Mild punishments include;
Curfew, money allowance, friends only approved by Tony- punishments.
Peter collapses back on his bed with the newest sheet of rules crushed to his chest, the fresh black ink and crisp paper still smelling of that inky printer smell with the hint of some bitter undertones, like droplets of whiskey and a woodsy cologne that smelt divinely like Tony.
Across his skin he can still feel the licking of the sewing tape, taking his measurements with his dyed-red legs dancing to and fro as the older gentlemen, William Bashers, withered fingers tickled across the most sensitive parts of his body. It was the most intimately Peter has ever been touched; caressed as his fingers kneaded the flesh on his hips to properly measure the width without allowing the tape to go lax from between his fingers. And yet, it wasn’t who he wanted to touch him.
Even with the knowledge sex was the only beneficial thing Peter would be gaining from this relationship, he still wanted to explore the terrains of Tony Stark. If sex was the only possible way for him to get to know the man, then so be it. He was determined to figure him out. Craved to have that intimate knowledge of someone when, his entire life, he’s deprived himself of even the simplest connection.
He was dizzy from the new set of rules and the event of being measured when dressed in nothing more than his thin pair of boxers provided at the compound yesterday- now stained a pinkish red from the wine incident. He knew the measurements just taken would be all wrong- just a few inches off, considering how grossly bloated he was from eating the ridiculously fancy fish dinner they were served despite telling Helena he wasn’t hungry.
You will sit at this table until your dinner is done, she’d said, and it made Peter wonder how many times she’s fed that exact line to Tony.
It was only after William left, and Peter was preparing to put back on his soiled pants given he had nothing more to wear and traipsing around in just his under-clothes was hardly appropriate, even in the comfort of his own room, when there was a soft knock on his door followed by the paper being carefully slid beneath.
When Peter opened the door just as quickly as his mind registered what was happening, warm paper held safely between his pointer finger and thumb, nobody was out there. And the strangest thing yet? His spidey-senses hadn’t picked up on a single noise.
The list reeked of Tony; held his scent in the woven material of the paper in a way that was just as claiming as the particles that held the very paper together. Wondering who sent it was stupid- finding who brought it would just leave him with more questions so, like was expected of him, Peter sat down on the bed and read the revised version of their rules- now shrunken down to a single paper.
In continuation of our previous discussion, I have presented here a few additional rules, paired with ones previously discussed, and a more detailed list of repercussions given you break a rule. The top of the note read, with a cheesy drawn smiley face in the upper right hand corner that had, reluctantly, made Peter crack a smile. He tried imagining Tony drawing it, yet his mind drew up.. Nothing.
Punishments will be introduced and implemented as our relationship progresses. The severity of the punishment increases with each broken rule, ranking from mild to severe. Mild punishments include; suspended phone privileges, no allowance for a week, monitored ankle bracelet and no leaving the compound at all. To discuss the more severe rankings, come to my office when you’re free or simply wait until tomorrow morning when we have an agreed meeting scheduled. I look forward to it, Peter.
It made him nervous and sick to think about what possibly could entail a severe punishment, given how ridiculous the mild ones were. He was being held captive; distanced from the world and his family to be cradled beneath Tony’s decrepit wing. How was he to live, be Spider-Man, if he was going to be watched so closely? Studied and expected to fail?
Meeting Tony tonight, in his sodden clothes with his boxers sticking to his thighs- was a hard no. But waiting until tomorrow, where his imagination and anxiety would conspire together and create ridiculous possibilities of exactly what Tony has in mind, also didn’t seem like fun. He didn’t even have his phone to just call May and have her bring him some clothes- which reminds him of the fact that he doesn’t have a phone.
They must have snatched it yesterday when they were snatching him and in the struggle and the sudden transition from being free, to being a prisoner, Peter never had time to notice. Given how big of a control freak Tony obviously was, Peter didn’t doubt that he took his phone and was holding it from ransom. He could only imagine what distasteful things Tony were bound to demand, though.
And then he remembers the only person in this entire compound who could possibly help him without being under some human-obligation to tuck tail and run back to Tony to inform him of Peter’s requests.
Only problem is, he doesn’t know how to talk to her.
He sits up on his bed, leaving his crumpled and over-read paper on his pillow, and tips his head back to gaze up at the ceiling like he expects to see her curled up in the corner of the ceiling, hanging like the grudge. “F-Friday?” he asks, timid and soft- afraid if he spoke any louder someone may just hear him.
