#1950s-modern era fusion au

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 4

Summary:  In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he's swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he's running out of time before he's out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a "lack of personal fulfillment and settling down," he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man's profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It's not ideal, but if after a year it's not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It's a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It's either going to be forever or it's going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags:  18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Other: See Endnotes

<<<>>>

Chapter 4

<<<>>>

Alone in his new home, thoroughly humiliated by the knowledge that he didn’t even have free reign over one of his own body parts, Peter allowed himself some time to simply feel sorry for himself. He grieved for what his life could have been, had he not made the mistake of trusting the smooth-talking and handsome Quentin Beck. He mourned the loss of a future where he was in college and growing into a career. He’d lost his inheritance, the house he’d grown up in, and, thanks to the stupid BCSS and stupid Dr. Stephen Strange, the right to his own damn body in a matter of a few months.

He’d been alone and grieving and in his pain, he’d ignored his gut and let himself be swayed by the sophisticated man who’d promised to secure Peter’s future only to take him for everything he had and disappear as if he’d never existed.

Once he’d gotten the tears out, he straightened up and decided to busy himself.

In the bathroom, he hung both his and Stephen’s towels up to dry - they could be used again. The towel on the bed, however, definitely needed a wash. Blushing furiously at the memory of just how thoroughly Stephen had claimed him, how much pleasure he’d coaxed from him, Peter gathered up the bedclothes, the towel and washrag, and hauled the load downstairs. He all but threw the bundle on the floor and went back up for the hamper.

When he was back down in the mudroom, he studied the washer and dryer. Just like in the kitchen, the appliances were from Stark Company. The Stark Easy Living washer and dryer were widely regarded as top of the line. Unlike the stately blue, however, these were an attractive seafoam green. He was familiar with the machines, though the ones his aunt had had were much older and didn’t boast the efficiency Stark Company was known for.

He started with the sheets and pillowcases, added in the towel and washrag. Frowning at the detergent available, he added some and started the cycle. He’d add his preferred brand of detergent and fabric softener to his list of groceries to buy. Peter hadn’t ever been able to afford to be picky, but he didn’t trust other brands to not break his skin out. If Stephen raised a fuss, Peter would just have to remind him that he was supposed to take care of himself.

Dishes loomed in the kitchen and since they were his least favorite task, Peter figured he may as well get it over with. He kept the cast iron skillet off to the side while he rinsed off the two other skillets, the cutlery, plates, glasses, and Stephen’s coffee mug. Regarding the dishwasher with skepticism, he pulled out the cell phone Stephen had given him and looked up the instructions. The pictures seemed easy enough to follow and he loaded the dishwasher up, added the little tablet that was allegedly dish soap, and set it run.

Other dishes handled, he turned his attention to the cast iron skillet. This, Peter was comfortable with. He missed the skillet his aunt May had had, missed the days when he’d come home from school and be greeted by the smell of latkes or falafel frying. She’d taken great care of her skillet, which had been her mother’s and before that, her grandmother’s, and while teaching Peter tricks like cooking eggs in the grease from the chicken or turkey sausage, she had made sure that Peter understood how to properly care for it when it one day became his.

That day hadn’t come. He’d never get that skillet back, but he could take care of this one. He wiped it out with a warm, damp dishrag, added some coarse salt and scrubbed at the stubborn bits. When it was clean, he coated the entire thing in a thin layer of grapeseed oil. He arranged the racks in one of the ovens and put foil down on the lower one. Pleased, he placed the skillet upside down on the top rack and set it heat. Maybe it didn’t need it, but Peter had no idea who’d used it last and if he was going to cook with it, he was going to treat it right.

The dining room and living room only needed some light dusting. As he put together the cleaning supplies he’d need and started in on the living room, Peter vaguely wondered if either room had ever seen much use. Apart from the den and Stephen’s - their - bedroom, the house was just cold and impersonal.

In the dining room, he looked through the sideboard to get an idea of just what he had to work with. The tablecloths were expensive but not tacky. He assumed the dinnerware set he found was for everyday use, given that the built in housed the fanciest set he’d ever seen. Would that be what he would have to entertain with? At least the serving platters and bowls were included, he supposed.

He didn’t want to clean in the bedroom at all, but having an unmade bed wasn’t an option for him. His cock tried to make its interest known as he made the bed with the spare set of sheets, but the cage, while not exactly uncomfortable, prevented any possibility of getting hard or getting off. He groaned in frustration and had to adjust himself several times as he finished with the room and started on the bathroom.

Scrubbing the shower was a chore, mostly because his mind kept inventing scenarios where he was uncaged and could get away with taking his cock in hand. The pound of the water would hide the noises he’d make, and any evidence would be washed away… Then the scene shifted to one where he was caught by Stephen.

He had to sit down as he imagined it, the stern expression Stephen would have as he realized what Peter was doing. He’d tell Peter to hurry up with his shower, and would take the towel and dry Peter off himself. Not gently, no, he’d be quick and impersonal about it, Peter imagined. Maybe he’d be scolding him, too, about his lack of control and respect for Stephen’s authority.

Maybe he’d get spanked again, maybe Stephen would just use him again, taking control and driving into him. Maybe he’d actually let Peter see him this time. Peter was sure that Stephen, unfairly attractive as he was, would be an incredible sight. Or maybe it was the kind of thing where Peter wasn’t important enough to merit that kind of consideration.

It took a bit, but he got himself under control, hand squeezing over his caged cock through his pants.

He was wholly confused at how he seemed to be oscillating between anger, fear, anxiety, arousal, and sadness, just to name a few. And with the confusion, came a different kind of fear. The last time he’d experienced such emotional upheaval, he’d lost everything. He’d gotten through, if being a Selective Spouse to a husband who didn’t even want him counted as getting through.

He checked the time - 10:04 am - and went back to work. He still had laundry to finish and groceries to buy. And then there would be dinner to make.

Stephen stopped by the administrative office of Sanctum General and updated his file. The secretary, a Ms. Claire Weiss, raised her eyebrows when she read the certificate to be copied. She gave him back the original and smiled cheerfully.

“Congratulations, Dr. Strange!”

He nodded and went to his office. He had a busy day ahead of him and pushing back appointments for personal reasons only eased the rush so much. He was just reviewing his first case when there was a knock on his door.

He sighed. “Come in.”

It was Dr. Mordo. Of course. Which meant Doctors Richards and Xavier, Ms. Rambeau, and perhaps Mr. Bolt wouldn’t be too far behind. The ever-self-righteous Ms. Carter was thankfully out on sabbatical, or else he’d have probably thrown something. (Or not. He’d been forced to attend a few of the charity frisbee games so many of the staff signed up for and having seen her in action, knew she couldn’t catch worth a damn. The last thing he needed was to get fired because he’d thrown something and hit one of the directors on Sanctum General’s board.)

“Good morning, Doctor,” Stephen said.

“Strange! I heard the wildest rumor that you were married yesterday and I just had to stop in and see if it’s true.”

Stephen held up his hand, plainly showing the new ring.

“So if it’s true, then what are you doing here?” Mordo asked. Stephen didn’t buy that puzzled smile for a moment. “Why are you not home with your new bride?”

“I have patients to see,” Stephen answered pleasantly. “And it’s my groom, not bride.”

“Ah, Stephen!” Dr. Charles Xavier said, wheeling himself in. “Is it true? Did you really come into work the day after your wedding?”

“I have patients to see,” Stephen repeated.

“Surely you can reschedule them or ask Dr. Palmer or West to see them?” Mordo asked. “I’m sure your groom would appreciate the extra time together.”

Stephen’s mind flashed to Peter and the sheer fury Stephen had seen in his eyes after locking the cage on his pretty cock and he nearly snorted. Peter didn’t like him, at all. Which was just fine. His husband would learn to deal with his new circumstances sooner or later. He’d certainly been okay with them when Stephen had been balls deep inside of him…

“You should take at least a week off.”

Dr. Reed Richards, Sanctum General’s head of oncology. The man had four doctorates, an overinflated ego, and was under the delusion that because he was married with two children, he was humble. He was also convinced he knew what was best for everyone around him, be they patient, staff, or colleague.

“I have a surgery scheduled on Thursday and I’m not risking my patient going under Dr. West’s knife for a procedure the man’s never performed before,” Stephen said. Was Dr. West a capable surgeon? With the right support system, sure, he was adequate. But for the kind of specialized surgery Stephen was an expert in? Not a chance in hell.

“Then by all means, do the surgery,” Ms. Rambeau said, stepping in with Mr. Bolt. Christ. “But then go home and be with your husband.”

His office was getting awfully crowded.

“You’re all unusually interested in my marriage,” he said.

Bolt, whose childhood injury left him unable to speak, stepped forward. He’d probably heard everything with that damned bat-like hearing of his.

We’re interested in your happiness, Stephen, he signed. You don’t seem to be.

“I’m perfectly happy,” Stephen lied through his teeth. He would be happy if they would just leave. him. alone.

“Stephen, I understand that the weight of sharing your life with someone can take a while to settle in,” Richards said. Arrogant, condescending man. “But this isn’t the time to throw yourself into your work. It’s the time to throw yourself into your marriage.”

“Sanctum General isn’t going to burn down just because you take some time off,” Rambeau insisted.

No, but without him, it wouldn’t pull in near the amount of money it did. That wasn’t arrogance on his part - it was fact.

“Go home, Dr. Strange,” Xavier urged. “Be with your new husband. Your patients will be waiting when you come back next Tuesday.”

He opened his mouth to argue but Xavier added, “You’ll perform the surgery on Thursday, and take Monday off as well.”

They all looked as if they thought they were being benevolent instead of patronizing and interfering.

“Enjoy your time off with your husband,” Richards said. “Sue and I will be looking forward to meeting him.”

“I’m sure,” Stephen bit out. He almost felt guilty that Peter would have to be subjected to the most condescending and insufferable group of people on the planet. Almost.

We’ll see you next week, Bolt signed. Congratulations.

They left, sparing him the annoyance bordering on humiliation of leaving them there.

He poked his head out of his office door and glanced at Billy, his admin, who appeared to be meticulously filtering through patient files. Appeared, since Stephen had no doubt the little twerp had been eagerly listening for any word he could glean from the altercation between some of Sanctum General’s titans. It might have been more convincing if the files weren’t upside down.

“You’re fired,” he said, shrugging out of his white coat and hanging it up.

“No, I’m not,” Billy replied, unconcerned.

“No, you’re not,” Stephen agreed with a sigh. “You’re still a little traitor.”

“Yep,” Billy said. “See you on Thursday and enjoy your time off!”

Stephen spared him a glare and left.

Hanging up sheets to dry out on the clothesline wasn’t nearly as easy as some of the movies made it seem. He’d never had to do it before; May had been particular about laundry. It took him far longer than he’d ever admit, but eventually the sheets, towel, and pillow cases were wafting in warm, gentle air.

Once he’d taken care of the rest of the clothes from the hamper he checked in on the skillet. Satisfied with his cast iron project, Peter turned off the oven. He’d get it seasoned to his liking in no time.

Laundry in progress, house dusted and clean, bed made, Peter eyed the placard of numbers near the phone with unease.

A car service? Really? Midtown had been a sprawling jungle of a city with trolleys and a subway system at the public’s use. Peter had spent what had to have amounted to hours on the trolleys to school, to temple, to the Midtown Minotaurs baseball games.

