haven’t really done this before, so I just thought I’d come and check things out.”


“Well, I hope you’re good at saying no, you’re going to be getting a lot of interest looking like you do in here.” She garnishes his drink with a slice of lime and places it on the bar. “That’ll be ten bucks.”


Peter gets out his wallet and pays, picking up his drink and taking a sip. It’s sweet, and not horrible at all. He hopes to chat with her a bit more, but she quickly moves off to serve another customer that’s popped up further down the bar.


Feeling a little lost, Peter clutches his drink to his chest and moves off to the end of the bar near the wall, perching up on a stool and keeping his back to the wall. And like any other millenial when they’re feeling uncomfortable and have nothing else to do with their hands, pulls out his phone.


Peter’s just scrolling through his twitter feed, feeling a little like an idiot being on his phone in the corner in a kink club of all places, when somebody leans up against the bar next to him.


“What’re you drinking?”


Peter looks up from his phone, blinking. The guy is tall, with dark hair sweeping over his forehead and stubble over his jaw. He’s handsome, in a in your face kind of way, and dressed in a dark green shirt with the top three buttons undone. His teeth shines in the dim light along with the expensive watch on his wrist.


“Um, a vodka and cranberry.”


“Sweet, just like you,” and the guy reaches out and twirls a lock of Peter’s hair around his finger. Honestly, Peter’s too in shock about the horrible pick up line and the fact that somebody is actually trying a pick up line on him, to pull away.


“Um,” he says.


“I’m Ethan, what’s your name, gorgeous?”


“Peter,” Peter is saved from having to say anything else as the bartender turns up again.


She taps the bar with a long fingernail. “Ethan, whaddya want?” Her tone is different from when she had been talking to Peter.


Ethan’s handsome face doesn’t drop his smile as he turns to her. “Rum and coke, light on the ice darling. And don’t give me shit again, give me at least El Dorado.”


“Right,” she turns to make his drink, flashing Peter a look as she does so. Confused, Peter takes a sip of his drink and freezes up as Ethan turns back to him and slips an arm around his waist.


“So, Peter, what brings you here tonight? No, wait, don’t answer that, I know already,” he leans closer, and even though Peter leans away, heart rate picking up in fright, manages to get his mouth right next to Peter’s ear. “You want a big strong Dom like me to take you into the back and fuck your pretty little brains out, don’t you?”


Is this how people normally acted in here? A little disgusted, not turned on at all and not sure how to respond, Peter tries to lean back more and bumps up against the wall. Ethan has him boxed in, and his cologne is overpoweringly strong in Peter’s sensitive nose.


A drink banging down on the bar brings Peter’s and Ethan’s attention up.


“Here, that’ll be seventeen,” the bartender says, hand held out expectantly. For the first time the pleasant expression on Ethan’s face twitches, and he pays her, grabbing his drink. His arm tightens around Peter’s waist and he practically pulls Peter from his stool, Peter’s drink sloshing as Peter struggles not to drop it.


“Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere where we won’t be interrupted,” Ethan sneers at the bartender, dragging Peter away from the bar. Apprehensive, Peter looks over his shoulder at the her, and she makes eye contact with him, looking worried, before Ethan is sitting him down in a out of the way booth and sliding in after him.


“Um, I don’t think-” Peter begins, but Ethan is already grabbing him around the waist again and pulling him up against his side.


“You don’t need to think, just feel,” the guy breathes into Peter’s ear, and his hand is creeping up under Peter’s shirt, the other feeling up his thigh.


“No, I don’t-” Peter tries pushing him away, but he’s too afraid of showing his Spidey-strength to properly make the guy let go of him. He only succeeds in making Ethan yank him closer, and the hand on his thigh moves to his arse and grabs tightly.


“Oh, you wanna play shy sub, huh? I can play tough Dom then.” Ethan moves his face closer, and Peter is seriously beginning to panic. This is definitely not what he wants.


“No, stop,” he tries, hands up against Ethan’s chest, but the guy is determined, groping him with rough hands and trapping him up against the side of the booth with his bigger body.


“Come on, warm up you little whore, if you didn’t want any you shouldn’t have come in here looking like a twink slut,” Ethan growls and forces his mouth down on Peter’s.


