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“Ned!”
Bouncing slightly as his best friend clambered out of his mom’s car, Peter gushed happily and ran to hug him. “Ned, I’m so happy to see you!” he squealed.
“You’d swear you never see one another!” Ned’s mother laughed, leading her son up the steps of the Avengers tower with one hand tousling her hair – although, secretly, she wanted to clap her eyes on the man himself. She had heard bits and pieces and excited-sounding snippets from her son, ‘Peter is living with Mr Stark now! THE real, actual Mr Stark!’ but, with her son being a gorgeously silly and imaginative little boy, she wasn’t quite sure she believed him.
Until he had been invited for a play date, told Ned to ask Peter for the address, and the zip code she punched in on her Sat-Nav led her directly up to the front of the Avengers tower.
“Tell me about it.” Tony laughed, coming to see what all the fuss was about and clapping his hand onto the small of Peter’s back. Peter had been bouncing around the tower fizzing away with excitement from the second he had woken up at the prospect of his friend coming over to spend the day together – his first time in the Tower, too! “I promise, I won’t let your son walk away with a broken arm or bright green hair, or something.” He chuckled, smiling sincerely over his son’s head at Ned’s mother. “How does he like pepperoni pizza for lunch?”
“Pizza!” Ned grinned in awe. Not just any pizza, but pizza from Mr Stark! His eyes sparkled in excitement as he looked from Peter to Stark and beamed – then wriggled to unglue himself from Peter’s arms and barrel into the arms of his mother again for all of a handful of seconds. “Love you, Mom, bye!” he cheered, grabbing at Peter’s arm again. “Come on, I wanna go play!”
Ned’s mother laughed, sharing a smile with Tony. “…I think he’d like that just fine. I’ll pick him up at five. Call if he needs me!”
~
Laying on his belly, Peter stuffed a cheesy slice of pizza into his mouth and hummed cheerfully. “Ish shoooo good.” He sang.
Ned nodded, giggling, eyes on the telly. The pair had exhausted themselves this morning, climbing the big apple tree in the backyard, playing with Peter’s action figures, and plain old chasing one another. Now, Tony had decided, was time for the two to wind down – and had let the pair eat lunch while watching a movie. Peter was three glasses of orange juice down already.
(They had chosen How to Train Your Dragon and had been glued to the movie for a blessed hour – long enough for Tony to serve lunch and have a coffee in peace.)
Peter’s eyes drifted from the movie to his best friend. After the action-packed morning, he had had with his friend he wasn’t quite ready to have wind-down time and squirmed impatiently. “…hey, Ned.” He whispered, a plan forming together in his head. See, everybody knew Dad was Iron Man, and everybody knew Dad lived at the Avengers tower with Peter – but a hidden secret was that Dad was training Peter up to be a superhero, just like him. Dad kept all their suits down in the lab, under lock and key. The thought of having a run about in his Spidey suit (or even better, Dad’s Iron Man armour!) soothed his fidgety legs plenty. “Dad keeps all his superhero suits in the lab, do you wanna see?”
Peter had a wicked grin on his face; a wicked grin that only grew wider when Ned offered him a star-filled smile, “Wow, yeah! Please!”
In the back of his mind, Peter knew Dad never really let anybody look at or wear his superhero suits, not even Peter, not if Dad wasn’t there to look after him. But… what was the harm in five minutes? Peter was a big boy—Peter was nearly a superhero himself! He knew he could be careful, and everything would be fine…
“We have to be quiet.” Peter whispered sneakily, shushing as he scrambled up and tugged his friend, giggling, in the direction of his father’s lab.
~
The lab was about as big and as impressive as Ned imagined – and even more on top. He broke off from where he was holding Peter’s hand and let out a gasp of awe, looking around slowly. The robots, Dum-E and You, burped and pootled around cheerfully in the presence of these newcomers. Peter patted Dum-E and Ned squealed as the robot moved in a slow excited circle around him. “Peter, this is amazing!” Ned enthused. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the rows of Iron Man armours. The suits gleamed in their cases like tin soldiers awaiting battle. “Iron Man is really real… and he’s your Dad!”
