Chapter Text
Peter Parker is fucked.
In every way possible except the dick-in-his-ass kind of fucked. (Which is a shame really, as that’s his favourite kind).
He’s fucked because he’s 29-years-old, and he’s been working as the personal assistant of Aleksander Morozova—40-year-old founder and owner of Darkling Inc, one of the top publishing companies in the US—for 4 years, 3 months, 15 days, and 12 hours. He’s had a crush on him for 4 years, 3 months, 15 days, and 10 hours (if he’s being generous to himself and not admitting that it actually took less than two hours for his chest to feel tight and his belly to flip-flop whenever he was near the man). And he’s probably, maybe, most likely, very definitely been in love with him for 4 years, 1 month, 1 day, and 2 hours.
(The timing of that discovery may have coincided with Peter finding a singular, lone chocolate cupcake on his desk; with rainbow sprinkles liberally smattered over the chocolate icing and a yellow candle (unlit) sticking out the top, placed on his desk the morning of his 25th birthday. He’d only mentioned it was his birthday in passing—as he has the terminal disease of Cannotshutupititis—and his heart had nearly burst out of his chest at the fact his boss had not only remembered, but had done something about it.
In a nutshell, it was at that point he became metaphorically screwed, and his brain took one look at the way his heart went all stupid over the man, and took a one way ticket to Nopesville, leaving him even more of an idiot than he usually was).
Aleksander is the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’s a couple of inches taller than Peter (which makes him weak at the knees imagining tucking his face against the crook of his neck and breathing in the heady smell of his cologne from his skin), has a long, powerful frame that moves with liquid grace like a Panther, and he has dark brown hair slicked back, with a well-groomed beard that Peter wants to feel rasp against the skin of his inner thighs.
And he has beautiful eyes that are so dark Peter thinks he can be forgiven for thinking they hold the entire galaxy within them, when they sparkled in the sunlight.
He can be ruthless when he needs to be—he wouldn’t be at the top of the game at such a young comparative age, if he wasn’t—and Peter gets a unique kind of thrill watching him eviscerate with cutting words and a distinct lack of fucks, those who think they can tear him down or know how to run his company better than he does himself. Peter hides his smile behind his hand, or bites his lip to stop a laugh escaping every time it happens.
And Aleksander always seems to seek out his gaze every time when the other person leaves; his mouth (that Peter has had so many fantasies about he could give a presentation with notes and diagrams if he ever so desired), curling up slightly at the edge like he’s happy Peter’s entertained.
Peter spends his time organising meetings, lunches, telling people yes, telling people no (and then confirming that no, Mr Morozova is not going to change his mind, best of luck next time), and generally doing his best to make Aleksander’s work life as easy as possible. Most people would probably assume that because Aleksander is so intimidating, that he must be horrible to work for; making impossible demands, being rude to Peter, or making him work stupid hours, but that’s the most annoying thing.
He's not like that at all.
Peter is still not actually sure how he got the job in the first place, because his only memories of the interview are of his cheeks with a permanent blush, his mouth running off without his brain’s supervision, sweaty palms, and jittery legs.
But, he must have said or done something that made an impression on Aleksander, because he got the job and he’s still here over 4 years later, because his boss treats him with respect, values his opinion, smiles (if not quite laughs) at his awful puns—his favourite being “you want me to book that for you?” whenever they have a new book launch—and remembers his fucking birthday.
All of that and he looks like fucking sex on legs as well.
His heart had no hope really.
And now he’s fucked, because everyone else in the office has gone home for the day, leaving just Peter and Aleksander, and not two minutes ago, Aleksander had asked Peter to come into his office before he left. None of this is an uncommon occurrence, the pair of them often the last ones working. It’s just this time, something is different about the way his boss requests his presence.
And Peter can’t explain why, but in his gut, he just knows that Aleksander knows.
He’s 98.7% sure his boss knows he’s in love with him, and Peter wonders how quickly he’ll be able to find a new job when he inevitably gets fired, because he has bills that won’t go away just because he wishes the Earth would swallow him whole, when Aleksander tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s flattered, but would never reciprocate those feelings in a million years, and so unfortunately Peter can no longer be his assistant.
(Dramatic for sure, but he feels it’s justified. He’ll probably buy a carton of ice cream on the walk home to drown his sorrows in. Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, most likely).
Taking a deep breath and rubbing his palms on his smart jeans, he straightened his moss green jumper, shut his computer down, and then knocked on Aleksander’s door.
“Come in.”