And here, he was expected to use a car service. To be the only passenger.

Weird.

He rang up the service and asked for a pickup at quarter til noon. He gave his list of anticipated stops, hoping that the driver sent would know their way around. The last thing he needed was to get lost and wind up back home too late to finish the laundry and start dinner.

The closet behind the staircase had several grocery bags, a few of them insulated. He’d have to see about buying a couple more so he could keep certain things separate. He set the bags by the front door and seeing he had time, went into the den to look for those cook books the old housekeeper had left.

The Joy of Baking

Keeping House and Home - A Cookbook for the Modern Family

Southview Hotel’s Classic Cooking

He looked through them, discerning what seemed feasible given his middling skills. Some things could be done easily while others had him saying an audible “nope!”

He added some ingredients to his grocery list and went to wait for the car.

Stephen came home to an empty house.

He pulled up the car service logs on his mobile and relaxed when he saw that Peter had scheduled a trip, presumably for groceries.

With little else to do, Stephen went upstairs to change into more casual clothes and then back down to his den. He could just read or find a radio show to listen to. Maybe then he could spend time with his new husband until Peter started on dinner.

Hopefully Peter wouldn’t be too put out that he’d not have the house mostly to himself for at least a week. Or, if he showed his attitude again, Stephen could always correct it.

And really, how hard could avoiding his husband all week be, save for nights?

<<<>>>

[inevitably-johnlocked]

any new historical AUs? anything from the 1150s to the 1950s works for me lol

Hi Nonny!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sadly I haven’t read as many historical fics as I would have liked to, unless you count the TAB/Victorian AUs I’ve read, LOL. I’ll give you most that I have personally read (I omitted the majority of the Victorian AUs I’ve read, please check out the link in the See Also section), AS WELL AS stuff on my offline MFL list, and please do check out the “see also” lists for others that people have added, and hopefully some lovelies will add their own fics for us!

So if any of y’all are currently writing any or have some faves (especially regency AUs, I haven’t read any and am interested in trying one out) please let us know!!

HISTORICAL AUs

See also:

Time Travel, Altered Time, or Time Manipulation

Victorianlock

ACD Canon

Victorian Meets Modern Johnlock

WWII AU’s

Pirates

The First Night by TheForerunner (NR, 1,043 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || First Time, Fluff, Non-Explicit, Prose) – When all was over, Sherlock reached to dress again and John reached to stop him. They sat at opposite ends of the bed and one set of eyes surveyed the other’s set of limbs, and they were quiet in the downbeat, melody suspended. Sherlock was sheepish, and this confused John, who now smelled of his companion and felt they were part of one another.

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes by jenna221b (G, 3,015 w. across 3 works || TAB!lock, Metafic / TJLC, Victorian AU / 1895, Christmas, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Oscar Wilde) – Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein (G, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || TAB Compliant || Homophobia, Pining Sherlock, Oscar Wilde Trials, Happy Ending) – Set in "The Abominable Bride" universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock's quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

In A Changing Age by allonsys_girl (E, 15,590 w. || Victorian AU, Virgin / Demi Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Mild H/C, Bottomlock) – Sherlock wakes up in the 19th century, with no idea how he got there.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places...  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

MARKED FOR LATER

The Right Side of the Wall by MarisFerasi (E, 5,468 w., 2 Ch. || Historical Slavery AU || Sex Slave, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Captain John, Slave Sherlock, Historical Inaccuracy) – Captain John buys slave Sherlock and the smex occurs.

Splat! by Vulgarweed (E, 6,618 w., 1 Ch. || Historical Appalachian 1970′s AU || Dom / Sub, Gunplay, Knifeplay, “Non-Con” Roleplay, Switchlock, Anal, Rimming, Bondage, Hunting Kink, Rough Sex, Object Insertion, Dirty Talk, Comeplay) – Sherlock decides he does want to go hunting with John after all. But not for deer. Part 2 of the The Bone Fiddle series

Silent Night by khorazir (M, 15,060 w., 1 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Care Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Reunion, PTSD John, Christmas) – It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever. Part 2 of Enigma

A Marriage of Convenience by Phuchka (E, 43,116 w., 24 Ch. || Regency Omegaverse || Jealous John, Mpreg, Angst, Whump, Fluff, Smut, Arranged Marriage) – You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of ~The Honourable Sherlock Holmes, Alpha, younger brother of the Earl of Sherrinford with Mr. John Watson, Omega, son of Mr. Howard Watson, chairman of the City Bankers Guild.

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself.

The Devil At Prayers by always_1895 (T, 50,846 w., 22 Ch. || ACD Canon / Victorian AU || Friendship, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Murder, Politics, Intrigue, Mystery, Historical, Treasure Hunting) – Emily Watson and her twin sister were raised in a peaceful English manor house. But when a mysterious Professor arrives to visit her father, she is thrown headfirst into a murderous conspiracy. Forced to seek refuge with her only living relative, half brother Dr. John Watson, she discovers that he lodges with the infamous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Book 1 follows Emily and Holmes as they begin to unravel her own mystery, when they are introduced to the case of a missing Russian diplomat. The thread connecting the two cases runs deep, and they race against the clock to uncover the politician's whereabouts before political tensions reach a breaking point. Part 1 of the Queen and Country series

Human Nature by delightful_fear (M, 57,585 w., 17 Ch. || Regency London AU || 1819 / Gregorian England, Historical, Alternate First Meeting) – Rich and spoiled Sherlock makes a wager with his older brother that he can take a penniless man and make him presentable in high society.

Long Ago and Far Away Series by lotherington (T to E, 62,765 w. across 27 works || WWII AU || Victor Trevor, Historical, 1940s/50s, Graphic Depictions of Violence) – October, 1937. A chance encounter late one night leads to Sherlock following John home. I can’t really put it much better than Vera Lynn herself: That certain night, the night we met / there was magic abroad in the air.

Dawn Before the Rest of the World Series (M, 65,164 w.+ across 12 stories || WiP || 1920s Historical AU || Romance, Love Declarations, Period-Typical / Internalized Homophobia, First Times, Oral/Anal Sex, Sweetness, Hurt / Comfort, Crying, Frottage, Rimming, Idiots in Love) – In one of the grand houses of England in the 1920s, butler Sherlock Holmes is wooed to pieces by the world's most romantic gardener, John Watson.

The Sweetness Makes the Smoke and Stings Worthwhile by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 70,032 w., 31 Ch. || Historical 1920′s AU || Unilock, Summer Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Inexperienced Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drinking, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Tension, Hand/Blow Jobs, Dancing, Secret Relationship, Skinny Dipping, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closet Sex, Hotel Sex, Emotions, Falling in Love, Mutual Pining, Letters/Epistolary, Heartache, Minor Violence, Separations, Reunion Sex, Love Confessions, Victor & Mary in this Fic) – After nearly being expelled from university, Sherlock is banished home to Musgrave Hall for the summer. A friend introduces him to John Watson, a handsome medical student visiting the area. Sherlock and John find themselves drawn to each other, falling into a summer romance that may be as painful as it is sweet. Although they follow different paths, their feelings for each other still haunt them, their love finally coming full circle years later. For those concerned about Mary and Victor, they appear only briefly and as very background characters. My version of Mary is not modeled on the BBC version. She is more of an original character, if anything.

Philia and Eros by distantstarlight (E, 84,660 w., 20 Ch. || Historical AU || Friends to Lovers, Time Travel, Kilts, Possessive Behaviour, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Implied Rape/Non-Con) – Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street. Part 1 of Strange Paths

Philia and Eros by distantstarlight (E, 84,660 w., 20 Ch. || Historical AU || Friends to Lovers, Time Travel, Kilts, Possessive Behaviour, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Implied Rape/Non-Con) – Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street. Part 1 of Strange Paths

Welcome Home by itsalwaysyou_jw (M, 81,358+ w., 25/32 Ch. || WiP || WWII / Post-WWII Historical AU || Fluff and Angst, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Mutual Pining, Dev. Rel., Past Viclock, Nice Victor, First Kiss, Romance, PTSD John, Grief/Mourning, Implied / Referenced Drug Use) – In 1938, John Watson was at the peak of his music career, performing original jazz tunes in the hottest clubs to adoring crowds. But now the year is 1945 and Captain John Watson has just returned home from the war. Attempting to cope with the horrors he saw in the Solomon Islands, he struggles to get even a weekday slot performing at the jazz clubs. When he hears a radio announcement for a song-writing competition, he knows this is the opportunity he has been waiting for. He only needs to put a band together that can help him win the grand prize. But first, he needs to face his survivor's guilt to honour his best friend's dying wish: he must find Victor Trevor's spouse- someone named Sherlock Holmes- and deliver a message.

A Matter of Chance by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 100,631 w., 18 Ch. || Regency AU || Forbidden Love, Slow Burn, Class Differences, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Gay Marriage is OK, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humour, Angst with Happy Ending, Drama Queen Sherlock, Sexually Naïve Sherlock, Aromantic Mycroft, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Minor Character Death) – "If it were only for me, I would never marry." "Why so?" "I do not believe in love, Dr Watson. It is a great disadvantage to lose one's head over such a volatile matter."

Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / VirginSherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

Over Fathoms Deep by bittergreens (E, 397,575+ w., 51/? Ch. || WiP || Historical / Regency / Sailing AU || Sailor!John / Aristocrat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Virgin Sherlock, Sailing, Bottomlock, UST / RST, Hand/Blow Jobs, Frottage, Masturbation, Happy Ending, Anal) – When the youngest son of the aristocratic Holmes family is shipped off to sea in an attempt to cure him of his poor temper and bad manners, he fully expects to spend a long tedious voyage as miserable as ever. What he does not count on is having his heart stolen by the strapping young crewman, John Watson.

[elrhiarhodan]

1, 23 and 24

Thank you so very much for asking!  I love these types of retrospectives.

1 - favorite fic you wrote this year

That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child!  I think I’m torn between When Are You Gonna Come Down, When Are You Going to Land, which was my first real Kingsman fic (I’d been writing crossovers for a few weeks before) and My Heart Lay Waiting For the Spring to Come (Again), which is my first Merwin fic and one of the longest stories I’ve ever written in a single point of view.

23 - fics you wanted to write but didn’t

SO MANY FICS!!!!!!!

a.  Merhartwin where Merlin and Eggsy are in a relationship after Harry “dies” and just after Merlin asks Eggsy to marry him, Harry comes back.  Turns out that Merlin and Harry have been together for years and had gotten married right after the marriage equality law had passed (and then Harry died).  Merlin and Eggsy believe that it’s best that Harry never know about their relationship (they’d never gone public, not even Roxy knew).  Cue the angst machine.

b. Merlahad/Hartwin AU where Eggsy is a drama student, Harry is a notable playwright and Merlin��s a very closeted actor who been Harry’s lover when there were at RADA together in the 80s. but had broken off the relationship when Harry came out.  Cue the angst machine.

c.  Hartwin/Merlin-Eggsy friendship.  Harry as Arthur and Eggsy have a bad breakup, Harry accuses/suspects that Eggsy might be doing hard drugs.  Eggsy’s actually very sick.  Merlin helps Eggsy hide this by faking Eggsy’s secondment to Stateman, when he’s actually in the hospital for chemo and radiation.  Cue the angst machine and crank it up to 11.

d.  Merlahad modern day AU where Harry’s a titled gentleman tired of fending off the advances of desperate women of a certain age.  He hires Merlin, a professional escort (a walker) to accompany him to society events. and in effect, announces that that he’s gay.    Now Merlin really isn’t a walker - he’s a writer who’s been in a deep slump and his editor, Eggsy, asks him what he’d been doing when he wrote his first book and maybe go back to doing that.  Harry discovers that Merlin’s a writer and he thinks that Merlin’s been playing him - that he’s going to write a novel/tell-all about their relationship.  And yes, let’s turn on the angst machine, AGAIN

e.  The sequel to When Are You Gonna Come Down - Roxy’s story.

f.  Kingsman/The Long Firm fusion, where Eggsy is Harry Starke’s young cousin/lover, Harry Hart is Eggsy’s friend at Oxford, and Eggsy introduces Harry to Harry and all kinds of 1950s era naughtiness ensues.

g.  Dark mobster Merwin, possibly set in late Victorian England (Mark as Lord Blackwood is very inspiring).  Mostly smut.

