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“Twenty?!”
“No,” Steve said, his voice containing a bit of an edge. “Now it’s twenty-five. You want to try for thirty?”
Peter’s mouth snapped shut and he shook his head mutely. When he didn’t move, Steve nodded towards the locker room doors. “Go get changed and start warming up.”
A faint smirk flashed across Sam’s face and Peter felt a flush of shame rush up his neck. Ducking his head, he trudged over to the change room, feeling humiliated and small at the same time. As Peter pushed the heavy door open, he heard Sam’s voice, low and smug.
“So, it’s like that with you two, is it?”
“Oh, it’s like that,” Steve said sounding a bit resigned and exasperated. “Super-powered teenagers. God help me.”
Peter heard Sam’s chuckle as the heavy door swung shut behind him. Rolling his eyes, Peter went over to one of the empty lockers and began to unpack his gear. Tugging his “If you believe in telekinesis, raise my hand” t-shirt, Peter folded it neatly (Steve had been emphasizing respect for his clothing a lot lately) and pulled his jeans down, doing the same with them.
Standing in the locker room in just his underpants and socks, Peter stared down at the custom athletic gear Steve had procured for him. It was a form-fitting red tank top and low-rise blue shorts. He managed a grin at the fact that they were in Spider-Man’s colours. Even the moisture-wicking socks and boxer briefs were in the same shades of red and blue, respectively. Tugging his cotton briefs and socks off, Peter folded them neatly as well and then began to pull on his athletic gear. The only underwear he wore these days were briefs (Steve bought them all for him), aside from workouts and Spider-Manning, and the boxer briefs felt a bit odd on his skin.
Putting the rest of his stuff away in the locker, Peter turned and trotted back out to the main gym floor. Steve and Sam were still standing there and when Peter came before them, Steve gave him a nod of approval. Even that small gesture sent a surge of warmth through Peter’s heart and he began to bounce on his heels with excitement.
“Looking good,” Sam said with a grin. “Nice color choice.”
Steve chuckled at that and nodded again. “You do look good, Peter.”
The warmth in Peter’s heart began to spread to his entire chest and he almost didn’t hear Steve’s next words.
“Get warmed up and then start with running. Thirty laps around the compound. FRIDAY’ll be keeping track, won’t you?”
“Yes, Captain,” came the AI’s electronic voice from the ceiling.
Peter nodded, and was starting his stretches when something clicked in his head. “Wait, thirty?” He looked up from the floor at Steve. “You said twenty-five!”
“You took your time in there,” Steve said, pointing with his chin to the lockers. “So now it’s thirty. Any more lip and I’ll be adding extra push-ups at the end.”
Peter blushed furiously right to the roots of his curly brown hair and Sam’s light laugh only added to his humiliation. Zipping his mouth shut, he continued to stretch, doing each exercise carefully and properly, knowing that Steve’s eagle eye was on him at all times. As he finished up his last leg raise, Peter felt a strong, familiar hand brush his hair and massage his scalp gently.
“Good job.”
The warmth in his chest began to return and for a moment, all Peter wanted to do was wrap himself around Steve’s muscular legs and hug him tightly. But he knew that the caressing hand could tug on his hair just as easily if he took too long and he finished his last stretch and hopped to his feet. He looked up at Steve’s handsome face, the golden skin and deep blue eyes looking as gorgeous as always.
“Thirty laps, right?”
Steve chuckled to himself and ruffled Peter’s hair again, gentle and affectionate. “Thirty laps, buddy. But if you want to impress me, feel free to do a few extra.”
Peter’s head felt a bit light at those words and he turned away towards the exit. A hard hand smacked against his butt and he yelped.
“Don’t dilly-dally, Petey.”
Freshly motivated, Peter sprang into motion and dashed out of the gym, his feet pounding against the varnished floor.
The paved running trail that looped around the Avenger’s Compound was a good ten miles in length, from start to finish. Peter had already completed twenty-six circuits of the wide trail and even his superhuman strength and stamina was starting to falter a bit.
You’d be done by now, if you hadn’t gotten lippy with Steve. Again.
Peter couldn’t help but bite back sometimes. It wasn’t his fault! Steve could be mercurial, dismissive and downright condescending towards Peter. As much as he loved the attention and the structure, sometimes the belittling behaviour just ticked him off. But Peter also knew the limits of Steve’s patience and tolerance and he rarely tested his mentor beyond those. The main compound came into his vision and Peter kept his legs pumping, taking deep breaths and drawing on the Spider-strength that lay within him.
