Chapter Text
Despite Octavius Industries being a private business run by him, Otto didn't take much time off for breaks.
There was always something to do- paperwork to sort, designs to review, coding to write, machinery to maintain, supervisors to appease- he rarely took time off, let alone full days.
God knows he needed it, though. The stress had been getting to him recently, and to say he was exhausted would be an understatement. Clearly, he hadn't been holding up as well as he thought he had; the final straw came this morning, when he had started to write the same equation down over and over again. This had lasted about seven minutes before you had broken him out of his delirium by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, insisting he go home and take the rest of the day off.
He had initially refused, of course- but you'd always been rather persuasive, and he found himself relenting as you led him towards the exit, your kind smile and soft gaze making his heart flutter in his chest. If he didn't know better, he'd have assumed it was just the fatigue messing with him.
The next thing he knew and he was home, and he'd barely managed to pull on his bedwear before collapsing onto his mattress and passing out for the next four hours in a much-needed nap.
He had been hoping he would have stayed asleep longer, but he never had been a very lucky man. His body seemed determined to betray him, it seemed.
He had woken up at 5pm from a rather vivid dream, sweat beading on his forehead as his eyes fluttered open, heart pounding in his chest. The afterimage of your face flashed in his vision before fading away into the loneliness of his room, and in his dazed state he reached upwards, sleep-addled brain trying to pull you back to him, to make you stay- but you didn't. You never did.
He didn't need to look down to see he was half-hard- dull arousal spread through him in a bone-deep ache, the fuzziness of sleep only intensifying the feeling as he screwed his eyes shut again, a soft curse passing from his lips.
It had seemed so real this time, too...
...God, he felt disgusting. Here he was, some thirty years your senior- and your boss, no less- lying in bed, dreaming of your touch, your affection- it was pathetic.
Not that this hadn't happened before, far from it- no, this had been going on for a while now, and it was killing him.
Every time he saw you, the joy of your company was muted by the thoughts that hung at the edge of his mind, the longing, the desire- to hold you in his arms, to take your hand, to kiss you, to call you his-
The dreams were the worst. They were a blessing and a curse- wistful fantasies cooked up by his lonely brain, ensuring he couldn't escape you even in sleep. But oh, how he treasured them- the simulated softness of your skin, your lips on his, trailing downwards all over his body, such austere mockeries of the real thing. But they were the closest he'd ever get.
This one had been particularly graphic- you had been above him, pressing wet kisses to his lips, his chest, his stomach- taking him in hand and guiding him to your entrance, sinking down with a soft moan that still rung in his ears, telling him how good he was for you, how well he was doing...
He'd tried to hold on, he really had- but he had been ripped away from you not a moment later, and now here he was, staring up at the ceiling, skin prickling at the ghost sensation of your form still straddling him.
He feels himself twitch against his thigh, and he drags a hand down his face with a soft groan. Awful, he was awful- You didn't deserve to be thought of like this, debauched in his mind, spread out for him to indulge his fantasies- And yet he couldn't help himself.
Pushing down the shame that welled at the back of his thoughts, he shifted into a more comfortable position, trailing one hand down to his boxers in resignation. He'd deal with the emotional consequences afterwards. Experience had taught him this wouldn't go away if he ignored it.
He grips himself through the dark material, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as his eyes flutter shut again. Letting his thoughts wander back to you was an inevitability, so he allows them to flow- he was too tired to put up a fight with himself today.
He palms himself firmly, hips pressing upwards into his own touch, the friction bordering on uncomfortable as his cock pulses against the fabric. A soft moan slips from his mouth, pressing his head back into the pillows.
What would you do if you were here now, he wonders- would you go slowly? Tease him until he's begging for release, straining against your capable hands? Or would you be the type to get the job done, taking him in hand or mouth, caressing him, lapping up his release-
He gasps as his cock jumps, heartbeat thrumming through the swollen flesh as it twitches against its restraints. Damn any sense of guilt- he shucks his boxers down his legs quickly, letting himself spring free to rest against his stomach.
Precum seeps from his tip, leaving a wet spot on both his discarded underwear and his skin as he curls a fist around himself, huffing out a breathy curse as thick relief spreads through him.
He's more desperate than usual- he chalks it up to the dream and the exhaustion, but all his fatigue has been momentarily chased away, leaving only heady desire as his thoughts drift back to you.
A memory comes to the front of his mind, one night a few weeks ago- of you and him, both staying in the lab late to finish up work on the newest prototype. Parker was out, as usual- and the two of you had been blissfully alone, working side by side. He had been distracted by you enough as it was, but as the evening drew on, it became increasingly difficult- he could barely concentrate by midnight, hyper-aware of every movement you made, the lingering smell of your shampoo, the tune you hummed softly under your breath…
Your hands had brushed with his a few times- you didn't seem to pay it much mind, but him... oh, he had thought about that every night since. Your hands were so warm, so soft, so small compared to his.
He imagines it was them wrapping around his cock in place of his own, lithe fingers stroking him, your eyes hooded and dark with lust as you settle between his legs.
