Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's mid morning in the Avengers compound which means it's too early for some people, while the others have probably been up for hours by now. Peter, staying here for the week, has only been awake for an hour because he is a normal person—despite the superhero abilities. The coffee he made sits at his elbow where he's been lounging at the bar, playing a mindless game on his phone. He hasn't seen anyone else since dinner, and according to FRIDAY the only people left in the compound are himself, Tony, and Steve.

“Morning, kid,” Tony says, as if conjured by thought alone.

He looks surprisingly put together considering Tony is one of the ones lumped in the “too early” category Peter has in his head. The collared shirt has two open buttons, and Tony's jeans look fresh. He must be leaving to meet Pepper somewhere.

“Rude,” Peter complains mildly when Tony snatches the mug of coffee and downs half of it. “Make your own.”

Tony sets the mug back down, licking his lips as he shakes his head. “Coffee stunts your growth, you shouldn't be drinking it.” But he does go to the coffee maker to pop in a fresh brew cup all the same.

Peter curls an arm around his coffee protectively anyway. “I'm the same height as you”

Tony busies himself with getting the creamer out, ignoring the fact that Bruce's name is printed very carefully below the lid. “Just think of how tall you'd be now, if you hadn't taken up the life of a caffeine fiend.” To his utter delight at timing, Steve chooses to walk through kitchen door at that moment. Tony turns around to lean against the counter and says, “You might have even gotten as tall as old Cap, here.”

“Whatever it is, I'm not involved.” Steve looks fresh from a shower, blonde hair still damp at the thickest part. He quickly passes Steve on his way to the refrigerator and pulls a container of blueberries out. “I'm only here for the food.”

Peter watches the ease with which the two older men maneuver in the kitchen, making their respective breakfasts. Tony's playful, “Freeloader,” comment is received with a small smile before Steve turns his attention to the rest of his smoothie ingredients.

“Would you like one?” Steve asks Peter, dumping a scoop of vanilla protein powder into the almond milk he poured into the blender. “Have you eaten yet?”

Peter glances down at the black screen of his phone where it's gone into power saving mode at the idleness. “Just coffee.”

“Like me.” Tony grins before taking a long pull from his travel mug. Peter exchanges a look with Steve. His phone beeps and FRIDAY is warning Tony that he's on the verge of being late for his flight. “Well boys, as lovely as this brunch has been, my lady awaits.” With that, he gives a casual salute to them both and strides out of the kitchen.

“Peter?” Steve prods, pulling his attention from the empty doorway.

Peter's been awake for an hour or so, but it doesn't feel like his brain is fully online. He looks back at Steve, raising his eyebrows before he realizes he never answered the questions. “Oh, um. Sure.” He smiles a little bashfully. “I'm hungry, just a little too lazy to do anything about it.”

Steve’s expression is chiding, but he chuckles. “Sit tight. This will only take a minute.”

Peter swipes the screen of his phone to wake it up and taps in his security code. No new texts from Ned or MJ, so he flips through Instagram. He toys with the idea of taking a photo of the smoothie once it's finished and captioning it “ made by my own personal chef, Captain America . ” Peter won't do that, of course. He has no interest in outing his secret identity for the sake of likes, but it's just one of those things he does. Imagining what it would be like to be able share about the more mundane and private life of being an Avenger. Tony does it some, but usually only funny or mildly insulting things about his teammates.

The whir of the blender brings out a growl from Peter's stomach at the prospect of food. He watches the liquid turn progressively more purple.

“How much do you eat a day?” Peter blurts the question before he realizes he was even thinking about it.

Steve has probably already answered that one somewhere, multiple times even, but Peter doesn't actually like reading the interviews or following their press. Either way, Steve doesn't seem offended by it.

He shrugs, “I need about four thousand calories a day to not feel like I'm starving. This is my second breakfast.” His lips curve into a small smile, and Peter knows he's thinking about Lord of the Rings.

“I figured it was something like that.” He reaches forward to snatch a blueberry from the open container and pop it into his mouth. The flesh of the fruit splits, tangy sweetness blooming across his tongue in a very satisfying way. “I'm supposed to eat more. And sleep more.” He sighs.

Steve’s brow knits, and Peter realizes his mistake. He deflects with , “What did you have for your first breakfast?”

