Work Text:
New Years Eve, Oscorp, 7:45
Oscorp currently held their annual party, sharing one of the largest lab rooms in the vicinity. Not everyone was invited of course, only a select few by Harry Osborn himself; the most ingenious and hardworking employers with reputations that exceeded the expectations of almost everyone sniffing around the faculty. Their were roughly thirty, maybe fifty people invited, but less than were present. The whole building was accessible; nobody congregated in a single room.
You sighed, looking around the room as soft music plays in the background. You saw people you’d pass in the hallways but seldom spoke to, scientists who you were on a first name basis with, and Otto Octavius. Your eyes would flicker to him from time to time, as if he were the digits of an analog you were keeping your eye on. The large, discomforted man would engage in small-talk which appeared to be awkward on your end. You wondered what he was saying as your eyes dropped to his lips, staring intensively like some sort of eavesdropping detective.
“Ah, (Y/N)! Charmed you could make it.” Harry smiles, a hand on the small of your back as he seemingly comes out of nowhere.
“Oh, Mr. Osborn! Y-Yes, um— sorry, you startled me.” But his smile just widens; a jackal and rabbit amongst the social gathering. You swallow, too embarrassed to risk a glance at the man you had your eye on since you arrived— since you began working here. He could’ve heard your gasp, could be looking at you with discountenance— or worse, utter ignorance; never to look up as if you were the family pup barking in the background rather than a frightened prey clutching your drink until you couldn’t tell the difference between condensation or nervous perspiration.
“Sorry.” He offers, laughing. You smile back but it feels alien; tight and abhorred. “How are you liking the party?”
“Um… I mean, it’s a little— a little you know… stiff.” You cringe at the last word, wanting to say anything other than—
“Just say it. Boring, right?’
You hum and take a sip of your drink. Harry chuckles and finally removes his hand only for it to land on your shoulder so he could pull you closer to him. Your arms meet and your face displays antipathy, screwed up like a baby feeding on sour citrus. This way, if Otto were to look up, he’d know this was an unrequited encounter.
“Well then, what do you suggest we do to… liven the place up a bit, hm?” His breath lingers almost comically in a cloud of heavy intoxicants; stale and dense. It made you wonder how long he had been drinking until now.You finally glance up across the room, expression of a rabbit in headlights, but doe-like eyes displaying vulnerability and discomfort. Alas, he wasn’t to be seen. You scanned the room as if to I be distracted by a fly, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
The arm around you gently nudges for an answer.Jackal displaying the rows of his dangerously sharp teeth threateningly should the rabbit continue to ignore him..If he weren’t Harry, you would’ve made it it perfectly clear he was invading your personal space, maybe even made a scene of chucking your drink at the tall, sleazy man. But he was your boss as he was everyone else.
“Harry, good to see a familiar face!” A voice calls. Although somewhat begrudgingly, Harry releases you to turn to the voice behind. You mimic him, wanting to be ignorant as to who your saviour was, but there was no mistaken the nonchalant yet formal tone.
“Otto.” Harry states rather than greets.
Your face furnaces when his mahogany eyes shifts to you. Blink and you’d miss the way his eyes drop down your figure and then back up to your flustered expression. A confident smile etches onto his face, and you return it nervously.
“Hello.” You nod, avoiding his eye and shying away like a skittish child. His smile only widens, eyes creasing in amusement.
“Have you two met yet?” Harry asks, glancing at the awkward exchange, almost frowning. He barely got two words from you, but your mind completely discombobulated at the much older man when he visually drinks you in— and in a way that was so assertive and decorous, unlike the young, wealthy man.
“Not formally.” Octavius replies, hesitantly tearing his eyes from you to answer his superior.
You feel yourself reliving a memory; lost in thought as you lay on your back one night after attending one of his lectures years ago— before you came to work at Oscorp. The image of him wrecking carnage on you in absolute debauchery that night as you pleasured yourself beamed into your head like a mischievous afterthought.