His lips make contact with Peter’s tightly closed lips for a second, Peter making a sound of distress, before he’s suddenly yanked away.


Peter falls backward and catches himself on the back of the booth, eyes wide as Ethan is dragged out across the seat by the back of his shirt and then lifted up by his collar.


“He said no, shitstain,” Peter’s rescuer grates out.


Ethan lifts up his hands. “Hey, some subs say no when they really mean yes, it’s not my fault if I get a little confused sometimes-”


He gets backhanded viciously for those words, and Peter jumps as the sound of flesh on flesh rings out.


“No means no, unless there’s a safeword worked out, and something tells me you didn’t bother to ask him, now get the fuck out of here before I make it so you can’t lay your stinking molesting hands on anybody else ever again, and by that I mean I’ll saw them off with a plastic spork and force feed them to you,” the guy growls low, and Peter has to strain to hear his words over the bass of the music.


Ethan stumbles as he’s let go, and he backs away, hand held up to his already bruising cheek. “Fuck, you’re a psycho man, you can have the little whore if that’s what you want so bad, fucking hell,” and he hurries away, leaving his drink behind.


Peter watches him go, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.


“Hey, you okay there?”


Blinking, Peter looks up at the guy who got rid of his would be molester, eyes trying to see under the drawn up black hood of his hoodie, but the clubs lighting is too dim. He’s a huge guy though, with wide shoulders, a massive chest and thick muscular thighs straining at the seams of his jeans. If Peter stood up to his full height, he’s pretty sure this guy would be almost a foot taller than him.


“Um, yeah, thank you-?”


“Wade, but I also answer to fuckhead, number one Golden Girls fan, the taco destroyer and saviour of twinks.”


Peter laughs a little. “I’m Peter. Um, thank you for that, he really wouldn’t go away.”


“Yeah, guy’s a massive dickwad. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to slap the shit out that sorry excuse for a Dom for a while now, but honestly I don’t think you could ever rid him of the sheer amount of shit he houses in his rat brain. But Debbie’s the one who sent me over, so you should probably thank her instead.” Wade throws a thumb over his shoulder at the bartender, who waves at Peter, looking relieved.


Peter waves back, smiling. She gives him a thumbs up and then goes back to serving a customer. The club has started to get a bit busier, and someone is setting up something on one of the stages.


“Did you want me to call somebody to come and get you?”


Peter shakes his head. “Nah, I’m cool, now that Mr Bad Touch is gone. I’ll buy you a drink, to say thanks.”


Wade sits down next to him and picks up Ethan’s abandoned drink, throwing it back in one go. Peter watches him with wide eyes. “No need, baby boy, I’ve got one right here. And anyway, you don’t look old enough to be buying anyone a drink, let alone be in here.”


“I’m twenty one! You can check my ID if you really want to,” Peter frowns.


“Uh huh, and I’m the god fearing white robe wearing bloody pope,” Wade says. “How old are you really?”


“Old enough,” Peter mutters, and Wade grabs his drink off him before Peter can grab it, and downs it in one go as well. Peter’s mouth drops open.


“Baby, you do not want to do that in here. Something unsavoury might fly into that pretty mouth of yours.”


Peter clicks his mouth shut, face burning, and Wade chuckles at him.


“Yeah, you don’t belong in here, baby boy. Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”


“No way,” Peter crosses his arms. “I can be in here if I want. You can’t make me leave.”


If Wade didn’t have his hood up, Peter’s pretty sure he would be seeing an eyebrow raise. “Oh, really? Well then, if you’re so keen to stay, how about we do a floor show? You sub, right? How about I warm up your cute butt with a little spanking before I get the good old cat ‘o nine tails out and whip you until you scream for your momma?”


Peter’s pretty sure his face can’t get any redder. “That’s not- I don’t-”


“Oh, you don’t sub? That’s cool, I switch every now and then. How about you put me over that breeding bench and stuff me full of those rainbow anal beads, they’ll look real pretty paired with my favourite cock cage.”


Okay, now Peter’s sure that his face can’t get any redder. “I only came in here to learn about this stuff, okay? My friend told me about this place, and it looked safe.”


“This isn’t a place that you come to with no experience, sweetcheeks,” Wade sighs. Peter eyes up the breath of his shoulders, the size of his hands on the table. Takes a deep breath, and bolsters up some courage. He’s come this far already.


