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Let It Happen

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Blurb

Peter Parker goes up against Quentin Beck again, Spider-Man vs Mysterio. But this time, Mysterio realizes something about his opponent that even Peter himself doesn't seem to understand. Quentin can't wait to help him learn all about the pleasure the can be found if he just lets it happen.

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Part 1
Peter was desperate.  Well and truly desperate.  He couldn't remember the last time he felt this bad off.  He had discovered early on his- well, his preferences.  As a hero, he spent a good majority of his time in the suit dealing with some kind of injury related to the fights he got into as Spider-Man.  He had learned that even though he didn't prefer to be hurt afterwards (and there were few things that injured him enough to stay hurt long), there was a certain rush to the act of getting hurt during a fight.  There was just something about the struggle and the adrenaline that made it almost feel good at times.  He also really enjoyed not being in control.  Maybe it was because he always had to be on top of things as Spider-Man, and even as Peter Parker, in order to keep his identities separate.  Giving up that control was a luxury he had not enjoyed since Germany with the Avengers. It was a luxury Peter was sorely missing. He couldn’t allow himself to get into that kind of thing with a partner.  Not that he’d had the luxury of a partner in months, either.  He was on his own and had been for a while and he was struggling because of it. Peter had been fighting Beck again recently.  As it was getting difficult to care about the passage of time, he wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened.  There were always times after a fight that the adrenaline and everything got him so worked up, he found himself achingly aroused for no apparent reason.  But never before had it happened during the fight.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ At the time, he had been facing off against Beck and the man had gotten him pinned to the wall (a benefit of his new technologically advanced suit), hands tight around his neck.  Peter was struggling to breathe, his vision blurring a bit at the edges. It hurt, and he didn’t even know what was happening.  Just all of a sudden he was hard in his suit, and his squirming wasn't an attempt at getting away, but an effort to get closer.  He tried to still his body but it was like there was something blocking the message from his brain. Beck figured it out first, because of course he did.  Laughing, he leaned right in against Peter's body, removing a hand from Peter's neck to grab the hand not already pinned behind him and raise it above their heads.  He shoved the wrist harshly against the brick of the wall.  Peter whimpered at the feeling of all that muscle and power keeping him in place.  "Oh?  What's this?  Feeling a little adventurous today are we, Spider-Man?"  As he pressed even closer, now  flush with Peter's body, Peter couldn't even try to deny it.  "Or have you always been this into it?” Peter was glad the mask hid his face.  Even though Beck knew his identity, it still concealed how red his cheeks had gotten and what he was sure must be noticeable arousal in his eyes.  “Is that why you like to play the hero, huh?  You get off on the pain?  Or maybe the humiliation of being beaten?"  Peter's hips twitched forward without his permission at the words.  "Yeah, that's exactly it.”  Peter aimed for sarcasm but he felt the attempts failing even as he persisted.  “Explains all the times you've beaten me."  Peter did his best to quip back at the villain like normal.  He was pretty pleased with himself, despite the breathy tone to his voice undermining the message slightly.  At least until the man ground into him to show his frustration.  In hindsight, antagonizing the man that was physically restraining him might not have been the recommended course of action.  Not that he was complaining, given the outcome. "I don't think you're in any position to be talking big like that, Peter."  Pulling away, Beck's eyes traveled down the length of Peter's body, leaving warmth as they went.  "Especially not now.  Not since now I know how much you like this position in particular.  I might be tempted,” he pushed his hips into Peter's again to demonstrate his point, "to keep going." Peter let out a gasp at the promise in Beck’s voice, even though he knew it was intended as a threat.  Quentin caught on quickly though. You didn't get to be a successful fake superhero without being smart as hell.  “Unless... that's what you want?  Hmm?  Would you like that?  Being held to this wall and f****d so hard even your healing takes time to fix it?"  Quentin had worked a thigh between Peter's legs while he spoke and was using it to rub against Peter's erection.  Peter wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he had started moving again, tiny thrusts against the man's well-muscled leg, rutting forward in the limited space and displaying how little control he had over himself.  Although, at the moment, he wasn't sure he wanted control.  Suddenly pulling away, Quentin kept Peter pinned in place, now with only a look.  A smug grin took over his face at the sight Peter made.  It was certainly one he’d remember.   Peter was obviously hard in his skin tight suit, a small wet spot giving away how excited he was.  He had his head thrown back against the wall and his chest was heaving from how hard he was breathing.  His hips were still twitching as he subconsciously sought friction. "You know, if I'd known you were so hard up, I would’ve offered my services a long time ago.  