“This here,” Harry begins when you were unresponsive five seconds ago, “is (Y/N). She’s one of my best workers. Works in the theoretical side of things.” Ottos eyes shift back to you and his expression softens.
“Impressive. Yes, I recall seeing you at my lectures a few years back.” He turns back to Harry, “Such a good little thing she is.” He smirks. Harry chuckles and says a few words in agreement whilst you’re left with the fluttering of your hearts and enervated legs.
“You remember me?” You blurt, refusing for your embarrassment to make you appear socially inept.
“There weren’t many women at my lectures if I recall correctly, and those that do and don’t go into my field of nuclear physics tend to be the ones who got away. What happened?” If it wasn’t for the mirth in his eyes, you would’ve through he was genuinely hurt.
You look into his beautiful copper eyes as they wait patiently for you to answer. You’ve seen him call out a student who was’t paying attention; the demonstration of the windows to his soul, and how they could go from an apple-pie warmth to cold blooded shark eyes of vexation when pushed. You swallowed, ears warming the longer he awaited your answer.
“Yeah,” harry turns to you, “what’s the point of turning up for a bunch of lectures if you were never interested in the subject.” Osborn was that bucket of iced water you needed to function.
“Forgive me Dr. Octavius; I planned to go into nuclear physics, but I fell in love with theoretical physics before graduating.” You lied, posture straightening as you attempted to go from timid child to an unequivocal woman of science.
His expression matches yours, almost hardening in professionalism. “I see. Such a shame. To think someone as bright as you could’ve been working for me.”
“Trust me,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m kicking myself now.”
There’s a pause as you regard each other in a battle of proficiency. Harry watches, eyes flickering in bewilderment. You were unsure if either men had heard your comment, or if was a wisp in the wind; overtaken by the music as it picked up in the background.
“Anyway, I was just talking to (Y/N) here about how I can make this party less boring.”
Otto laughs, thick eyebrows shooting incredulously at your audacity.
“I didn’t say that!”
“Oh no, but you agreed.” Harry grins, egged on by the chortle.
“—and what did you end up suggesting?” Octavius asks, defusing the tension.
“I didn’t.” You begged.
“No—not yet.’ Osborn pipes, an encouraging hand returning to your shoulder. You instinctively grimace and Octavius furrows his brow; all traces of pleasantries gone, but he masks it as part of his professionalism. He looks at you and then at the inconversant boss, coffee warm eyes freezing over with Siberian vexation. Harry doesn’t seem to notice.
“How about,” a female work colleague pipes, obviously eavesdropping this whole time. Harry looks her way, whilst Otto watches you carefully, “those dumb party games we use to play back in college?”
Harry perks up and squeezes you closer to him in excitement, “Like— oh, what were those games called again?” He asks, pressing his cold glass to his forehead. Despite knowing the answers, you remained quiet.
“You know, spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven, that kind of stuff, right?”
You glare at this woman. She knew you were in need of help ten minutes ago, why hadn’t she helped you out? And then you look at the older man before you and Harry, almost shaking your head at her suggestion. No, you didn’t want to play these games because you just know Harry would rig them somehow.
“It’s a little juvenile, don’t you think Harry?” Otto quips with an impassive expression.
Osborns face drops and his grip on you loosens; not yet letting go, like the arm of a bear to a disappointed child. “You don’t have to play… grandpa.” He laughs as he’s glared at in response. You gasp, pushing him away and your boss shrugs in query. “What’s wrong princess, can’t take a joke?”
“Harry, you’re drunk. Please stop.” You soothed, scared the slightest tone of defence would set him off somehow. You weren’t stupid, you knew how quick a drunk man could change his demeanour.
Octavius reaches for your arm and gently, but firmly, pulls you to join him by his side; your arms touch and he pulls you back further, protectively.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Harry sneers, downing his glass, but before he could say, or do anything else, the other woman breaks the space, stepping in front of him and forcing a break in his eye line from the two of you. You stare at her back until Otto looks over his shoulder at you and, you nod at his silent question on your well-being.