“Well, will you teach me then?”




Peter clears his throat, and leans closer to Wade. Unlike Ethan, he doesn’t smell like expensive cologne, but like laundry detergent and something naturally deep. His fingers quiver a little as he lightly touches Wade’s arm, marvelling at the hardness underneath the cloth.


“Will you teach me? About how to- how to be a sub?”


Wade’s quiet for a second, and Peter’s sure he’s going to refuse.


“You don’t even know me,” Wade’s voice is quiet, and Peter has to lean in further to hear it. “And trust me, once you get to know me, you’ll be running for the hills, screaming bloody murder and trying to wash your eyes with bleach, it’s happened before, and I can’t have that, they’re far too pretty to be ruined by me.”


It’s Peter’s turn to say, “What? I don’t- I’m not going to do that. And I do know you enough. Your name is Wade, you’ll respect me if I say no, and I like you.” And my Spidey-senses aren’t going off, so I know you’re safe.


Wade’s hands tighten on the table in front of him, and then suddenly he’s pulling down his hood and staring Peter right in the face.


“How about now, huh? Still like me?”


He’s bald, and has no eyebrows. And from what Peter can see in the dim club lights, covered entirely in thick, twisted scars. But it’s not revolting, or even horrible. Sure, it’s not pretty, but to tell the truth, Peter doesn’t really mind. His bone structure is lovely, with a strong nose and jaw and high cheekbones, and his eyes are beautiful, brown, and full of certainty that Peter’s going to turn away in disgust.


Peter doesn’t.


He looks Wade right in the eye, and smiles. “Yeah, still like you.”


Wade physically reels back. “Are you- are you blind ? Can you see me properly in this shit awful light? I look like something a cat ate, shat out, ate again and then chucked up, and then shat on just for kicks.”


“I know what that looks like, and you look a lot better than that,” Peter says.


“Prove it,” Wade leans back, his face stony. “Kiss me, and don’t vomit. Then I’ll believe you.”


Face heating, but determined, Peter gets up on his knees and carefully brackets Wade’s face in his hands. His skin is textured and warm, not unpleasant at all, and his eyes are wide in shock as Peter leans in and presses his lips to Wade’s.


Peter’s kissed people before. He knows how to angle his face so their noses don’t bump, and when Wade doesn’t start to kiss back, playfully nips on Wade’s lower lip.


Wade makes a low sound in his chest and then he’s pulling Peter over and onto his lap, making Peter straddle his thighs as he opens his mouth and tangles his tongue with Peter’s. He kisses like a hurricane, powerful and unstoppable, and Peter whimpers into it, going pliant in Wade’s hold as the man grabs a handful of his hair to manipulate his head how he wants it.


The kiss lasts long enough for Peter’s lips and jaw to start feeling sore, but he doesn’t want it to end. It’s hot and wet and Wade’s so domineering, licking every nook and cranny in his mouth and biting at his lips until they’re swollen. The hand in Peter’s hair tugs lightly, and the small pain on his scalp makes Peter whine quietly in surprised desire.


But it has to end, and Wade reluctantly pulls away with a gasp, a line of saliva linking their mouths together for a second until it breaks. Peter whimpers helplessly, wavering forward, eyes locked on Wade’s wonderful lips.


But the hand in his hair doesn’t let him lean forward for another kiss, tugging his head backwards none too gently and making him lift his chin, baring his throat.


Peter stays relaxed in Wade’s hold, pulse racing. He looks down his nose at the man, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he struggles to maintain eye contact with the angle Wade has forced him into. Wade’s solid and hot between his thighs, his other arm tight around Peter’s waist, caging him in. But Peter doesn’t feel trapped. He feels turned on beyond belief.


“Fuck,” Wade bites out. “You’re too fucking perfect to be true. What the hell was in those drinks? I must be higher than that time I got my icing sugar and cocaine mixed up and baked two dozen cupcakes and ate them all in an hour. Really hammered home the lesson to not store your baking supplies and your extracurriculars all on one shelf.”


“Pretty sure I’m not a hallucination,” Peter says. “Well, last time I checked, anyway.”


Wade huffs a laugh, and then kisses him again. Without hesitation Peter melts into it, but before things can get hot and heavy, Wade pulls back.