You always seemed like the type who had someone.  But apparently not."   Scrunching his face up in a mockery of deep thought, he asked, "Whatever happened to that pretty girl from the Europe trip?  Was she not keeping you in line?  Not doing her job giving you what you needed?”  He scoffed, acting offended.  “And you think I'm the bad guy!  She can't even beat her slutty little sub properly."  His words did as much for Peter as his body had been doing just moments before.  Peter rankled a bit at the way he spoke about MJ but he was too lost to the man's attention to really defend her.  The truth was, they hadn't worked out.  And partially for that very reason.  MJ was too kind of a soul to give Peter what he really craved.  Not that he had ever brought it up, because she would have just worried for him if she knew.  Even now, especially in this scenario, she would be very concerned.  Peter was forced to admit that it wouldn’t be unfounded.   "We're not together anymore."  Peter had known as he said it that that was not the part of the question he should have been addressing.  "But she's still my friend so don't talk about her like that."  Quentin actually laughed. This kid, still flat against the wall, was trying to defend his friend and he couldn't even manage more than a request. He almost felt bad enough to give the kid a break. Almost. He did like Peter.  Even now, when they were very clearly on opposing sides. He had an irritating little habit of ruining Quentin's plans, but they both still enjoyed any time their paths crossed.  And with the way this meeting was turning out… He had watched Peter grow up a lot since their initial meeting in Europe.  At some point, he had felt the tension in their ‘meetings’ taking on a new, very specific, weight.  To know that Peter had felt it too… It took Quentin all of realizing Peter was hard against him to decide he was going to switch things up a bit.  He had long since come to the conclusion he wanted to wreck the kid, his innocence practically demanding it.  Now seemed like the perfect time to act on that. Deciding how to go about it had been easy.  He wanted to torture the boy, but in a way that ensured he would come back for more. He kept his distance for a moment, building the anticipation and waiting to see what Peter would do with the freedom he had been offered.  He knew the boy wasn’t scared of him.  Since their encounter on the bridge in London, Beck hadn’t tried to hurt Peter directly. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and physically fighting Peter?  Absolutely a lost cause.   The real fun was in the intellectual sparring anyway.  Peter was a genius and his ability to use his brain power on the fly was impressive even to Quentin, who should arguably be more irritated by it than anything. And he was irritated by it still.  He was just choosing other, more enjoyable ways to deal with the situation. Approaching Peter again, he used the extra inches he had on the kid’s modest height to his advantage.  Peter was forced to tilt his head back to look up at Quentin.  If he had been in anything but his Spider-Man suit, the movement would have bared his neck temptingly.   Oh well.  As long as it went the way Quentin wanted, there would be much more where that came from. Peter had been doing his best to hold still, for reasons he didn’t want to look at too closely.  By all accounts he should have tried to run.  He could easily have escaped by now. But between his curiosity and his desire, he was trapped where the man left him.  He watched Quentin’s approach with wide eyes, thankful again that his face was hidden.  Even if the mask did mimic his facial expressions, at least the man couldn’t see how dilated his pupils were, or how flushed his cheeks had become. He felt his throat closing up against the desire to beg for something that he absolutely shouldn’t beg for.  Not with Beck, and certainly not like this. It didn’t matter.  Quentin had his own plans that Peter was helpless to resist, an unwillingly eager participant. “So that’s it, huh?  Innocent little neighborhood Spider-Man wants to be ruined by his big, bad villains.  You let the other bad guys you run around stopping get this close?” As he closed the space between them, Peter licked his lips behind the mask, finding they had gone dry from the panting breaths he was drawing in. “You let any of the others pick you up and throw you around?  Slam you into walls until it's all you can think about when you jack off at night?”  Peter tried to shake his head but as he started the movement, one of those hands crept around his neck again. “No?”  Beck pretended to think about that for a second.  “So this is all just mine then?  Get like this just for me?  Only squirm like this under my hands?” At the reminder of how he was moving, Peter froze, stilling himself through sheer force of will, but just barely.   Every cell in his body was screaming out for something by that point.  He needed more air in his lungs to clear his thoughts.  He needed more space to move to get some distance between himself and his tormentor.  He needed to melt into the wall in his shame at still being hard as a rock in his suit, yet somehow that only made him harder. But most of all he needed to be touched more to get a grip on his sanity again. The promise of more was intoxicating.  More of what he needed the most.  Peter had never been drunk; he’d been too young to have much opportunity before the spider bite and his increased metabolism had left him entirely unaffected by alcohol after.   It had never seemed all that desirable, to knowingly imbibe something that altered your brain so much, that made you so stupid.  