Chapter Text
After the night on the rooftop, Otto was sure that you liked him in the same way he liked you. The way you didn’t pull away from his touches and relaxed into him told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t often that he liked other men, his pursuit of them largely ending after he met and settled down with Rosie. The way you trusted him, the way you were kind to him, he didn’t know how much you knew about his past or even his present, but he knew that you didn’t seem scared or put off by his current permanent appearance. He knew you knew he was considered a villain, if the papers have anything to say about him, yet you were comfortable in his presence.
He sits at his desk, chin resting in his hand as he’s leaned back in the chair. The smell of you is still lingering on his jacket. Otto takes a deep breath in through his nose, partially to take in what was left of your smell on his clothes and partially to calm himself down, conscious that these two things were countercurrent to each other. The actuators leave him with his thoughts, busying themselves with looking over his measurements on the blueprints and doing their best to hold onto pencils so they can make their own adjustments to the plan. He lets out the breath he was holding in and Flo holds a cigar up to his lips, Mo coming around to light it as he takes the first few puffs to pull the flame in so it stays lit. His arms are folded across his chest as he holds the cigar in his mouth without Flo’s assistance, the actuator returning to its task in inspecting the other’s work on the blueprints.
Their handwriting is sloppy as is expected, and he’ll have to re-write the notes later once he’s less distracted. The distraction won’t be alleviated, however, as long as he doesn’t take care of his current, very hard, problem. He pushes his rolling chair a little further away from the desk with his feet, arms still crossed, and Harry and Larry turn back to look at him accusingly, putting their pencils down and opening and closing loudly at him.
“I know, I know,” he says aloud, taking a deep drag from his cigar, “We’ll be right back I promise.”
Mo waves around excitedly to look at him, claws opening and light glowing brightly. Otto sighs at it, ashes his cigar, and stands up.
He makes his way over to his makeshift bedroom. It’s partially secluded from the main room of the abandoned warehouse by strategically placed rubble and spare parts, with a curtain doing the main job of blocking the view to the rest of the hideout. He walks past the curtain and takes his jacket off, natural intense body heat combining with his arousal to make him uncomfortably warm. Hanging it on a bedpost, he unzips his pants as he rounds the bed. He shimmies out of his pants as he sits on the edge of the bed and scoots backwards further towards the center of the mattress.
Leaning back on the pile of pillows set up to support his back, he lets his hands wander his torso, drifting across his chest and collar where you had held him close on your climb up the building earlier. One hand grabs his chest where your head had been tucked against him, and he lets out a grumble. You had been so soft, so tender against him. So gentle with your actions as he comforted you after seeing you obviously scared from the height. His other hand wanders into his boxer briefs, palming himself a little hard as he tried to imagine what you’d look like underneath him. Would you bottom? You didn’t seem like a strict top type, but in his experience, you can’t really judge that based on appearance alone. He hoped you’d bottom for him, but you were so sweet and worried about him when you first officially met that he wouldn’t complain if you were more of a service top type. He hadn’t bottomed since college, though. He’d have to find a way to ask without escalating things too quickly.
Bringing his thoughts back to your appearance, a thought passed through his head. What if you were trans? He had a brief fling with a trans guy early in his time at college, and he knows that if you are he’d have a lot more experience to make you crumble under his hand with. That’s the image he goes with, for ease of memory bank's sake, and it fuels the fire in his stomach unlike any other. Otto groans and brings the hand in his underwear down to fondle his balls, his other hand now firmly gripping his chest. God, he’d love to have you under him, your legs on his shoulders, his mouth on your cock and his fingers knuckle deep in you, making you mewl and squirm underneath his touch. His breath is coming out in pants now, and he fully extricates his cock from his boxer briefs.
His skin is on fire, the precum coming out of his cock in generous globs. It functions as lube as he rolls his palm over the head to collect it and begins fisting himself. His brain is feeding him rapid-fire images of him taking you any and everywhere. On a rooftop, in your truck, on that little blanket that you bring to the district when you paint, on this very bed.
Otto’s back hunches forwards as his hand picks up speed. Borderline growls are leaving him now. He’s picturing you folded beneath him, Flo and Mo inserting themselves into his fantasy through the image of them pinning your legs to your chest while he rails into you. One of his hands outside of his fantasizing reaches behind him to grip the pillows at his side. In his mind, you’re calling him by name. He knows if he imagines you calling him anything else he’ll cum too soon. He wants to grip you by the wrists and mark your neck, make everyone you meet when you go into the city know you’re his. He wants to fill-
Otto tucks the head of his cock into his palm and spills into his hand, deep breaths leaving him as he works himself through his orgasm. So much for holding off. His hand slows down as he steadies his breathing and finds his body returning to a bearable temperature. His hand is gently palming his chest as he relaxes in the afterglow, cock still sensitive but now at least not a glaring distraction. All good things must come to an end, however, and he tucks himself back in his pants with his clean hand. Mo brings over a towel, which he almost grabs before Flo brings over a box of tissues, which he accepts instead. Cleaned up, he gets off the bed and puts his pants back on, looking at his jacket and deciding to leave it off for now.