“Okay, before we do this, we have to get a few things straight. No lies, or you’re out of here like a bald man. How old are you, really?”


Peter pouts. “Nineteen. That’s the truth, I swear.”


Wade searches his eyes, then nods.


“Are you a virgin?”


Peter flushes bright red and tries to look away, but Wade grabs his chin and forces him to maintain eye contact. He raises an eyebrow, expectant.


Embarrassed, Peter nods.


“Words, Peter. If I ask a question, I expect you to answer with words, unless you have something else occupying your pretty mouth and you have to answer in other ways. Am I clear?”


His words are hard and send a fissure of desire down Peter’s spine. “Yes. To both of your questions.”


Wade takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Goddamn, you’re going to kill me in the sweetest way I’ve ever gone, Odin take me now. Okay, do you have a safeword?”


“Nope,” Peter hopes it isn’t a deterrent, but Wade just takes it in stride.


“That’s fine, we can use the traffic light system. Green for go, orange for slow your roll, and red for back the fuck up and stop. Do you understand?”


Peter nods, catches himself, and says, “yes.”


“Repeat it, so I know you know. I ain’t taking no chances.”


“Green for go, orange for slow your roll, and red for back the fuck up and stop.” Peter parrots.


“Good boy,” Wade hums, and Peter shivers at how those words make him feel. He wants Wade to call him a good boy for forever and ever.


Wade pulls him closer, so Peter is plastered up against his chest and straddled over his crotch, and Peter can feel all his huge muscles and equally massive erection poking up into his butt.


“Oh,” he gasps, draping his arms around Wade’s neck and clinging. His own erection pushes against Wade’s rock hard stomach and he stops himself from rolling his hips into it.


“Any hard nos?”


“Um, nothing to do with excrement or blood, nothing to do with infant play, uh, nothing that will break my skin, scar or break bones, light bruises are fine, no blindfolds, and I’m not really sure about like, whips and toys and stuff, but maybe I want to try them?” Peter can’t think of anything else at the moment.


“That’s good enough for now, we can have a proper conversation about that shit later if you want to continue. And I won’t use any toys tonight, just me and maybe some constraints, if that’s okay? Something light and not too scary. Anything you really, really want to try?”


Peter bites his lip and is pleased when Wade’s eyes drop down to the action. He’s embarrassed to confess, but he’s basically said yes to a D/s relationship, at least for tonight, he should just go hard, because he’s not going to be going home. Well, at least not without Wade. Hopefully.


“Constraints are definitely okay. Um, I think I like to be held down, and, um, hurt, even if I say no,” he whispers, and it feels shameful but good to say it. Thankfully, Wade seems to have heard him.


“Uh huh,” Wade growls, “I could tell you liked how much bigger I am than you, you couldn’t stop staring at my shoulders and arms before. You like how I could hold you down even if you struggled with everything in your tight little body, huh? Slap you around and force you to open your legs for me even if you cried for me to stop?”


The words tug at his stomach like they have a direct line to his dick and Peter whimpers helplessly, hips stuttering. Oh god, he’s so turned on he could burst, and he’s currently in the back of a kink club on top of a guy’s lap that he’s just met, being whispered dirty things in full view of everybody in here.


“Please,” he gasps, “please, please, Wade-”


“Okay, yeah, we’re getting out of here, no way am I deflowering you in one of the back rooms, you deserve so much better than that baby boy, I’m gonna get you on my thousand thread count egyptian cotton sheets and treat you so fucking nicely, well, as fucking badly as you want me to, how does that sound?”


“God, yes, please,” Peter groans, and they kiss one more time, hot and wet and desperate, before Wade gets them out of the booth and walking towards the front door. The club is fuller now, bodies on the floor and up on the stages doing filthy acts, but Peter still manages to grab a glimpse of Debbie behind the bar throwing Wade a thumbs up and a saucy wink.


Wade keeps Peter tight to his side as they stumble out of the club, drawing his hood up as they hit the street, hand a hot brand around Peter’s wrist. It doesn’t take long for Wade to call up a taxi and for them to tumble into the backseat, and for Wade to give the driver, Dopinder, an address.