I’m not listing the stories to be added to on-going series, such as Coronach and The Secret History of Neal Caffrey.

24 - favorite fic you read this year

I’ve read so many wonderful fics that I can’t pick just one.  And also, I kind of dislike this question because invariably, I’ll hurt someone’s feelings.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 5

Summary:  In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags:  18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age,  Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned  Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking,  Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics,  Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Other: See Endnotes

<<<>>>

Chapter 5

<<<>>>

Peter immediately noticed Stephen’s Buick in the driveway when he returned from his grocery shopping.

Was he in trouble already? Was there some kind of fraud alert on the accounts Stephen had set up? Had he tripped a spending limit? Had Mr. Hogan the driver used that fancy front-seat phone to call and complain for some reason?

He couldn’t think of anything he’d done that would be wrong. He checked his phone and didn’t have any messages from Stephen. It wasn’t too late for lunch, but Stephen had said that Peter didn’t need to worry about that except for weekends!

When Mr. Hogan opened the door for him (and wasn’t that a wild thought!) Peter hurried around to the trunk of the car where the various bags were stored.

“Want me to help carry them to the door?” Mr. Hogan asked.

“N-no,” Peter said. “I’ll come back and get the non-perishables.” He grabbed the insulated bags and made his way to the front door. He unlocked it and went inside, taking his bags back to the kitchen and setting them down. Everything else he got in the next trip outside and he thanked Mr. Hogan profusely as he grabbed the other grocery bags.

“Oh wait. Am I supposed to tip you?” Peter asked, panicked. “I’ve never had a driver before and Midtown had all the public transit stuff. I can, once I get money? I don’t have any cash on me, because my wallet was stolen before I went to the BCSS and all they issued me was my new ID and I have no idea how any of this works!”

Mr. Hogan chuckled. “Some car services expect it, Serval Industries doesn’t. We’re very well-compensated for our labor.”

“Okay. Good.” Peter nodded his head, more to himself than to Mr. Hogan. “ Because I was kind of freaking out a little bit.”

“If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh yeah, for sure. Thank you, Mr. Hogan!”

He didn’t see Stephen until he was half-way through rearranging the refrigeration cabinets, ensuring that all the dairy was kept separate from the meat he’d bought. Another dedicated refrigeration cabinet would have been preferable, but he figured that idea would be a no-starter with Stephen. He could make do with keeping things separate as best he could in the abundant storage the kitchen offered.

“I see you survived your first excursion.”

Peter turned from where he was putting eggs away in the see-through container provided with the refrigerator.

“Sure did,” he said, stepping back to study his work.

It wasn��t the cleanest separation, but the dairy on one side separated from the meat via a set of storage bins down the middle was the best he could do without having another refrigeration cabinet. There were enough pots and pans to keep them separate… except for the cast iron skillet, but he could purchase another easily enough through the grocer’s catalog he’d bought a copy of to thumb through. Sure, his old Rabbi would have had a few things to say, but Peter wasn’t about to let good be the enemy of perfect.

“Were there any issues I should be aware of?” Stephen asked.

He shook his head. He doubted the pitifully sparse selection of kosher meat at the meat market would constitute an issue for Stephen. And well, Peter was used to making due, just like his aunt had taught him. “Did you come home for lunch?” he asked.

“Would it be a problem if I did?” Stephen asked.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting it. I still have stuff to put away but I can fix you a sandwich.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Stephen said. “I’m home because I was informed by the board of directors that I should be spending my first week as a married man with my new spouse.”

“They can do that?” Peter asked with a frown.

Stephen signed. “Essentially, yes. They’ll just annoy me and prevent me from accomplishing any meaningful work otherwise. I’ll be in Thursday morning for a surgery I’m not willing to reschedule but just for that, they insisted I take next Monday off, as well.”

“Oh.” Peter wasn’t sure what to say. What exactly was Stephen going to be expecting?

“I’m sure I’ll find ways to keep out of your hair,” Stephen said. “When I’m home, I rarely leave my office or my den.”

Peter nodded. He could live with that.

Stephen ate his lunch at the table in the kitchen while Peter put away the rest of the groceries. He kept out a few items to prep for dinner, like the zucchini, peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant. He set about sharpening the knives he’d use to break down the whole cod he’d bought - scaling and de-boning fish was a pain in the ass, but he’d had a craving.

“How was the car service?” Stephen asked.

Peter looked up from his work. “Fine, I guess. A little weird, but I think that’s just because I’m so used to public transit in Midtown.”

“You used it often?”

“Yep! Street trolleys and the pneumatic subway cars,” he explained. “There’s been talk of modernizing the subway to move from pneumatic to electricity like in Chicago or New Angeles, but that would be years away if it ever happened.”

“There was no public transit to speak of where I grew up,” Stephen offered. “We did have several car service companies, however.”

So, that explained Stephen’s ease with them, Peter thought. Even though the man drove a top-of-the-line Buick day to day. Still, what basically amounted to a private driver for just little old him was weird.

Seeing Stephen was finished with his lunch, Peter cleared his dishes away and wiped down the table. Anything to put off the fish. “How, uh, how long will your people be okay with not meeting me?”

Stephen studied him. “Oh, I can hold them off for a month at least. Some are more insufferable than others and they’re who I’ll put off the longest.”

Well, there was that, at least.

“Are they all doctors like you?”

Stephen’s lips twisted just a little bit. “There are no doctors like me.”

Figuring he shouldn’t put it off any longer, Peter went to work with his sharpened knives and started the tedious process of scaling and de-boning the fish he’d bought for dinner.

Stephen watched him not curiously, but almost as if confused. “You buy them whole?” He asked, finally, as Peter flayed the cod open and carefully removed the bones.

“It’s cheaper than buying them pre-cut,” Peter offered. And, he thought, it saved him from worrying if there were any knives or other tools that might have touched something other than the fish. Not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but he had to have something to hold onto, some small thing he knew and understood even in this new life he’d found himself thrown into.

“I’m not poor,” Stephen reminded him pointedly.

“Old habits die hard,” Peter said. “I don’t mind doing it myself.” A lie, mostly, but it wasn’t as if Stephen needed to know that. “I like knowing what goes into my food.”

“Alright, then.” Stephen stood. “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”

He left, and Peter finally breathed a little easier.

Fish and vegetables for dinner prepped, Peter returned his focus to the laundry. He had hours yet until he had to have dinner ready before seven, and the ratatouille would take roughly an hour once he started actually cooking. He checked the sheets on the line outside and, content that they’d be done in an hour or so, started folding what was in the dryer.

Through it all, he thought about how all things considered, it wasn’t the worst way he’d ever spent a day.

This, he could do. It wasn’t as if the house would ever be messy, just need some light dusting. Cooking he could handle. Laundry was tolerable, but he’d have to break down and actually have to learn how to iron. Aunt May had handled any ironing and Peter had always managed to escape the chore.

If he could just get through the upcoming excuse for a “honeymoon” Stephen’s colleagues seemed so eager for them to have, he could probably be, if not happy, then at least content.

And hey, he thought as he adjusted himself, maybe Stephen wouldn’t keep his cock caged the entire time they were married!

In his den, Stephen immersed himself in a book he’d been meaning to read for months but had yet to find time for. It was some sprawling science-fantasy, complete with charts of the galaxy the rag-tag crew were exploring, diagrams of the starships, a pronunciation guide, and several detailed family trees for characters. He could hardly fathom space travel, not when any kind of aerial transportation that wasn’t zeppelins never seemed to gain any traction.

A week he could spend reading was hardly a prison sentence, he decided. And while Peter had been a little taken aback at learning of Stephen’s new free time, he hadn’t balked or lashed out. Granted, he was most likely inwardly upset, and only kept his cool to avoid another session over Stephen’s knee, but Stephen was sure sooner or later his husband’s attitude would surface and he’d be forced to correct him.

He continued reading, barely registering the sounds of Peter back in the kitchen and presumably preparing dinner. He checked his watch; another hour at least.

Relieved that he’d cooked and served another meal on time, Peter let himself enjoy his food. Stephen poured himself a glass of wine he called Rioja while Peter, not allowed to drink, settled for a lemon fizzy water. They ate in the dining room and Peter was extra careful not to tip the plates or spill anything on the tablecloth or carpet. He felt ridiculous sitting at the other side of the dinning table, but also kinda fancy.

“We’re going out, tomorrow,” Stephen announced as they ate.

Peter looked up from his food. “We are?”

“There’s a department store an hour away. We need to replace your clothing; it’s abhorrent.”

Peter frowned, stung. “They’re all I have.” Sure, they were several years old and some shirts and pants were too big, but he’d taken good care of them! They were free of stains and rips and even the t-shirts he liked to wear that bore smart little messages weren’t profane like some he’d seen. His aunt had done her best to provide for him, and the clothing he’d intended to purchase once he started college became a distant dream after her death and his subsequent ruin by Quintin Beck.

“And now you’ll have better,” Stephen said. “Surely a shopping trip isn’t torture, right?”

No, Peter thought, the torture would be knowing that he, in his current state, wasn’t good enough. He was lacking and Stephen clearly had no qualms about bringing Peter up to scratch whether he wanted it or not. “I suppose not.”

“You’ll need shoes, pants, shirts, and a suit that actually fits, among other things.”

Peter felt his face flush with a mix of embarrassment and resentment. He was going on a shopping trip with his rich new husband, like some kind of gold digger. He hadn’t signed up with the BCSS to get rich! He’d done it because he was desperate to avoid living on the streets or in the barracks.

“Will we be back in time for me to have dinner ready?” Peter finally asked, once his annoyance wasn’t so visible.

“I thought we’d have dinner while we’re out, actually.”

“Will I get to order my own meal?” Peter couldn’t stop the question.

Stephen’s eyes narrowed and he set his fork down. “Was there something wrong with what we ate yesterday?”

“No, I just… some stuff I don’t eat and I’d like to keep from wasting food.” Peter wasn’t sure how else to explain it. Stephen clearly didn’t care about what he’d read in Peter’s profile, if the BCSS had even bothered to notate his dietary habits. “I don’t want you to get upset because you ordered food I don’t eat.”

“Please tell me you’re not one of those people who only orders chicken strips and french fries,” Stephen said.

“Definitely not,” Peter assured him. “I won’t say no to chicken strips or french fries, but clearly my tastes are a bit more mature than that.” He motioned to the food.

Stephen considered. “It’s quite good,” he said, picking up his fork.

“Thank you.”

“What did you do to the potatoes?”

