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Accidentally on Purpose

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It really was an accident.

That was Peter’s story and he was sticking to it.

It was absolutely an accident that he was here on his knees, naked and achingly hard, wrists bound together behind his back with his own webbing as Quentin Beck’s strong grip in his hair forced him to gag and choke on a cock clearly made for a porno.

He really didn’t mean to like it.

---

It had started the other night, after the fight in Venice when Nick Fury had come to basically kidnap Peter away from his class and sleep darted his best friend in the freaking neck. He’d been nervous going in, but that had multiplied tenfold the moment Mister Beck turned to face him and his heart had done this funny little stutter, breath catching. He hadn’t exactly gotten a great look at Mysterio when they’d fought the water creature earlier that day, but the costume was unmistakable, and holy shit .

He found himself intensely glad that the area was so dimly lit, so that nobody present could see the flush that crept up the back of his neck and tinged his ears pink. And yet his enhanced senses could easily pick up on every detail of the man’s face as he turned, from the striking blue of his eyes to the subtle quirkiness in the shape of his lips. Mister Beck- no, Quentin came forward to shake his hand and he could smell the product in his hair, got a whiff of his cologne, felt the strength in his grip that seemed a little harder than necessary, lingered a little too long.

That was where it started.

A few well placed compliments and the burning need to know everything about the world Quentin came from and how he’d gotten here, the multiverse, all of it made it next to impossible to sleep when he got back to the hotel. Ned was still snoring, though he’d been assured that the sedative would wear off by morning, and all Peter could do was lie awake and stare at the run-down ceiling, flashes of the encounter looping in his head.

Strangely, alongside the relief that he was able to go back to his vacation and relax there was something else, something he finally identified around three thirty in the morning as a nagging little sense of regret that he probably wouldn’t get to ask any of those burning questions for a long time, if ever.

When morning came, he filled Ned in on what had happened, and his best friend’s enthusiasm helped him shake the fog of exhaustion at least a little bit.

And then Nick Fury hijacked his summer vacation.

As Peter shifted his bag on his shoulder and trudged toward the seriously conspicuous bus, he couldn’t deny that there was a little bit of giddiness swimming around in the pit of disappointment and frustration and fear and anger at the fact that his entire class was being put in harm’s way because he hadn’t just said yes last night. Maybe he would get the chance to ask Quentin everything that kept him awake after all. Silver linings, right?

It didn’t stop him from fidgeting all the way to the first rest stop, though the discovery of EDITH in the gift Tony had left him both soothed and frazzled his nerves in turns. Seeing the ridiculous texts Ned and Betty were sending back and forth really didn’t help, but at least it was a brief distraction before the bus pulled up at the stop and everyone filed out of it toward the restrooms.

No such luck for him, though, go figure, and he offered the taciturn Dimitri a forced smile before making his way toward the other door as directed. Not like there was any point in being defiant at this stage, that had been made exponentially clear to him by the fact that they were even here.

What he hadn’t expected when he walked into that room was that he would be face to face with Quentin, the sound of the door clicking shut loud in his ears as he took a step forward. The confusion on his face must have been entirely evident, because the man gave him an expression that he could only describe as sympathetic, the upward tilt of his eyebrows and the almost wry quirk of his lips doing something funny to Peter’s stomach. Right. 

That was where it all took one hell of a turn.

“Mister Beck-”

Quentin ,” he corrected, and it made Peter swallow and nod dumbly, attempting to find the words as his expression cycled through who knew how many different rapidfire thoughts, starts and stops. Before he could come up with anything, the man (he’d only just caught the fact that he was dressed in normal clothes and wow ) stepped forward, hand lightly patting the clothing box on the table. Peter’s eyes immediately trained on the glint of his wedding band, the black fabric underneath Quentin’s fingers.

