Chapter Text
Otto sat back in his chair to wait for the computer to finish its calculations after tweaking several algorithms, absently carding his fingers through the soft brown locks of the young man curled up at his feet. He doubted he’d ever seen anyone that utterly contented to have their lips wrapped around his dick before, and wondered if Peter actually got any rest anywhere else with how tired he always seemed. At least with their newfound accord, Otto hadn’t been contributing much to the never-ending mountain of problems Peter had to tackle on a daily basis. He chose not to think too much about why his stomach turned when he considered how many times he’d almost killed the boy, and wasn’t entirely comfortable with the growing protectiveness and attachment he felt. As he tucked a stray hair behind Peter’s ear, however, he found himself tensing.
Something was off.
The actuators snapped to attention, abandoning the routine maintenance they’d been conducting on themselves. Having deactivated the nondescript intercom which served as the ‘doorbell’ of his hideout when Peter dropped in—unannounced but not unwelcome—he hurriedly pulled up all the cameras both inside the complex and out. He frowned, seeing nothing on them, but the sensors of his creations detected someone approaching. The intruder was already in the building, had somehow managed to circumvent his defenses, and was only seconds away from entering his workshop. The actuators took up defensive positions as he scrambled, trying to figure out what to do with the boy currently in an incredibly compromising position under his desk.
“Parker!” he snapped at the half-dressed slumbering hero warming his cock, but the younger man barely stirred, blinking up at him sleepily as he released Otto’s prick from his mouth. Otto spotted the discarded webbed mask sitting next to his computer monitor and snatched it up, shoving it in a drawer which he slammed shut.
Otto turned back toward the door, eyes narrowed and the actuators hissing, having recognized the figure marching toward them with all the pomp and ridiculous self-importance he loathed about the man. He wasn’t sure what conclusion would be more damaging for his visitor come to if he saw Peter here—that Otto was screwing the real Spider-Man or that he’d put the costume on some poor soul to fuck them in it. The former was far more dangerous to Peter, however. Out of options, he scooted his chair in as far as it would go to block the sight of the boy under his desk, forcing Peter to likewise shuffle further under it. Fortunately, the piece of furniture was large and was of an older style with a panel across the front. He hadn’t bought it for this purpose exactly, but it was proving to be a wise choice.
His maneuver turned out to be just in time, as the door burst open just after, admitting his unwelcome guest.
“Mysterio? To what do I owe the displeasure of your company?” Otto schooled his expression to a careful bored neutrality.
He reflected that it could be worse—if Curt or Norman had decided to surprise him like this, they’d be busted immediately by the pair’s preternatural senses. Otto had already gotten strange looks from each the day Peter had decided to jump him mid-battle while the other villains were distracted by Venom. The incriminating evidence of their combined scents and arousal had been covered up just enough by the vat of glowing goo the clumsy symbiote had knocked over everything by accident. Getting the stuff out of the tentacles’ joints had been irritating, but it had provided the plausible deniability they needed even if it didn’t entirely eliminate all suspicion from his would-be allies.
Quentin Beck strode into the room as if he owned it, stopping in front of Otto’s desk. “We had an appointment, Octavius,” he declared, crossing his arms over his chest.
Otto was not about to admit he’d gotten distracted by Peter’s arrival and it had slipped his mind entirely. “I thought you were still in prison for that stunt you pulled impersonating Dr. Strange.”
Beck shrugged. “All the footage was mysteriously erased and the items disappeared without a trace afterwards. They couldn’t prove I’d actually stolen anything, so I was released due to lack of evidence.”
“How fortunate for you,” Otto snorted. He pointedly didn’t inquire how Beck had managed to sneak in his base undetected because he could tell the man desperately wanted to be asked about it. Mysterio would inevitably tell him, anyway. The illusionist couldn’t keep silent if even his mouth was sewn shut. And Otto had considered it. Often.
Mysterio took off his helmet with a flourish, setting it on Otto’s desk without asking. Otto wasn’t sure what was worse—having to pretend that fishbowl wasn’t completely ridiculous or looking at the man’s stupid, handsome, incredibly punchable face. Additionally, his skin care routine was far too elaborate for someone who wore an opaque helmet that obscured his entire head most of the time. Otto hated that he even knew that much about him—it was a part of his brain he’d never get back. As if on cue, the man prompted, “Aren’t you curious how I got in?”
Otto shrugged, resisting the entirely reasonable urge to smash the round, mirrored piece of armor to bits for cluttering up his work station.
“I used the backdoor passcodes Osborn built into all of his tech. I won them off Goblin in a poker game a few weeks ago. So much money and the schmuck never remembers to carry cash in that stupid outfit,” Beck huffed in disdain.
Otto’s eyebrow raised of its own accord. Mysterio looked so proud of himself for wasting such a significant advantage over a tenuous ally for such moronic purposes. At least this unpleasant visit alerted him to the weaknesses in his security before someone more intelligent could exploit them. When he’d commandeered the space a few months ago, he’d erased the standard protocols of the defense systems and put in his own, which evidently wasn’t sufficient. As soon as he was able to kick Beck out he was going to tear out all the cameras and sensors and replace them. He took in the gaudy royal purple cape and thought the failed actor was the last person who should really be casting aspersions on another’s choice in costume. “I don’t like repeating myself. Why are you here?”