“You do not have to whisper, Peter, nobody can hear you. Mr. Stark designed each room with sound-proof walls. You could scream, and nobody will hear you.” she said, and he knew she was trying to be helpful and informative but, coming from a literal invisible robot incapable of expressing emotion which leaves her voice monotone and creepily steady, wasn’t exactly comforting.
“Oh, right, sorry,” he blushes and scratches the back of his neck, not catching on to the fact that he was apologizing to someone who wasn’t actually there; yet he can feel her humming around him, a near tangible feeling of a woman’s presence. She greets him with the warmth of an aunt; hovering with a comforting security while somehow not smothering despite her filling every crevice of this room. He imagines he can reach out and grab her if he just tries. “I-I was just wondering if there was any way I could order clothing. I don-”
“Would you like me to inform Mr. Stark that you’re requesting an outfit change?” she interrupts him, and Peter’s eyes widen in alarm.
“No, no! There’s no need to do that!” The last person he wanted to know was Tony. He didn’t want to prove himself dependent on the man after not even a single day passing between their initial meeting. He didn’t want to be so deeply in debt to Tony that he owes much more to the man than just his freedom- his life.
Silence.
He didn’t think it was possible to feel anything for Friday, given her lack of- well, physical form, but he feels betrayed. He knows she ran to Tony, informed the man of Peter’s damsel in distress plea and it makes him feel pathetic. He can’t even change his damn clothes without calling Mr. Egotistical for help.
Scowling, Peter falls back on his bed and glares up at the ceiling- wondering, and not for the first time that day, where the fuck he went wrong in his life to be treated like this. To have this become his life. Last week he saved a woman from being mugged by a group of drunk assholes looking for a little fun. He dedicated his free time (which wasn’t much, albeit, but still something) to helping out at the homeless shelter with May on the weekends- which was a selfish sort of task on his part because it taught him how to cook. He risked his life day in and day out to save strangers and the world's thanks was this? Thislife?
He wasn’t even deserving of a man who could potentially love him?
He was too scared to leave his own bedroom for fucks sake. He felt like Rapunzel, locked away in a tower that was now apparently his, too, while being told it was for his own good. The world was dangerous and dark and cold and the security found in Tony’s open arms should be enough for him. He was Iron-Man, protector of the people. Savior of the world. Captain of the Avengers, despite Peter not seeing a lick of proof any of them actually exist.
Then again, he’s ventured only in the rooms instructed of him. Tony probably ordered them to stay away, to hide from his young new toy because Peter wasn’t worthy to meet them. To see which Avenger belonged to which shadow lurking around here, somewhere, just out of his line of sight but present.
It wasn’t like he was in the mood to deal with meeting all of his childhood heroes when his very life was crumbling down around him, anyway.
Thanks a lot, fate.
“Mr. Stark is sending down a pair of pajamas for you. He requests your presence once you’re dressed.”
~~~
Peter stands before the glass wall that reflects his pale image, terrifying even himself with how ghastly and horrible he looks with his wet hair sticking to his forehead. His clothes were far too large; making him look like a wet dog drowning in puddles of inky black pools with depthless waves that swallowed him with every movement forward.
Grumbling, he shoves the sleeve back up his arm so it bunches at his elbows and he stares intensely at the back of the man who frustrates him so immensely, yet he truly knows nothing about. Tony used to be a part boy; had his image plastered across hundreds of magazines with scandals involving hundreds of women, and sometimes men, and feeding into the presumptuous but accurate notion of Tony being an out of control lunatic with far too much money, time, and knowledge.
He has a vast collection of wealth, some inherited but most, if not all now, earned and while it was true that, before, Tony’s life was free to be splattered and smeared across the headlines- drudging his name through the mud while hiding behind the pretense that Tony was a spoiled, self centered, ego-fueled maniac who was far too dangerous for this world, that all rapidly changed when he donned the ironman suit. Suddenly, he became more. Earned the title of hero; protector.
He represented change, and hope, and growth. The dying world clung to the image of a man who posed as a phoenix rising from the ashes, promising more from his chapped lips, and it was after he returned from his public kidnapping and came out as IromMan, that everything changed.