“Is that-”

“A new suit, for the mission,” Quentin confirmed, and Peter really wondered if he was imagining the way the man’s touch lingered and drew subtly along what he could tell was a zipper. Realizing he was staring, his eyes snapped back up to Quentin’s face, brow furrowing just slightly as he thought he caught a flicker of something there that was quickly smoothed over. “A little more low key than red and blue,” he added, just a little amusement showing through. It made Peter quirk an awkward little grin of his own.

“Yeah, probably right about that.”

“They wanted to make sure it fits, and I offered to be the one to deliver. Thought it might be a little more comfortable than the stoic blonde they were planning on sending.”

Peter hadn’t realized his gaze had dropped once more to the suit until Quentin spoke again and jerked his attention back. There was something knowing in the man’s shockingly blue eyes, the little crinkle at the corners, the barest hint of teeth between his lips. It took him a moment longer with them both just standing there for the pieces to click.

Oh.

He was supposed to try it on now . Looking back and forth between the suit to Quentin, his indecision was clear. “I mean I’m sure it fits-” The soft, apologetic smile stopped him in his tracks.

“Sorry, kid, they were pretty insistent. Don’t worry, I won’t look,” Quentin reassured him with a hand patting his shoulder. That lingered a little too long, too, ended with a squeeze that was a little harder than friendly. He almost shuddered, felt the hard line of the man’s ring pressing against him in a way that was just shy of painful. Peter thought he saw something resembling teasing in the sidelong look they shared before Quentin moved to stand behind him, facing the door true to his word.

For a moment, he just stared at the suit in the box, trying to brush aside the sense that something was very definitely off here. It was obviously just another case of overthinking things, the battle and the detour having him a little too on edge, reading things that weren’t there. Finally shaking it off, Peter pulled the box closer to himself, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Quentin still wasn’t looking before he breathed out a resigned sigh and toed off his shoes, dropped his pants.

He was in the middle of stepping out of them, hands already on the hem of his shirt when he heard the door and froze . The color drained from his face before he could even think to reach for his pants, before he could think to do anything at all.

Quentin seemed to have a plan though, because the next thing he knew a hand was clasped firmly over his mouth, that ring pressed painfully against his lower lip. The man’s other hand circled his wrist to keep him still, and goosebumps raised all over his skin despite the heat of the very solid body suddenly pressed up against him from behind. He could feel denim against the backs of his bare thighs, hot breath and coarse hair against his ear. Distantly, through the sound of his rabbiting heart, Peter registered that Quentin had said something in that breath, but he couldn’t quite piece it together with the way his brain was scrambled. He could feel the man’s thumb against the pulse point in his wrist, knew his frantic heartbeat had to be obvious, stomach tied in knots and twisting but not in a way that made him feel sick.

It was actually making him feel something extremely unexpected.

Focusing, or at least trying to, he heard footsteps, heard Brad’s voice and the slight confusion in it before those footsteps retreated and the door clicked shut again. Then it finally registered what had been whispered in his ear. 

They can’t see us, don’t move .

Oh.

Surely Peter wasn’t crazy in thinking that Quentin kept his firm hold a few beats longer than necessary, tightened a fraction before releasing him. He wasn’t imagining the way the man’s thumb rubbed against his wrist first, or the obvious inhale against his hair. The sudden chill against his back made him actually shiver, hands immediately going to rub his arms as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Sorry about that,” Quentin said, and by the sound of his voice Peter could tell he’d turned back around. “The cloak is only visual, so your friend there would have been able to hear us, I should have told you about that first, entirely my fault,” he explained, though rather than answering all of Peter’s questions it only served to spark even more of them. He wanted to blurt them all out, but he couldn’t even find his voice, and they didn’t have time right now anyway.

“Th-that’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Peter managed, glad that Quentin was facing away with the way his cheeks burned .

Quentin didn’t even turn around once he’d succeeded in getting the suit on, and Peter didn’t ask him to look, especially with how tight the crotch was in it. At least his regular suit had some give, but there wasn’t a whole lot of room in this one down there, and there was also the main reason why he didn’t want the man to see, which only exacerbated the issue of space.

