#couldntdbedamned fic

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 17

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

Notes: Please remember to read the tags/warnings listed and read/avoid as best for you. YOU are responsible for the content you chose to consume on the internet.

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Chapter 17

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Twenty-two hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds.

That's how long the surgery took, staring with preparing the surgical suite and finishing by moving their patient to recovery. The clean-up of the suite including sterilization of equipment that wasn't single-use and rolling in the UV sanitizing droids would take a further three hours.

Stephen had been "nominated" (read: outvoted) by the team to speak to the patient's family. It was probably his least favorite part of his job; he wasn't good with strong displays of emotion and always felt awkward. However, he knew his duty and went to do it.

Mr. Cage and his wife stood when they saw him come into the waiting room, hands clasped and holding onto each other for dear life. Any news they'd have gotten throughout the surgery would have been vague and had to be hell for any loved ones remitted to the waiting room.

"There were a few minor complications during the surgery, the most notable of which is that when we went in, we found that the tumor had spread to her left lung. Doctor Reyes did have to excise a small part of the lobe and send it to pathology, but the margins came back clear. We are expecting she will pull through, but we will be monitoring her closely for the next twenty-four hours. A nurse will come to escort you to her room once she's out of recovery and settled into ICU. The oncologist will be following up with you tomorrow to discuss treatment plans and rehabilitation but overall, the prognosis is positive." He allowed himself to smile. "Danielle is quite the little fighter."

Tears rolled down the man's cheek and he pulled his wife even closer. "Thank you," he said, voice shaky. "Thank you for saving our little girl. You'll tell the others, too?"

"I will," he promised. He nodded to the wife. "Ms. Jones."

He returned to the small surgeons' lounge and joined the others. Dr. Blake, Dr. Cho, and Dr. Simmons would be on-call for the next twelve hours should any adverse events arise with their patient. Someone had ordered pizza, breadsticks, and salads along with various brands of soda and he gratefully loaded his plate - heavy on the pizza and breadsticks. He ignored hunger during surgeries with ease but afterwards he was always famished.

"Do you want to stick around for a bit and hang out with us tomorrow evening?" Dr. Blake asked. "We were talking about going to a show."

Stephen finished chewing and swallowed before answering. "I'm afraid not," he said. "I appreciate the invitation but I'm eager to get back home to my husband."

It was the truth. He missed Peter, far more than he'd thought he would. Since he'd lucked out of the pool to determine who would be on-call post-surgery, he'd get to go back to his little apartment after he finished eating. The room had a little radio and though it wouldn't be the same, he had every intention of tuning it to Rex Gladstone, Ace Detective and maybe playing a few hands of Solitaire or Pyramid.

He felt ridiculous, but Friday evenings with Peter had become the highlight of the week for him.

"How is married life treating you?" Dr. Montesi asked.

"It's different," he said truthfully. "He and I are both figuring things out, particularly as it's a BCSS marriage, but so far we haven't murdered each other."

"The best advice I can give is to just communicate," Nurse Morales said. She'd strolled into the lounge to grab food like she had every right to be there and not a one of them contradicted her. "Everyone likes painting marriage like some fairytale where you're both on the same page all the time and it's just not that. It's work, but so long as you're both willing to put that work in and not run from your problems, it's wonderful."

Communication.

Stephen wanted to groan. He wasn't good at it. He'd been making the effort for Peter's sake but talking about feelings and such was not his strong suit.

More to the point, why would Peter even want to put in work for something he could be free of in roughly ten months or so?

"Thanks for the advice," he said.

He'd have never believed that he would want Stephen around, especially during that first week, but... Peter missed him. He missed Stephen a lot more than he thought he would.

Peter had little motivation to do anything as it approached evening on Friday. The house was spotless, and the yardwork done for the year. He didn't have any laundry left to do, either. He'd have leftover tuna casserole but what was he supposed to do with the rest of the evening?

There were playing cards, he knew. Maybe he'd just listen to the radio show by himself and play some Spider and FreeCell. It wouldn't be the same as his Friday evenings with Stephen, but it would be close.

That wouldn't be weird, right?

When the time rolled around, he tuned the PymCo. console's radio in the den and set up the deck of cards for FreeCell.