His life was no longer displayed on entertainment weekly with various angles of his ass cropped into the frame of each photo. His nightly conquests were still a regular occurrence, save for the brief but hot fling between him and Pepper Potts Peter remembers reading about when he was sixteen in a news article, they were no longer publicly displayed.
Suddenly, but not completely, Tony’s image was recreated. The bad was filtered out, and the good was honed in on. Peter knew not who the man truly was, but as he stands outside his lab now, silent as can be with his bare feet sticking to the chilled tile- and he studies the set of the man's shoulders, a purposeful hunch drawing them taut, he sees not the hero the world represents, or the merchant of death he used to be- but a man so isolated and withdrawn from the world that desolation was a crisp, impenetrable aura around his body.
It made Peter ache to understand him more.
Unsure of how to approach the door that appears to have no handle, Peter steps to it and as if there were automatic sensors, the doors slid open for him with a silent hiss as the filtered, oxygenated room was exposed to the contaminated air surrounding Peter. He doesn’t question how Tony knew he was here, or how the door opened- figuring it was Friday who he can feel lurking.
In awed-amazement, he twirls around the lab once- twice, then on the third time he pauses to run a finger across the steel desk that even feels expensive. Every workbench is filled with some chaotic experiment, blueprints rolled across desktops and holo screens flickering to life all around them to cast blue-lights across Peter’s skin. The equipment is state of the art, some never even having been brought to the public's attention, he’s sure, and it’s more than he’s ever seen, ever even hoped to dream for.
Abandoned pieces of IronMan gear lay strewn around carelessly, a chest plate propped against the desk Tony currently sat at and directly across from Peter, on a metal stand, is a mask with the face plate peeled back to reveal the impossibly blank interior.
It’s all too much to take in. Peter wants to rush forward and touch everything, to use the crystal beakers that probably cost more than his entire high school did and he wants to feel like a real scientist. Somehow, everything he’s ever done before now in regards to anything scientific, feels like child's play when he stands right here, right now. All this equipment, all of this magnificient equipment, and he was sure he couldn’t even use half of it without fucking up somehow.
“Neat, huh?” Tony asks, and he’s clearly gloating as he spins around in his chair to face Peter, his feet planted firmly on the ground with his arms folded over his chest. He looks proud.
Peter wouldn’t exactly use the word neat, but...
“It’s…” Peter wants to gush; wants to admit that the Electron Microscope in the corner of the room was the same edition he asked his high school for three years to buy because it would better their students learning experiences when it was really just out of selfish reasonings because, beneath that scope, his mutatued cells would be fucking amazing to study with so much more clarity and in-depth dissection between each clump of tissue. But he didn’t want to seem like some fan-girl who was gushing over equipment he probably didn’t know how to use just to get Tony to pay attention to him. “Nice, yeah.”
Tony licks his bottom lip, a movement so fast as his tongue darts out and flicks across the pink flesh before retreating back into his mouth, and Peter finds himself fixated on that specific point of Tony’s body for three solid seconds before he remembers his manners and looks away, blushing. “Did you get my note?” Tony asks, jumping straight to the point. “And I’m glad to see you showered. Didn’t really have much to offer you wardrobe wise, so I grabbed some of my old pajamas.”
The tags were still on these black pajamas, but Peter knew better than to call Tony out. “I did,” he nods, hand smoothing down the button up shirt that was cotton this time, and not silk. “I read over it before I showered- and, ur, thank you for the- urm, the clothes. I told Friday not to bother you but she didn’t exactly listen.”
Tony scoffs and waves a hand in Peter’s direction. “Hardly a bother to me. I had Helena fetch them.”
Which explains why it was the out of breath older woman knocking on his bedroom door fifteen minutes after Friday informed him Tony was sending down clothing, but Peter thought maybe Tony had chosen the outfit. It made him feel… warm, inside. To wear something directly approved by the man.
But, apparently not. “Oh,” disappointment flares hot in his chest, “regardless, I appreciate it. Mr. Bashers took my measurements this evening and he said he will be back next week with clo-”
“Your clothes will be delivered in the morning,” Tony cuts him off to say, spinning back around in his chair to continue working on whatever it was he was doing before.
“Sir?” Peter implores, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I just thought that he said next week. Perhaps I misunderstood him.”