But if this was what it felt like, he could understand the appeal. A wonderful haze had descended over his mind, whether from the harsh touches and rough handling, the adrenaline, the lack of oxygen to his brain, or some combination of the three.  No longer able to help himself, Peter squirmed against the body in front of him, pushing against it with his hips in a poor imitation of trying to throw the man off.  His hands clutched at the fingers wrapped around his throat, but there was no real intent to try free himself behind any of it. His struggling finally brought pressure and friction to his groin, the sensation bringing one thing into sharp focus: he needed to get off.   He had needed it for weeks before this, but now, it felt like a biological imperative.  He thrust his hips forward, blindly seeking the stimulation he needed to reach his peak.  Sounds spilled from his mouth, hoarse from the restricting hand still in place around his neck. Quentin was still talking above him.  “Is this why you always let me go?  You need me around to get your fix?  Of course, you can’t let anyone else know how slutty Spider-Man really is, but me?  You know I can keep your secrets.” Peter outright whimpered, the increased exhale making him even more dizzy thanks to his depleted supply of oxygen and inability to replace it.   He should have responded with something, anything.  Pointing out that Beck just admitted that Peter ‘always let him go,’ just something.  But no.  He was too far gone for that kind of brain function. His hips were pumping forward in earnest now, chasing the release he knew wasn’t far off.  Quentin was hard against his stomach; he could feel it with every move he made.  Other than that, he seemed so unaffected by it all.  It was infuriating that Peter couldn’t form a coherent thought, whereas Beck seemed to hardly feel any of it. He was, though.  Quentin was having a hard time keeping his distance from the kid, watching him struggle and feeling the desperation of his slender hips surging against him. Peter had lost control of his strength at some point, and now Quentin’s suit was the only thing keeping them pinned in place against the wild bucking of his hips.  He could tell then that the kid was taking the bait. He just needed to hook him and the rest would solve itself. “I knew you were tense the last couple of times we saw each other.  I had no idea it was because of this though.  Is that all you needed?  A good hard f*****g to make you nice and docile for me?”  He took the opportunity to slam his hips harshly against Peter's. “Should’ve shoved you up against a wall and had my way with you years ago then.” Peter let out a shout, hips losing any sense of rhythm he had found. Quentin pulled away abruptly and released his grip around Peter’s throat, his larger body no longer holding the kid up  Peter sagged, sliding down the wall, unable to catch himself before hitting the floor with a gasp, jarred from the pleasant fog by the chill of the floor under him.  He looked up at Quentin with uncertainty, trembling all over from how close he had been to reaching his climax and then being denied the relief. “No.  I don’t think you’ve earned it today.  You were here to stop me from getting something I want, after all.  It’s only fair that you don’t get what you want either.” Peter’s head snapped down as if in shame.  f**k, this kid was delicious.  Adjusting himself in his suit so he was a little more comfortable, Quentin prepared to leave.  He was unhappy at the interruption to their little game as well, but he knew it was better this way. Better to interrupt a single round and be able to play the rest of the game, than to finish and be left wanting with no hope for more. Quentin was patient.  He could wait.  Peter was still young, and he was obviously in serious need of this.  Quentin was sure he could outlast him on this, easy. He knelt down next to Peter, reached out a hand to grip along his jaw and press his head back against the wall.  Turning Peter’s face one way and then the other, he imagined what he must look like under the mask now: cheeks red, lips swollen from biting, eyes shining with tears threatening to spill over. Mmm… “Besides, I want to see your face when I finally let you come.  None of this stupid mask and costume stuff.  Just you and me and the marks I’m going to leave all over your skin.” Standing up after releasing Peter took more effort than Quentin wanted to admit.  Oh how he wanted to continue their interaction.  But waiting would make it so much sweeter. He produced a card from somewhere in his suit and handed it to Peter.  “Let me know when you want to finish this little ‘meeting.’” Quentin started heading towards the door, not waiting for Peter to say anything else.  But just before walking out, he paused, turning back around. “Peter.”  He said it without an ounce of question behind it, knowing the kid would respond to the tone.  When he saw the eyes of the mask trained on him again, he stared pointedly, keeping his gaze compelling and firm.  “You aren’t allowed to come.” He left no room for argument as he said it.  Peter, not even close to recovered from his overwhelming state of arousal, whined at the commanding words that left no room for argument.  “You will listen to me, Peter.  And if you don't, well…” Quentin let the threat trail off, knowing Peter’s brain could easily fill in the rest.  He was a smart kid obviously, but very imaginative as well.  That’s where the combination got really dangerous. Peter shuddered at some thought that caught his attention, some picture Quentin’s words had painted in his hormone-addled mind.   “See you again soon, kid.  One way or another…” 

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