What Quentin had done had turned him on .

Confirming that the suit more or less fit just fine, the rest of their exchange was mostly quiet, and it was a blessing to be back in his normal clothes again, even if figuring out how to part ways felt far more awkward than the last time. Tapping the toe of his shoe against the floor, Peter smiled a bit nervously and raised his hand in a little wave.

“Well I guess that’s it, I should get back to the bus, um. See you in Prague, Mister Beck!”

“See you in Prague, Peter,” Quentin replied, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes as he returned the smile, moving to pack the suit back up for transport.

It took Peter until the bus was pulling away from the rest stop to realize that he’d called him Mister Beck, and that Quentin hadn’t corrected him. He sank lower in his seat, running a hand over his face, and spent the rest of the ride trying in vain to get his mind off of the ghostly sensation of pressure around his wrist and over his mouth, unable to stop chewing on the sore spot Quentin’s wedding band had left on his lip.

And then it turned out they’d all been given their own rooms at the hotel when they got to Prague.

As much as Peter didn’t mind sharing a room with Ned in Venice, he was absolutely grateful to be alone after what had happened at the rest stop. What had happened at the rest stop? With there still being time before the elemental attack, that was something he fully intended to explore. He had to make an excuse to his best friend about being tired from the lack of sleep the night before, and that made him feel a little guilty, but he really just wanted time to do a little... research .

That was where things really got away from him.

He was sitting in the dark in his sleep clothes, propped up against a pile of hotel pillows with his laptop in front of him, headphones plugged in as he chewed at his lip (still the spot where he probably had a bruise now from worrying at it so much). He’d made several false starts in trying to determine the proper line of inquiry to type into the search engine, but eventually had to just bite the bullet and hit enter on one or he was never going to get started. He swallowed hard and was glad there was nobody there to see how red his face was getting when the search results popped up for ‘ what does it mean if I get turned on from being restrained’ .

Peter had never actually looked into any of this before, barely had a teenager’s level of knowledge in the area. He knew about normal sex, obviously, and oral sex, some really basic stuff like biting and all that but knew about as much as the next inexperienced person about... well. BDSM , the search results seemed to indicate, and he scrolled through, looking for a decent place to start. It was just research, right? It didn’t mean anything. At least that was what he told himself as he started skimming a site that advertised itself as being a “beginner’s guide to BDSM’.

He abandoned that site pretty quick in favor of looking up a ‘beginner’s guide to kink’, which just led to more information about BDSM and a lot of things that honestly made him cringe. People actually did this stuff? Thinking back to the pressure on his wrist and his face, the heat of Quentin’s body against his back, the authority in the words don’t move , he had to admit that some of it sounded like it would be pretty hot. The point of conflict was the fact that every time he tried to imagine any of the things he was reading as happening to him, it was Quentin’s voice in his ear, Quentin’s hands on him, Quentin’s eyes looking at him, Quentin’s-

Oh God.

Biting his lip, he scrolled through site after site that talked about all kinds of bondage, dominance and submission, rules, guidelines, pain, toys, scenes, punishment, edging, autoerotic asphyxiation, all of it. All the pictures of blindfolds and handcuffs, the insane amount of ads for sex toys plastered everywhere , the descriptions of different kinds of roleplay... It was no surprise that he kept having to shift, the hand not scrolling through the overload of information rubbing almost absently against his clothed crotch.

Just reading about it was enough to spark his arousal, some things more than others, and it was those that Peter focused on to expand his search to images. The deeper he went the harder it was going to be to stop himself, so he didn’t bother trying, still worrying his lip between his teeth as he shifted again, hand slipping underneath the stretchy waistband of his pajama pants to better palm at his hardening cock.