“You misunderstood nothing. It was William who misunderstood me.” The enunciation Tony puts on ‘me’, paired with a pair of pliers slamming down on the desk, makes Peter jump. “I told him if he would like to keep his job, he will work through the night to get me what I want. Right now, a properly dressed.. Fiance is in my best interest. Imagine the impression it’ll leave on the staff if I let you run around in pajamas all day.” his shudder is evident, if not a little mock and played up.
He turns to Peter and leans in conspiratorially, eyebrows raised. “Imagine the scandals.”
Peter isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh, or cry, or both- so he settles on a smile that falls into a grimace and looks down at himself. He did look pretty crap in pajamas, black especially given it wasn’t his color. He just hated he had to put on an appearance now. “Friday said you needed to speak with me?”
“Ah, correct,” Tony stands this time, clapping his hands together in a way reminiscent to a secluded boom of thunder, and the advancement he makes on Peter is almost predatory- makes his heartbeat spike to dangerously high terrains until Tony slides past him, teasingly brushing his hip against Peter’s, and grabs a tablet off the desk. “I have a few questions regarding your own personal kinks and sexaul history. It’s to my understanding you were subjected to regular screenings at your local clinic, but I hope you don’t take it personal if I have my own doctor give a follow up. You can never be too careful, right?”
The blue light from the tablet illuminates Tony’s face, hollows out his cheeks and makes his eye sockets look like depthless black pits. So many things come to mind, assurances that no, he didn't mind- lies that there were reasonable enough reasons to assume he was anything but clean. But instead, he feels the truth lick up his throat like hot, bitter acid. “I-I don’t have any kinks, sir.” Peter admits, warming cheeks hidden as he tucks his chin against his chest and stares down at his bare feet- a common habit by now. “Or any sex history.”
Tony scoffs at that, clearly unbelieving of this, and then he must have looked at Peter- saw the truth in the way his body folds in on itself as if he can shrink himself out of existence, because he emits a gasp so low it sounded like a breath from an ant to Peter’s heightened ears. “Nothing?” Tony asks, “you don’t even… choke the chicken in your free time? You’ve done nothing?” his laugh is incredulous and when Peter glances up, hot with shame, he finds Tony pacing with his hand running through his hair. “So, what- you’re a virgin? How-How the fuck do you deal with arousal then, hmm? You’re eighteen for god sake.”
He knew Tony wasn’t laughing at him, and rather his situation, but he still didn’t like it. The feeling of being pried apart by eyes and ears who wouldn’t be entirely understanding in why he was the way he was. Hidden and reserved. Peter’s always been… hesitant to openly accept intimacy and because of that, relationships were never a focal point in his life. He had his friends, and May, and that was it.
The closest thing he ever came to having a girlfriend was Liz, who he asked to homecoming when he was fifteen. Even then, it had been as friends. And as they tucked in close to each other with the slow song setting a low, gently intimate atmosphere- her breasts gliding across Peter’s chest, her nipples poking through her dress to dig like claws down his sensitive body, he hadn’t been aroused. He wasn’t… normal. He felt too much, yet too little.
And having Tony find humor in that, hurt. “I don’t,” he mumbles, ashamed. Which was something he never was. He was usually so self-assured and poised, yet before Tony he’s reduced to a blushing little kid with no distinctive personality or opinion. He doesn’t have a backbone and he hates it.
Tony snorts, thinking Peter was joking- yanking his leg, but then he pauses for a moment and just takes in the sight of Peter. “You aren’t kidding?” Peter shakes his head. He doesn't like being studied so intensely. “Fuck- of course they’d pair me with the fucking prudish Virgin Mary. Tell me, do you even know what a dick is? Or were you too scared to look at them?”
Peter frowns and his eyebrows furrow. “I-I know what a penis is. I also know how to please you. Just because I-I’ve never had sex doesn’t mean I don’t undertand basic human desire.”
Even now, Peter can feel how drawn to Tony his body is and it’s a completely foreign reaction brought on by a flood of endorphins and adrenaline. Tony is posing him with something he's never faced before; new terrains and possibilities. He can command Peter’s pulse to react and increase with a single word, and yet disgust is his main reaction as he regards the boy.
“I’d much rather not have my dick bitten off on our wedding night, so forgive me for not trusting you,” Tony scoffs, jabbing at Peter’s already tattered heart and with slow, controlled breathing- Peter somehow refrains from crying. “For the next few weeks, I want you to experiment. We can’t do anything in regards to moving forward if you can’t even properly consummate our marriage.”