The smoothies are done, and Steve pulls two large glasses from the dishwasher to fill them. “Six egg omelette with cheese and ham, a side of toast and bacon.” He rinses the pitcher in the sink and says, “You should sleep and eat more.”

Peter hides his face in his phone, pretending to answer a text. “Are you worried about my height as well?” He smirks. “Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I eat plenty.” Peter hitches a shoulder up and flexes his bare bicep for emphasis.  

Steve doesn't push, but he doesn't look totally appeased. He rounds the corner of the counter and keeps walking, carrying both smoothies. “Here.”

Sliding from his perch at the bar, Peter is left with no choice but to follow if he wants the free food and company. Steve leads them into the sunroom—a favorite room of Steve's from what Peter has observed—and sits down on the couch. There's a hardback novel sitting on the coffee table with an honest to God bookmark tassel hanging from the top. He hands over a glass to Peter before retrieving the book.

“Thanks.” Peter tucks his legs beneath himself, sitting in the overstuffed armchair.

It takes embarrassingly little time for him to suck down the smoothie, but when he looks over at Steve he sees the other man has finished his as well. Peter thinks about first and second breakfasts, thinks about lunch and maybe he should offer to make them sandwiches later. He likes the prospect of a quiet day in and spending time peacefully in Steve's presence without it feeling like an intrusion. It took Peter a long time to stop feeling like that.

The sun saturates the room with light. Peter feels his body relaxing and his eyelids drooping as the warmth seeps into his skin after a while. He slouches farther and farther down the seat until his head is pillowed on the backrest. The light doze he drifts into carries him into a half dream that he can't quite remember when he wakes.

It's Steve making an unconscious sound as he gives his phone a confused look that tugs Peter back into consciousness. At some point, Steve had set aside the book in favor of his phone. When he checks the time, he realizes it's barely been a half hour, yet he feels well rested.

He sits up and asks, “What's wrong?” Selfishly, he hopes it isn't a crime alert or, more realistically, a message from Fury demanding they all go to some meeting where he will insult them and compliment them before sending them in a mission.

Steve's mouth opens, then shuts. He finally says, “Nothing.” Apparently rethinking it, he answers cryptically. “Twitter.”

Peter groans, able to imagine any number of crazy and terrible things Steve might have stumbled across. Just last week, he had to explain to him what the trashcan meme meant and why it was funny. He is proud of the way Steve will occasionally drop a current pop culture reference into conversation. Most of that is thanks to he and Shuri tag-teaming on pulling the old people into the twenty-first century.

Steve's cheeks are slightly pink above the scruff of his close-cropped beard. Still looking at his phone, he asks, “Why do people keep referring to me as Dad? I don't have kids.”

Eyes going wide, Peter has an irrational moment of panic before he has to bite back sudden laughter. Steve catches him, expression morphing into a questioning fluster. “Oh my God.” Peter giggles between the fingers he presses to his mouth.

“Well, now you have to tell me.” Steve sits back, one arm stretching along the back of the couch. Resigned, he asks, “I'm not going to like the answer, am I?” His eyes narrow slightly.

Peter can feel his own cheeks heating up slightly. He clears his throat and attempts to find the well of patience he draws from when explaining internet stuff. At least Shuri isn't here to make things infinitely more embarrassing for Peter. He can hear her laughter already.

“Are they calling you ‘Dad’ or ‘Daddy?’” His throat feels a little constricted. “Because that makes a big difference.”

Steve shrugs, hand holding his phone rising and falling with the movement. Then he tosses the device over to Peter. “Both?”

Steve has a thread open, and it's a string of over-excited messages quite literally begging ‘Daddy, please.’ One person has ventured to ask Steve to be their Dad and their Daddy. Peter closes the app.

This cannot be his life. There is no way Peter is sitting in the sunroom of the Avengers compound, barely noon on a Wednesday, about to explain a kink to Captain America.

He tries with a soft answer. “They think you would take good care of them.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. He isn't stupid or naive even if he still isn't fully up-to-date on internet culture. “This is a sex thing isn't it?”

Peter doesn't blush or stammer, but it's a near thing. He seesaws his hand in the air. “Eh.” He can't cipher Steve's feelings on the prospect.

Shaking his head, Steve says, “Not helpful, but thanks.” He leans forward, hand outstretched in silent request for his phone. “I'll Google it.”