Obvious, yes, but somehow everything felt a lot more real now. Beside him, Peter’s heart swelled in happiness and pride. He remembered his first time being allowed into the lab – just as excited and as happy as his best friend. “Uh-huh!” he giggled proudly, joining Ned’s side. All of Peter’s superhero suits were kept in Dad’s lab too, hidden away. Dad had told him he had to keep them a secret, but that made Peter feel bad ‘cause it was kinda cool to impress Ned like this. He shifted on his feet, looking around, and his gaze rested on the keypad mounted into the wall. The keypad that opened the cases so Dad could use his armour in battle. The keypad glinted. Open me, Peter! it teased.
“…Do you wanna wear one?” Peter whispered sneakily, smiling.
Ned spun on his feet, gasping. “What?! Peter, we can’t… can we?!” He clapped despite looking a little unsure of himself.
“Dad lets me all the time.” Peter lied. Moving over to the keypad he punched in the code he had seen Dad punch in so many times, and slowly one of the cases began to ease open.
~
“This is awesome!” Ned screamed. They had changed their minds halfway through and had pulled two suits out instead. One each, of course. The two shiniest and newest ones, of course. Ned had clumsily worked out how to fly and was flying shakily around the laboratory. He couldn’t work out how to fly very high but had bumped into the worktops, Dum-E, and narrowly missed Peter’s head at least three times. Peter had lowered the Iron Man helmet over his face and had fired up the repulsors in a matter of seconds, joining Ned in flight. Excitedly he pushed his hands out and set a very large repulsor beam directly toward his best friend.
Ned squealed and dived out of the way, giggling, the concept that this was a very dangerous game to play just as much lost on himself as it was Peter. “Hey!” he grinned, shooting a beam in return.
Peter squealed and collapsed into giggles, ducking and raising his hands against the beam… which collided with the armour of his suit and burnt a hole through it. Thankfully Peter’s arm was unharmed as the armour came free and landed on the floor with a rather broken sounding clunk.
There was a moment of silence.
“…oh dear,” whispered Ned, looking at the broken arm. It had a hole in it and was fizzing and smoking.
Awoken by the young children’s activities, Jarvis became aware that this was rather a dangerous game for two young children to play. “Young sir,” he asked Peter, “are you quite sure you have permission to do this?”
“Yeah, Jarvis!” Peter whined sulkily, although the unsureness in his voice was clear. “…Dad lets me all the time!”
This was more of a lie for Ned’s benefit, of course. He knew the A.I. would know otherwise, but he wasn’t able to stop himself.
~
“Sir,” Jarvis’ voice was a loud and rather unwelcome interruption for Tony, who was having a decent five minutes of quiet with his coffee and the StarkPad in the kitchen. “I think you should see this. I am trying to shut down both suits currently. I apologise, for I assumed they had your permission.”
Erm. That didn’t sound good. Tony had rather naively assumed that the silence was simply Peter and Ned watching the movie he had left for them. “What do you mean?” He asked the A.I. suspiciously. Jarvis replayed the footage of Peter and Ned entering his lab – right from the beginning – all the way up to the A.I.s weak attempt at scolding them and the broken armour. By the end of the footage, Tony wasn’t sure if he was sick with anger or worry or some sickly concoction of both. “Jay, I’m getting the little darlings out of there, and I want the lab triple-locked and permissions checked. He is to go nowhere near that room without me.” He said queasily, already running toward the laboratory.
“What are you going to do with the arm?” Ned asked.
Peter shrugged, fidgeting a little. He sort of had to pee, but the clunky suit made his potty dancing a bit ineffectual and he couldn’t even grab himself like he could in his jeans. “Hide it somewhere.”
