#ironspidershield

He was sitting on Tony's lap, their chests pressed flush against each other, while the doctor had three fingers in Peter, twisting and pumping them in and out briskly.

Peter gasped when Steve brushed over his prostate again. He was hard to pound nails despite the fact that he'd already come that morning, and he was leaking droplets of pre-come onto Tony's suit.

Tony noticed, of course, and sighed. "Makin' a mess," he muttered, and Peter flushed.

"D-Daddy—" he stuttered. "S-So—"

"No, no, you're not sorry." Tony gave him a look, and his eyes never left Peter's face as he reached down to thumb at the slit of Peter's cock, making him let out a high-pitched moan. "Daddy doesn't like when you apologize and don't mean it."

Peter whimpered, turning his head, cheeks pink in embarrassment as Steve hummed nonchalantly behind him.

"And look at you, the Doctor's working so hard to help me teach you a lesson and you can't even look him in the face. I thought you were more polite, sweetheart." Tony sighed again.

Peter shook his head, eyes wide, and stammered, "Please, Daddy, 'm—I am polite, 'm—"

"Yeah? Then show us." Tony gave him an unimpressed look, and it made Peter's knees weak. When Peter just let out small, punctuated gasps at Steve's fingers instead of speaking, Tony cracked a hand down on his hip, drawing a surprised yelp out of him. "Now."

"Um—t-thank you, Stevie!" Peter squeaked out in between stuttered moans and whines.

Tony tsked before Steve could say anything in response. "Oh, sweetheart, no, no, no," he tutted. "It's Dr. Steve, isn't it? Dr. Steve, who's making sure you're healthy. Dr. Steve, who's making your face all red like this. Dr. Steve, who has his fingers up your needy ass because you want more, you always want more."

"D-Daddy—" Peter choked on a small sob.

"And if you were a good boy and hadn't begged for more than you could take, then we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Tony murmured, tone scathingly patronizing. "Could've been having movie night. Could've been playing with Bucky. But where are we, instead? At the doctor's office, because you begged so much to the point where Daddy got worried if you were okay, honey."

That was bullshit, and they all knew that, because Tony and Steve had planned this, but the words still had the desired effect on Peter. Peter let out a small, distressed noise, and shoved his face into the crook of Tony's neck again.

"Ah-ah." Tony snaked a hand up and threaded it through the boy's damp curls, tightening his grip and pulling his head back. "You look Dr. Steve in the eye and apologize for making him do this when he's already a busy man."

"S-Sorry!" Peter gasped. "'m so sorry, Dr. Steve, p-please—"

"That's alright, Peter." Steve's tone was brisk and professional, though not cold, as he added yet another finger to rub against Peter's prostate repeatedly. "You can't help it, I know, poor thing. Had to teach Buck the same lesson yesterday."

Tony sighed dramatically at his words. "You hear that, Petey? Now you're making Dr. Steve repeat a lesson he's already taught to someone else. What do you have to say to that?"

"'m sorry!" Peter sobbed, fingers flexing as he gripped Tony's shoulders hard, quivering. "'m so sorry!"

"There you go." Tony soothed a hand down Peter's spine and gave Steve a small nod. "There you go, honey, you're learning, I know you are."

Peter nodded, dazed, and gasped out, "I am! Please, Daddy—"

"You do please your Daddy," Tony murmured, giving Steve another look.

And Steve. Nailed. His. Prostate. Hard.

Peter let out a wail, back arching, and his cock splattered strings of white on Tony's suit. He fell forward, forehead on Tony's shoulder, shuddering through the afterglow of his high until it was too much, too much—

But Steve kept going.

Dr. Steve didn't stop; his thick fingers were still pumping in and out of Peter's hole. Tony didn't stop him, either.

Eventually, Peter choked out, "P-Please—D-Doct—Daddyyy—"

"What's wrong, baby?" Tony crooned. "You hurtin'?"

Peter sniffled, clinging to Tony desperately.

"Well, you're always telling me you want more, so I really do want to give you more this time..." Tony trailed off thoughtfully, ignoring Peter's wide-eyed look. "Well, Dr. Steve? What's the diagnosis?"

Steve was quiet for a few moments, even as his fingers worked relentlessly. "I think," he finally said, "that if he's told you he wants more, then he should get more."

“No, but- I just- it keeps bugging me. The way he left and what he said.”

“Littles have tantrum now and then. Won’t hurt him, nor will it hurt us.”

Well, it looks like Tony is hurting a bit based on the worried look on his face and the way he keeps gazing down the hall and to Peter’s room.

“I’m surprised we don’t argue more about our different caregiver approaches.” Tony huffs fondly, stealing a kiss from Steve before heading to their Little’s room. Steve shakes his head a little, but he doesn’t stop his husband.

Tony knocks softly on the closed door. He gets no response through the door, and so he enters with his head first to peek into the room.

“Hi, sweetie pie.”

Tony finds Peter laying on the bed, on his tummy, with his face half hidden in his dragon stuffie. The boy looks mopey, and sad, and maybe a bit frustrated.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Tony repeats, sitting on the side of Peter’s bed. He runs his hand up and down the boy’s back, but Peter still will not acknowledge him. “How are you doing? We haven’t heard from you in a bit. I was starting to get worried.”

“’M fine…”

Not convincing, Tony thinks. Peter’s voice is thick, and there is a tiny squeak at the end, the kind you get when your throat is dry after not drinking for a while.

“You don’t sound like it, bud. Can you turn around so I can see you? I wanna see my best boy.” Tony tempts, but he has to grab Peter himself to turn him on his back.

The boy has a fierce pout on his face, and lifts his arms to hide his face with. Definitely a hungry and mopey Little.

“It’s been a while since you last ate. I think we should go find you a snack, hm? Come on, sit up for me.” Tony encourages, once again helping Peter. The boy whines and rubs at his eyes, too tired to even cry. “Today really isn’t the best day, huh? Hugs make it better though. Give Daddy a cuddle, baby. Oh, c’mere.”

Peter clings to him, somewhat reluctantly. He doesn’t say a word, but Tony knows the boy wants him still. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It’s time Daddy takes charge of things.

“And up we go.” Tony groans a little, standing up with Peter in his arms. “Let’s go and find Dada and we can ask if he can make his special hot chocolate.”

Tony can feel Peter lift his head a bit at the mention of Steve’s special hot chocolate. It’s ironic how Steve is the most obsessed with their family eating healthy, and yet he makes the sweetest and most delicious hot chocolate with whipped cream and caramel on top. Peter asks for it all the time, so Tony bets that he is surprised over it being offered to him without him asking for it.

“Is that a yes?” Tony asks, tilting his head to catch Peter’s eyes. The boy nods slowly, and then goes back to sulking.

20 minutes later, the atmosphere in the house is totally different. Peter is squished between Steve and Tony on the sofa, lapping at his whipped cream and hot chocolate. He is still a bit quiet, but his eyes follow the movie that Tony put on the TV.

“Is it good?” Steve asks, rubbing Peter’s thigh. The boy nods eagerly, and gestures wordlessly for Steve to hold his mug. “Wha-”

Peter reaches up, and plants a sticky kiss on Steve’s cheek, then does the same to Tony. Then, he quickly sinks down on the sofa again, taking his mug back.