“I add crushed garlic to the stock I boil them in and it gets smashed in with the potatoes,” Peter explained. “Also, lots of butter, some sour cream.”

“It’s a good meal,” Stephen repeated. “I wouldn’t mind if you made it again.”

“Can do,” Peter said. “How do you feel about lemon?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“I made lemon bars. It’s a simple enough dessert.”

“I’m looking forward to trying one.”

Peter doubted that, but there wasn’t anything he could do but let it go.

Stephen did appear to enjoy the lemon bar, so much that he ate another two off the small plate Peter brought in after clearing the dishes from dinner.

“I wouldn’t mind if you made these again, either.”

Peter smiled, pleased. “I can do that, too.”

When Stephen disappeared into the den, Peter did the dishes and tidied the dining room. Day two was almost over, he thought. Now he just had to get through the night and do it all over again - three hundred and sixty-three more times.

He wondered if Stephen would expect to fuck him again, or if it would be a weekly thing, or what. He wouldn’t mind sex, provided he was able to get off. But for that, Stephen would need to remove the cage and with the comment Peter had made during dinner, he wasn’t sure he’d be agreeable to that.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock and he didn’t feel like hanging out in the kitchen or the lifeless front room, so he chanced the den. Stephen was in one of the armchairs, wearing a pair of reading glasses and seemingly immersed in a book. Peter studied the selection on the various shelves and decided on a mystery by an author he’d never read, but his aunt had enjoyed. He froze, wondering if he should go read upstairs or stay when Stephen answered without even glancing up.

“You’re free to join me,” he said. “We have an hour still until I usually head up to bed.”

“Then will we… you know?”

Stephen did look up from his book and Peter felt his cock twitch ineffectively in its cage at the sight of Stephen in glasses. He was so unfairly attractive. How could someone who was such an asshole be so attractive? How could he even think the man who’d all but bought him and then locked his cock in a cage was attractive?

“Yes.”

Peter sat in the other armchair and did his best to throw his attention into his book.

When Stephen marked his place in his own book and set it and his reading glasses aside, Peter put his book up and followed him upstairs, heart pounding.

<<<>>>

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 29

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

_______

Chapter 29

_______

Around Three Years Ago

"How was the trip to Grand Orleans?"

Stephen grinned at Reed. "It was a great time. The surgery went off without any problems. Working with Dr. Jericho Drumm was such an honor and he was kind enough to show me the city. We spent the weekend doing so. You should have seen it, Reed, there was dancing and music everywhere. And the food? My god the food was incredible. The whole city was just alive in a way I've never seen before. It was the best trip."

Reed smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Sue and I have discussed a family trip there but we want to wait until the children are older... and in the hopes that Johnny will grow up a bit and not immediately get arrested."

Stephen winced sympathetically. Sue's younger brother hadn't had an easy go of it, though Sue and Reed were doing their best to guide him. He wasn't a bad young man, just hotheaded and prone to rash decisions.

They kept up their conversation as they made their rounds in the ER, parting to check on patients and then returning to continue speaking.

"HELP! SHE NEEDS HELP!"

A dark-haired man was rushing into the ER carrying a woman so battered and bleeding Stephen's initial thought was that she was a goner.

Stephen signaled for a stretcher and raced over to the man as the head nurse of ER joined them and they carefully transferred the bloodied woman onto it. "What happened?"

"Her husband, her selected spouse, he was beating the crap out of her! He was punching her and kicking her; he got her in the damn head." The man looked at Stephen with wild blue eyes. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"OR 2 is yours, Strange!" The charge nurse said.

"She should be scanned before heading over," Reed said. "We don't know what her most pressing injuries are."

"There's not time!" Stephen looked at the nurse. "Call Billy and tell him and the others to prep and page McCoy!"

"Help her, please," the man entreated.

"We'll do everything we can."

The woman was was wheeled away and he went to go scrub in.

Billy was already set up with two other nurses, including Dr. McCoy's right-hand-woman, Nurse Chapel when Stephen entered. Surgical Orderlies were running diagnostic scans using the mobile equipment that had cost the hospital a fortune but Stephen, McCoy, and Dr. Palmer had argued vehemently for.

"Status?"

"It's not good," Billy answered. "There's so much bleeding. Intracranial, internal, everywhere."

"Where the hell is McCoy?"

"I'm right here," the man said walking in. He read the tablet one of the orderlies presented. "My god."

Stephen took in the breadth of damage the scans were showing - much of it too healed to have been caused by the day's attack but too recent to have been done even a year previously.

"God had nothing to do with this."

Though he'd told Peter earlier he didn't want to discuss anything that night, he realized that if he didn't finally get it over with, he'd continue to find ways to put it off and that wasn't fair to Peter.

They'd gone ahead and changed into their pajamas and while he'd been undressing, he messaged Sharon.

Do I have your permission to tell Peter about what happened?

When they went down to the den, his mobile pinged with her response.

Of course you may tell him.

Stephen frowned when Peter forewent seating in the other armchair and planted himself at his feet, between his legs.

"Playing with my hair relaxes you," he said. "And I thought it might be easier for you to talk if you don't have to actually face me."

Stephen had no idea what he had done to deserve someone as wonderful as Peter in his life. He did enjoy running his hands though Peter's hair. He hadn't even realized it was something he often did, but Peter had.

"Richards and the others were already well-established at Sanctum General when I joined. They were all close but they welcomed me in and made me a part of their circle," he finally started. "I hadn't encountered that kind of openness before. Apart from Tony, I never really had close friends."

That's a shame," Peter said. "You're a lot better at it than you think."

"I've had some good examples to follow, especially recently," he admitted. "We all got along so well and from the way we talked, anyone would be convinced that we were going to change the world. We celebrated holidays together," He added with a scoff. "But things changed as they always do. Reed and Bolt became fathers, Xavier and Rambeau were promoted, Mordo got married, and Carter found herself courted by the Bureau to join as one of their consulting psychologists. Meanwhile, I was content to keep to my passion which is neurosurgery.

"I still remember the day Sergeant Barnes ran into the ER carrying Sharon in his arms and screaming for help." He took a breath, surprised at how shaky it was. "I thought she was a lost cause for sure but we raced her into the OR and Len and I spent twelve hours saving her life."

"You did," Peter said. "You saved her life and now she's happy and married and going to be a mother."

"It was touch and go for a few days; we kept her in a medical coma to take the strain off of her body so she could heal. And it was after she woke up and was questioned that I found out exactly what had happened." His grip tightened and when Peter yelped he instantly relaxed his hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, go on."

"As her attending physician I was entitled to be in the room when Constable Sousa and a representative from the BCSS spoke with her. I could tell that they didn't want me in there but..."

"But you didn't care what they wanted because she was your patient and you're you."

"I'm me. And Sharon asked me to stay, so of course I did."

"Sharon told them everything, including who was the BCSS psychologist on their case." He snorted. "Can you believe that bitch had the audacity to stand out in the waiting room after Sharon's surgery, asking if she'd pull through?"

"She's a piece of work," Peter said, leaning his head against Stephen's knee.

"Anyways, myself, Len, and a doctor from the BCSS were tasked with comparing her scans from that day to her medical scans when she'd been officially discharged from the CSB." He scoffed. "It turns out that had been Ms. Rambeau's suggestion, because surely Sharon was exaggerating how bad her time with Rogers had been."

"Did they know?" Peter asked, craning his neck to look at him. "Did they know what Carter did?"

"Yes, but they didn't want to believe it." He sighed. "Once her old injuries had been ruled out, there was a clear pattern of abuse and when the BCSS had another psychologist review Dr. Carter's files and notes, it was obvious just how much she'd lied."

"She lied to a government agency and isn't in jail?" Peter exclaimed. "And she's still a doctor? What the hell?"

"She had some powerful people arguing on her behalf," Stephen said. "Including Sharon's uncle, who at the time was a hopeful for state governor of East Virginia."

"There wasn't a scandal, though."

"No, the BCSS stepped in and sorted things, as did the CSB." He let his thumb rub circles on the back of Peter's neck. "That agency is fiercely protective of its agents, retired or not."

"I'm glad she had someone on her side."

"There were a handful of us, yes. But when Dr. Carter's case went before the state board, some of us at Sanctum General were asked to offer recommendations on allowing her to keep her license. I was asked along with Dr. Richards, Dr. Xavier, and Dr. Mordo. I was the only one to vote no."

"And you'll never forgive them for that," Peter said, understanding.

"There was so much documentation of malpractice. Her patient was suffering from the most severe case of shell shock any of us had ever seen and instead of helping him like she should have done, she allowed him into an environment where he was a danger to himself and others. An innocent woman - her own cousin - nearly died. All she could say for herself was 'I let my emotions cloud my judgment.' when asked." He ran a hand over his face, still so angry at what his colleagues had done. "No was the only acceptable answer but they said yes, let her keep her license and go on to ruin more people's lives."

"They weren't answering as doctors," Peter said, turning around to face him, still on his knees. "They were answering as her friends. What you did was so much harder, and Stephen, I'm so proud of you for that."

"Everything seemed to change, after that. She was suspended for two years. I could hardly stand to be in that place and I thought the loneliness was going to end me." He smiled down at Peter. "It did get better; Dr. Grimm joined and became a friend, as did Dr. Knight. Clea and Ava moved next door and that helped. And the others mostly stayed away from me for about half a year. Then they started coming around as if nothing ever happened, apparently taken with the brilliant idea that I was working too much and would burn out if I didn't settle down. It became insufferable, really."

"Was that when you decided to visit the BCSS?"

"I held out until it was strongly implied that it could cost me my career at Sanctum General," he admitted. "I could have just left, of course. Tony's been trying to convince me to move to Malibu for years, harps on about knowing people who know people." He smirked. "As if I need his connections when any hospital in country would bend over backwards to sign me on."

"So why stay?"

He considered. "Pride plays a role, I suppose. I do like some of the people here, like Ben Grimm and Len. I'd hate to leave behind Clea and Ava as well. But mostly? A sense of responsibility, because if they could brush off what happened so easily, then how can I ever trust that they won't do it again?"

"Do you really think they'd let another doctor get away with what she pulled?"

"No, they'd come on that person and hard."

"She's not with the BCSS anymore, right?"

"No, they got rid of her and every other consulting psychologist. There was an announcement that they were realigning due to feedback and that anyone involved in medical matters would be employed by the Bureau outright."

Peter snorted and stood up before sitting on his lap, much the way they'd once seen Sharon sit on Tony's all those nights ago. "All that pain and upheaval just because she was jealous she wasn't the one marrying Captain Rogers."

He could see the moment his words sunk in.

"You think so?" Stephen asked skeptically. "I knew she thought the man was attractive, but wanting to marry him?"

"Oh yeah. I'm almost one hundred percent sure that she did everything she did because she wanted to be the one marrying him." He rolled his eyes. "Which would have never happened. BCSS employees aren't allowed to be selecting spouses to anyone in the local pool and I'd bet money that the consultants weren't allowed either. The BCSS doesn't get enough credit for the steps they take to protect us selected spouses."

"Fury aside, they treated you well?"

"Yes. Sometimes we had instructors who were a little zealous in their belief that we were lesser for being in the pool and that our only concern should be pleasing whoever ended up selecting us, but we were housed, clothed, fed, and we had recreation time that was actually relaxing."

"Then I showed up," Stephen said wryly.