“Is that so?” said Dad.
Said…
…Dad?
Peter whipped around. His gaze fell onto the glare of his father, swallowed by a frown. Beside him, Ned huddled close. He was trembling.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”
~
“…you broke one of my suits. You stole the other.” Tony said softly. Even though he was speaking softly, Peter didn’t trust that tone of voice, because sometimes he had mistaken it for friendliness only to discover rather miserably it was the opposite. Gulping thickly, Peter nodded. He knew, at least, not to lie. “I- I didn’ mean to!”
“You aren’t allowed into my laboratory without me present. You know that Peter, and yet you disobeyed me.”
Still the same soft tone. He didn’t seem to be listening. “I didn’t mean it!” Peter stammered, tears springing up into his eyes. “…Ned wanted to! It, it was his fault, he did it!”
If Dad wasn’t listening, he could say whatever he wanted. Besides, it wasn’t totally a lie. Ned had wanted them to go to the lab and wear the suits just as much!
“What was that?” Tony tapped his ear in disbelief, the calm tone breaking away into loud-voiced upset. “Are you lying to me, Peter Benjamin? Lying not once today, but twice! ‘Dad lets me wear these suits all the time!’” he mocked. Although as a parent he was horrified to see Peter get into danger it was inevitable – but lying bare-faced to him was something he couldn’t stomach. “Peter, you could have hurt yourself, you could have hurt Ned, all for some silly little boys game!” he fumed, rising to his feet.
Under his gaze, Peter shrank. He always seemed scarier when he was stood up tall, and his shouting voice blew you away. Legs trembling, his bladder decided now was a good time to let him know it needed to be emptied after his overindulgence of orange juice. Opening and closing his mouth he whimpered a little bit. He sort of meant to mention his need.
“I am a little boy, what do you expect!” was what flew out instead, pulse roaring with the adrenaline of it all.
…Oops. He swore he could see a vein popping out in his Dad’s forehead like it did on cartoons when the baddie got really mad.
Indeed the little boy’s estimations were correct; Tony could feel something boil over in his chest. The worry of Peter being hurt, the stress that it was his own doing, the workload of having to fix it, and the damned cheekiness he’d started up with… he rubbed his temple and grunted.
“…That's it. You're going over my knee, right now.” He all but exploded, fuse blown, reaching forward and grasping at Peter’s sweatpants. Peter just managed to squawk in protest and scrabble at his large hands but Tony was quicker-and stronger. Swift, he had Peter hauled over his lap in a matter of seconds, sweatpants lowered to his ankles to reveal his Pokemon patterned briefs. Peter whined, reaching back to try and cup his backside. Ned had talked about his mom putting him over her knee because of his bad behaviour while he was on the ride home, and it sounded scary.
Corporal punishments were never really Tony’s forte, and Peter was usually so… low-level-naughty that the most he needed was a time out or a stern voice - but he needed to shock the boy somehow, and what better way to do it than this…?
“No! Lemme go, I’ll be good!” Peter wailed, fighting against Tony’s hand -- although Tony kept a firm grip on his by the backs of his legs. The worry of being spanked and being over his father’s knee was increasing the pressure in his lower tummy, squeezing all warm and urgent and a little bit ouchie. He did not want to wet all over his father’s lap.
Frowning, Tony gave a short sharp rap to the back of Peter’s legs. It was entirely unexpected and Peter jolted, silenced into whimpering and deciding immediately against announcing his need.
“I am in charge and I can give you as many spanks as I decide if you fight me!” Tony reminded firmly.
Under his grip, Peter went obediently still. Sighing, Tony lowered the waistband of Peter’s briefs.
(The cool air washed against Peter’s bottom; he whimpered.)
Now that Tony had put himself in this situation he felt – just the tiniest sliver – of pity for his son. “Since this is the first spanking I am giving you, I’ll let you decide how many spanks you think you should get.”
