Let It Happen

Part 2

And with those words, one way or another he had left, Peter still a quivering mess on the floor, hard and aching and more desperate than he had ever dreamed was possible.  

That had been almost two weeks ago.

Peter had left the building after recovering himself a bit and tried to forget about the encounter.  That had worked for a while (four days) but where he had been unfocused before, now he was hyper focused on every little thing.

He got home that night and went straight to bed.  He didn’t touch himself.  He told himself it was because he didn’t want it to be because of Quentin Beck.

He went to class the next day, then his internship after, then out for a quick patrol when he was done.  Nothing needing his attention popped up that night, and by the time he got home he was exhausted and couldn’t have stayed awake if he tried.  He didn’t touch himself that day either.

The next day was the same.  Class, then internship, then patrol.  He hadn’t planned on going out that night, but since nothing had happened the night before he figured there was bound to be something that he could help with, so he pulled on his suit before swinging off.

He stopped a thief that had stolen a purse by running off of a bus so the woman on the bus couldn’t follow him.  Peter returned the bag to her at their next stop because nothing messes with the bus schedule.  Or so said the bus driver, meaning only whenever it was convenient for them.

He got home after stopping a creepy guy from following a young girl and thought about touching himself again, but again he told himself it would be because of Beck and abstained.

The third day Peter didn’t have his internship after class so he hung out with Ned and MJ instead.  He blew off patrolling –not that anyone knew his schedule but him anyway – and they stayed up super late eating junk food, all passing out in the living room at an unhealthy hour.

The fourth day, after Ned and MJ left, was more difficult.  Without the distraction of classes or work at his internship, and with nobody around to make him focus on other things, Peter’s mind fixated on one thing: Quentin Beck.

He ate and showered and played around with some new tech for his suit, then he ate again, all the while his eyes drifting to the clock every few minutes.  When he wasn’t looking at the clock, he was remembering little snippets of their interaction.  

The hand around his throat, his breathing thin and inconsistent.  The hand holding his jaw with his head pressed back hard into the brick wall.  That body in front of him, muscles and flesh that had been unyielding against even his super strength, thanks to that amazing suit tech.

The hardness he could feel against his belly with every move he made.

The thigh Quentin had shoved between his legs, aiding Peter’s movements.  All of it working towards one end.

The only end he had ever remembered wanting that badly.  

The one he had been so close to, just to be denied right before he got to it.

That was how the next seven days passed as well.  One week.  Seven whole days where he couldn’t focus on anything but the thing that would give him back the ability to focus.

Every night after he was in bed, he laid on his side and stared at the card he hadn’t managed to lose yet.

There was a phone number and an address on it.  There was no name.  Peter knew the area that the address was located.  It was on one of his regular patrol routes.  

He hadn’t taken that route in a while though.  If anyone had asked, he would say he just chose them at random but he had a pattern he usually liked to follow.  He refused to acknowledge the real reason he hadn't been that way since he was given the card.

Just another coincidence, along with why he still hadn’t touched himself.

He started losing focus again.  That was what did it.  The overwhelming sharpness faded back to the foggy ‘can’t be bothered’ feeling he had before That Day.

That night after his patrol, he laid down in bed and decided enough was enough.  He had been half hard at the slightest trigger since That Day, so it took no time to get himself ready.  He was still a teenager after all, there were very few times he wasn’t ready to go.

Trying very hard to keep his mind blank, Peter ran his hand down his body.  He stroked over his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense at the feather light touch.  Continuing down, he avoided his c**k for a while, scratching over the sensitive vee of his hips, the area right above his c**k, down the insides of his thighs.  

He usually didn’t spend much time on things like teasing himself, but he had a feeling he was going to need this to be the mother of all orgasms to get whatever curse Beck had put on him out of his system.

So, a little bigger buildup it was then.

Dragging his fingers through his hair and then down his neck, his other hand scraped over a n****e and he hissed.  The hand that had been scratching at his thighs he snuck down the join of his hip and pressed his palm down tight on his balls.  

