watchesthewatchers | it sounds like a bad joke

"You like watching me do it to them."

He pegs, biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Like a tiger on a chain."

"Like a tiger who decides it likes the way I scratch its ears."

He smirks, and reaches out with a hand.

"So, paint me in stripes."

He proposes, taking his hand, sinking down onto his knee.

Tony has taken to caressing him lately, like he can map things away in his mind. He runs his thumb along Peter's bottom lip, affectionate but also in a way that suggests he has every right to be.

"Thin belt? Or finger paints?"

"Both."

Then he's sucking on his fingertip, elegantly foreshadowing.

"I want to paint you at the lake. In your na-ahh"

Damn his tongue.

"--natural habitat."

He whimpers, and leans in, reaching for his fly.

Needing him now.

"Wait, wait--can you take two lashes for me first?"

He has a hunch. Part of him wants to scream at himself for choosing to test it now, but he's also sure it will pay off.

"Of course, sir."

He tells him, practically panting. Needing him.

"On the floor?"

"Yes. Perfect."

He'll use his own belt for this; besides, he's too desperate to make Peter undress for it.

He still scrabbles his shirt off, since that's all he's wearing on his back on the warm day, baring narrow, strong shoulders to him, turning to present it to him, peering up at him in fear for a quick second before looking back at the floor.

His hands are still tangled in his shirt sleeves, trying to tug it off gently.

"Just two. I need you right now, but if you can do this for me, I-"

He'll leave that unfinished, let it hang, and then slap the first lash across his shoulders.

He yelps, but recovers, breathing out a sob, shifting, bracing again, ready to take the second one.

Watching Peter brace himself for it, to please him, makes it difficult to even land the second blow. It would be so much easier to just strip him down...

The second comes quickly; Tony wants him badly.

He looks up over his shoulder at him, eyes stinging with pain.

"Can I suck you now? Please, sir? I've been good?"

"So good."

Whispering, leaning down to kiss him.

"Do anything you want to me."

He makes a noise so needy it sounds wounded, and is on him in an instant, driving him back against the fridge, getting his pants down just far enough, tongue dragging along the skin above the waistband of his underwear. Scrabbling those down too.

Tony's hands are gentle even as he grabs at him, clings to him. He brushes his fingers along one of the reddened lash marks and hisses.

"I'm keeping you."

"Then I'm yours as long as you have use of me."

He whispers, and then sucks him slowly into his mouth, sliding down onto him with a hum. Yes.

"And I'll make you- happy, oh God that's good-"

He's had amazing head before. Mindblowing. It's just that there's an element to it that Peter brings that he never considered before.

"When I get you out and you laugh, that's...it's a good day. I feel like we're really accomplishing something."

He writhes in place a little, humming imploringly around him, eyes closing in pleasure. Swallowing him deeper.

He loves this.

He grips the fridge handle and keeps himself very still, babbling in ever more halting phrases as he gets close.

He's still whimpering for it, knees drifting apart subtly on the tile, ready for more.

He grips Peter's shoulder as he comes in his mouth, and he'd offer an apology for the lack of warning but he's far too breathless.

He whimpers, sucking at him greedily in return, humming in pleasure. Trying to get all of it. Hungry for him.

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