"Which has worked out pretty well," Peter admitted. "I wasn't at sure it would, because I was terrified of how fast my life had changed, but I settled in." He sighed and leaned into Stephen. "What happens now that you've faced the dinner party you've been dreading and survived?"

"I truly don't know," Stephen said. "I've never let myself imagine getting through it."

"Maybe we should take day or two away from here," he suggested. "I know we have the trip to California coming up but you did say you have more vacation time banked than the next five hospital employees combined."

"That's... not a bad idea," Stephen said. "Where would we go?"

"Where have you wanted to go that you haven't had a chance to visit?"

"I wouldn't mind going back down to Grand Orleans," he answered. "It's an incredible place. I think you'd enjoy it."

"I've heard it's essentially one big party," Peter said. "And the culture is supposed to be amazing."

"It is."

Later that night, when they were lying in bed, Peter asked him a question he himself had pondered more than once.

"Why her? What made Sharon's case so personal?"

"I told you once that my father was not a kind man," he said quietly. "He was also not content to merely use words to make his displeasure known."

"He hit you?" Peter sounded horrified.

"Yes. I'd step in front of my mother and take whatever blow was coming. I also made sure that his attention never made it to Victor or Donna when he was in a bad mood. I was able to protect them for the most part and that made it worth it somehow. Seeing her, though... she had no one and I wanted to make sure she never had to face anything like that again."

"Did your siblings know what you did for them?"

"I can't say for certain but honestly, I hope not."

"Your mother knew, though."

"She was a kind woman, but never took care of herself and was ultimately very weak. After losing Donna and then Victor, she let herself fade away. When she fell sick with pneumonia she didn't even try to fight it. Her husband was always off with his mistress and her two youngest children were gone; she was done."

"How did-"

"Donna drowned when we were on a rare trip to the beach when I was sixteen. Father had some business partners who had property in the fancier part of the Hamptons. I asked her to wait before swimming out further because I was helping Victor with his sunscreen but she just rolled her eyes and insisted she knew how to swim. Donna was caught in the undertow. I must have done CPR on her for twenty minutes before it finally sunk in that she was gone." He shifted and sat up, turning on the nightstand's lamp.

"It was my fault, of course," he said sardonically. "I was supposed to be watching them both and I'd failed miserably."

"You didn't!" Peter said fiercely. "You were just a kid yourself! No one should blame you for that, not even you!"

How well Peter knew him, he thought.

"Perhaps. Victor died during my sophomore year of college. He'd fallen in with a disreputable crowd and found himself on the wrong end of a knife after a dispute over drugs. My mother went a year later and my father unfortunately didn't pass away until the first year of my residency. He'd gotten liquored up per usual and drove head-on into a brick wall."

"I'm so sorry," Peter said. "I really am. No one should have to go through any of that."

"Like I've said, I've done my grieving, such as it is." It still hurt from time to time, but he was, for the most part, at peace with the loss of his family.

"You know, I won't visit the beach in Malibu if you don't want me to. I don't want you to have to worry about me."

He really did have the most wonderful spouse, Stephen thought. He hoped he'd get to keep him.

"No, that's not necessary. I don't want to deprive you of it." He arched a brow at Peter. "And I've no plans to let you out of my sight the entire time we're on the beach."

"And you'll help me with my sunscreen?"

He laughed. "Yes, you'll be well covered."

As Stephen slept next to him, chest rising and falling evenly, Peter contemplated what he'd learned.

So much about his selecting spouse made sense to him now.

He wanted Peter to take care of himself, because he'd seen what happened when his mother hadn't. He didn't want Peter to drink or smoke or do any kind of recreational drugs, because his father had been a violent alcoholic and his brother's drug habit had gotten him killed. He wasn't supposed to be disobedient or reckless because his sister had been and it had cost her her life. The not swearing or being disrespectful was probably a holdover from his childhood and father with a temper.

Stephen, he'd bet anything, had become a doctor to save lives in the hopes he could make up for not being able to save his sister. He took his job so seriously because in his mind, whether he realized it or not, he was saving his sister over and over again.

All things considered, he was so lucky to have Stephen as his selecting spouse. Peter honestly couldn't imagine being married to anyone else, let alone going back to the life he'd had planned.

He'd always told himself that he just had to make it the one year. One year and then he was free.

Life with Stephen was so much better than he'd imagined it would be that day when Peter had called into Agent Morita's office, introduced to Stephen, and told they'd be marrying the next day. "You should get your things packed up, Peter. Your new life will be starting tomorrow." Stephen hadn't said much other than a polite greeting and that he'd return the next afternoon. He hadn't felt particularly reassured and even less so on their "wedding day" and the week following.

As the months had passed, Peter had gotten to know Stephen and Stephen had gotten to know him. He'd been laid low with the influenza and Stephen had cared for him without a single word of protest. Stephen even went out of his way to ensure that Peter would be comfortable in any social situation they were in... apart from the time when Tony and Sharon were visiting and Stephen didn't see that as any sort of impediment to asserting his selecting spousal rights. (And Peter had thoroughly enjoyed it, truth be told.)

Now, the thought that Stephen might annul at the end of their twelve months worried him.

He'd have to work out some sort of clever plan and make sure that didn't happen.

_______

[couldntbedamned]

Tony Stark and Sharon Carter-Stark from my 1950s Modern Era Fusion AU Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue.

Tony (chosen by TIMES as Person of the Year three times) runs Stark Industries, focused on creating products to help fix and improve a world his father had once created weapons to destroy and is constantly seeking out new projects.

Sharon is a former Central Security Bureau operative who volunteers her time establishing libraries for underprivileged schools and daycare facilities and doing the odd background check here and there.

They've had an unconventional road, what with meeting while he was visiting his good friend Dr. Strange and she was in the hospital recovering from a brutal, near-fatal attack by her former selected husband and another marriage was the last thing on her mind, but they've found they suit and they're rather blissfully, ridiculously in love. Sharon adores her rascal of a husband and Tony is besotted with his “super-hot dangerous ex-spy wife who could totally kill me with a paperclip if she wanted to.” They also have zero problem making use of Stephen's guest bedroom, much to Peter's embarrassment.

[couldntbedamned]

Will Steve get any kind of redemption in your BCSS fics? You always give him such a hard time :/

Oh boy.

So.

I've implied in Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue that Steve is, in his own way, also a victim.

Was he right to ask his psychologist to ignore the signs of his shell shock* and approve him for the selection pool of spouses? Absolutely not. He. Knew. Better. But more importantly, his psychologist should have done her job, said NO, and rejected his candidacy as a selected spouse. Because she didn't, things got very bad very fast.

It was a horrible situation that could have been prevented if 1) the psychologist had done her job and not been swayed enough by Steve's handsome face and charm to ignore all of the red flags he was throwing up, and 2) if Steve himself had been a fucking adult and open to receiving treatment for his shell shock instead of deciding that the best way forward was to ignore it and chase that dream of marriage and a white picket fence.

While Feels So Right, Can't Be Wrong is going on, and later, Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue, Steve's getting the psychiatric treatment he should have had to begin with after he was discharged from the army, but he's never getting out of where he's been institutionalized by the BCSS. He also has to live with the knowledge that his actions almost led to an innocent woman's death and that's going to haunt him.

So I truly don't think it's bashing Steve. I may not like MCU!Steve as much as 616!Steve and I may let some characters show their understandable irritation with him at times (and yes, I do enjoy joking that Old!Steve is in a retirement community with a bedtime curfew, lots of people patting him on the hand and telling him "that's nice," and lots of green jello) but I don't consider that bashing.

The thing is, FSRCBW isn't Steve's story, it's Sharon's (and Tony's). Of course there's more of a focus on her trauma and what she endured during the four months she and Steve were married. Those four months are why she's in the fucking hospital to begin with and have had HUGE repercussions that are still being felt in GGSHB.

I will say that the parts about Sharon's trauma aren't even explicit, but they had to be addressed before she gets her happy ending with Tony.

---

* Yes, I know the term for it now is PTSD. In the AU, which is a fusion of the modern era and 1950s, it's still shell shock.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 2

Summary:  In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he'd briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags:  Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker

Author’s Note: This chapter is dedicated to my dearest HistorianAnon. She knows why. 😏

<<<>>>

Chapter 2

<<<>>>

Stephen’s bedroom was, as Peter expected, done in blue.  The thick, plush carpet was blue, the bedding was blue, and even the heavy brocade curtains were blue.  It looked refined and put together, much like Stephen himself.  The light oak furniture wasn’t as modern as he’d expected, but the lamps were.  Like down in the den, Peter was drawn to the radio and the charging laptop.

“Closet, bathroom,” Stephen said, motioning to the two doors.  “The dressing room is to the left of the stairs and there’s more room for clothing and other assorted items.” He noticed Peter studying the computer and his mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. “There are two additional bedrooms up here as well, one of which I use for an office.”

“Does that mean the other one is mine?”

“What do you mean?” Stephen asked.  Peter was sure Stephen knew damn well what he meant.

“Is that where I’ll sleep?”

When Stephen stepped closer to Peter, it was closer than they’d stood during their wedding.  He towered over Peter and studied him intently.  A hand - soft and strong - gripped his chin, forced Peter to meet his eyes.  His other hand rested on the small of Peter’s back.

“You’ll sleep in my bed.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter whispered.  Oh, but he did.  “You don’t even want me.”

Stephen’s thumb gently brushed over his lips.  “I didn’t want a spouse,” he corrected.  “But I have one now and I have every intention of asserting my selecting spousal rights.”

Peter shivered.  The custodians at the BCSS center had instructed him - and the other available spouses - on just what the rights of the selecting spouse were.  Men, women, it didn’t matter; they all learned the same when they signed to join the BCSS.

As the selecting spouse, Stephen was entitled to Peter’s acquiescence, honor, and intimate personage.  Of course, it was all officially worded in grand poetic terms.  It meant Stephen was within his rights to demand - and Peter required to give - his obedience, his respect, his time, and his body.

While not as emphasized, of course, Peter had his own rights.  As the selected spouse Peter had the right to Stephen’s consideration, which was just a fancy way of saying that he would be sheltered, fed, tended to medically.  Peter had the right to exist outside of the home, which meant he was allowed to attend to his own spiritual and emotional well-being.  And, while Stephen was allowed - even expected - to discipline Peter as he deemed fit, abuse was illegal and broadly defined.  Prison sentences for abusive selecting spouses were notoriously harsh and rarely was a charged spouse acquitted.

“I-I haven’t ever…” Peter trailed off.

Stephen’s gaze turned dark.  “Oh, that won’t be a problem.

Something tingled low in Peter’s belly.  Was Stephen actually…attracted to him?  Him?  Some gangly and gawky poor guy from Midtown?

“There’s no way you’re serious,” he said, disbelieving.  “There’s no way you would actually want to…you know, with me.”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Stephen said.  “It’s our first night together and I have every intention of ma-”

“But surely you’d be happier if I just slept in one of the other bedrooms and kept out of your hair!” Peter interrupted insistently.  “For all you know, I’m rubbish at that kind of stuff.  Can’t you just find a mistress or something?  A mister?”

“Peter, calm do-”

But Peter couldn’t calm down.  “Maybe one of your nurses would like to!  I won’t complain at all!  I’ll even make them coffee the next morning!”

“Peter-”

“Who even decides to fuck someone they don’t even know?” He cried, the profanity slipping from his mouth in his panic.  “Was that your real reason for this?  Sex?  Aunt May was right, this is no different than human trafficking and I’m going to die, and it won-”

Stephen’s hand clamped over his mouth and Peter went still.