It was a little sad, he decided, but not weird.

On Saturday morning, Stephen took the first zeppelin back to Upper York after he'd gone through the usual professional goodbyes with his colleagues and getting one last update on their patient. (Doing well, chatting animatedly with her parents.

"Make sure those two each get eight hours of sleep. They'll be of no use to her if they're exhausted wrecks.")

He wanted to be home, in his comfortable, well-styled Cape Cod, enjoying a relaxing weekend with his husband.

And wasn't that whole sentiment something new? Before Peter, he'd have stayed and gone out with his colleagues, exploring what the city had to offer. He wouldn't have tried to get home any earlier than Sunday evening.

He was sure Peter would have appreciated the extra free time if he'd chosen to stay, at least.

No one snored on the flight home, thankfully.

It was just starting to grow dark when he made it to the driveway. He immediately noticed that the lawn had been cut and the flowerbeds were all free of flowers and topped with mulch. Potted chrysanthemums were on either side of the red door, and a tasteful wreath of autumn flowers hung against the red.

He smiled at the sight. It looked inviting.

Peter must have heard him pull in because he opened the door before Stephen could do it. "You're back!" he enthused, smiling widely. "Let me get that for you!"

Surprised, Stephen could only stand still as Peter took Stephen's suitcase and rolled it in the direction of the laundry room.

He came back, fairly bouncing on his feet. "I didn't burn the place down," he said.

Stephen let out a small snort of laughter. "I can see that." He raised a brow. "And you didn't gamble it away over cards, being the card shark you are?"

"Definitely not," Peter said, playing along. "I bust my back keeping this place clean, I'm not about to lose it!"

"Small favors."

"So, I haven't started dinner because I wasn't sure when you'd be back, and the casserole I made is basically gone, but I can probably get something thrown together."

Stephen considered. "I should have called but I just wanted to get home. How about we go out for dinner?" Seeing that Peter looked indecisive, he added slyly, "I'll even let you read the menu."

That got a laugh out of Peter. "Wow," he teased. "The generosity astounds me. Will I get to order for myself?"

"That might be pushing it," Stephen said, smiling. "We'll change into something a bit more formal, and I'll drive us back to that restaurant."

"Yeah, okay."

It was what their first time out to dinner should have been, Peter thought. The ambience was still wonderful with the dark wood paneling and soft rose lighting. The tablecloths had been switched from primrose to a rich pumpkin color in deference to the autumn season and the flowers in the crystal vases were a mix of chrysanthemums, pansies, and sunflowers.

Stephen smirked as he handed Peter the menu for his perusal. "By all means."

Peter read it for a moment or so and then looked at Stephen, confused. "There aren't any prices," he said with a frown. "I don't understand."

The smirk dropped from Stephen's face instantly. "Oh." He looked... embarrassed, now. "High-end restaurants like these don't list prices. Part of it is so no guest is embarrassed by the price of the item they want to order, and the other part is the assumption that anyone eating at the establishment can afford to do so."

It made an odd kind of sense?

"Rich people are so weird," Peter said, finally. He’d never understand rich people logic.

Stephen only nodded. "That we are."

"So, I can get anything, right?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Stephen said. "Whatever you'd like."

When the waiter came to take their order, Peter went with his safest option.

"I'll have the grilled salmon with the roasted squash medley, please. And a lemon fizzy water."

The waiter turned to Stephen who shrugged. "I'll have the same and please add an order of garlic rolls, as well."

The waiter left to put in their orders.

"I have eaten more fish in the past two months than I'd normally eat in a year," Stephen said.

"It's good for you," Peter said. "Lots of those omega-3s and minerals doctors are always harping on about."

"But you've never had shrimp or lobster," Stephen said.

"Oh no, I've had them," Peter said with a laugh. "I just don't eat them. Really, it's ‘I don't eat then anymore,’ I guess. I kind of went through a rebellious phase when I was about fifteen. I ate bacon, shrimp, cheeseburgers, and lots of stuff I'm not supposed to. And I skipped shul and a few various other things."

"You little hellion," Stephen teased.