That won't do. Peter tightens his fingers around the phone. “I mean, it's a sex thing but it's a...lifestyle thing too? Depending on the people involved.” He hurries to assure Steve. “But not incest-y...usually, I guess.” His mind wanders to some of the porn he's watched for a split second before he focuses back on the actual topic. “It's mostly just people thinking you're rugged looking and hot.”

Steve's nose wrinkles adorably. He sighs, “Okay.”

Peter is pretty sure Steve doesn't quite understand, even if he is willing to accept the existence of the kink and people's interest in him. It makes Peter think about how for the majority of Steve's waking life he had been rather puny, fragile. Clearly, the super soldier serum has enhanced Steve's body, yet his mind hasn't quite caught onto the reality of his current conventional attractiveness to the masses.

Peter moves around the coffee table, holding the phone out to Steve. He chews on his bottom lip as nerves twist inside.

This is probably a really bad idea.

“It's like,” he starts after Steve takes the phone back. Peter moves closer, until he is standing over Steve. “You are all manly, big, and good . Some people see you, and they want you to take care of them in a lot of different ways.”

Steve doesn't shove him away when Peter carefully climbs into his lap. He doesn't know why he's doing this more than he just really wants to. Anyone could walk in, come back to the compound and find him and Steve sitting here in the sunroom like this. A whole lot of awkward questions would be asked. Peter rests his hands on his own thighs where they are spread over the width of Steve's. The stretch is a little more satisfying that he would like to admit.

“Some people are into being taken care of by someone they feel safe with. Someone who will look after them in a lot of different ways.” Peter isn't looking at Steve's face. The tips of his fingers dig into his thighs, and he watches the blood drain from them with the pressure.

What the hell is he doing.

A brush against his jaw makes Peter look up from below his lashes, hopeful and scared in equal measure.

“Some people,” Steve’s words are low, his questioning inflection barely noticeable— or is Peter’s imagination playing tricks on him? But then the tips of Steve's fingers are tracing along the curve of Peter's jaw, gently tipping his face up so their eyes meet. “Are you ‘some people?’”

Peter's mouth goes dry and his throat clicks when he swallows. He finds the voice to say, “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Steve says like he's contemplating it. His thumb slides down Peter's chin, hand turning until the tip of his middle finger, all the way to the bottom of his palm, is pressed against the side of Peter's neck. It's warm and slightly rough from use, and Peter presses into the gesture ever so slightly.

They sit like that for several moments, the line between Steve's brows depending as he works through whatever he's caught up on—if it's the age difference, or the unexpected shift in their relationship, possibly the kink itself which Steve doesn't seem to have considered before now. Peter holds his breath in anticipation and tries not to let the hope in him climb too high.

Shifting, straightening up a little where he sits, Steve licks his lip before asking, “Say it.” His hand curves to cup the back of Peter's neck, and a cascade of desire shimmers down Peter's spine. “Call me Daddy.”

The pink in Steve's cheeks and the slightly uneven lilt to Steve's voice is sweetly comforting. Peter has thought about this before, with other people—unspecified and too personal as well—but thinking about doing something is entirely different from actually doing it.

He looks back down, at the stretch of t-shirt across Steve's chest and to the thick arm bent and resting against Peter's own. He feels small then, in the best way. When he wraps his hand around Steve's forearm just to feel the girth, Peter closes his eyes and says, “Please, Daddy.”

Chapter Text

Peter sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as soon as the words are out. His ears feel like they're burning, but Steve hasn't laughed or made a grossed out sound and dumped him into the floor. The hand on the back of his neck is grounding, and Peter focuses on the way Steve's thumb pushes up through the short hair at the base of his skull. It's methodic and gentle.

“Did you like it?” Steve asks.

“I think,” Peter starts, “the question is: did you like it.” He avoids answering for stupid reasons like his half hard dick in his sleep shorts and the fact that he'd had to hold back a sudden whimper after calling Steve “Daddy.”

When he opens his eyes, Steve is looking right at him with this expression on his face that Peter can't discern. His mouth is tight for a moment before Steve seems to make a decision, anticipation coiling inside Peter. Steve's hands move away from Peter, but then they're coming right back to curl around his waist. “I think I do.”

Now is when Peter should slide out of Steve's lap and laugh it off, joke about how he's happy he could help out. But Peter just sits there, breath caught in his chest and desire thrumming through his head. He says, “Oh.”