He brings a thumb up to massage the tip, fighting back a chest-deep groan as he pictures your tongue there instead, dipping down to taste him, swirling over salty flesh and eagerly licking up his spills.
Oh, he's getting there, he's close- your name escapes his lips in a breathy whimper as he throbs, the pressure in his groin tightening as he nears his release.
He picks up the pace, stroking himself harder, faster- uncaring of the heavy pants and groans he's making, the broken words of his imaginary conversation with you slipping out as his mouth falls open.
“Ah… sweetheart… ”
You duck your head, taking him down to the hilt, groaning in satisfaction as your nose brushes against the hair of his pelvis- Otto hisses, thighs shaking as a spurt of pre-cum leaks down to aid his motions, slickening himself further as his hips start pushing up into his own touch.
You bob your head, pausing to draw back and lick a long strip up his shaft, humming softly, watching him with an infatuated gaze-
“Oh- you’re doing so well -”
He looks a mess, he knows it- bucking up into his fist, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead and chest, skin flushed red and lips apart in a choked moan as he loses himself to the fantasy- But god, he couldn't care less.
You pay special attention to his tip, sucking on the sensitive head and closing your eyes with a soft moan, savouring the taste of him as your hands come up to pump his shaft-
"Yes, sweetheart, just like that- "
He squeezes the base of his cock firmly, staving off climax for just a little longer, wanting to play out the fantasy further, desperate to keep you here with him.
You pull back fully, leaving him aching, your breaths quick and excited to match his own ragged gasps. "Oh, Otto..."
He moans unashamedly, rutting desperately into his own fist, heat building to a critical limit as he imagines you getting to your feet, straddling him with ease, silently begging to ride him- He's close, he's so, so close-
The illusion is shattered into fragments as his phone suddenly goes off, vibrating against the nightstand and tearing him back to reality.
He startles, his eyes snapping open- and you vanish, your warmth and weight above him replaced by an empty chill. The thick cloud of arousal fogging his mind dissipates somewhat as frustration wells up to take its place.
He sits up with a barely contained growl of annoyance, releasing himself to reach out and grab the offending device, squinting at the number on the screen.
Just his luck, of course someone would call him right when he was in the middle of-
His eyes go wide. It's you.
You're calling him.
He fumbles with his phone, hitting the accept button and quickly raising it to his ear. There's a moment of silence before he quickly clears his throat, hoping he doesn't sound too... off.
"H-Hello?"
"Hey, Doc!" Your voice answers him immediately, chipper and friendly as always. "Just calling to let you know I've finished March's filing work and locked up the lab for the day-" There's the jangle of keys in the background, followed by the rustling of plastic bags. Chinese, maybe? He knew you liked to frequent the same food stores he did. "Hey, look, I know you're tired, so why don't you take another day off? Pete and I can manage just fine, and the next few days won't be much of a bother if we're one man down."
It was just like you to be so thoughtful, so generous, offering to cover his work for him- what he'd done to deserve you working alongside him was a mystery. Oh, if only he could tell you how much he appreciated you...
"Doc?"
"Hmm?" Otto blinked, shaking himself out of the daze he was quickly falling into, realising he'd forgotten to respond. "Oh- Yes, thank you, my dear. I might take tomorrow off, actually- my head hasn't been as clear recently."
God, just hearing your voice was making him even more of a mess... he hadn't even realised he'd started touching himself again until his hips twitch, pressing into his hands- but he's too far gone to be ashamed.
"I know, you need to be kinder to yourself! Honestly, Pete and I are perfectly capable of handling things if you ever need time off. We care about you, alright? I care about you."
Otto ducks his head into the pillow, barely holding back a rather inappropriate sound as your words reignite the simmer in his stomach. He grips himself firmly, trying to get a hold on himself as he calms enough to string together a coherent reply.
"Ah, I... Thank you, my dear, I really appreciate it. I'll... I'll take tomorrow off."
"Alright." You sound pleased, but then there's a pause, as if you're listening for something. "Hey, are you okay?"
He lets his eyes flutter shut, exhaling softly as he imagines you here next to him. "I- Yes, I'm okay. Why do you ask?"
"You sounded a bit hoarse when you picked up- hell, your breathing's a bit rough, too, are you feeling alright?"
He freezes, eyes flying back open as alarm shoots straight through him. He fumbles over his words as he quickly makes up an excuse, trying not to sound ingenuine. "Oh! Oh, don't worry about me, I... I just had to run to catch the bus home."
A long pause on your end. "But... you drive a car?"
Otto freezes, remembering that he does, in fact, have his own vehicle that he always takes in and out of work.
"Uh..." In his sudden, frozen panic, his brain decides to do the only logical thing it can think of- and he hangs up on you.
He stares at the blank screen for about two minutes before realising what he did- and his mood only worsens when he notices you haven't attempted to call him back.
He nearly throws the phone across the room as he buries his face back into his pillow, letting out a defeated groan. Dear god. He might have to take more than just one day off after that trainwreck.