"It was this whole...thing, I guess. I was angry and nothing seemed to matter so why not see what the big fuss was? Anyways, I got over myself and back into the swing of things after a few months. Aunt May and I couldn't always keep kosher, but we did our best and I once again became a perfect little malach."

"I'm assuming that last word means angel?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah." Eager to get off the topic, he changed it. "I haven't had a chance to ask. How did everything go up in Chicago?"

Stephen seemed like he knew what Peter was up to, but let it go. "It went as well as we could have hoped. There were a few minor complications, but they'll make it."

Peter beamed at him, relieved. "I'm glad to hear that. I figured you wouldn't feel like a night out if things had gone terribly, but it's good to be sure."

"It was a very long twenty-two hours and change. I didn't really notice it while I operated, though. I never do," Stephen said.

"What about after?" Peter asked.

"Usually all I want to do is eat and then sleep. Sometimes that's exactly what I'm able to do, other times there are additional patients to see or consults to conduct." He smiled slightly. "Or there's a standing date with the radio hero Rex Gladstone and a game or two."

It took Peter a moment to understand what Stephen said. Stephen... Stephen had actively made time for their Friday nights? Did he enjoy them as much as Peter did?

"I still had it, you know," Peter said after the waiter brought their lemon fizzy waters. "Our game night. I turned the console on to the show and played a few rounds of FreeCell."

"I played Pyramid," Stephen admitted, looking sheepish. "The hospital apartment had a little radio, and I wasn't tapped for post-op monitoring so I figured I may as well."

"Did you call it?" Peter asked. "The twist with Rex's sister being an Italian spy?"

"I did," Stephen said. "Mayor Winthrop's secretary being a CSB operative though, that one surprised me."

"The beagle survived, at least," Peter said with a laugh. "I think we're on Rex's third car since we started listening on Friday nights."

"And somehow he's never in the car when it explodes," Stephen said. "It's as though he has plot armor."

"Well, he has managed to defuse bombs with his hands literally tied behind his back and uncover decades of fraud at the county fair, so yeah."

With delicious food and easy, light-hearted conversation, it was definitely what their first dinner should have been, Peter thought.

Stephen gave Peter a look when he started locking the house for the night. "Bedroom," he said.

Peter all but raced up the stairs and started undressing. In his eagerness he forewent folding his clothing and tossed each article in the hamper. He scrambled onto the bed to wait.

Stephen, when he stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, was much more controlled. He watched Peter as he loosened and unknotted his tie. The way he unbuttoned his shirt felt painfully slow to Peter, but he enjoyed watching as Stephen's chest was gradually revealed. His pants followed, briefly preceded by his belt. Hell, the man even made stooping to remove his socks look sensual! Best of all was the way Stephen's heavy cock grew against the confines of his heather-grey briefs.

"Please," Peter whispered.

"Please what?" Stephen prompted.

"I want you to fu-" he caught himself. "Take me, please."

Stephen's lips twitched into quick smirk. "Good boy," he praised, pulling down his briefs and stepping to the nightstand where he kept the lubricant. "So needy but still following his rules."

"It will feel a lot more rewarding when you're actually inside me," Peter said.

Stephen laughed and joined him in bed. "Sometimes I do enjoy that smart mouth of yours," he admitted. "It amuses, frustrates," Stephen ran a thumb over Peter's lips. "And pleasures me."

The first few times they'd had sex, Peter had been baffled at how long Stephen spent getting him ready, stroking and caressing with one hand while the other worked him open. According to one of the instructors at the BCSS, sex was a perk to be enjoyed by the selecting spouse, so he didn't understand why Stephen seemed so determined to be... almost sweet about it when he certainly wasn't gentle once he actively started fucking him.

It didn't mean he wasn't grateful for the prep, of course, because taking Stephen's impressive length without it would have been painful. By the fifth or sixth time, Peter had ceased to be annoyed; Stephen's hands were skilled. And even knowing that it meant nothing more than a physical release for the man, Peter could pretend he was cherished.

He relaxed into the way Stephen went about getting him stretched and let himself enjoy the way Stephen touched him. Hell, those hands of his were incredible. Peter wanted to worship those hands but would settle for having them touch him in whatever way Stephen deemed fit. He could try acting out...

