“You’re sure you want to do this?” Wade asked, swinging the flogger up and resting it against his shoulder. He was still wearing his entire suit, covered from head to toe in a safety layer of canvas. He didn’t need to be naked for what he and Parker did, in fact, it was better if he wasn’t. This thing, whatever it was for Peter, wasn’t about sex, and Wade could respect that. As a person with his own masochistic tendencies, he understood the need to just be beaten.
“I’m sure,” Peter said, voice growing impatient. It was good that all they did was pain play. If they were playing D/s games that attitude would never stand. They weren’t though, so it did. Peter was bent over the bed, resting his weight down on his forearms. Last time he’d braced on his hands, and they’d had to stop halfway through because Peter’s hands had gone numb. So he was bent forward onto his arms, head hanging between his shoulders, giving Wade full access to the blank canvas of his back, his ass, his thighs.
Wade ran a gloved hand up the back of Peter’s thigh, from his knee to the edge of his boxers, and down again. The fabric of his glove caught on the hair there, and Peter shivered. He shifted impatiently, always so impatient, and Wade slammed the flogger against his ass without warning. Peter choked on his voice.
The flogger wasn’t a mean one. It had dark leather strips mixed together with faux rabbit fur, making more of a ‘thud’ than a ‘snap.’ Gentle enough for a warm up or a cool down, just enough sting to make it worth it.
The best part about beating Peter was how he lost the ability to be silent. It started with startled gasps, which quickly turned to whimpers that he tried to hide behind a bitten lip, his face buried against his shoulder so Wade could see the way his face screwed up. When Wade hit him extra hard, out of nowhere, he could often surprise a yelp or a slew of cursing out of the man. And all of that was great, really. Fuck anyone who said Wade couldn’t enjoy both sides of the paddle. Before BDSM had been something with a name, it had been sadomasochism. Both, together, just playing with pain.
It was Wade’s favorite game.
He couldn’t get them where he needed to with the flogger, though, so he abandoned it before long and switched to a vicious little paddle he’d picked up… somewhere. It was hard to remember where. He might have stolen it.
The thing was wooden and thin, a foot long and two inches wide. It was also an inch and a half thick, and it stung like a bitch. Wade would know. This wasn’t the only way they played these games together. When Wade smacked Peter with it, the boy actually cried out. It had a vicious bite to it, and Wade knew exactly how to use it to get the response he needed.
A steady application, one-two, one-two, left-right, interrupted by flurries of smacks so fast that he couldn’t even count them had Peter gasping for breath, which eventually came out in stuttered, tear-free sobs. He kept smacking, going and going endlessly, until Peter finally broke and cried out on more strikes than he stayed silent for. Wade stopped and carefully tugged Peter’s boxers down, letting them stop around Peter’s knees. He ran his hand over Peter’s ass again, pressing into a dark bruise forming on his left butt cheek and making Peter whimper and pull away. Wade followed him forward until Peter’s hips were trapped against the edge of the bed, nowhere else to go, and ground his hand in hard. Peter let out a strangled noise, and Wade stepped back.
They weren’t done, nowhere near it, but Peter deserved a chance to catch his breath again. It made it even better, in the end, when Wade picked up his favorite toy (a rubber paddle that wrapped around the skin and stung like a mother fucker) and smacked Peter with it. Peter yelled loud enough that it probably disturbed his neighbors, but that wasn’t Wade’s problem.
That always happened, so much so that it was nearly predictable. After a break Peter seemed to forget what the sensation was like, and as soon as the pain was back he couldn’t force himself to stay quiet. It was fucking fantastic.
Wade kept at it, keeping the pace fast and watching the moment when Peter gave up fighting the pain, when his taught muscles relaxed, and he moaned with each strike instead of hissing in breaths and flinching against it. He kept it that way for a moment, then quickly switched to Peter’s thighs, which unsurprisingly resulted in a burst of giggles.
Peter always laughed during a scene, and it was the greatest thing Wade had ever heard. He understood it, too, the rush of endorphins and how that could feel when you weren’t in a submissive headspace. If the game was just about pain, and nothing else, then it felt like a fucking wave. It was one of those “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” situations, but much less painful (at least emotionally). Wade snickered and kept smacking him, and Peter buried his face in the bed and laughed.
A few more minutes in, and his whole body started trembling. It was probably closer to crying than laughing at this point, but Peter would be too absorbed to tell. Wade ran his hand over Peter’s back and shushed him gently, watching the boy relax. He smacked him again, and Peter giggled. Wade smiled.
“Five more minutes,” he said, tossing away the paddle and picking the flogger up again. Peter hummed in agreement, unaware of what Wade even meant probably, and he moaned happily when Wade struck his ass with the flogger. It was much softer than the paddle, and the pain had to feel more like a tickle, even though Peter’s ass was more purple than red at this point.
He worked his way over Peter’s ass and thighs, then set on his back, barely tickling the middle of his back and laying some heavier blows on his shoulders. It wouldn't bruise, but some pink snake shaped welts rose up on the skin. Peter just moaned, those noises mixed in with giggles. Wade kept an eye on the clock, and five minutes was over before he knew it. He tossed the flogger down gently and ran his hands over Peter’s skin, which was warm all over and hot to the touch in certain places. Peter hissed in a breath and squirmed when Wade pet the bruised skin of his ass, and he groaned into the bed when Wade righted his boxers for him.
Wade didn't know if Peter was hard, though he had his suspicions. It wasn't about sex, though. Wade didn't need to see that.
He squeezed Peter’s shoulder and said, “C’mon up.” Peter straightened, groaning again and screwing his face up. Wade could imagine how tight his skin felt, how much it must have ached and burned. He opened his arms up and let Peter melt into him for a quick hug.
“Thanks,” Peter said. Wade squeezed him briefly and let him go.
“C’mon, let’s go to Robertos. I'm craving a quesadilla, man.”
Peter nodded and looked around for his clothes, tugging them on to his skinny body. “Yeah, gimme a minute.” Peter was swaying slightly and blushing furiously. He wouldn't meet Wade’s eye, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face, so Wade wasn't worried. Peter stripped from his boxers, back turned to Wade, and pulled his suit on, wincing at the fabric hugging his ass and clinging to his sore shoulders. He wiped his palms against his cheeks before tugging his mask on.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”