He turns, a hand gently between your shoulder blades as he guides you away from Harry.
‘Are you okay?” You asked, leaning into him slightly as you walked. He laughs, warmth returning to his eyes as if it never left.
“I’ve been called worse, my dear.”
You sigh, placing your drink on a passing tray. “Can I tell you something, doc?” He gestures with his free hand; giving you the green light. “I… I kinda wanted to play seven minutes in heaven.” He almost stops, but you drag out the mindless stroll, scared he’d walk away if you both came to a standstill.
“With Harry?” He asks incredulously.
“No!” You gasp. And then an all too familiar feeling swells in your abdomen as you thought carefully about your reply, and how he’d react.
“Well, you are a bright young woman. Part of me wants to encourage you to… explore that side of you. And then the other half of me wants to hold you back— tell you to focus on your work. After all, Marie Curie wasn’t partying when she discovered radium and polonium.”
“And Einstein wasn’t partying when he discovered the theory of relativity.”His face lights up at this, but you quickly add something, “besides, this is an annual party. I’m sure Marie Curie took a break once a year.”
His face contorts, “Using my own words against me. Like I said before—” the hand between your shoulder blades ghost down your spine, “—what a bright little thing you are.”
You exhale a shaky breath and wondered if he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t the jackal you wanted to flee from, but the great white you wanted to swim with. There’s no doubt he’d eat you alive; devour you within an inch of your life but next to him, you felt neutral; balancing on the precipice of safe and cautious— and it was that tang of uncertainty which drew you in like a hook in salty waters.
“I apologise,” He begins, noting your silence, “I didn’t mean to overstep anything.” He removes his hand and shoves them both in his front pockets.
“No! No, it’s fine. I was just… thinking.”
He doesn’t reply, and you eventually reach a standstill. He turns to stand before you, his face neutral and his demeanour somewhat stiff. “About?”
“I—I was just thinking about—“ what were you doing? It was risky to blur the lines between professionalism and pleasure, especially at a prestigious place like Oscorp. And that’s if this conundrum wasn’t unrequited.Your avert your eyes, the burn of his stare almost burdened you to speak the truth. “—about why those pesky games haven’t started yet.”
Ottos lips press into a thin line as he regards you for a moment, obviously not buying it. He hums, his chest vibrating deeply like a new motor. “So, you were serious earlier?” Good, he’s playing along.
You shrug, meeting his gaze and then nod before it. He looks away, a dejected expression clouding his features before he switches to stoic professionalism. “Well, I shall leave you to find Harry.”
He turns on his heel but you grab his arm, “follow me.” And with that, he allows you to guide him out of the room and down the hall. They were barren and pristine, lit up only by the rooms that people had congregated in; away from the main hall you had just escaped from.
“Do you know where you’re going, my dear?” He muses. You could hear the smirk in his voice, could hear the slight panting as he attempts to keep up with you.
You giggle as you pull him further down the hall, taking a few turns further from humanity; like a siren seducing him into the darkest, deepest depths of Neptune. And then you reached the hallways engulfed in tenebrosity; the abandoned office rooms and bleak corners. The music fades away into nothing, like water muting the external sources of sound.
“In here.” You pant, before a closet of some sort.
Octavius gives you a look, his large eyes flickering from you to the door. “Why (Y/N), If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted to play this little party game with a man way out of your age range.” His features are stern and your shoulders drop; chagrined. You folded your arms, holding your disenchanted form in a much needed hug. You were expecting him to scold you.
“Am I correct?”
You refuse to meet his eye, face furnacing beneath his intense stare. In the dark, he appeared more intimidating than usual, as if it brought out the worst in him.
“—because,” he begins as he cups your jaw, “that would be inappropriate.’ Abruptly, he tilts your head back, forcing you to look him in the eye— black eyes, like a shark testing the waters with his new plaything. He squeezes hard, earning a pained yelp. “Do you really want to spend seven minutes in a confined space with me, my dear?” His lower thumb traces your bottom lip and your tongue greets the scarce trace of motor oil.
