Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1993302.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Spanking, Dom/sub_Undertones, Established_Relationship, Corporal
      Punishment
  Series:
      Part 80 of Lady_O's_Teen_Wolf_Bingo_Stories
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-21 Words: 1343
****** No Excuses ******
by ladyoneill
Summary
     Stiles is late and Peter, who insists on rules that are meant to be
     obeyed, isn't pleased. While Stiles likes obeying in bed, he's not so
     sure about out of it. He's also not sure he wants to be punished.
Notes
     Written for Kink Bingo prompt: Spanking. There's no negotiation here.
     It's punishment, but Stiles does get some kind of release from it and
     Peter enjoys himself. Probably they're headed to a more negotiated
     Dom/dub relationship but this is Peter after all...
"You're late."
Peter was sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out comfortably in
front of him, reading. He didn't even look up, but Stiles stilled and gulped.
"Not even ten minutes. There was traffic," he tried to explain.
"Not an excuse." Bright, hard blue eyes looked up over the edge of the hardback
in his hands. "You had plenty of time after school to get here."
Yeah. He'd run home to dump his school stuff and then had checked his email and
gotten caught up in following several links and...
Yeah, not an excuse.
"Sorry."
Snorting, Peter set down his book, a frown on his face, and Stiles clenched his
hands into his fists at his sides, trying not to squirm beneath that cold look.
As soon as he realized he was running late, his only futile hope was that Peter
wasn't waiting for him.
Though he was always waiting for him.
When they'd begun this whatever it was, Stiles had been surprised to find out
the older man was a generous lover, but he was also in charge and expected to
be obeyed. In bed, Stiles had no problem doing that--early on he discovered he
liked everything Peter did to him or wanted him to do.
Out of it, though...
Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited, a mulish look forming on his face
because he couldn't help himself. Blind obedience was never going to be a part
of his make up, at least not outside of the bedroom where he kind of liked
it...a lot.
One of Peter's eyebrows cocked and his lips tightened. "You don't think that
trying to placate me is the way to go?" he asked, keeping his voice even, but
there was a slight edge to it that sent an involuntary shiver down Stiles'
spine.
Just a little over a month before he'd been late, and, he'd tried that, going
to his knees right here in the living room and giving Peter an enthusiastic
blow job.
Then he'd been sent home without an orgasm of his own.
"Look, I'm sorry. I'll just go..."
"No, you won't just go. We meet twice a week for mutually enjoyable sex,
Stiles. You know I like to be obeyed. We haven't gone so far as to make this
any kind of official dominant/submissive relationship, mostly because I'm not
sure you're ready for all that entails, but I have rules. You know them. You
broke one."
Ignoring that dom talk, because, yeah, not ready for it, Stiles sighed and
shuffled forward into the room, ready to get his face fucked and go home to
jerk off, but Peter rose to his feet and pointed to the couch.
"Take off your pants and briefs."
"Um..."
At the tightening of Peter's face, Stiles scrambled to obey--a part of him
really did like obeying the wolf where sex was concerned. Kicking off his
shoes, he bared his lower body, and it felt weird to keep his long sleeved t-
shirt on, but he hadn't been told to remove it. As he twitched and fidgeted and
waited, Peter slowly prowled towards him, then took his bicep and pushed him
down over the end of the couch, the high, rounded arm hitting him across the
lower stomach and his torso draping down over the leather cushions, leaving his
ass in the air and his feet barely on the floor.
Anticipation made his cock stir. They'd never fucked on the couch...
"You think this is about sex?" The dark amusement in Peter's voice wiped the
grin from Stiles' face. "This is punishment for being late."
"Huh?"
"You were late. You didn't even call. You had no good excuse. I'm going to
spank your ass, not fuck it."
Shocked, eyes widening, Stiles started to push himself off the couch--he wasn't
getting spanked like a kid! As a kid, he'd never been spanked!--but Peter's
hand came down hard on the small of his back, pinning him in place.
"If, and that's a big if, you take the punishment well, then I'll be in a much
better mood and we can move this to the bedroom and enjoy ourselves. On the
other hand, if you protest, whine, try to get away, make ridiculous threats, or
do anything to further annoy me, you can spend the rest of the evening standing
in the corner and go home unsatisfied. Trust me, I will quite enjoy
masturbating to the sight of your cherry red ass."
Stiles felt his cheeks flame and swallowed hard, but he knew there was only one
real choice here. "How...how many?"
"As many as I want."
Closing his eyes, Stiles dug his fingers into the cushion and nodded.
The palm of Peter's free hand patted his ass.
And then smacked down with speed and power.
Unable to hold in his surprise at the burst of pain, Stiles' head jerked up and
he yelped. Jesus...he'd been beaten up before, fallen down stairs and tripped
over tree roots, been tackled hard in lacrosse, but nothing hurt like that
first spank.
Before he could catch his breath, an answering blow hit his other ass cheek and
he whimpered.
And then the hand went back to the first, covering the sore spot, and it stung
and burned and...
Stiles dug into the cushion harder, gritted his teeth and desperately tried not
to squirm away. The blows continued to rain down, back and forth, from cheek to
cheek, growing more painful, until Stiles couldn't help it--he kicked his legs
up a bit and cried out, barely biting back his plea for Peter to stop. God, he
wanted him to stop, but he also didn't want to have to stand in the corner
after this, so he clenched his lips shut and panted through his nose.
The older man just held him down and kept smacking him, moving from the top of
the curve of his ass to just under the bottom where his skin was so tender. The
first blow there made tears spring up.
It wasn't long before they were streaming down his cheeks and he was whimpering
and trying not to sob. Finally he started to squirm, but not away, not to get
up, and Peter allowed that.
He didn't stop the spanking, though, and he never said anything, just kept up
the even blows and his even breathing, while Stiles cried and gasped and the
leather couch creaked, and the smacks of palm on ass grew louder and louder.
Until, finally, the spanking stopped. It took Stiles nearly a minute to realize
it, and then he just burst into loud sobs of pain and, strangely enough,
relief.
"Oh, darling boy," Peter crooned gently as his hands, now tender, lifted him up
off the couch and against his strong chest. Clutching at his shoulders, Stiles
cried into his soft sweater, barely feeling those hands, no longer punishing,
caressing his back, his head, as he shook. "You were so good, so very good for
me, taking my hand."
That...that...was that a glimmer of pride eking through the pain and adrenaline
flooding his brain?
Slowly Stiles stopped crying and just leaned exhausted into Peter as he
continued to soothe and stroke him and croon to him.
And, while his ass still throbbed and stung, he started to feel something else,
too, because Peter, his lover, was caressing him.
His cock twitched.
He knew the moment Peter realized it, because the gentle hands drifted down and
over his ass and the lips murmuring into his ear fastened around the lobe. "I'm
going to kiss it and make it all better."
At a burst of amusement, Stiles snorted and started sucking at Peter's throat.
"How about you just fuck it."
"Oh, I'm going to do that, too. You won't be able to sit for days," Peter
teased and, with a smirk, grabbed his sore thighs, making him yell at the pain,
and hoisted him up to carry him wriggling and moaning into the bedroom.
End
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