The fingers around his waist tighten slightly as Steve pulls him just a little closer. His knees sink into the seam where the couch seat and back meet, and there is no room between the two of them now. Nowhere to hide, no guessing.

“I think you like it too.” Somehow, Steve manages to say that without sounding smug, considering the hardness pressed between them. “Say it again.” He smiles with his eyes, the corners crinkling just so. “For science.”

Peter ducks his head with an amused scoff. He doesn't know what Steve is thinking, but it feels as if he is being given a chance to back out now if Peter wanted. He doesn't want to though, not if Steve is going to encourage him like this. Not one to shy from any kind of challenge despite his own uncertainty at facing something as personal as fantasy come to life, Peter looks up from beneath his lashes.

“Daddy,” he speaks softly, imbuing it with plea as he places his hands over Steve's stomach. Triumph sweeps through Peter at the way Steve's lips part on an exhale.

“Do you want someone to look after you?” Steve's hands shifts so just the tips of his fingers brush against Peter's side. “Someone to make sure you eat and sleep?”

Goosebumps break out across Peter's flesh in a wave up his back and neck when Steve brings his palms in close once more. The width of them are so warm where they press firmly below Peter's ribcage.

The questions drip from Steve's lips, shining with promise and ripe with temptation. “Is that something you want? Do you need someone to guide you?” Steve's blue eyes have darkened into an almost navy hue. “Do you want,” his teeth drag over his bottom lip in a flash as if he's scraping the words back up, only to deliver them all over again. “Do you want me to be your Daddy, Peter?”

All he can do is nod, hot all over and heart slamming against his chest. He wants to hide away. He wants to beg and plead for this to happen, for more, because surely this is merely another vivid dream. “Please,” he whispers.

Steve’s gaze bores into him for a long moment.

“I don't know what I'm doing.” Steve says plainly, almost apologetically. “Before anything else happens, you should know that.” He looks down and away.

The mounting fire inside Peter swirls warmly at the sudden vulnerability on display. In the fantasy, Peter imagined Steve putting him on his knees and feeding him his dick while calling him a “good boy.” But there are a couple steps from here to there.

“Me either,” Peter spreads his fingers over Steve's stomach and rises up on his knees so his weight settles more squarely. “I like this, and I like you though. I think...those things you said? I'd like that, or something like it.”

Steve’s hands drop to the sides, fingers tucking behind Peter's knees. “Yeah?” He asks, meeting Peter's eyes once more.

Peter has heard the term “boyish smile” before, but he's never thought it applied to Steve quite so earnestly as it does now. The smile Steve gives him fills Peter with hope and desire.

“We shouldn't do this.” Steve’s fingers tighten. “Not here. I want to take you somewhere more private. Is that okay?”

When Peter nods his head, too shocked at his own good fortune, Steve shifts and liftsl. Peter gasps and wraps his arms around those broad shoulders to keep from toppling over. Steve stands up, hands cupped around the backs of Peter's thighs, and steps around the coffee table as if he has no burden at all.

“Uh.” Peter locks his ankles behind Steve and does his best to ignore the delicious friction against his dick. “I can walk.” He watches as sunroom and kitchen pass him by, allowing Steve to carry him towards the personal quarters.

“This was more efficient.” He smirks slightly, eyes flicking to Peter and forward again. “Besides, this is nice, don't you think?”

It does feel good. The strength of Steve's arms lifting him and carrying him down the corridors makes Peter feel light . He runs his fingers up the back of Steve's hair just because he can. “Yeah. Where are you taking me, anyway?”

Steve pauses. “My room.” He doesn't get get an objection from Peter and walks the last few feet to his quarters.

Peter watches him key in his security code, and then he's being carried through the sitting area and straight into Steve’s bedroom.

“You make your bed every morning?” Peter asks when Steve gently sets him down. He thinks about the tangled mess his own sheets and blanket are in, smoothing a hand over the straight line of the comforter he's lying on.

Steve is still standing at the foot of the bed, between Peter's splayed knees. He can still feel the memory of Steve's jean-clad bulge pressed against his own dick, and he wants more. Peter arches his back, showing off a little, as Steve's eyes skim over his body. The older man seems to be caught up in his head, and Peter isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.