“Y-yes.” You whisper. “Yes please, sir.”
The walls reverberate with a smug chuckle and he gestures to the door, “After you.” He releases your jaw, clasping his hands behind his back as you let yourself in.
“Oh.” You frowned, disappointed.
“What is it?”
“It’s a bit,” you step inside to prove your point, “small.” You could see him Investigate the small space around you, calculating a few unsaid theories, but before you stepped out, he manages to squeeze in.
“What are you—ah!” He unintentionally interrupts you, leisurely shifting his hips until his thigh was between your legs and your back was flush against a few shelves. Your clothed breast meets his large, warm chest and he hums in slight regret; the feeling rumbles against your sternum and seeds in your stomach, growing with need.
“Perhaps I have made a mistake— I miscalculated.”
You chuckle and close the door, “Start the timer, Doc.” He does, manoeuvring himself to grab his phone and inadvertently grinding you against his thigh. A breathy moan escapes you, but he doesn’t notice.
“Okay, it’s on.” He says, shifting again to put his phone away—somewhere perched on the shelves this time. His thigh jerks as he turns back around. You tense, grateful for the void which swallowed you both whole, thanking Erebus for Ottos ignorance to your crimson face and the hot cartilage around your ears.
“Have you ever played this game before?” You ask.
He initially shakes his head, having to admit he was the nerd who never attended many parties was slightly debilitating to the social hierarchy here in Oscrorp, and the reputation he knew he had with you. “No, I had more important matters to attend to.”
“So, you don’t know how to play, huh?” Your lip curls smugly. Having to teach him, the possibility of a subservient Octavius made you giddy.
Despite the gentle gesture, you flinch as his hand snakes around your waist and slides you closer to him— slides you along his thigh. “Of course, I know how to play.” He was back; Mr. Hyde, the dark authoritative, side of the brilliant scientists. Ventablack eyes focused on you, on your silhouette, filled with a possessive desire to claim you. “You wanna play games?” He asks, breath husky in your ear as he bucks his hips and slides you along him some more.
A moan erupts from you, deep in your diaphragm and you could feel him smirk against your neck.
“O-Otto, I um, I haven’t— I’m not wearing anything beneath this dress.”
He chuckles in cruel joviality, his other hand ghosting placid strokes along your spine. “ Then, I suggest you don’t make too much of a mess.” And with that his mouth finds your neck. You almost flinch again, body trembling at the heat this man gave off; his lips on the erratic pulse on the side of your neck was like a flame to the frost bitten.
Your hips begin to grind, clit against the roughness of his clothes and a hand lost in the mass of brown hair, pulling him even closer to you if possible. Your other leg hooks around his waist, ankle digging into his lower back.
“I want you to get lost in me.” You gasp.
“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? What if I were to fill you up with my nice, warm seed, hm?” The hand along your spine drops to give you a firm squeeze and you instinctively buck against him, howling.
“Otto.” You mewl, eyelids fluttering in the darkness. Your hips quicken, your other hand cupping his groin where his trousers felt far too tight. He strains against your hand, groaning into your neck.
“That’s right. Good girl.”
Your heart fluttered to the battings of the butterflies that oscillated around the warmth in you abdomen like moths to a flame. For some reason, pleasing this man was more rewarding than any VIP invite, or promotion here at Oscorp.
Egged on by his praise, you slip a hand past the waistband of his pants, knuckles brushing past his pubic hair to grope his hard shaft. Otto sucks in a sharp breath through bared teeth, following a groan which rumbled deep in his chest like thunder.
Slowly, you give him one long pump, squeezing him as tight as you did the glass when Harry was rude to him. He was heavier than you imagined; weighing down on your hand like the weight of arousal growing in your loins. You pump again and Otto groans in the crook of your neck as if he’s just had a eureka moment.
“Such a good little girl you are for me.”