Peter was insanely sensitive and his hips jerked at the sensation.  He was already dripping precome just from the little stimulation he had given himself.  Looking down to watch as he worked himself instead of keeping his eyes clenched shut, he gathered the clear fluid with his hand and spread it down his length.

His eyes snapped shut again at the sensation.  He spent a moment rocking into his hand, c**k dragging against his palm, slicking it further with the steadily leaking precome.

Just as he felt his orgasm start to build, he was setting a rough pace for himself, when all of a sudden, that voice sounded in his head.

“You aren’t allowed to come.”

The memory had Peter’s balls tightening, like even the memory of the commanding presence was enough to get him to come.  But for some reason that Peter didn’t really understand, he clenched his hand down around himself to cut off that impending orgasm.

He whined, high and breathy, hips jerking wildly at being denied again.  

Peter took a moment to calm himself down and then attempted to go to sleep.  He lay there awake, sleep evading him for long enough that he decided to get up and go out patrolling.

He had already gone out tonight, but if he was going to be awake and all hyped up anyway, he may as well put that excess energy to good use.

Looking at the card again before dragging himself out of bed, he chose his path again.

It was not anywhere near that address.

Two more nights passed of him attempting unsuccessfully to jerk off in his bed after an exhausting day.  After being unable to even get close before that voice that sounded suspiciously like Quentin Beck came out of nowhere to remind him what had passed between them, Peter had had enough.

He was still a teenager, he had needs.  And not even his specific needs which were less understandable, just the basic ones.  He needed to come and he needed to do so now.

Fortunately, that need was overpowering everything else so he was able to function better now than he had been.  

He had the worst case of blue balls he could imagine.  He was so desperate, any kind of stimulation turned him on.  Even his suit rubbing him the wrong way was enough to make him hard.

It was like he was 13 all over again, and that was an age he had no desire to repeat.

After the third time HIS OWN BRAIN cut off his frantic ‘chase the orgasm’ routine, his eyes darted directly for the card still residing on his bedside table, and he made a decision.

He was going to go find the address.

It may very well be a trap.  It could be something truly terrible, but he was through with this whole voodoo thing he had apparently found himself mixed up in.  He was going to get whatever this was worked through before it drove him officially insane.

Peter thought about grabbing the card before leaving, but really, he had been staring at it for the better part of two weeks; all of the information on it was already stored in his brain.  It was practically etched in stone in his memory by this point.

Deciding to leave it where it was, as if touching it again would make the whole thing more shameful, Peter showered and got dressed in his regular clothes.  

He thought about swinging his way there as Spider-Man, but that would get him there too quickly.

He definitely needed the time it would take him to walk all the way there to make sure he wanted to go through with whatever this was.

And besides, Beck had said that the next time he didn’t want to have to deal with the mask.  

That he would rather see Peter’s face for the experience.

Not that Peter would admit to that being a factor in making his decision, because it wasn’t.  It was just a coincidental bonus that he would be showing up exactly the way the other man admitted to wanting him.

As he walked, he thought about all the ways this could go so horribly wrong.  Not that he had thought of much else in the last 24 hours.  He had spent the past day trying to convince himself it wasn’t worth risking.

His damned teenage hormones, however, had a different opinion.

The longer he walked, the more he thought about how things could go, the more tense and excited he got.  Tense because one way or the other, he would finally be free of whatever Quentin Beck had done to mess with him.

Excited because the mere thought of seeing the man again was too enticing to ignore.

By the time he was halfway there, he was doing everything in his power to keep from becoming physically aroused.  Yes, the man already knew that Peter was interested and would know exactly why Peter had shown up at the address.

That didn’t mean he wanted to walk around advertising the fact.

Finally approaching the address, he looked cautiously over the seemingly normal apartment building.  Peter wasn’t sure what he was walking into with this, but there was a family of what Peter assumed was a mom and two kids coming out the door, so it must have been safe enough.