He sets a heel to the edge of the bed, knee turned. The material of his shorts slip down and several more inches of the inside of his thigh are revealed. Peter feels slutty and demanding, a little desperate for Steve to touch him again. He bites his bottom lip before asking, “Daddy?”

Steve's chest is rising and falling quickly as his hand lands on Peter's bent knee. He uses the perch for balance, kneeling onto the bed with one leg. “You're gorgeous,” Steve says breathlessly.

Peter knows he's okay looking, if a little awkward at times, but the way Steve says it—like there was no way for Steve to keep the words inside—makes Peter squirm and blush all the way to his roots. He doesn't realize his eyes have closed until fingers are grasping his chin lightly and coaxing him into looking back at Steve.

Steve is stretched out over Peter now. “Hey,” he says, quietly, “Is this okay?”

Part of him still doesn't want to have to talk about any of this, but it's a relief anyway. His chest is filled with fondness. He brings his knees up to clamp around Steve's hips. “I'm good, if you are.”

An arm slides under his back and hoists him up the bed. Steve is smirking when he says, “You seem to like when I manhandle you a little.” The words brush against Peter's ear, beard scratching lightly at the sensitive skin there.

Peter whines in the back of his throat. “More than I should,” he chuckles a little desperately, eyes closing again as his hips buck.

“That what you like, baby?” Steve still hasn't kissed him, a fact that Peter's mind is hyperfocused on now that Steve is speaking so intimately against his skin. Each brush of lips and beard sends wave after wave of electricity through Peter's body. “Do you like how much bigger I am? The fact that I'm still stronger than you?”

It feels like Steve is pulling him inside out and exposing all of Peter's secret places. It stings in the best way because Peter knows Steve isn't going to make fun of him or use it against him. “Please,” he begs, arching again and tightening the grip with his knees.

Steve grinds his hips forward in one delicious roll before he lifts his body up once more. “You're so hard.” He runs a hand down Peter's arm and snakes it between them.

When his fingers skim across the skin right above the elastic of his shorts, Peter moans. “I'm not wearing boxers, nothing.” He tips his head so he can see the small space between their stomachs. Steve's hand is large and spans the distance between hip bones before he is palming Peter through the slick fabric.

“You should wear a bit more clothing than that,” Steve chides distractedly. He's propped up with his other arm, staring down at where he's touching Peter. His thumb runs around the head of Peter's dick slowly. Steve catches Peter's eye again. “You'll get cold.”

That surprises a giggle out of Peter. He gasps when Steve drags his hand down his dick to cup his balls in his fingers. “You're doing a really good job of warming me up.” Peter's cheeks burn, and Steve shakes his head in amusement.

He takes the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses along Peter's collarbone before sucking at the flesh of his throat. “I'm happy to be of service,” he says when he releases.

“I’d still prefer if you wore a shirt around the compound.” Steve confides, hand going soft and still around Peter's dick. “If this is going to be more than a one time thing.”

Peter tries to think past the fog of arousal he feels in order to concentrate on Steve's request and implied offer. “Why?”

Steve’s expression is serious, eyes almost black with desire. He seems almost hesitant when he says, “Because if you're mine, I want to be the only one who gets to see so much of you.”

It's stupid, and it's old fashioned. Peter still melts a little over it, over the idea of being Steve's. “You'll be mine too?” He asks suddenly. This can't be a one-way street.

“If you want me,” Steve slides his hand away from Peter's pelvis and up to his chest.

The loss is enough to make Peter sigh, but the way Steve tips his chin and directs their first kiss steals his breath. It's soft and shallow, lips meeting lips for a long moment before Steve is parting and sliding his tongue inside. Peter sinks into it, wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders and holding him close. He swallows the quiet sound Steve makes against him.

“Daddy,” Peter moans when they part. Now that he is allowed to say it, knows how good it feels to have Steve want him to say it, it's like Peter can't keep keep quiet. The word rolls off his tongue like second nature. “Touch me?”

“Yes,” Steve agrees, voice a deep rumble that Peter can feel reverberate.

He tugs down the sleep shorts Peter is wearing until his ass is against the bed and his dick and balls are exposed. Steve doesn't move out of the way to pull them off. His hand slips down to touch the skin inside Peter's thigh before curving up so his fingers trail against the skin just behind his sac.