Peter whimpered, baffled. His father’s palm was resting just before his bum, like a reminder of what was to come, and every inch closer forced his tummy to clench in anticipation. “F- fifteen…?”
His voice was breathless, whimpers edging in. Tony nodded; that seemed like a decent size. “Count them for me, please.”
Drawing back, his hand came down on the curve of Peter’s bum, where it met the top of his thighs. Peter drew in a shaky breath at the shock of the short sharp sting, burying himself deeper into his father. Before he had even had a chance to recover from the first, the second came down just as severely. “Count!”
“O- one,” Peter whispered.
SMACK. “Two…” Peter breathed heavily, determined not to cry even though his eyes were filled with tears at the stinging in his bottom. SMACK. Each one seemed to sting a little more than the last, overlapping where Tony had already spanked; now, the sting was beginning to linger rather than quickly disappear. “T- three…” the child squirmed on his father’s lap, tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. “Ow—ow!—Fo-o-ur!” he rasped in between cries. In between the pain of his bottom, Peter could feel the nudges in his bladder growing more demanding. It felt like every time his father spanked him he was inviting pee closer and closer to coming ou--
SMACK
“Sit still, Peter,” Tony said quietly, tiredness rolling into his voice. His patience for Peter’s disobedience was hanging by a very thin, dangerously-close-to-fraying string. Peter’s skill at being able to push every one of his father’s buttons really would be astounding if Tony wasn’t so damn frustrated with him today.
Peter’s voice keened in upset as he tried to speak. He rasped through tears. “But I- I—!”
“What number was that, please?”
Dad was ignoring him.
“…Five.” Peter blubbed.
“See, Daddy is being quite nice to you, Peter,” Tony said, watching as his son’s bottom began to take on a pink-red-white appearance, the handprints just about visible. “When I was your age, my daddy spanked me with whatever he could find.”
His father was—or at least Tony hoped—a much worse father than he was. “My daddy used to hit me with his belt—” SMACK “—or a spoon—” SMACK “—or my mommy’s rolling pin…” SMACK.
All the while Peter counted his father’s hits obediently, although by the end of spank five and the start of spank six he had dissolved totally into tears. If his bottom was a gorgeous mosaic of pink and red his face wasn’t faring much better – itchy silver tear tracks, snotty running nose, two glassy eyes set in a bright red face. Still, he tried valiantly to squirm on his father’s lap. He had to pee now, he had to pee and it was there, and it was waiting. “Lemme up, lemme uuuuup!” Peter howled and hiccupped, feeling a little trickle come down his leg, fighting to roll off of his father’s lap again.
“I will when your punishment is over. With the way you’re behaving, I’m tempted to make you count from the beginning!” Tony snapped, directing a smack directly on Peter’s sit-spot.
Peter yowled, jerking forward as the slap radiated across his skin. A wet spot began to grow at the front of his briefs and drip a little. “…Stoppit!” he pleaded, tearfully this time - tearfully and really rather desperately. He did not want to wet on Daddy’s lap. He clenched his legs. “Am gonna pee!”
SMACKSMACK. Two in quick succession, directly across both cheeks. Even though Peter had his legs clenched the wet spot on his briefs was growing wider and wider. “Daddy!” he wept, trembling, as his bladder gave way and he began to soak himself – body going instinctively limp out of relief. The sound of his stream rushing free through the front of his briefs was an obvious hiss. “Daddy I- I gotta! I- I-m’havin an askident.” He cried, or at least that was what Tony deciphered through the tears.
Although Tony wouldn’t like to have admitted it, hearing Peter call him Daddy made him pause. Peter was still so little and yet he hadn’t called him Daddy in ages. He had thought Peter was trying to wriggle out of being punished by announcing his need for the toilet… although now that Tony wasn’t so focused on administering spanks, he could feel the warm wetness beginning to seep across his lap and hear the hissing.