“Come on,” he huffed to himself.
Three more laps.
Steve’s face came into view as Peter raced past to the auxiliary gym. The familiar visage was staring at Peter with a look of pride and approval. As Peter passed the super-soldier, he saw Steve flash Peter a thumbs-up. A fresh surge of excitement and exhilaration sparked inside the boy’s heart and with a deep breath, he increased his pace.
“I’ve got this, I’ve got this, I’ve got this!”
Ten laps later, Peter came to an an exhausted halt in front of the freshly mowed grass that fronted the gym entrance. Steve was standing there, a bottle of water in one hand and a large towel in the other.
“Cooldown stretches,” the captain said firmly, pointing at the ground with one finger. Peter dropped to the soft grass with relief and began to stretch compliantly. As he did, he felt Steve rubbing his sweat-drenched frame down with the towel, mopping up the residue of his long long jog. As he continued to stretch, he felt the open water bottle poke at his lips.
“Open up,” Steve said gently.
Peter obeyed and his mentor slid the nozzle of the bottle into his mouth.
“Suck,” Steve said in the same gentle tone. A wildly inappropriate thought flashed through Peter’s head and his body froze mid-stretch. Steve’s free hand promptly tweaked his ear sharply.
“Get your mind outta the gutter, Peter. Drink your water.”
“S-sorry,” Peter mumbled and obediently took a long, refreshing swig of the clear cold water.
“Finish drinking,” Steve said, “then hit the showers. Lunch is almost ready.”
Peter obeyed and let Steve tug him to his feet. His exhausted legs felt like jelly from the prolonged workout and Steve had to help him limp back to the locker room. Peter’s arms and legs were so exhausted that Steve had to peel his skintight workout gear off his lithe frame. Shaking his head in amusement, the older man gently slid Peter’s underpants off, leaving him completely naked in the locker room. The sweat that covered Peter from head to toe was starting to cool and he began to shiver where he stood.
“Come on,” Steve said good-naturedly. “Shower time.” When Peter still didn’t move, the larger man simply wrapped one large arm around Peter’s narrow waist and carried him effortlessly towards one of the large shower stalls at the other end of the room. Steve set Peter down on the foldout bench and stood back and surveyed him. Despite his exhausted state, Peter felt a bit awkward being completely naked in front of his mentor and he tried to cross his legs in a vain attempt to preserve his modesty.
“Like I haven’t seen it all before,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. His expression turned concerned and he didn’t move from the edge of the stall. “Do you need some help, Petey?”
Peter blushed at the suggestion, but the exhaustion in his limbs made him nod his head wordlessly. Steve smirked and then quickly and efficiently stripped off his clothes. It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen Steve naked, but the sight of the older man’s nude form blew away the mental fog that had settled over his brain. Steve’s chest was as broad and muscular as ever, each of his pecs were large than Peter’s entire chest. His biceps were the size of Peter’s head and the muscles arrowed down into a perfect six-pack. Peter’s eyes continued to drift down involuntarily to stare at the man’s muscled thighs and the perfect thick organ that rested between them.
The sight of Steve’s thick flaccid cock sent an electric surge through Peter’s whole body and for a moment, he felt the overpowering urge to get on his knees and suck his mentor’s dick. The teenager shoved the intrusive thought aside. Steve had never shown the slightest romantic interest in Peter. The older man was in a very happy and committed long-distance relationship with Bucky Barnes. As far as Peter could tell, Steve only ever viewed Peter as his mentee and student.
Steve’s large hand reached out and batted Peter on the side of the head. “Eyes up here, Peter.” When Peter still didn’t move, Steve yanked him to his feet and steadied him with one hand on the small of his back. Steve’s other hand twisted the shower knob and a powerful spray of water came surging out of the overhead faucet.
The ice-cold deluge hit Peter’s already chilly body with a crashing impact and he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
“Cold! Jesus fucking Christ!”
Steve kept a tight grip on his arm and didn’t let him escape.
“Language.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Peter cursed, trying in vain to get away. “Stevie, it’s cold!”
“That’s what’s best for muscle recovery,” Steve said unyieldingly.
“I’m freezing!”
“Tough luck, buddy.”
“Please!” Peter begged. “Steve, I’m gonna freeze my dick off!”