It definitely wasn’t the abandoned, falling apart building of their last meeting.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Peter didn’t stop to think anymore.  He just walked straight in through the doors.

He found himself in a lobby of sorts.  It was small but welcoming, with a lady behind a window in an office type room, sitting at a desk with a kind smile.  A doorlady or office manager of some sort?  Peter wasn’t sure.  This kind of building was not the kind he had ever lived in and it left Peter feeling a little out of his depth.

To the left were rows of mailboxes and to the right was a door to the stairs as well as an elevator.  Peter realized that he had no idea where he was going from there.  This was as far as his plan got him.

The woman was still smiling at him expectantly, so Peter rather shyly approached.

“What can I help you with, hun?  You look a little lost.”

“Hi, yeah.  Sorry.  Is there maybe a directory for the residents that live here or something?  I was trying to meet with someone, but I guess they only gave me the building address, not an apartment number or anything.”

It was very hard for Peter to get the words out without tripping over them or blushing as he once again remembered exactly how he had been given the address and why.

“Can I ask who you’re looking for?  And your first and last name, please.”  The lady was grabbing out a binder as she asked.

Damn.  Did he assume this was Quentin’s personal residence and he had used his own name?  Or did he think he might be keeping it under a fake name to stay off the radar?

No, Quentin wanted him to come find him, there was no way he would make it that hard for him.  Here goes.

“Um, I think the apartment would be under Quentin Beck?”  He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible.  He didn’t want to sound suspicious.  Then he might never get where he needed to be.

“And your name?”  The lady politely reminded him.  He was thankful she didn’t seem to mind his flustered manner.

“Oh, right.  Yeah, sorry.  My name is Peter.  Parker.  Peter Parker.”

Damnit, Parker, way to sound like you’re using a fake name!

“Yes, I’ve got your name right here.  Looks like he added you to his list about... two weeks ago.”  

She followed a line of text on the page across to a phone number, then picked up the phone and dialed.

Peter heard the ringing but only because of his advanced hearing.  He heard the line pick up, a soft, “Hello,” sending his heart racing again.

“Mr. Beck?”  At the sound confirming it was, in fact, Quentin, the nice woman informed him, “You have a Peter Parker here to see you.  He is on your list, should I send him up?”

Peter turned away, hoping not to hear the answer.  He didn’t want to know if the tone was smug or if it was displeased, or, maybe especially, if it was excited.  None of those would be good for his nerves, so not hearing was definitely the best alternative.

“Thank you, sir.  I’ll send him right up.”

The woman’s inflection on the word ‘you’ implied that Quentin had thanked her, so the news that Peter had shown up at last must not have been too badly received.

Peter still wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the man being disgusted.

After hanging up the phone, the woman gave Peter the apartment number, telling him which floor and which side of the hall it was on and any directions he would need to get there.

Thanking the woman profusely, perhaps to stall for even a few seconds, Peter opted to take the stairs.  He wanted another moment to settle his nerves.

While Peter usually took stairs a couple at a time, these he made sure to step on every one, just to make himself concentrate and get a better handle on himself before seeing the man.  He would already be at a disadvantage because Quentin would be in what was presumably his own home.  Peter needed to stay as sharp as he could for as long as he could.

He had no doubt it would take the other man seconds flat to have him unfocused again if he wanted to, just like last time.

That thought sent a thrill up Peter’s spine.  The fear that had been keeping his arousal at bay since he stepped into the apartment building suddenly dissipated, replaced by excitement and no small amount of impatience.

He was so ready for this to be over, yet he was absolutely not ready for what was about to happen.

Exiting the stairwell and wandering his way over to the door that was his destination took hours, but also no time at all.  Sooner than he would have liked, he found himself face to face with a door, and there, just to the side, was the number he had been given.

Oh s**t, he thought, as now he had to decide what to do.  Well, knock on the door obviously.  But after that.  How did he do this?  What even was ‘this?’