It’s almost torture for them to not touch, but Dopinder doesn’t seem to mind that they give up only a few minutes into the ride, Peter climbing into Wade’s lap again and kissing him desperately.


“I can tell you’re going to be a spoiled little brat already,” Wade growls into his mouth, and Peter wriggles naughtily in his lap. In retaliation Wade yanks his head back by his hair and attacks his throat with his mouth, but really, it’s more of a treat to Peter than a punishment as Wade greedily sucks dark marks into his skin.


Wade, weirdly enough, pays Dopinder with a crisp high five, and then they’re out of the cab and into an apartment building, making a beeline for the lift.


Peter tries to get back into Wade’s arms inside the lift, but Wade keeps him at an arms length, his hood still drawn up so Peter can’t see his face.


“No, baby boy, fuck knows I want to get my greedy little hands on your perfect bouncy little toosh, but I can’t get kicked out of this apartment building, it’s like the last nice place that will let me in, stay over there in the corner.”


And Peter doesn’t want to, but Wade wants him to, and that’s important. He wants to be good for Wade so bad.


He can almost hear Aunt May, or Mister Stark, yelling in his ear about how this is such a bad idea, going back to a stranger’s place to get slapped around and fucked in his bed, but Peter’s an adult now, and for fuck’s sake, he’s Spider-Man. He could probably overpower Wade if he really wanted to and escape if things go sideways, but his Spidey-senses are saying everything’s all good. And Peter’s not going to stop now just because of his imaginary parental figures yelling in his ear.


The ride up to Wade’s apartment is the longest lift ride Peter’s ever experienced, and he almost cries in relief when the bell dings and the doors open to the penthouse apartment. Wade directs him into the bedroom, and Peter doesn’t even have time to gawp at the view of the New York skyline or the massive room before Wade’s picking him up and laying him out across his sheets. The one detail that Peter notices however are the dark red ropes twined around the metal bars of Wade’s headboard.


Peter expects Wade to climb on top of him, but the man just steps back and stares at him, dropping his hood back down so Peter can see his face. His expression is lustful, but hard, his scars stark even in the dim light.


“Strip,” he commands.


Peter hesitates, suddenly unsure, but Wade barks out the word again, and Peter is suddenly in a rush to get naked, yanking his long sleeved shirt over his head, struggling out of his beat up vans and socks and wriggling out of his tight jeans. He sits for a second, thumbs on the waistband of his boxers, and looks up at Wade.


Wade stares right back, his brown eyes dark and liquid. “Go on, babydoll. I want to see you.”


Peter quivers at the pet name, and pulls his boxers off, throwing them off the side of the bed. Bare, he’s suddenly shy, curling around his nudity, but there’s something exciting in the fact that he’s naked and vulnerable while Wade is still fully clothed and watching him like a hawk. His dick drools up against his stomach, flushed red and swollen.


Wade’s aroused too, if the massive bulge at the front of his pants is any indication. He adjusts it absently as he watches Peter shiver quietly on the bed.


“Don’t hide all that pretty body, sweetling, lay back and spread your legs, arms above your head.”


Face burning, Peter quietly does as Wade bids him to, squeezing his eyes shut as he lies on his back, lifting his arms above his head and spreading his thighs for Wade to look at him.


Everything is quiet except for Wade’s and Peter’s heavy breathing, and Peter almost shuts his legs before the bed dips between them and fingers brush up his thighs.


Gasping, he opens his eyes, and there Wade is, still fully clothed and kneeling up between his thighs, looking at him hungrily.


“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby, look at you, all laid out like a Christmas dinner, I’m going to fucking devour you,” he brushes his fingers up over Peter’s stomach, and Peter squirms, licking his lips.


“Colour?” Wade asks.


“Green, so green,” Peter gasps out, and Wade grins like a shark.


“Good boy,” he purrs, and then he’s grabbing Peter and flipping him over onto his stomach, yanking his head back by his hair and grabbing one of his wrists, pinning his arm behind his back.


Surprised, Peter can’t help but yell out, and he struggles in Wade’s hold. “No, no-”


“Still green?” Wade breathes in his ear, and Peter nods, then cries out as Wade spanks him, “words, baby, words.”