You grind your cunt against his now-still thigh to relieved some of the tension; it was almost unbearable. He twitches in your hand as if the thing had a mind of its own and it was signalling for you too continue.
Impatient. Greedy.
“Touch me.” You beg, wrist as still as his thigh. It was only fair for you to get something out of this also. He breathes a shaky breath, both hands gripping your waist with gentle curiosity. Then you hear him swallow. “Please, Otto. Manhandle me.”You pump him a few times encouragingly, and his hot breathe pulses against your clammy skin.
So, you stop.
He tuts a few times, “Don’t disappoint me, darlin’”
You whined, aching for him to do something, anything; even spitting on you would be sufficient. The air was dense and became stifled; a cocktail of warmth and lust. You felt suffocated, but it somehow added to the intoxicant, the straw on top of debauchery.
You slip your hand under your dress, but he seizes it before you can reach your slit. Large digits wrap entirely around your wrist and he tuts at your feeble attempt. “Okay,” you breathe, a surge of adrenaline birthed by an idea pumped you up; if he wants you to take charge, then you were gonna make him beg.
He releases your wrist, and it shoots into in his copper hair. You abruptly pull until a disconcerted yelp is the result of his head being firmly pulled back. He arches into you, until not even a sunbeam can pass through. “You know,” you begin, “I really think I may win this game.” You hear him open his mouth to argue, but your hand continues to pump him with gusto and he cuts himself off to groan.
Your lips latch onto his salty neck, tongue sizing him up in one long lick until you find the shell of his ear to glide your teeth against. The enigma of this man gave you whiplash, but either side of him was exhilarating to say the least. “Good boy. Your taking my hand really well.”
“you really think you’re in charge here?” He grunts.
You stop pumping and a frustrated grunt leaves him, proving your point. Then you continue and crash your lips against him. He almost gasps, no doubt his eyes were now wide with alarm. He eventually kisses back, as if pondering a moral debate with himself. He tastes of scotch and the opaque weight of cigars, you almost moan, having wondered how he would taste as your hands disappeared beneath the duvet late at night.
With one hand gently cupping your neck, his other circles around your waist, squeezing possessively. A moan slips into his mouth and you clamp your teeth on his bottom lip to suppress any other noises.
And then the alarm sounds
Shit, had it been seven minutes already?
You break the kiss, releasing his length and withdrawing your hand. He whimpers, having not yet finished.
“What’s the matter, doc?” You begin, feigning sympathy, “didn’t get to come?” His only response was the heavy panting courtesy of your handiwork. You giggle, giving his neck a few more nips.
“P-please.” He pipes.
“Seven minutes, Otto. Dems the rules.”
You want to please him, want to finish him off and bring him to the brink of his undoing. But then again, your body has never felt so neglected, even as you rutted against the clothed man like a bitch in heat.
“Don’t you think that’s a little unfair, my dear? Impolite perhaps?” He pants, struggling to catch his breath.
You giggle mischievously, “I’ll finish the job, but for now,” you lean into his ear with new found confidence, hearing how flustered you made him gave you power, “you’ll have to wait— wait for me to finish you off. Don’t touch yourself until then.” He almost whimpers.
Almost.
It’s a strained exhale, a muffle groan of impatience.
You reach for the handle, wanting to find a bathroom were you could shut yourself away in one of the stools and—
“Oh shit.” You gasp, clutching the handle with your left hand.
“What is it?”
You try the handle again but it doesn’t budge, and then you try for a third time, making a show out of shaking the lock on its hinges. “We’re locked in!”
Otto laughs and tries it for himself, “must be one of those doors that only open from the outside.”
Chapped lips fiend your neck and you shiver, arching your back into him some more, “Guess this means I have to teach you some manners.”
An incredulous sound escapes you, but your confidence falters when he pulls your dress up over your hips. “But I-“
“—what, thought you were in charge?” He chuckles, “cute. But not as cute as the sounds your gonna make.”
You gulp as his hands are all over you, large, callous and without mercy.
Finally.