Peter suddenly feels disgusted with himself, too.
“Of course, sir. Is there anything you want me to specifically focus on? Or just pleasure in general?”
It’s not like he never got urges. He was just never driven towards satisfying them. When he would wake up with morning wood, he would immediately take a cold shower and think of uncle Ben in a speedo. After the spiderbite, his hormones increased for a solid month after and if anything pulsed across his skin he was immediately aroused, yet he thought having self control would later please his partner so he never scratched that itch. He learned to ignore it; control it.
He learned to ignore his own wants, his own needs and desires, because he knew when the time came, they would be pushed to the back burner anyway. His arousal wasn’t to take precedence. Tony’s was. And that’s what Peter has spent his entire life studying. The human body.
He didn’t blame Tony for not believing he could satisfy him, though. “What I want from you, is your complete submission. You can not offer yourself fully to me if you do not understand your body or the way it responds to intimacy.” Tony walks around Peter again to approach his previously abandoned desk. He pushes everything aside and turns around, the muscles on his forearms flexing as he pulls himself up and plants his butt firmly on the flat surface; his long, obviously fit legs kicking back and forth in a childishly endearing way. “Learn what you like and dislike- then we will talk.”
Peter didn’t like this agreement at all- the idea of being locked away in his room until he could please himself in the way he was always intended to please Tony. He didn’t think he could cup himself with the same urgency, with the same excitement. Will he even know what his body wants, given how long he’s ignored it? “So- I’m exiled to my room to.. what? Fuck myself into oblivion? Until when, exactly?”
Tony’s eyes darken, and Peter’s immediate reaction is to bite his bottom lip because, yep- shouldn’t have said that. “Put so crudely, Mr. Parker, yes.” Tony’s smile is fauxly sweet, with eye crinkles and flashed teeth. “And I thought I made myself clear- until you understand your body. That may take until our wedding day, which is to take place a month from today.”
Peter splutters. “A-A month?” when he thought of getting married, it was a drawn out engagement with love and romance and the discovery of each other- not something so rushed and so obviously forced that half of the people attending would have more chemistry with Tony than Peter did. “W-Why so soon, sir?I thought I was on a probation period for a month, until you decided if you want to keep me or not.”
“You’re not a dog, Peter, have a little dignity. If you are to be my husband, I expect you to carry yourself with more self-assurance regalness.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. I-I didn’t expect to be married so quickly.”
“Well, you are- we are, and I want to hear nothing more on the topic. Do not make me regret forfeiting the probation month.” Tony’s nostrils flare, and Peter’s heart skips a beat, fear clashing with a stale sort of excitement. He couldn’t even be properly excited over the fact that, in a month, he would be married because he knew Tony didn’t want it. He didn’t want Peter. It was obvious.
“I- as you wish, sir. Sorry to disappoint you.” which, that was the most truthful thing Peter has spoken all evening. The one thing he hates the most about himself right now is how much he has disappointed Tony in such a short span of time. He doesn’t understand how, or why, Tony has chosen to Marry him when Peter clearly isn’t the right match for him- as much as Peter wishes that to not be true.
With a hand flicked towards the door in a dismissive gesture, translating Tony’s irritation and boredom, Tony returns his attention to his tablet. “It’s probably best you go to bed. Do not leave your room until Helena comes up to get you.”
It was a nice way of saying Tony didn’t want to be bothered with him anymore, and Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything he may regret even if he feels like arguing the subject further. He wasn’t owed an explanation- he didn’t deserve even the smallest opinion on the matter. He was to swallow his pride and be grateful to even be accepted so quickly despite how much wrong he’s done. How much he clearly turns Tony off.
Nodding, he spins around and slowly walks towards the door- fully intending to leave until, apparently, his mind decides on something entirely different. Something was nagging at him over the entire thing. Not the rushed wedding, per say, but how upset Tony was over Peter being a virgin. He thought he would be ecstatic to ruin the boy's innocence. To taint him with only his tongue.
“I did it for you, you know- or, rather, not you specifically. But I wanted to save myself for my- urm, partner? I-May always told me it was silly but I didn’t want to be impure. I wanted to be everything you could ever want.” he shrugs, embarrassed, and for the faintest second he swears he sees the flicker of respect on Tony’s face.
“You should have listened to May.”