Aleksander smiled at him and leant back in his chair; his legs spread borderline obscenely, the fabric of his black and grey pin-striped suit pulling tight across his thighs. Peter audibly gulped as his gaze travelled over the suggestive bulge at the juncture of those thighs, before quickly adverting it to sit down in the plush chair in front of Aleksander’s desk.
“What can I help you with, sir?” At the raise of one annoyingly groomed eyebrow, Peter cleared his throat and changed the form of address. “Sorry. Aleksander.”
He’d been told to call his boss by his name—a privilege only he has in the company, everyone else calling him Sir or Mr Morozova—randomly one day about six months into his time as his PA. He mostly remembers, even if it’s difficult to unlearn months of addressing him as Sir. He slips up occasionally though.
Usually when he’s nervous about something and trying to put some distance between the man in front of him and his massive, inconvenient amount of feelings he has for him that could derail his life if he ever let them loose.
(He knows that his life would probably be easier if he didn’t feel this way about Aleksander, but whenever he thinks about not loving him, he gets a sort of hollow feeling in his chest, because for Peter, there really isn’t anyone better that he could give his love too. Even if its unrequited).
“How long have you worked for me, Peter?” Aleksander crossed one leg over the other, his ankle balanced on his knee, and steepled his hands against his bearded chin.
“Uh—just over 4 years.”
Aleksander nodded. “Right. And you enjoy it, yes?”
“V—Very much so. I love working for you—working here.”
Aleksander hummed in agreement. His button-black eyes roamed over Peter’s face. He knows what he looks like. Brown hair that adds about an inch and half to his height because it’s so fluffy; it seems to have a life of its own because no matter what he does with it, it always looks like he just got out of bed. Big, brown eyes that he knows wouldn’t look out of place on a fucking Disney princess or cartoon deer. Sharp cheekbones, freckles dotted over his skin (though most of those aren’t visible right now, because…clothing), and a long, gangly body with the musculature of a swimmer.
And usually, when he looks at Aleksander, he’s beaming brighter than the fucking sun.
He’s not right now, because he’s terrified he’s going to lose everything, but still his stupid heart is still dancing happily in his chest at getting to be in the same room as the other man, like it does every damn time.
They stared at each other in silence for a few long, tension-filled seconds, and even though Aleksander opened his mouth to say something else, Peter can’t handle it.
Please put me out of my misery, he implored putting his doe eyes to good use; hoping that if he’s going to be fired for having inappropriate feelings, he can be fired quickly. Except his brain caught up with what his mouth had actually said two seconds too late, and he realised from the way that Aleksander’s dark eyes widened and his mouth closed, that that wasn’t what he’d said at all.
“Please put your dick in me.”
Oh fuck.
Oh fuckety fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
FUCK.
Why were Aleksander’s pens so far away, didn’t they realise he needed to stab and put himself out of his misery, right now?
He covered his face with his hands, and felt his cheeks burn. “Did I just—” He left the rest of the question unsaid, hoping Aleksander would understand what he was asking, even if his words were muffled by his palms.
Aleksander did, but it didn’t mean he let Peter off easily. “Did you just say, ‘Please put your dick in me’?” Peter knew the asshole was smirking, and he would’ve told him to quit it if he wasn’t so busy trying to learn how to self-combust from embarrassment where he sat. “Yes you did.”
Peter groaned loudly, and curled in on himself on the armchair. “I so sorry, I—”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page as to why I asked you in here.”
Peter nearly cracked his teeth from how quickly he snapped his mouth shut. He moved his hands from his face, and stared at Aleksander in bewilderment like he’d never seen him before in his life. “Huh?”
“I’ll be honest, I thought it would take a while longer to get to the crux of the matter, but you’ve saved us some time, even if you clearly had meant to say something else.” Aleksander stood up and walked around his desk to lean against it, only a foot or so from where Peter was sat.
“I don’t understand.” Peter whispered, because he had no fucking idea what was going on. None of his imagined scenarios about why Aleksander had called him in here, went like this. At no point in the time he’d been here did he think any of his feelings would be reciprocated in any way.
Aleksander huffed softly in amusement, before his dark eyes bore into Peter conveying how serious he was. “You promised me in your interview to always tell me the truth, to never sugar-coat things—”
“I did?”
“—You don’t remember?” Aleksander tilted his head at him.
“No, it’s kinda—pretty much a blur—I was very nervous.” Peter scratched his neck sheepishly.