Inevitably it would be yet another discussion that could’ve been conveyed by email, or ideally, not at all. Mysterio loved a captive audience almost as much as the sound of his own voice. Many a Sinister Six meeting had been side-tracked this way. Beck was notorious for it even amongst a population of villains with a higher-than-average tendency to monologue.
“The Spider,” Beck spat in fury.
Feeling Peter tense slightly in between his legs, he reached down to rest a hand on top of his head in warning. “What about him?”
Mysterio waved his arms theatrically and began to pace back and forth in front of Otto’s desk. “The webhead always seems to be two steps ahead of every move we make nowadays.”
Otto gritted his teeth when a muffled snort emitted from the concealed superhero, covering it with the clicking of a tentacle. “Is he? I haven’t noticed.”
“Toomes and Mason both agree with me. It’s like he’s got some sort of spy on the inside or something,” Beck complained.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Otto denied, trying not to jump when he felt Peter’s tongue swipe over the head of his dick. He kicked the boy to dissuade him, but it only resulted in Parker sucking his cock into his hot, wet mouth once more.
Beck stopped, turning toward Otto with a determined look on his face. “I think I’ve cracked the pattern, however. I’m going to test my theory tonight. You know that vault Kraven tried going after last month?”
Otto nodded; his attempt at verbal agreement was more moan than anything else, but fortunately the self-absorbed villain didn’t seem to notice.
Fuck, the boy had gotten very good at this. If someone had told him only a few months ago that Otto would be the one to teach the city’s shining paragon of heroic virtue how to suppress a gag reflex, he’d have laughed it off as insanity. Peter was always so eager it was difficult to resist.
“I know exactly where he went wrong,” Beck declared, eyes glinting with self-satisfied triumph.
“Oh?” Otto thought he’d been granted a reprieve when Peter released him only to feel a tongue laving over his balls and a hand stroking his cock just the way he liked.
As Beck launched into yet another a long-winded explanation, Otto could barely feign interest in the inane drivel his fellow supervillain was spouting, the details of a plan he had no interest in paling in comparison to the divine sensation of the very hero he was trying to foil sucking him off for all he was worth. When Peter took him all the way in once more, he lost control, grabbing the back of his head and forcing him down on his cock as far as he could go until the boy’s face was pressed into his belly. He had to pretend to dissolve into a coughing fit to cover the groan he couldn’t suppress as he shot his load down Peter’s sweet, hot throat. A tentacle lashed out involuntarily, shattering one of the large screens leaning against the wall which he hadn’t gotten around to installing.
Beck leaped back, exclaiming, “What the fuck Octavius?”
Otto sent out an actuator to retrieve a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the corner and gulped it down. Mercifully, Peter took pity on him and released his spent dick after licking him clean. When Otto finally regained some measure of control over himself once more, he sat up, glaring at his uninvited guest.
“I’m a very busy man. If there’s nothing else you wanted to bother me with, I wish you all the best with your grand endeavor.” The last part dripped with all the sarcasm Otto was currently capable of.
“Fine then. Next time the Spider-Man interferes with your carefully laid plans, don’t come crying to me.“ Beck grabbed his helmet dramatically and flounced off.
“Believe me, I won’t,” Otto muttered. As soon as every door locked in place behind the intruder—plus a crate full of discarded equipment weighing several hundred pounds more than Beck could conceivably move by himself dragged over with a tentacle to block the room’s entrance—Otto shoved his chair back, hauling the boy out from beneath the desk by the scruff of his neck with another actuator. “You little brat, do you have any idea—”
“Thanks, Daddy.” Peter smirked back at him, licking his lips, utterly unrepentant.
Otto sputtered. “I—what, that’s not—”
Peter calling him that was a relatively new development, and the rascal knew exactly what effect it had on him. He took advantage of Otto’s distraction to wriggle free of the actuator’s not very determined grip and hopped up into his lap.
“You protected me,” Parker declared, appraising Otto with a gentle look that absolutely did not warm his heart in the least. Not that he had one, anyway.
“I was just acting in my own best interest,” he dismissed, cheeks more heated than he’d like.
“Sure you were,” Peter soothed with a knowing fondness. “When did he say this bank job was going down?”
“Midnight, I think,” Otto grunted.
Peter checked Otto’s watch, smaller hands playing with Otto’s large one. “We’ve still got some time then.”
Otto shook his head. “I’ll not be participating in that fool’s idiocy.”
Peter looked up at him slyly, drawling, “Shame, you won’t get to watch me kick his ass still stuffed full of your cum then.”
Otto tried to suppress the jolt of possessive desire the thought provoked, failing completely. And he used to fear—with the last sliver of conscience he possessed—that he was the one taking advantage in this relationship. Not that they had one.
“That’s predicated on me agreeing to fuck you,” he shot back.
“If you don’t, I might be tempted to tell him exactly where I’ve been getting all my inside information,” Peter threatened.
Otto snorted, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous play at blackmail. “Who’s supposed to be the evil one here? I must be getting soft.”
Peter wriggled, eyebrows raised. “Not from where I’m sitting.”
Otto laughed, bringing his hand to cup Peter’s chin. “You want my cum, you greedy little deviant?”
Peter nodded, tongue licking over the pad of his thumb.
“Earn it then,” Otto growled.
“Challenge accepted,” Peter replied with an indecent glee, peeling off his suit the rest of the way. Otto’s eyes tracked down the revealed toned, sculpted flesh and gave into the urge to run his hands over it, savoring the moan the hero let out in response.
Otto had a strong suspicion the boy was going to be the death of him. At least he’d enjoy it.