Steve rolled his eyes under the freezing spray, but his hand reached out and twisted the knob to the right. The icy waterfall suddenly became a warm, comforting downpour and Peter sighed in relief.
“Thank you, Stevie!”
His body sagged against Steve’s broad frame. Peter heard Steve chuckle in a low tone and the older man’s hands began to roam over Peter’s naked form, distributing soap and body wash all over the younger man’s anatomy.
The water grew hotter as Steve continued and when Steve’s hands began to wash Peter’s groin, his teenage body betrayed him. The strong fingers massaging body wash into his balls sent a priority signal to his brain and Peter’s dick sprang to life. Steve didn’t pay his arousal a single moment’s heed, his hands moving to the hard shaft, soaping it up and washing it clinically. Peter let out a loud moan at the sensation and he felt his face go red under the endless spray.
Steve continued to ignore Peter’s erection and his hands moved further down to wash Peter’s thighs and then his knees and ankles. Despite the lack of attention, Peter’s dick remained hard and he began to crave release. Visions of Steve’s strong digits taking Peter in hand and stroking him firmly, gently until he came in a flash of white ran through Peter’s mind. He distantly noted Steve turning his body under the steaming spray to rinse off the remaining soap suds.
Peter found himself hoping that Steve would leave him alone for a few moments so he could pleasure himself quickly. That hope vanished in an icy rain of water as Steve turned the temperature back to cold. Peter shrieked again but Steve didn’t react and within ten seconds, he turned the water off completely. Peter stood in the middle of the spacious stall, shivering and spluttering. As he looked down at his legs, he saw that his erection had withered completely. His dick was lying shrunken and flaccid against his contracted testicles.
A warm, thick towel hit him on the head a moment later and he turned to glare at Steve who was wrapping an identical cloth around his own naked, dripping form.
“You suck,” Peter mumbled, but got to work drying himself off.
A quarter hour later, Peter and Steve were walking into the main dining area of the Avengers living quarters. Sam and Bruce were both there, the former stirring a massive pot of chili while the latter was grilling a small mountain of chicken breasts on the indoor barbecue.
“Peter, go ahead and set the table,” Steve said in the usual tone he used when bossing Peter around. Well used to being ordered about by his mentor, Peter complied wordlessly, getting three normal sized plates and one giant one along with accompanying cutlery and glasses.
Soon, the table was so laden with food, it’s metal legs were creaking under the weight. Steve sat down beside Peter and the other two sat across from them. Sam and Bruce began to help themselves to food, but when Peter reached for the chili ladle, Steve reached out and snagged his hand.
“What do we do before eating, Peter?”
Peter mentally rolled his eyes but clasped Steve’s hand and compliantly recited Grace. His aunt and uncle had been religious and had raised Peter to be as well. When Steve had first found out about that, he’d insisted on taking Peter to church every Sunday and reciting prayers with every meal. Steve’s mom had raised him right, the older man liked to say, and he was going to make sure that Peter followed the teachings his aunt and uncle had taught him.
Once the prayer was finished, Peter went to reach for the chili again, but Steve stopped him a second time. Before Peter could even ask why, Steve had slapped a trio of grilled chicken breasts down on his plate. A bowl of fresh salad slid next to his plate. A tall glass of water joined them and Peter felt a wave of dejection wash over him. He eyed the platter of crispy fried chicken and home fries that sat on Sam’s side of the table.
“C-can I have a piece of fried chicken, please?”
Sam nodded casually and was reaching for the platter to pass to Peter when Steve’s voice cut through the air firmly.
“No.”
Sam blinked and looked confused. “The kid ran thirty miles, Steve. One piece of fried chicken isn’t gonna do any harm.”
“I said no,” Steve said firmly. “You have your rations, Peter. You finish all that and then we’ll see about some fried food.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Peter’s eyes and he looked down at his full plate bitterly. He’d been stupid to think that the presence of other people might make Steve ease up on his strict food rules for even one meal. His mentor could be a real control freak sometimes, he thought acidly to himself. Exhaling through his nose, Peter began to cut his meat up and started to eat, his empty stomach growling loudly.
Half an hour later, Peter had finished his extremely healthy meal and his stomach had ceased growling. He still eyed the remaining chicken pieces with muted desire, but after three whole breasts, he really wasn’t in the mood for more protein.