“You don’t know me or the kind of man I am, and while I understand that we’ll learn about each other in the coming weeks, I do want to make some things clear right now.   I don’t appreciate being interrupted,” he said coldly, eyes narrowed.  “I don’t believe in infidelity, and I would never stoop so low as to cheat on my husband.   I also don’t appreciate being accused of something as heinous as human trafficking when I’ve devoted more than a decade of my life to saving the lives of others.  Furthermore, I will not tolerate being swore at, especially not in my own home.  Do you understand me?”

Peter huffed but nodded.

“I explained why I selected a spouse while we were enjoying a very nice dinner,” Stephen continued, removing his hand.  “Your naïveté in assuming there wouldn’t be a sexual aspect involved is on you, I’m afraid.  The Bureau doesn’t hide its regulations from the public, and certainly not from selecting or selected spouses.  You were well-informed of the particulars when you signed to join.”

“Right,” Peter spat, knowing he should just keep his mouth shut but finding himself unable.  “I’m supposed to be a happy little husband who only exists to keep the house clean and my legs open.”

He knew he was pushing it, could see how carefully Stephen was controlling his breathing.  Sure, the whole “marriage” thing wasn’t off to a great start, and he wasn’t helping matters at all, shooting back with words he didn’t even believe were true.

“Unpack, then get dressed for bed,” Stephen said, voice deliberately even.  “I’ll be back up in fifteen minutes.”  He went downstairs.

With his meager possessions, Peter wouldn’t even need the full fifteen minutes.  He’d take the time-out, though.  Anything to delay what he knew would be a life-changing night.

In addition to an embarrassingly through medical exam, he’d had to disclose his non-existent sexual history when he’d gone into the BCSS.  He’d only ever kissed a few people, his old next-door neighbor Betty, a girl named Mary Jane, and a guy named Harry.  (He’d liked kissing Harry more than kissing Mary Jane or Betty.)  He imagined his profile that was set up to be viewed by selecting spouses had a large stamp that proclaimed “VIRGIN” or something like that.  And who would even bother reading about how gifted he’d been in school, the science fairs he’d won every time he entered, or the paper he’d been chosen to write for Columbia’s hallowed Van Dyne School for the Sciences before he’d even graduated high school?

Stephen clearly didn’t care.  Hell, he probably wouldn’t even kiss him.

That was fine.  Peter didn’t want to kiss him, either!

He hung up his shirts in the section of the closet that had clearly been left free for him, along with his good slacks.  In the dresser that was empty – again, he figured for his use – he put away his socks and his underwear.  (He’d only packed the nicest he had, without any holes and only a patch or two.)  He folded his jeans before tucking them away in another drawer.  Last of all, he took out two leather folios, carefully unwound the straps, and, unable to have them in the same room he’d be…doing stuff in, put the only pictures he had of his parents and his aunt and uncle in the free guest room.  Richard, Mary, Ben, and May Parker didn’t need to witness the disappointment he’d turned out to be.

Back in Stephen’s closet, Peter stowed his suitcases and changed out of his poorly fitting clothes into even worse-fitting pajama pants and a shirt.  He found the hamper and dumped the hated suit separates.

All he could do was wait for Stephen, maybe convince himself he wasn’t both terrified and excited out of his mind.

Before long, Stephen returned.  He eyed Peter’s pajamas with something like distaste, and Peter shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.  It wasn’t his fault he was poor!  Mostly.

“Have you calmed down?” Stephen asked.

Peter rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, sure.”

It had been the wrong thing to say and do.

Before he could even think to react, Stephen was dragging him over to a sitting chair and hauling him over his lap.  One long leg hooked around both of Peter’s, trapping him in place.  He pulled down Peter’s pants, his thread-bare underwear, and grabbed his outside arm only to hold it against his back.

“It’s incredible how you couldn’t even manage to be respectful for a day, let alone our first day together,” Stephen said.  “I was trying to be considerate, but apparently you need a demonstration of where things stand between us.” He adjusted Peter’s position.  “Now, stay still.”

And his hand came down on Peter’s bared ass with a crack.

Peter yelled.

“I’m not an unreasonable man,” Stephen said as he continued spanking him.  “And everything I read in your profile seemed to indicate you possess at least a modicum of intelligence which is sorely lacking in much of the population.”

Stephen was strong, and no matter how much he tried to struggle, Peter couldn’t really move, apart from tensing and relaxing as the punishment continued.  He’d lost count of how many times Stephen’s hand had come down on his ass, could only feel the pain as he was spanked over and over.  Sometimes he moved to the tender area where his ass met his thighs, and when that happened, Peter screamed.

Vision blurry with tears, face red and messy with snot, Peter sobbed out his apologies, begged Stephen to stop.

Stephen didn’t.

After a point Peter just went limp, exhausted from the crying and the attempts at struggling.  He wondered if he’d ever be able to sit comfortably again.  He doubted it.

“This could have gone so differently,” Stephen said.  “But I suppose tonight is as good a time as any to set my expectations of you.” His hand came down on that sensitive area between buttocks and thigh ten times and, blessedly, Stephen stopped.

Peter couldn’t help but flinch as Stephen helped him up.

“It’s over,” Stephen said, much more gently than Peter had ever heard him speak.  “It’s done, and you’re forgiven.”

He would have tried to wrap his head around Stephen’s words if it weren’t for the horrific realization that he was hard.  Aching with it, even.

“Here, sit up,” Stephen urged.

“Can’t,” Peter said with a sniffle.

“Yes, you can,” Stephen insisted.  “I need to get the salve and I can’t do that if you’re still on my lap.”

“Please don’t make me stand up,” Peter begged.  Stephen couldn’t find out he had an erection; it was humiliating!  He’d probably be punished again for being such a deviant!  “I swear, I’ll be good!”

“Peter, what ar-” Stephen had moved his legs and started to stand when his thigh touched the evidence of Peter’s arousal.  “Oh.”

“I’m sorry!” Peter sobbed out.  “I can’t help it!”

“Of course, you can’t,” Stephen said simply.  “Bodies react to stimuli in a number of ways, and this doesn’t necessarily reflect your character, Peter, or even mean that you enjoyed what just happened.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Peter asked, allowing Stephen to guide him upright.

“About this?  No.”  He shook his head as if to dismiss the idea as absurd.  “I’d never be angry with you over something as natural as an erection.  And I’m never going to punish you when I’m angry,” he added.  “Now, stand up, pants off, and I’ll be right back.”

Bewildered, Peter did as he was told.  Stephen went into the bathroom and quickly returned with a medium-sized tin.  He sat down but looked up in time to see Peter wipe away his tears and snot with the sleep of his pajama top.

“Peter, that’s disgusting.  Take the shirt off, too.  There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed with that.”

Peter wasn’t too keen on the idea of being completely naked in front of Stephen but was even more disinclined to get another spanking on his burning ass.  He shucked off his shirt and darted into the closet to throw it into the hamper before hurrying back out.

Stephen only nodded, face unreadable.  “Over my lap, just like before.”

It was clumsy but Peter did as he was told.  It wasn’t as scary this time around, though he wasn’t entirely convinced that Stephen wasn’t going to spank him again.

“Relax, Peter,” Stephen said, running a warm hand up and down his bare back.  “I told you; your punishment is over, and you’re forgiven.  We’ll have to get a few matters sorted between us and hopefully that will be the last time I have to do this.”

He opened the tin and soon Peter was flinching before relaxing as Stephen rubbed the salve into his ass and thighs.  “I didn’t enjoy punishing you, Peter, but I will do it if I believe it’s necessary.  You’re my husband and it’s my responsibility to take care of you.  Part of that is ensuring you have the proper boundaries for your behavior.” He gathered more salve and continued, his hands as soothing and gentle as they’d been hard and strong.  “I give you my word that I’ll never punish you while I’m angry and I will never strike you outside of a spanking.  That would be abuse and you’d have every right to report me.  Do you understand me?”

Peter nodded.

“Words, Peter.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” He helped Peter sit up again.  “Now, you can either stand or kneel.  Your choice.”

Peter thought for a moment.  Standing would have been fine if he weren’t still hard and probably leaking.  He decided he just couldn’t have his cock all hard and that close to Stephen’s face.  He knelt.

“Good Boy,” Stephen murmured.  “I’m going to lay out my expectations.  After I’m finished, if you have any questions, you can ask them.  I won’t be angry.  This is new for the both of us, understand?”

“Yes,” Peter said with a shaky breath.

“You will be responsible for the care of this house,” Stephen told him.  “It’s to remain clean and presentable at all times.  This will be especially important once word of my marriage spreads.  I’ll be expected to entertain colleagues, members of the hospital’s insufferable board of directors, and overly entitled hospital donors.”

Peter nodded.  The plush carpet was surprisingly soft on his knees.

“You will prepare breakfast and dinner.  I leave for work each day at 7:30 in the morning and am usually home by 6:30 in the evening.  I expect to eat breakfast and dinner at seven, sharp.  You won’t be responsible for lunch unless it’s the weekend.”

Peter nodded again.  Even with the salve Stephen had applied, his ass was still smarting from the spanking.  He hated everything about this… or at least, he should have hated everything about this.  Unfortunately, he was still painfully hard.  It was very confusing.

Stephen continued laying out his expectations: maintaining the yard and tending the flowers, laundry, household chores.

“You are my husband, and you will behave accordingly.  I expect obedience, Peter.  You’ll keep a civil tongue and refrain from rolling your eyes.  If you don’t understand something I’ve asked of you, you will ask me to explain myself.”

Peter said that he understood.  It was mostly the truth.

“And most importantly, you will take care of yourself,” Stephen instructed, surprising Peter.  “You’re not allowed to smoke, or drink, and you’ll exercise at least twice a week.  You’re not to be reckless or do anything to endanger yourself.  If you’re hurt or feel ill, you are to inform me immediately.  If there is anything I can do or provide to assist you in taking care of you, you are to inform me immediately.  I can’t help you if I don’t know you need help.”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter said.  He was even more confused about Stephen after hearing those rules.

“My name is Stephen, not Sir,” Stephen corrected patiently.  “We’re married.”

“Yes, Stephen.”

“Do you have any questions?” Stephen asked, not unkindly.

Peter shook his head.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I d-don’t, I can’t think of anything right now.” Peter answered honestly.  He was supposed to be what basically boiled down to some kind of house husband, but also prioritize himself?  Was this some kind of weird power play?  It didn’t make sense.

“Very well, I’ll give you time to think about it.” He held out a hand.  “Stand up.”

Peter took the hand, got to his feet.  He wasn’t just naked in front of his fully dressed husband; he was still erect.

“Now, as I was attempting to say before you acted out,” Stephen said.  “This is our first night together and I have every intention of ensuring this is a pleasurable experience for you.”

“Does that mean you won’t on other nights?” Peter asked quietly.  Then he winced at the sharp slap delivered to his already red backside.

“It means that how much pleasure you receive in the future will entirely depend on you.” The hand that slapped him soothed over his ass and back up to the small of his back.  Again, Peter was confounded by the contrast of harsh and gentle.

“I don’t understand.” Just what had Peter gotten himself into?

“You will.”