“This what you want?” Steve asks, kissing along Peter's jaw. “Or this?” He cups his hand lightly around Peter again, but doesn't jerk him off. “Do you want to rub off against my hand, baby? You're leaking everywhere. I bet it wouldn't take much.”

Peter's nails dig into Steve's shoulders, into the t-shirt he's still wearing. Suddenly, he realizes Steve is still completely dressed. He hadn't even slipped out of the sneakers he was wearing. Peter is lying there, practically naked and on the verge of orgasm, while Steve holds him down dressed like he's ready to go out for coffee. He moans brokenly, turned on beyond measure. Peter doesn't know why he loves the feel of Steve's jean button grazing across his skin, but he does.

“Please, please,” he begs, unable to articulate anything right now. He wants anything Steve will give him; he wants Steve to give him what he wants even when Peter doesn't have the words.

Steve curls his fingers tighter around Peter's length and shushes him. “Like this, then. Together.” He strokes Peter, following the aborted motions Peter has been making. “Let go, baby. I'm right here. Show me what you like.”

“Yes!” Peter exclaims, shoving into the curl of Steve's hand. Each time the head of his dick slips between the ring of Steve's thumb and forefinger, Peter can feel the precome leak and smear farther—nothing but his own mess to slick the way. He whimpers.

“That's it. You're doing good. So close. I want to see you come.” Steve keeps talking, and who even knew he would say these kinds of things? “I want to see you fall apart right here for me.”

“I...” Peter swallows dryly, breath harsh and quick. “ Close .”

Steve shifts above him, sitting up while still working his fist, twisting it around, up and down. He pushes at Peter's thigh with his free hand and forces his legs further apart. The movement causes Peter's shorts to ride back up, push the elastic up behind Peter's balls. The pressure shoots straight through him.

“Do it. Do it for Daddy.”

Peter cries out, arching up as his orgasm tears through his body. Steve's voice, the rough command and request bounces inside his skull as come spurts up his stomach and chest.

Steve's keeps stroking him through it, grip firm as he practically milks the last of Peter's orgasm right out of him. “Beautiful.” He leans down and kisses Peter quickly before letting out a deep groan against Peter's lips.

With a shudder, Peter goes limp. Everything in him feels untethered and loose, at peace. He star-fishes below Steve, limbs akimbo in the wake of his orgasm.

“Peter,” Steve calls softly. He's on his side now, facing Peter and tracing a clean thumb under his eye. “Are you okay?”

He was crying, Peter realizes. His lashes are wet and his eyes sting slightly. Turning so his cheek nuzzles into Steve's palm, Peter blinks and looks at him with a dumb smile. “I'm so good.” He chuckles, reaching up to hold Steve's hand, kisses the crease of his knuckles. “Thank you.”

Steve chuckles, soundly a little relieved. “Good.” Then he cards his fingers through Peter's sweaty hair. “I can't believe I have strangers on Twitter to thank for this.”

Laughing, Peter says, “Your fans would freak out if they knew.” He feels giddy and warm. When he looks back at Steve, he settles down. “So it was okay?”

Steve hooks a leg around Peter's. “I liked it a lot more than I would have guessed.” Propping his head up on a fist, he gives Peter a speculative look. “I liked doing that with you. And, I think, I like the idea of taking care of you.”

“Yeah?” Peter can feel the come on his skin cooling. He looks down at Steve's crotch. He's still hard, but doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. “Not just the sex, huh?”

Steve blushes and it is...Peter leans in and kisses him softly. His stomach swoops with realization that this could become so much more than he would have considered it might be. When he pulls back, he tips his face down and curls up against Steve's chest.

Arms come around his back to hold him close. “Not just the sex.” Steve's voice is soothing. “Though that was pretty great. I think I would like to take care of you. You're special, Peter.”

He's glad his face is hidden, because those words hook behind Peter's heart and tug sharply. His breath shudders, and he slips his fingers below the hem of Steve's shirt to touch skin. He realizes, belatedly, that he's making a mess out of Steve's clean clothes.

He rolls away, onto his back again, and looks up at the ceiling as he catches his breath. Peter glances at Steve, smirking as he kicks his shorts off. “You want to be my Daddy?”

Steve's eyes go dark, and he reaches out for Peter. “Yes.” He lets himself be shoved onto his back as Peter climbs on top of him.

Holding Steve's hand to his chest, Peter smiles down at him. “I’d like that too.”