“Yes, yes, green!” Peter cries out, and then shrieks as Wade knocks his thighs apart and gets between them, jamming his clothed dick up against Peter’s arse. He grinds there, holding Peter down, as Peter scrabbles for something to grab with his free hand.


“Please, please,” Peter’s begging, and Wade yanks on his hair even harder, making him whine from the delicious pain.


“Please what, baby? Don’t do this?” He grinds harder into Peter, making Peter yelp as his own erection is ground into the mattress below him harshly.


“No, please,” Peter cries, and then Wade is flipping him over again. Peter scrabbles at his arms, but Wade gets him by the throat and pins him down again, grabbing one of his wrists as he struggles. He wrestles Peter’s arm above his head and binds his wrist to the headboard with the rope already there.


Peter knows he could easily break out of the flimsy bond, but he doesn’t want to, even as he still wriggles madly in Wade’s hold, trying and failing to stop Wade from tying his other wrist above his head.


“Stop, please,” he begs as Wade yanks his head back and licks a hot, wet stripe down his already marked up neck. He tries to kick out with his legs, but Wade’s between his thighs and he can’t get his feet around to his chest to kick him off.


“Green?” Wade checks in again, pausing with his mouth above Peter’s nipple.


“Yes, yes, green,” Peter moans.


“Okay, I’m not going to ask again, baby boy, if something makes you uncomfortable you say orange, if you want me to stop, you say red, yeah?”


“Yeah,” Peter nods desperately, and then yells out as Wade bites down on his nipple, twisting the other nub with his gloved fingers. His other hand smoothes down Peter’s stomach and grabs at his drooling dick.


His grip is almost too tight, and Peter bucks his hips as he begins to cry, tears leaking down the sides of his face. “No, let me go, stop, please, it hurts!”


Wade pulls off his swollen nipple, blowing on it and making Peter squirm.


“You keep saying stop, but your pretty dick is telling a different story, isn’t it? Are you so much of a whore that your body says yes even if you don’t want me to fuck you?”


“I’m not a whore,” Peter sobs, and then arches as Wade strokes his dick once, twice, milking more precum from him. “Please, stop, oh god.”


“Go on, taste yourself, you little slut,” Wade holds up his wet glove to Peter’s mouth, and given the chance Peter gets his teeth around Wade’s fingers and bites, but not too hard.


Yelling in rage, Wade slaps him around the face, and Peter gasps, his dick jumping as he sees stars. In all honesty the hit is hardly enough to leave a red mark, but it’s the idea behind it that makes Peter whine quietly in delight.


“You little shit,” Wade grates out, “I’ll fucking teach you not to bite, you’ll be wishing you didn’t do that while I’m fucking the life out of you.”


Dazed, Peter can’t do much as Wade yanks his gloves off, revealing just as scarred hands, and grabs lube and a condom off of the night stand. He drops the condom packet onto the sheets, slicks three of his fingers with the lube, and reaches down between Peter’s thighs where nobody has ever been before.


At the first touch to his hole Peter cries out and renews his struggles, whimpering as more tears spill out over his eyelashes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t bite you again, please don’t, please don’t touch me there-”


Despite his pleading and struggling, Wade pins him down with a huge hand on his stomach and sinks the first finger into him.


Peter wails, arching his back at the intrusion, and tugs, futile, against the restains on his wrists. He gazes tearfully up at Wade, pleading with his eyes as Wade wriggles the finger around in him, loosening him up. It’s a weird feeling, but a good one, and then Wade crooks his finger and hits a spot and Peter gasps, stiff thighs going limp and falling open willingly as his dick jumps.


“There we go, the magic little sweet spot,” Wade grins, and goes for Peter’s bared neck again, sinking his teeth into Peter’s flesh as he gets another finger into Peter.


Eyes wide, Peter moans as he stretched further, Wade’s thick, scarred fingers brushing up against his insides. His whimpers are less in protest now and more in pleasure as Wade pumps in and out of him, and he even tilts his hips to help Wade’s third finger slip into him.


“Now you show your true colours, huh, baby? All reluctant before, but you get something in you and you go quiet, you really are a little slut,” Wade pulls his fingers out and unzips his pants, pulling his huge dick out.