<<<>>>

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 3

Summary:  In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he'd briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags:  18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Other: See Endnotes

Author’s Note: 1. This is where it starts to get spicy.   2. This chapter is dedicated to my lovely @rawringryu who enables me in the best of ways, with special thanks to Miri or helping with kosher rules and letting me ask all kinds of questions.

<<<>>>

Chapter 3

<<<>>>

When Peter finally fell asleep, he was sore but undeniably satisfied.

Stephen had not been exaggerating the pleasure part of it.

He’d stroked over Peter’s body with strong hands, almost as if he’d been trying to map out a problem. He’d been meticulous in preparing Peter to take his cock and used a healthy amount of lubricant as he stretched him out. His long, dexterous fingers seemed to know exactly how to bend and scissor, what spots would have Peter moaning in ecstasy. When he’d finally guided Peter onto his stomach and began to slowly penetrate him, Peter had cried out and spilled onto the sheets.

That hadn’t been the end of it, no. Not by a long shot. Stephen’s cock continued to ease into him, kept pressing in until Peter was sure he’d be split in two. And still, Stephen wasn’t fully seated. When Peter had finally felt Stephen’s heavy balls against him, he was out of his mind, lost in sensation. He’d barely registered the long groan Stephen let out as he started to withdraw only to work back into him.

Stephen had taken him with long, driving thrusts. Peter hadn’t ever dreamed that a person could feel so entirely claimed but soon there was no part of him that would ever feel like his own again. As Stephen worked in him, he’d felt the stirrings of pleasure build into an explosion that had him coming a second time. And still, Stephen hadn’t finished.

Again and again, Stephen had slammed into him, pulling Peter’s body up as he leaned back, hand resting on his throat. He hadn’t been overly vocal, only uttering words like ‘tight,’ ‘mine,’ and ‘so good.’ When he’d finally reached his finish, he’d groaned low into Peter’s ear, eyes closed in satisfaction. Heat had filled him; a sensation Peter didn’t find unpleasant. He could definitely get used to this.

It had stung when Stephen pulled free, and Peter hadn’t been able to find it in him to move from his place face-down on the bed, still feeling light and blissed-out. Stephen hadn’t been so useless, getting up to walk into the bathroom only to return after the flush of a toilet and running of water. He’d come back with a warm, damp washcloth and carefully cleaned Peter’s backside before helping him onto his back and wiping down Peter’s spent cock and thighs.

“You’ll need to launder these sheets tomorrow,” Stephen had said, laying a towel over the wet spot. “And the towel.”

“‘S fine,” Peter had slurred out.

“And we’ll have one more thing to discuss.”

“Great.” He’d been so tired, so floaty. He’d been so stupid to worry; sex was great!

“Good night, Peter.”

Peter woke up a little less sore than he’d felt falling asleep. As he yawned and stretched, he wondered just how soon it would be before Stephen decided to have him again. Turning his neck side to side, he caught sight of the clock. Its display had him scrambling out of bed.

6:20 am

He had to make breakfast!

He tried not to make too much noise as he hurriedly pulled on his discarded pajama bottoms and a simple t-shirt. He went down the stairs even as he heard the sound of the shower off the bedroom running - Stephen was awake, too. The kitchen, which had looked grand and impressive the day before, now looked imposing.

He rifled through the cabinets and found the cookware he needed easily enough. He set three skillets on a burner and let them heat. Then he pulled out a cutting board, a mixing bowl, and a whisk.

Breakfast wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be hot.

Sausage links sizzled in one of the heated pans, little pools of grease dripped here and there. Three of eggs he’d whisked would cook in the grease - a trick his aunt had taught him, the rest in the another with some butter. And finally, in the cast iron skillet, he’d fry the potatoes he was peeling and dicing. He hadn’t been able to find an onion, so plain fried potatoes would have to do.

He noticed that some items - such as the sausage and eggs - were running low when he gathered them. There wasn’t bread, either so there wouldn’t be any toast. He’d need to ask about grocery shopping. He couldn’t exactly cook breakfast and dinner if there wasn’t food to cook, now, could he? He just hoped that certain items, or at least the items to make what he preferred to eat wouldn’t be too difficult to find.

He figured out the coffee maker - the fanciest damn thing he’d ever seen for something as simple as coffee! - and found a mug in one of the cabinets. He’d already decided he’d have to rearrange the entire kitchen, since nothing was where he initially thought to look for it or stored in a way that was acceptable for him. It wasn’t as if Stephen would have a need to find things now that he had Peter as his little house husband.

“Good morning.”

Speak of the devil. Stephen seemed more awake and ready to face the day than Peter felt. He was freshly showered and dressed in black slacks, a light blue button-down, and a charcoal grey sweater vest. His expensive Kang watch glinted on his wrist and his black oxfords were polished. Stephen was, in Peter’s opinion, unfairly handsome.

“Good morning,” Peter said. He checked the clock. It was only ten ‘till seven; he still had time. “How do you like your coffee?”

“According to the hospital’s interns, black like my soul,” Stephen replied, sitting down at the table.

Peter snorted as filled the mug and set it down on the table in front of him. “There aren’t any oranges, so I can’t make orange juice for you,” he said. “There isn’t bread, either, and there wasn’t time to bake any.”

Stephen eyed him curiously over his coffee. “You know how to bake bread?”

“Kind of,” Peter answered. His challah was passable, at least. He checked on the potatoes, stirred when he saw that they had a good crust on the bottom. The sausage links were resting on a warming plate and in both skillets the eggs were just shy of being fully cooked. He quickly transferred them between two plates before they could turn rubbery and added the sausage to Stephen’s plate with the grease-cooked eggs. “I didn’t know if there were any cookbooks here.”

“There are,” Stephen said. “My previous housekeeper didn’t want to leave whoever I married in a bind.  Feel free to check the den. You can always buy what books you need from the bookstore here in town."

Peter rather thought he’d be better off finding the nearest synagogue and hoping someone’s mother, aunt, or bubbe was there and willing to share a recipe or two than hitting up the bookstore.  But at least there was a bookstore.

“I started making a list of groceries I’ll need,” Peter continued. “Back home, I could just walk to the stores I needed, but here, I don’t know where anything is.”

“That’s right, you’re not from Sanctum Heights," Stephen commented.

“Nope. I’m from Midtown,” Peter confirmed. The potatoes were done, so he finished loading the plates and carried them over to the table.

Seven am, exactly, he thought with satisfaction.

“There’s bottled orange juice in the refrigerator,” Stephen said, after taking a bite of eggs. “You can pour us both a glass and bring over the salt and pepper.”

Frowning, Peter got up. Why anyone bothered buying pre-bottled orange juice instead of making their own was beyond him. Fresh orange juice wasn’t just cheaper, it tasted better, too. He filled a couple of glasses with the stuff and grabbed the salt and pepper. After a moment’s consideration, he grabbed another bottle from the spice rack.

He gave Stephen his glass, then set the little jars down.

“Paprika?” Stephen asked skeptically when he watched Peter dash some over his eggs and potatoes.

“I had a neighbor who swore by it,” Peter replied.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Stephen continued eating. “These eggs are quite good.”

“Sausage grease,” Peter explained, making a note to buy turkey sausage so he could at least enjoy it. “Instead of draining all of it, I kept some in the skillet and cooked your eggs in it instead of butter.”

“And the potatoes?” Stephen questioned.

“I fried them with some butter and salt. Normally, I’d add in some diced onions, but there wasn’t an onion in the pantry.”

“I have accounts set up with the meat market and grocer,” Stephen said. He’d finished his food and was drinking his coffee. “I also have an account with the local transport service - you’ll use them to run your errands. Milk is delivered twice a week. If you determine it should be delivered more often, by all means, set that up.”

“I can do that,” Peter said. It couldn’t be that hard, surely. “What’s the weekly budget for all of this?”

Stephen stared at him, as if he wasn’t sure what Peter meant.

“I don’t want spend more on groceries than we can afford,” Peter explained. “I know how to stretch a budget; my aunt taught me.”

Stephen snorted. “I’m not destitute, Peter. And unless you spend every day buying pounds of lobster, caviar, and Wagyu beef, I doubt you’ll put us in a poor house.”

Peter felt his cheeks heat to a fiery red. “I didn’t know,” he said, finally. He shook his head, willed the embarrassment to die down. Thankfully, the very idea of him buying lobster was absurd enough to help. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner tonight?”

Stephen studied him. “I think I’ll be content with whatever you choose prepare,” he said. “My parents had an agreement: if my mother cooked it, my father would eat it without question or complaint. I can’t promise I won’t complain, but so long as you go through the effort of cooking, I will eat the resulting meal.”

That was more reasonable than he would have expected. Peter could work with that. Except, “What about when you have guests over? They’ll be expecting dinner to be fancy, not to mention hors d’oeuvres, dessert…” he paused, realized. “And drinks! I don’t know the first thing about alcohol, Stephen! I’m only 19!” He hung his head. “And I don’t know anything about entertaining, either.”

“You’ll learn,” Stephen said simply. “Along with the cookbooks, Ms. Drew left an assortment of notes for you. She’s also offered to help you with the first dinner party.”

There was that, at least. Whoever this Ms. Drew was, she was a mensch.

“Okay, good,” he said. “That’s good.”

“I’ve informed the hospital that I will be in later than usual today,” Stephen announced as Peter cleared away the dishes and wiped down the table.

Peter didn’t say anything, unsure of what point Stephen was trying to make.

“Last night I informed you there was an additional matter we needed to discuss.”

Peter paused, let the warm rag fall onto the table. He racked his mind, trying to remember. “Was it before or after you were um, you know, inside me?” He was blushing again.

“It was after,” Stephen said. “And that brings me to the matter at hand. Follow me upstairs, please.”

Confused, Peter followed him. The bedroom wasn’t as imposing as it had been yesterday, but it wasn’t exactly calming, either. The bed itself was a mess of blankets and sheets, along with the towel Stephen had placed because Peter had…

“It occurs to me that you may have trouble adjusting to your new life and your role as my husband,” Stephen said. He was pulling something out of a drawer. “I expect obedience, as I’ve said. In return for that obedience, you will be rewarded.”

At the sight of the small box in Stephen’s hands, Peter’s brows drew together. “Okay?”

“If you are diligent in your responsibilities and keep out of trouble, I will ensure that when you and I are engaged, you will have your pleasure as well.” He opened the box to reveal a…

Peter stepped back on instinct, shook his head. He had to be joking!

Stephen’s eyes narrowed at Peter’s reaction. “And if you act out, in addition to going over my knee, I’ll ensure you don’t receive the release you’ll be so desperate for.” He studied Peter. “Go shower. And be quick about it, I have patients to attend to today.”

There wasn’t any point in fighting it, Peter thought miserably as he pulled his pajama pants down and off in the bathroom. He’d acted out last night and ended up over Stephen’s knee and spanked until he was crying and begging for the man to stop. He didn’t want a repeat of that anytime soon. But the sex… yes, he wanted that, and the amazing feelings of when he’d gotten off. And now he’d have to earn that?

Once he was clean and had dried himself off, Stephen wasted little time in securing Peter’s cock in the cage. He wasn’t even mean about it, which would have been easier for Peter to stomach. No, his hands were gentle and thorough in making sure that Peter wasn’t in pain. He gave Peter’s newly caged cock a fond pat and then stood.

Stephen checked his watch. “I have to leave now. I should be back around 6:30. If I happen to be running late, I will call and let you know.” He nodded to the new cell phone on Peter’s nightstand. “If there’s an emergency, you will call me. My numbers are already programmed.”