“Hey kid, do you want some ice cream?” Bruce was returning from the freezer, holding two enormous tubs of frozen dessert in his hands. “We’ve got Stark Raving Hazelnuts and Hunka-Hulka Burnin Fudge.”
“The hazelnuts are pretty good,” Sam remarked nonchalantly. Bruce gave the other man a double scoop in his bowl and then turned to look at Peter expectantly. Peter flushed under the pressure and instinctively looked towards Steve. The blonde man took in the sharp stare that Sam was giving him, then shrugged minutely.
“If you want to have some, Peter, go ahead.”
Peter stared at Steve’s indifferent expression in disbelief. Somehow, the older man’s disinterest felt magnitudes worse than the strict forbidding that Peter was used to.
“C’mon kid,” Bruce said, “The goods are melting over here.”
Steve watched Peter’s indecision with a small smirk and in that moment, Peter felt his dejection return.
“N-no thanks, Mr. Hulk,” he said quietly. “I think I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Y-yeah,” Peter said softly. “Maybe I’ll just have an apple or some strawberries.”
“We’ve got a ton of fresh fruit in the fridge,” Sam remarked. “Even got some fresh mangos. Just arrived this morning.”
“Maybe I’ll have those,” Peter said, his gaze fixed on Steve’s neutral face. Steve’s lack of reaction hurt like a knife through Peter’s heart. In the past year he’d become so accustomed to seeking the older man’s approval and living by his rules. When Steve suddenly stopped caring in moments like this, Peter felt horribly adrift and found that he couldn’t make up his mind by himself.
“Stevie?”
Steve looked at him and then a faint smile appeared on his radiant features. “Mangos sound good, Peter. Go get me one as well.”
Peter quickly got to his feet and obeyed, returning with two large mangos, a pair of plates and a single cutting knife. He set them all down in front of Steve and the other man quickly peeled and sliced the fruit. Placing a plateful in front of Peter, Steve reached down and petted his hair.
“Good choice.”
Peter felt his heart swell in his chest and found himself smiling so much, his face hurt.
After a brisk stroll to walk off his meal, Peter headed to the weight center. Sam and Steve were already inside and talking in low voices.
“I’m telling you man, you’re being too controlling.”
“It’s for his own good, Sam. You should have seen the eating habits Peter had when I left him to his own devices. Pizza and hot dogs, every damn day.”
“Still, he’s nineteen. Let the kid enjoy himself.”
“You know the importance of eating healthy, especially in our line of work. Peter needs food that can fuel him and keep him going, not clog his arteries.”
Sam sighed.
“Steve, I’m telling you, the way that kid looks up to you and does every single thing you tell him to is not healthy.”
“He’s my responsibility,” Steve said in a tone sounded final. “I’ve got the right to decide how to train him.”
Sam blew out his breath and was about to respond when he seemed to notice Peter approaching.
“Hey, Peter. Good walk?”
“Hay is for horses,” Peter said, managing to smirk mischievously. “Human beings say hello.”
Steve’s low snicker was more than enough to make up for Sam rolling his eyes.
“Alright, wiseguy, get up here. Time to test your strength limits.”
After another four hours of gruelling weight lifting, Peter was completed exhausted. Steve had to carry him back to their SUV and a few minutes into the drive back to the city, Peter fell fast asleep.
A muffled thud snapped Peter out of his exercise coma. Blinking his eyes, he looked around and saw he was home. Steve must have laid him out on their comfortable sofa, Peter’s favourite red weighted blanket was pulled up to his chin. Blinking sleepily, Peter managed to sit up slowly.
“Stevie?”
“Just making dinner,” Steve called from the kitchen.
“Okay,” Peter said, his throat feeling parched. Standing up, he padded into the kitchen where he saw Steve standing at the stove, a large skillet in front of him. Peter smelled the familiar tang of sizzling chicken and soy sauce and he leaned over the stove.
“That smells good, Steve.”
“Good,” Steve said with a smile. As Peter drank a glass of water, Steve turned the oven down to low and turned to face his student.
“Peter, we need to talk about earlier.”
Peter blinked in confusion. He couldn’t recall having done anything wrong that would warrant a “discussion” with the paddle-or worse, Steve’s belt.
“Wh-what did I do?”
“You used foul language. Again.”
Peter felt his heart sink right to his ankles.
“No, Steve, c’mon. That water was ice-cold!”