When Stephen pulled his fingers free, he didn't roll Peter onto his front. Confused, Peter watched as Stephen settled back against the pillows and headboard, coating his heavy erection in the lubricant.

"I don't..." Peter trailed off.

"Come here and straddle me," Stephen said. "I want to see your face when I'm inside you."

Oh. Oh.

He felt awkward as he did what he was told, but nothing in the way Stephen looked at him made him think Stephen thought the same.

"Take me in," Stephen instructed.

Face flushing furiously, Peter moved around, raising up enough so he could grasp Stephen's cock and guide it to his hole. Gravity was how Peter managed to get the head of Stephen's cock inside of him, and in that new position, it felt like too much. Seriously, how did it fit in him?

"Keep going."

Stephen's eyes were dark, lids heavy and his lips parted as if in exertion.

"H-how do I-"

"You're a smart young man, you'll figure it out," Stephen said as he splayed the palm of one hand low against Peter's belly. "Keep going."

He leaned back and spread his thighs, promptly gasping when more of Stephen slid in. It was so much, too much but the stretch was so good, had him tingling everywhere. He rocked and adjusted until he'd taken nearly half of Stephen's length. He didn't think he could take more.

"You could just pull me down," he told Stephen, panting harshly.

"I could," Stephen agreed, stroking Peter's hip. "But I won't. Keep going and I'll take the cage off."

It took far longer than Peter wanted, but finally he was fully impaled on Stephen's cock, the hard length filling him with a delicious pressure only enhanced by the press of Stephen's palm against the bulge in Peter's belly.

"There we go," Stephen praised. "Now ride me."

"But you said-"

"And I will," he was promised. "Ride me."

Peter did, rocking and rising up only to sink back down again and again. Every time he took Stephen into him the cock brushed against his prostate and even caged, Peter could feel something building and building. He continued to ride Stephen's cock eagerly, desperately chasing that something, entranced by the way Stephen watched him as though he was beautiful. He flew higher and higher and then something happened. It wasn't an orgasm, because he didn't tip over that glorious peak, but he did leak in his cage, his meagre release dripping onto Stephen's flexing abdomen.

Horribly embarrassed and confused about how it was possible, Peter slowed to a stop. He was further shocked when Stephen swiped a finger in the ejaculate and tasted it. Judging by the way his eyes closed at the touch of fluid to tongue, Stephen enjoyed it!

"Wh-what just happened?" Peter asked. He was still slightly out of breath and wondered what was wrong with him. "I didn't even, I mean, there was no-"

Stephen smirked. "What just happened is something I very much enjoyed watching," he said. "You've no idea how stunning you looked, riding me so desperately that even locked up you simply couldn't help but spill for me." He removed the cage with a brush of his fingers over the biometric lock and then grabbed the bottle of lubricant. "Do you want me to give you a proper orgasm, Peter?"

He looked at Stephen, trying to parse out the mix of emotions he both felt in himself and saw in those blue-green eyes. "Please," he whispered.

Stephen helped him onto his hands and knees and Peter heard him use more the lubricant on his length before pulling Peter firmly back onto him. Peter gasped at the sensation and then again as slick fingers took his erection in hand.

Peter's hands lasted maybe four thrusts before he collapsed against the mattress, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure that Stephen gave as he stroked Peter's cock in time with his own vigorous thrusting. Again, and again Stephen's long, driving thrusts hit that spot in him that had him seeing stars. That barrage of sensation had his cock plump and aching in Stephen's hand and after what could have been minutes or hours, he felt his orgasm crash through him in waves.

He was floaty and limp against the mattress as Stephen pounded into him, seeking out his own release. Peter felt utterly owned as Stephen pulled him up against his front, one arm wrapped around his chest and the other splayed on his lower belly. This was familiar, this felt safe, Stephen's body long and caging against his own, keeping him close as he thrust in and out over and over until he stilled and with a long, low groan, filled Peter with his spend.

They laid useless on the bed for long moments before Stephen could gather himself enough to pull free and make his way to the bathroom to get a warm washrag. Peter felt the most wonderful sort of glow as Stephen gently cleaned them both and helped Peter under the covers. He could pretend this meant something, too.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispered when he felt Stephen relax into the bed.

"So am I."

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