He looked down at Peter, who was doing his best to keep every foul, hateful thought from exiting his mind via his mouth. Even if those thoughts weren’t in English, Stephen would no doubt understand the sentiment behind them.

“Behave and have a good day. I’ll see you this evening,” Stephen said softly. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and left the room.

Peter didn’t move until he heard the front door close, lock, and the sound of the Stephen driving away in his Buick.

Then he grabbed a pillow, brought it tight against his face, and screamed.

<<<>>>

Endnotes: As anyone on my SpiderStrange discord could tell you, I have a thing for Stephen putting Peter in a cock cage or doing something else kind of related. I don't know how it started, but damn if it doesn't make me happy. Whether or not it will make Peter happy in this remains to be seen.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 1

Summary:  In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he's swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he's running out of time before he's out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a "lack of personal fulfillment and settling down," he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man's profile he'd briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It's not ideal, but if after a year it's not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It's a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It's either going to be forever or it's going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags:  Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker

Author’s Note: So this is basically the 1950s/Modern fusion marriage law-ish type AU that literally no one asked for, but came to my mind because of who I am as a person.  So, either my apologies, or you're welcome. Up to you.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

<<<>>>

Chapter 1

<<<>>>

In his dire situation, there were only two choices available to him. One, he could enlist in the military and probably die fighting in some war his country had no business fighting in, or Two, he could sign himself over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections and take his chances as a bought spouse to a complete stranger.

He really didn’t want to die, and the BCSS was notorious for the thorough - often intrusive - screenings of potential spousal buyers.

Better a ring than a rifle, he finally decided.

Peter Parker, freshly 19 and all alone in the world, got what little affairs he had left in order after making the mistake of trusting the wrong man, and signed his life over to the BCSS.

He was bought and wedded less than a month in.

His husband – the man who selected him as a spouse - was a doctor, of all things! He was actually the most acclaimed and admired doctor working for the hospital in the sleepy little town the BCSS relocated Peter to after he signed himself over.

Dr. Stephen Strange was a tall man with piercing eyes that never seemed to quite decide on blue or green. Despite not even being 40, his dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, which made him look distinguished and debonair. He looked like a doctor, Peter thought. His hands in particular were long-fingered and dexterous and were firm around his own as he’d placed the silver ring on Peter’s finger in the little farcical theater that was their “marriage” ceremony. Peter could absolutely imagine those hands working miracles at the hospital.

He seemed stern. He was probably strict.

But Peter wouldn’t have been all but sold to him if Stephen wasn’t a fair man, right?

They were told by the Bureau Assessor to expect a follow-up in six months immediately before being congratulated on their marriage. Everything happened in a blur and then they drove away in Stephen’s Buick.

He didn’t expect a honeymoon, naturally. Travel was expensive and buying a spouse through the BCSS wasn’t cheap. Peter wasn’t exactly sure how much he’d set Stephen back and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

“Do you live in town?” He asked, studying the cheery storefronts and patrons walking to and fro on the generous sidewalks occasionally looking up to check the progress of the zeppelins flying high above them.

“Just outside, actually, in the Bleecker Grove Estates.”

Peter nodded. All he knew was that the Bleecker Grove Estates were reportedly the nicest part of town. Chances were that he’d find no friends in the addition, that they’d take one look at him, a poor guy from Midtown, and turn their noses.

Stephen drove him to a nice restaurant - the kind with cloth napkins and a fancy front man. He escorted Peter inside, allowing the host to lead them to a private booth.

Peter sat down and felt embarrassingly out of place. His trousers, while pressed, were faded and worn. His button-down was two sizes too big and he was useless with even the most basic knots for ties. His blazer wasn’t much better, the cuffs were worn at the edges and a couple of buttons were missing.

Stephen, however, was perfectly at home in a made-to-order suit from Sears Roebuck and Co. His tie was perfectly knotted and even his Jarman shoes were shiny rather than scuffed. He even smelled nice.

He was so far out of Peter’s league. But for some reason, this educated, handsome man wanted Peter. He’d bought him and less than two days after the application was approved, married him.

“This place is really nice,” Peter said quietly, looking around.

The dark wood paneling was relieved by the warm glow of rose-tinted glass sconces along the walls, ceiling light fixtures, and the rich teal upholstery of the benches in each booth. Each table was covered with an elegant primrose tablecloth. The vase in the center of their table was real crystal and held a small bouquet of flowers Peter had never even seen before.

“I suppose it would be,” Stephen said, tone noncommittal.

“Do we get menus?” Peter asked, folding his hands in his lap. Just how exactly did one go about making conversation with their new husband? He figured it would be awkward in any selected spouse situation.

“That won’t be necessary,” Stephen said.

The waiter brought Stephen a cocktail and Peter a glass of iced tea, unsweetened. “Were you ready, Dr. Strange?” he asked.

“We’ll have the roasted beef tenderloin, with beefsteak tomatoes for the salad,” Stephen instructed. “Baked potatoes, and the garlic French bread, as well.”

“Very good, Sir. I’ll put your order in straight away.”

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” Peter said, more confused than annoyed.

“I don’t care what you want.”

Peter had no idea what to say to that, only felt like he’d just been struck across the face.

“I had little interest in marriage, selected or otherwise. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have bothered if it weren’t strongly recommended by the board of directors at Sanctum General as a factor in my continued employment and eventual advancement.” Stephen stared him down and Peter clenched his hands to keep from fidgeting. “We’ll go over rules and expectations when we get home, but so long as you’re obedient and don’t cause problems, I don’t see why we can’t have an amicable life together.”

“We do have a year to see if it works or not,” Peter said quietly.

“Indeed,” Stephen drawled.

Peter fully intended to annul the marriage if it didn’t work. As it was, it was not off to an auspicious start. But, he told himself, he was strong. He could survive a year.

He bit back any questions he had and busied himself with doctoring his tea with one of the delicate sugar cubes in a small crystal bowl on the table. The tea wasn’t nearly as good as what his aunt had made, but it was better than nothing.

Stephen, on the other hand, had turned his attention to his phone, probably looking through important emails or patient chart updates. Peter hadn’t actually seen a mobile device up close, since only the very rich could even afford them. His only experience with phones was using the old but sturdy rotary kind.

When the waiter appeared to set the table, Peter tried not to gawk. The array of silverware - real silver! - was confusing. Stephen seemed to understand his hesitance after the tomatoes were brought out with the bread.

“You start from the outside and as the meal progresses, work your way in,” he said simply. “I’m sure I have a book on dining etiquette somewhere on my bookshelves. You’ll read it.”

Peter nodded and did his best to mimic Stephen.

He knew he must look awkward, but he didn’t knock anything over, stain the tablecloth or his shirt, and he wasn’t hauled out by his ear for using what he knew was a more-than-healthy dose of salt and pepper on his plain baked potato, foregoing the butter and sour cream in favor of spooning some of the tenderloin’s juices on top.

He couldn’t add much in terms of conversation, but at least the food turned out to be amazing.

Following dinner, Stephen drove them north through town, slightly west, and through large, elaborate wrought iron gates that proclaimed Bleecker Grove. The houses were neat with tidy lawns and mailboxes. Peter recognized many of the automobiles as expensive and nearly new, just like Stephen’s Buick.

Then Stephen turned into a driveway, parked, and cut the engine.

Home.

His new home was somehow inviting and dread-inspiring at the same time.

It was a beautiful Cape Cod style house. Its light gray paint only served to showcase the robin’s egg blue of the door, shutters, window grids, and flower boxes. A slate blue roof gave way to a dark red brick chimney on the side and the lawn was immaculate.

Peter was looking at wealth, security, and prestige on perfect display.

“Inside,” Stephen said, giving Peter a small push.

The inside was just as impressive, if lifeless. The living room off to the left of the foyer boasted a grand fireplace. The walls were papered with a damask stripe in powder blue, while the carpet was an even deeper blue. The window treatments were dark red with a goldenrod floral print. A goldenrod couch was facing the back wall and two chairs - one goldenrod and the other with the same pattern as the curtains sat opposite with a coffee table between.

It was grand, showy, and obviously meant for entertaining.

Oh, no.

Would he have to host dinner parties, now that he was the husband of a prominent and respected doctor? He knew nothing about entertaining! He doubted making sweet and sour meatballs and filling a few bowls full of crackers for a lively night of canasta and bridge counted. Stephen’s guests would no doubt be sophisticated and stuffy, a far cry from the bawdy ladies his Aunt May had rotated card nights with.

Finishing his perusal of the room, he saw Stephen watching him with a raised brow and something like an amused smirk playing about his mouth.

What? He couldn’t be curious about the home he’d be living in for at least the next year?

Moving past Stephen, he came to the dining room on the other side of the foyer.

It was… elegant.

A built-in showcased fine China and silver. The dining table seated six and was decorated with a cream and jade green cloth shot through with gold. He imagined the cherry wood sideboard housed the rest of the fine linens, assorted dishes and candles. The window treatments were heavy crushed Jade green velvet.

“Is it to your liking?” Stephen asked with an air that told Peter he didn’t particularly care if it was or wasn’t.

“The cream carpet will be a pain to clean if food or drink ever hits it,” Peter said honestly. “It’s nice, though. Was it your mother who decorated? Or maybe a sister?”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I could have done it?”

Peter snorted. “Most men don’t have the eye for this sort of detail,” he reasoned. “It’s not a criticism; this is really well done.”

“I hired an agency to decorate,” Stephen finally said. “The agent assigned to my account drafted several designs for each room and I chose which one I preferred.”

“You chose well,” Peter said, moving further back into the house.

“In some things.”

Ouch.

The kitchen was thoroughly modern, which made him happy. He would be spending most of his time in this room, probably.

The major appliances were all built into the cabinets. He’d seen advertisements for Stark Company’s famous line of Kitchen Living, but never such luxury in person. The double ovens and connected broiler would get a lot of use, as would the separate gas range that included an actual deep fryer! He was tall enough to reach the refrigeration cabinets, so at least he wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation of asking for a stepstool. There was even a top-loading dishwasher. The appliances and cabinets were all blue, which surprised him. He’d have been sure that those rich enough to afford the top-of-the-line set-up would have chosen Stark’s signature Hot Rod Red, despite the array of color choices. Then again, Stephen appeared to prefer blue.

They looked nice with the white countertops, black and white checkered flooring, and black and white curtains adorning the window that gave a perfect view of the backyard. There was even a table and chair set for two, presumably for breakfast.

Leaving the kitchen there was a closet built into the back of the staircase, and then he found a family room. Or a den, as his aunt had called theirs. This room was more lived-in than the rest of the house. Knotty pine wooden panels covered the walls, lending to the warmth of the red carpeting, dark brown armchairs, and built-in bookshelves that were filled with more books than Peter had seen outside of a library. A small liquor cabinet took up the far corner and Peter’s fingers itched to play with the PymCo console and record player along another wall.

It was more comfortable and even… cozy than Peter would have expected of someone as stiff as Stephen.

“The mudroom is through the side door in the kitchen,” Stephen said, striding over to the record player. “I have a washer and dryer, along with racks for hanging more delicate garments to dry. There’s also a clothesline set up in the yard.”

Peter turned to look at him.

“The door through the dining room leads to a half-bathroom,” Stephen added. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Peter swallowed and followed Stephen, collecting his two suitcases. “S-sure.”

<<<>>>