Steve was grinning faintly but his face remained implacable.
“What’s rule number four, Peter?”
Peter groaned and instinctively looked at the framed piece of paper that hung on the wall. Once, early in their relationship, Steve had made Peter write out every one the Rules on a piece of paper. He’d framed that and it hung in their home as a daily reminder of Peter’s responsibilities and obligations.
“No cursing or foul language.”
“And what’s the penalty for breaking that rule?”
Peter felt a wave of overwhelming sorrow crest in his heart.
“Steve, please! It’s been a long day and I did everything I was supposed to do. I even turned down the ice cream!”
Steve smiled at the last word, but he took Peter by the wrist and began tugging him gently in the direction of Peter’s bathroom. Peter tried resisting but his heart wasn’t in it. Slowly, inexorably, he was pulled towards the bathroom, where his punishment would take place.
Once they were there, Steve stood Peter at the sink and pulled out a disposable toothbrush and a small tube of non-toxic soap. Peter felt tears welling up in his eyes at the familiar sight and he cringed at the memory of the awful taste of the soap. Of all the punishments Steve liked to inflict on him, getting his mouth washed out was one of the absolute worst.
“Please,” Peter pleaded in vain, “I’m sorry I swore!”
“A little late for sorry now, buddy.”
Steve wetted the toothbrush and squeezed a generous dollop of soap onto the head. He held it out for Peter to take and the young man blinked away tears. He hesitated to take it, but knew that if Steve did it for him, the soap time would be doubled. Choking back a sob, Peter took the toothbrush from Steve and slid it into his mouth.
“It was four curses, thirty seconds each. So two minutes of soaping.”
Steve set the alarm on his watch and as it started, Peter slid the toothbrush into his mouth and began scrubbing his teeth. The soap always tasted worse than he remembered and Peter was soon gagging and coughing as he diligently washed his mouth out.
You deserve this. Peter told himself as the awful taste permeated his mouth. Good boys don’t swear or curse.
He continued to inflict his own punishment, coughing every few seconds, soap bubbles dripping out of his mouth and mucus gathering in his nose. When the alarm finally went off, Peter couldn’t even muster the strength to pull the brush out of his mouth. He just stood there, sniffling and sobbing quietly, until Steve removed the toothbrush.
Peter was vaguely aware of Steve throwing the brush in the trash and putting the soap back in it’s usual spot. His whole world was exhaustion, shame and the awful awful taste of soap. Steve was gently bending him over and pouring a small measure of water into his mouth.
“Swirl and spit,” Steve said softly. “You know the drill, Petey.”
Peter obeyed but all the water did was create more soap bubbles in his mouth. Coughing and choking, he kept drinking the water Steve gave him and continued spitting until there were no more soap bubbles, though the terrible aftertaste lingered. Coughing and sobbing, Peter felt Steve’s large hand snake up under his shirt and rub his back soothingly.
“Good boy,” Steve said. “You took your punishment very well.” He bent down and kissed the top of Peter’s head. “You were very brave, Petey. Everything’s forgiven now.”
Peter sniffled and inched closer to Steve, taking comfort in the man’s solid, familiar frame.
“M’ sorry, Stevie.”
“I know.” The warm arms pulled Peter into a hug and Steve kissed the top of his head again.
“You’re going to try harder to keep your language clean, aren’t you.”
“Y-yes sir,” Peter mumbled.
“Good,” Steve said. He poured a large amount of mouthwash into Peter’s bathroom cup. “Swirl this, Peter. It’ll get rid of the taste.”
Peter did and then they both made their way back to the kitchen.
“I hate that soap,” Peter grumbled.
“Oh yeah,” Steve said with a note of grim cheer as he laid a comforting hand on the small of Peter’s back. “Getting your mouth washed out is always the worst. Buck and I used to get it all the time back when. My ma was the nicest lady you’d ever meet, but you swore in front of her and you were in for it.”
Peter chuckled weakly and perched on one of the barstools while Steve finished up with dinner. The tantalizing aroma of stir-fry reached his nose and he managed a smile. After he’d turned the stove off, Steve came around and gave Peter a warm hug.
“You were really great today, Peter. I’m proud of you.”
Those words and the tight heat of Steve’s embrace were enough to make the whole day’s tribulations worth it. Wrapped up in his mentor’s arms, Peter managed a weary smile and rested his head against his teacher’s chest.