Sighing, he lowered his hand. The boy was due five more spanks, although Tony was quite sure the pain of ten spanks and the embarrassment of soaking Daddy’s lap would do quite fine. Idly rubbing Peter’s back he waited until the travelling warm wetness subsided, and slowly sat him up.
“I- it was an accident!” Peter pleaded wildly, scrambling to clamber off of Tony’s lap lest Tony decided to spank him again for soaking himself and Dad. “I- I didn’ mean it, I didn’! I- I tried really hard!”
Tony shushed him gently. “It was an accident.” He agreed. He had quite had enough of being frustrated and angry today. “Come on, let’s go and get changed. What pyjamas do you want to wear?”
He lifted Peter into his arms and stood. Peter burrowed in close, despite wanting a little bit to spite Daddy and run away. He mumbled. “Star Wars.”
~
“…Do you know why I spanked you, Peter?” Tony asked, softly. They had reached the point of the punishment which Tony liked best – the part where all was to be forgotten.
Peter sat limply on his lap now, re-dressed and dry, and from the rattled shaky sigh he blew out he agreed with Tony’s sentiment. They were sat on the big squishy armchair in the common room, which was usually Steve’s but Daddy had said ‘oh, a-very-rude-word Steve,' and bundled them up into it.
“…because you hate me,” Peter whimpered, a stray tear trickling its way down his cheek. Now that the spanking was over and the palm prints had settled, there was a constant hot ache all over his bottom and it even hurt while he was cuddled up with Daddy.
Tony chuckled lightly, hearing the indignant swell in his son’s voice. “Not true.” He cupped Peter’s cheeks—Peter’s chubby, still sticky with tears cheeks—and pressed away the stray tears with the expert flick of a thumb. “I love you, Peter, to the moon and stars and back again. I spanked you because you played with my suits without permission.”
“…because you love your suits more than me, then.” Peter amended moodily yet at the same time burying his wet face into his father’s shirt.
Tony’s hand flicked warningly at the low of his back just before his bottom. “Peter Benjamin I can and will spank you again if you backchat.” He warned lightly.
…Peter fell quiet and pliable again and so he continued. “I spanked you because you playing with my suits without my permission or supervision is dangerous. You may be growing up to be a superhero but first and foremost you are a little boy, Peter. You could have got yourself hurt, very hurt – not only you but Ned too.”
Peter nodded, an uncomfortable twist of shame brewing in his belly when Daddy mentioned Ned. “I wet all over you.” He mumbled unhappily.
“That doesn’t matter.” Tony patted Peter’s bottom, crooning. “That was just an accident.”
Peter nodded, wincing and squirming even as Tony patted him very lightly. “My bum hurts.” He whined. “It’s all hot and stingy.”
Tony smiled sympathetically. “Take your ‘jama bottoms down, kiddo. I’ve got some cream.” He promised, shifting the boy on his lap so he was bottom-facing again. Squeezing a light pea of cream into his palm he massaged the sore, red petals across his son’s cheeks; and only then did Peter sigh in relief.
“…better, pumpkin?” Tony asked.
“Better.”
Shifting Peter’s pyjama bottoms up again, Tony smiled and sat him up.
“Your suit is broken and it’s my fault.” Peter whimpered, shifting close for comfort still.
“That’s right.” Tony admitted, no skating past that one. “But Daddy can fix it. I’m just glad that you’re not broken, sweetheart.”
Peter nodded, sniffling. Tony patted his back again.
“I have to make dinner now, love. How about you play with your Lego until dinner is ready?”
Peter nodded. “Will you play with me?” he asked softly, chewing at his thumbnail. Maybe he had been too bad for Daddy to play with him.
Tony thought it over. He could play with Peter while the chicken was baking… “Of course, love. As long as you promise to eat all your peas.” He pinched Peter’s nose and a grimacing Peter nodded, the punishment forgotten, although Peter wasn’t going to sneak into Daddy’s lab by himself any time soon.