Peter stares down at it, wide eyed, as Wade pulls the condom on and drizzles a huge amount of lube over himself, fisting his cock to spread the slick evenly. It’s massive and scarred as well, with a thick vein running down the underside that Peter kind of really wants to get his mouth on. But he’s also super apprehensive; there’s no way that that is going to fit inside of him. It’s thicker than his own damn wrist.


Wade starts to guide it between Peter’s thighs, and Peter freaks out, trying to twist away, “no, no, please don’t- I’ll do anything, please don’t fuck me-”


But really, he really, really wants Wade to force himself inside him, stretch Peter to his limit and ruin him for anything or anybody else.


In opposition to his earlier words, Wade asks, “colour?” again, and Peter doesn’t hesitate letting “green,” fall from his lips, even as his struggles increase.


Grunting, Wade hits him around the face again, and Peter cries out, tears splashing against the pillow. The hit sends white pleasure searing through his bloodstream, dazing him again for a short while, long enough for Wade to hitch his hips up and press the spongy head of his cock against Peter’s reluctant entrance.


“Here we go, maximum effort,” Wade thrusts sharply, and Peter’s eyes pop open, back arching as Wade forces his way into his body, toes curling at the mixture of pleasure and pain as inch and inch of Wade’s cock spreads him wide.


“No, no, stop,” he pants, and Wade does pause for a second, letting him get used to the intrusion, before beginning to roll his hips, forcing the last few inches of his cock into Peter’s small body.


Peter moans, and begins to roll his hips along with Wade’s, squeezing his eyes shut as Wade’s cock drags against his insides, sparking pleasure up his spine and across his skin. Peter throws his head back as Wade shifts and hits his prostate, keening high to the ceiling.


“Beautiful,” Wade breathes, grabbing his hips and keeping them at the angle best to jab his sweet spot over and over, and Peter’s begging, screaming for Wade to please let him come.


“If you come I’m not going to stop honey,” Wade places a hand over Peter’s stomach, pushing down and making Peter sob from the pressure, Wade’s dick taking up so much space inside of him. He feels like his internal organs are getting shoved out of the way, making room for Wade inside of him. “I’m going to keep fucking you even if you beg me not to, even if you’re sore and oversensitive and overstimulated. I’m going to push you to the edge, baby boy.”


Eyelids fluttering and toes curling, Peter doesn’t want anything less than that. “Please,” he manages to pant, and it’s all he can get out before Wade’s grabbing his dick and stripping it roughly.


His orgasm builds so quickly, winding tightly in his stomach and balls and making his fingers tingle, and all of a sudden Peter doesn’t want the feeling to end. “No, no, no,” he gasps out, but Wade leans down and pinches one of his nipples tightly.


“Come, now,” he commands in Peter’s ear, and Peter can’t do anything else but that.


Back arching, Peter yells soundlessly as he pulses cum over Wade’s palm. The man keeps fucking him through his orgasm, nailing his prostate and groaning quietly in Peter’s neck as the boy’s insides ripple around his cock.


It feels like it lasts an age, and when Peter finally collapses back into the sheets, boneless and exhausted, he whines and wriggles his hips weakly, trying to get away from the cock still spearing him.


“Nuh uh,” Wade pins him down so he can’t move and grabs his cheek, smearing Peter’s own cum over his face, mixing his seed with his tears. “You lie back and take it like a good boy, baby, let me have my fun.”


Wordless, Peter lets his eyes flutter closed, tearing still leaking, and bites his lip, letting his head fall back as Wade starts up his ruthless pace again, fucking into his loose and pliant body.


Peter’s wrists are sore from where they’re bound to the headboard, but he oddly doesn’t mind, and when Wade grabs his thighs and pushes his legs up over his shoulders he just crosses his ankles behind Wade’s neck and lets Wade do what he wants. He feels almost like a possession, something only for Wade to carelessly fuck and arrange how he pleases, but he likes it. It makes him feel secure and treasured and floaty, because Wade is going to take care of him, because he’s Wade’s.


If it’s even possible, Wade begins to thrust more roughly, pace stuttering, and Peter absently notes that the man’s breathing has gotten ragged. He’s going to come soon, Peter thinks, and he wants it so bad. He wants Wade to come inside him, to draw all the pleasure he can out of Peter’s body, no matter that Peter’s ruined and covered in his own cum and sweat and can’t even meet his thrusts with his hips.