Images gave way to gifs, gifs to actual videos, and by then he had one hand in his boxers and the other over his mouth in order to dig his teeth into the meat of his thumb. He could easily have jacked off right then and there just seeing other people tied up, choked and being made to beg not just for release but for everything else being done to them. At one point he had to actually shut his laptop with a little more force than he meant to, tugging his headphones out of his ears and shoving the lot of it to the side as he tried to catch his breath. 

For several long moments Peter just stared at the ceiling, hands out to the sides and fingers twitching against the sheets. He wanted more than just to watch though, and he thought he had an idea of how he could manage that a little, eyeing his webshooters and licking his lips. It really was high time he acted on some of those stupid horny teenager impulses, and he took a breath, settled one of his shooters in his teeth, and aimed, wrists held out in front of himself.

The first thing he realized was that his webs were a little more constricting than he thought they would be. The second thing was that regardless of the fact that he knew perfectly well he could break them, having his wrists stuck together made his cock twitch in his pants when he tested the hold delicately. He closed his eyes, wriggling his hips until he could get his pants and boxers down far enough for his dick to spring free, imagining Quentin’s gaze on him as he wrapped his bound hands around himself and bucked into his own grip.

Toes curling into the duvet he let his head fall back, biting his lip hard to stifle his sounds as he conjured the memory of Quentin’s voice in his ear, the way hot breath had made his hairs stand on end. Peter imagined that it was Quentin biting his lip, what it would feel like to have the man’s beard scratching against delicate skin. There was the ghost of a grip on his shoulder but now it was holding him down and he was helpless thinking of one of Quentin’s sharp canines catching on his lip until-

He tasted blood, releasing his own lip on a sharp cry as he pictured the fingers Quentin had run along the zipper of his suit tracing down his stomach instead, and he came so hard he almost blacked out.

After the fight against the fire elemental, after almost losing Quentin to stupid noble heroics and bravado, after the stern talking to from Fury, Peter wasn’t about to waste time in some dingy bar, even if he was invited.

“Let’s go grab a drink,” Quentin had said, gaze unreadable but the backs of his fingers lingering too long against Peter’s cheek, eye contact just long enough to be considered more than casual. He thought he saw the invitation there, and with his system pumped full of adrenaline, he took it.

“I’ve got a mini bar in my hotel room, Mister Beck,” he blurted, glad that Quentin couldn’t see how flushed and nervous he was under his mask. “I’m not twenty one, but you could- you know.”

That was where all of his suspicions were confirmed, because he could easily see the way that Quentin’s pupils dilated against the backdrop of icy blue as the man’s eyes looked right through him for what felt like an eternity but was really only a matter of seconds. The silence stretched so long Peter thought he was going to start fidgeting or blabbering just to fill the emptiness, but then Quentin smiled with just a little more of an edge than usual and he felt a jolt of fire coiling in his stomach.

“After you, then, Peter,” Quentin replied smoothly, and it said so much more than for him to lead the way. So Peter swallowed with a quick nod, looking around nervously before picking out the most quiet and effective way back to his hotel.

They barely made it through the balcony door before Quentin had Peter’s wrists pinned against the glass, swallowing his yelp of surprise with a devouring kiss. He was pretty sure he was going to explode, come in his suit right there when the man slid a knee between his legs, but even grinding against that strong thigh was nothing, nothing compared to when their kiss was broken, Quentin shifting to keep both of his wrists pinned with one hand as the other curled fingers under his chin, thumb trailing along his jaw and toward his lip. 

“Mister Beck-”

God his voice sounded so needy .

And still it was nothing compared to the hunger in blue eyes so close as Peter squirmed a little under the scrutiny, breath coming short and quick and heart damn near pounding out of his chest while Quentin barely even looked at all undone except for those eyes .

“Yeah, I thought you might, sweetheart,” came out like a sensual purr, entirely too knowing, and suddenly Peter felt so much like a rabbit staring down a lion, every boundary they’d set before dissolved with just a few simple words.

“Please, sir-”

He didn’t mean to say it.

He really didn’t mean to like it.

It really was an accident.