Peter was a hero, showing up to his enemy’s apartment, for what?  To have the older man f**k him silly, so he could have his life back?  To demand that Quentin let him orgasm so he could do it for himself again?  What was the actual purpose behind this visit?

Knocking before his brain gave his hand permission, he jumped at the sound of his own knuckles against the wood.  Well, this was off to a great start.

He shook his head and tried to arrange his face into some kind of polite smile.  Just because this was likely a trap didn’t mean it was for sure.  And if it wasn’t, he really shouldn’t show up to someone’s home looking ready to fight.

May raised him better than that, after all.  If he needed to, he could still kick the other man’s ass, even after being polite.

It took less than five seconds for the door to swing open, but in those seconds Peter went from anxious, to scared, to excited, all the way back to anxious several times, mood switching with each beat of his racing heart.

When the door did finally swing open, he was greeted with quite the sight.  Quentin Beck, tall and muscley and dreamy as ever, except normally he only saw the man in his Mysterio get up.

Quentin Beck in his full Mysterio costume was quite the sight.

Quentin Beck in jeans and a button front shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was an entirely different thing.

The sight of Mysterio sent Peter’s nerves racing.  

The sight of Quentin Beck like this made everything inside Peter clench in anticipation.

Anticipation of what, he still had no idea.  But he decided whatever it was, he was definitely ready for it.

After the initial shock of seeing the man had worn off, Peter realized Quentin had stepped back and was waiting for Peter to make his way inside the apartment.  Stepping forward took effort, even as awkwardly as he did it.  As he passed Quentin, the man seemed to lean forward into his space just a fraction more than he really needed to in order to close the door.

Peter stood motionless in the entryway.  He wasn’t really sure where to go, so he figured he would just wait for the man to move past him, but it never happened.

Peter turned around and was struck by the image of Quentin leaning back against the door, one leg crossed in front of the other, one hand in his pocket, the other still resting on the door handle.  And, oh, the look on his face.

He looked pretty damn pleased if Peter had to put a name to it.  Not quite smug, but like he had a plan and it had panned out exactly the way he wanted it to.

Which, duh, of course that was exactly what had happened.  Peter cursed the other man’s ability to read him.  It had always been that way between the two.  Quentin could read exactly what Peter needed to hear in order to manipulate him.

It wasn’t entirely unfair though.  Peter had always had a better grasp of who Quentin was and what he was after than anyone else seemed to.  That’s why the rest of the hero community collectively left Peter to deal with him.

That and he really wasn’t doing much damage; his villain legacy was mostly just being a nuisance to everyone and everything.  Perfect target for a kid still working his way through school.  Keep the kid occupied but not out of his league, and mostly out of danger.

Peter wondered what they would think about this newest development.  Probably nothing good.  Though Peter wouldn’t blame them for that, as he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it himself.

When Quentin pulled his hand from his pocket to cross his arm over his chest, other arm propped up with his chin resting in his hand, one finger pressed to his lips like he was appraising him, Peter felt sure this had been a mistake.  That look was one he had seen before.  It was one he instinctually recognized as “hungry.”

Peter swallowed, extremely uncertain how that look made him feel.  Then the grin was back.  Still not quite smug, but definitely pleased with himself.

“You know, I’m impressed, Peter.”  The words seemed foreign coming from the other man.  At least in any way other than mocking.  But the look on his face seemed genuine which was very confusing to Peter.

He must have had a very dubious look on his face because Quentin let out a laugh and shook his head, shrugging away from the door frame at last.  He tucked both hands into his front pockets, raising his shoulders in a show of innocence.  “Honest!  I had it figured one of two ways.”

The man took another step towards Peter.  Watching his progress forward had become so mesmerizing that he forgot to be nervous about what would happen when he finally reached him.