“Baby, fuck,” Wade grits out between his teeth and places his hand over Peter’s throat, squeezing only lightly, not getting anywhere near cutting Peter’s air supply off. Peter bares his neck to him, small “uhs” falling from his lips as his body is jolted by the power of Wade’s thrusts. “You’re so good for me Peter, so fucking good,” and then Wade is coming.


His dick pulses in Peter’s body, spilling into the condom, and Peter manages to open his eyes a crack to watch Wade’s expression through his eyelashes as he orgasms. He looks almost pained, sweat shining on his twisted skin, and Peter is transfixed. He’s gorgeous.


Finally, Wade collapses down over Peter’s body. He’s heavy and almost unbearably hot even though his clothes, but Peter doesn’t mind. He smiles dopily and brushes a kiss over the shell of Wade’s ear.


The touch seems to bring Wade out of his stupor, and he quickly sits up, looking Peter in the eyes worriedly.


“Hey, are you alright?”


Smiling, Peter just nods, and then hisses a little when Wade shifts and his dick, only beginning to soften, moves inside his sore hole.


“Shit, sorry, I’m gonna try pull out as painlessly for you as possible.” And Wade eases out slowly, Peter making a face only from the strange feeling of emptiness he leaves. He’s sore, yeah, but nothing too bad.


Wade also unties his wrists from the headboard, massaging them to help with returning blood flow, murmuring praise as he does so. Peter just remains docile and quiet, not able to find words quite yet.


“You did so well, baby boy, so amazingly good, you were perfect for me.” The words wash over him as Wade carefully wipes the cum off his face and the lube from between his thighs with the corner of the sheets, checking quickly for blood and heaving a sigh of relief when he doesn’t find any. He then holds up a glass of water from the bedside table to Peter’s lips, urging him to drink. Peter’s not that thirsty, but he sips anyway because Wade wants him to, and he suddenly finds himself parched. He drinks the entire glass.


“Good boy,” Wade praises, and Peter’s eyelashes flutter in floaty pleasure. He wants Wade to call him that everyday of every week of every month of every year.


Only after Wade’s made sure Peter is comfortable and cosy does he pull off the condom and tie it, throwing it cleanly into the trash next to a big mahogany desk. He settles his big body down next to Peter, drawing him into his arms and carefully petting Peter’s hair until Peter manages to come out of his daze.


“Wade?” He croaks.


“Yeah, baby boy? What do you need? More water? Some food? More blankets? A soft toy? I can get you a plushie, just name it.”


“I kinda want a chocolate milkshake,” Peter says without thinking. “Oh, um, what I meant to say was thank you. That was- that was amazing.” The words don’t really do what Wade had just done to him justice. Peter had never felt so high on endorphins in his life, and that includes the first time he’d taken a dive off the Empire State building and swung up on a web moments before he hit the pavement.


“I can get you that. But no, really, thank you, Peter. You were perfect, you weren’t shy about what you wanted, you answered every one of my questions, you went down under my hands so fucking magically, you took everything I gave you so well, you’re a wonder, you’re so fucking beautiful, fuck, I just wanna keep you here with me in my bed forever.”


Flushing happily, Peter rubs his cheek into Wade’s neck. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”


Wade actually ends up ordering milkshakes and fries and gets them delivered to his door. He’s reluctant to leave Peter alone in his bed to collect the delivery, but Peter ushers him out and regrets it almost instantly, feeling cold and bereft even if it takes almost a mere thirty seconds for Wade to run to the door, pay the delivery boy and jump back into bed. Thank god he still had his clothes on, even though they must be sweaty as fuck, otherwise the poor guy would be getting an eyeful.


To make up for leaving Peter alone Wade feeds him perfectly greasy fries from his fingers and stares transfixed as Peter shyly licks them clean with his pink tongue.


“Stay the night?” Wade asks as Peter swallows the last of his milkshake.


Smiling, Peter nods, and offers his mouth up as Wade laughs happily and swoops down to kiss him.


Peter stays the night, most of the next day, and only leaves when it becomes absolutely necessary for him to. He walks out of Wade’s building with a huge smile on his face, a limp to his step, rope burns around his wrists, bite marks vivid on his neck and Wade’s number programmed into his phone.


He feels lighter than he’s ever felt before.