“See, to begin with,“ Quentin continued, pausing in his approach, “I figured you would only last a couple of days at most.  After all, you’re still a teenager.”  Squinting his eyes just a bit, he stopped to make sure.  “You are still a teenager, right?”

The question was so out of character for the man that Peter actually scoffed, temporarily forgetting everything but the fact that Quentin Beck, Know-It-All Supreme, was acting as if he didn’t know Peter’s exact birthdate, down to the hour.

“Like you don’t know.”  Okay, so maybe Peter was still affected a little bit by the man’s presence.  Still, he had managed a comeback, no matter how bad it was.

A glint appeared in Quentin’s eyes at the attitude in Peter’s voice.  Yes, here was his way in.  Good.  He had wondered how it was gonna go, setting the kid at ease enough to start.

He chose to ignore Peter’s words for the moment.  “But then you didn’t show up.  I waited about a week and still nothing.  So then I decided you probably thought you were too smart to come here.”  Smiling at Peter, he c****d his head to the side, inspecting him.

“And yet, here you are.  So, you obviously decided you wanted something I was offering.  Which brings me to my first question for you.”  He paused, probably just for dramatic effect, in true Quentin Beck fashion.  “What finally made you come?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to answer that question.  What he found coming out of his mouth instead of an answer was, “How do you know I want anything from you?  I could be here to- to-,” he licked his lips to try and figure out what he was going to say next.  Finally, he settled on, “We are enemies, you know.  I could be here because of that.  As Spider-Man.”

Quentin pretended to think about that for a moment before taking two large steps forward into Peter’s personal space.  Peter was forced to tilt his head back a bit to maintain eye contact.

“If that were the case,” Quentin raised a hand and tugged on the zipper of Peter’s hoodie.  “Then I think you might have come dressed a bit differently.  Am I right?  Or is it just a coincidence you came to me with nothing over your face?”

Quentin leaned further into Peter’s space.  He could feel the heat coming off the man’s body now.  “Just a coincidence that you came to me, just the way I asked you to?”

Peter shuddered at the fact Quentin had remembered and connected Peter’s casual dress to the desire he had expressed during their last encounter.

“That’s what I thought.  So let me ask again.  What finally made you come to me, Peter?”

Something in Quentin’s voice this time made Peter want to answer.  He still had no idea what the answer should be though.  He had been lying to himself so intensely that he wasn’t even sure what was true about the whole situation.

Peter made a distressed sound instead of the noncommittal one he was aiming for.  He felt his cheeks flush and looked down, which ended up being a mistake.

Quentin’s eyes followed the movement, noticeably encouraged by Peter’s obvious show of desire.  What was more encouraging was the sight both sets of eyes landed on.

The bulge in Peter’s jeans was even more encouragement for Quentin.  He cooed at Peter as the kid was suddenly refusing to so much as try to meet his eyes.  “Aw, is that it?  You listened to me, didn’t you?  Trying to be a good boy for me?”

Peter felt shame at the fact that, yes, he had listened.  Much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t because it was true.  The man would see right through him.

He paused before giving a shaky nod.  Then after another moment of thought, he shook his head slowly.  Quentin's head tilted, showing his confusion.

“No?”  Peter shook his head more quickly but no bigger than the first time.  “No what, kid?  You didn’t listen to me?”  Peter shook his head again, just the once.  “You weren’t trying to be a good boy for me?”

Peter’s shoulders hunched, making him look sheepish and younger than Quentin knew him to be.  It was amazing how much Quentin’s presence changed Peter’s behavior.  He had no intention of coming into this place and being shy or timid.  It was ridiculous.  

But wasn’t that exactly why he was here in the first place?  Because of that exact effect that he had never quite experienced before, yet somehow was already hooked on?

“You weren’t trying to be good for me.  What were you doing then, Peter?”  Peter still refused to look up from the corner of the entryway his eyes had instinctually darted for.

Quentin brought his hand up under Peter’s chin, not pushing, just resting there.  He did push with his words, however.  “Peter.  Look at me.”