“I see, well apart from answering all the questions I had at the time in an interesting manner—” His distracting mouth ticked up at the side, because they both knew that meant Peter had answered with about 100 words, when only a handful would’ve sufficed. “—you did promise to always tell me the truth. Was that an empty promise?”
Peter’s brow furrowed as he wondered how they’d gone from talking about dicks to promises, but he shook his head. Whilst he’d kept his personal feelings hidden, he’d never actually lied to Aleksander about anything in the time he’d been here. He figured the man had no use for needless ass-kissing, and would prefer someone he could trust to give an informed opinion, even if it disagreed with his own. He’d been right.
“N—No. I’ve never lied to you.”
“Good, I don’t want you to start now.” Aleksander reached out and gripped Peter’s chin, stroking his thumb over his bottom lip.
Peter felt his pulse thump frantically in his neck.
“Apart from wanting my dick in you, what are your personal feelings towards me, Peter?”
Peter swallowed. Aleksander was still touching him, and he had no idea what was actually going on. He felt like he was in some crazy version of his life and was watching it all play out in front of him. “I—I think you’re incredible…the most incredible person I’ve ever met.” He whispered, hoping that would be enough, otherwise he was going to start waxing lyrical about everything he felt and no one had time for that.
Aleksander smiled softly. “Thank you. And what do you think my feelings towards you are?”
“…I’m a good assistant?”
Aleksander sighed sadly. “You are the best assistant, Peter. You make everything about my work life better than I could ever have imagined.” Peter blushed and smiled in thanks. “But putting that to one side, I am remiss at myself that you don’t seem to have any clue as to how I feel about you.”
The man sounded frustrated with himself; removing his hand from Peter’s chin to card it through his slicked back hair, ruffling the strands slightly.
“Aleksander?”
The man looked at him for a beat, then seemed to come to some decision. Grabbing Peter’s hand he yanked him upwards and settled his arms on Peter’s waist, as he came to stand in between Aleksander’s spread legs.
“So there is no more misunderstandings, I’ll be clear, Peter. I think you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the pleasure to look at. I want to fuck you on every surface I can find, and in every position possible so you cannot go a minute without thinking about me inside you.” He cupped Peter’s face in his hands. “I see you for 10 hours each day, 5 days of the week, and it is not enough. I want to spend every day with you, because I love you, Peter. I’ve loved you for a very long time, and I’ve had enough of not being able to show you how damn much.”
Peter was pretty sure he’d died. Or stopped breathing. Or stopped breathing and then died.
Or he was still sat at his desk and he was actually daydreaming.
Because surely this wasn’t actually happening? That would be ridiculous. That would be crazy.
That would be everything he’d ever wanted.
“You…love me?”
Aleksander pressed their foreheads together. “I do. So very much. Do you feel the same way?”
Peter let out a strangled laugh of hysteria, because that was a dumb question. “You’re telling me you don’t know?!” Aleksander pulled back to look at him with a frown. “I’m so in love with you, it’s quite frankly a bit embarrassing. I thought—I thought you’d called me in here because you’d realised and didn’t feel the same—I thought you were going to tell me to go.”
He let out a squeak as Aleksander pulled him even closer so he could feel the long lines and heat of his boss’ body under his palms. “Peter.” He looked into the endless depths of Aleksander’s dark eyes. “I am never letting you go. You are perfect for me in every way.” He nuzzled at the soft skin just below Peter’s ear, and then rasped his tongue over the shell of his ear to whisper in it. “You are mine.”
“I’m yours.” Peter breathed out. Aleksander wasn’t asking his opinion for once, but Peter was giving it anyway, because in this matter, he needed the other man to know. Needed him to know he was his in every way that mattered. “I’ve been yours for 4 years, 1 month, 1 day, and about…3 hours.”
“That’s very specific.” Aleksander smirked, stroking the underside of Peter’s jaw, as he collared his long, freckled neck with his hand.
“You—the cupcake—you remembered my birthday.” Peter closed his eyes, his head feeling dizzy from how close he was to Aleksander. He could smell his cologne on his skin, mixed with the scent that was just Aleksander, with every breath he took, and it was intoxicating.
“I remember everything about you.”
Peter whimpered, because his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. “Why now?” He smoothed his hands up Aleksander’s chest to link around the back of his neck.
“Because I am a man who goes after what I want in every other aspect of my life; my personal life should be no different. And…” He grinned at Peter; it was all teeth. “… I was tired of waking up alone and fucking my fist to thoughts of you, when I could be waking up with you in my arms and my cock in your ass, darling.”
Peter choked at the image Aleksander’s words painted. He didn’t know how to respond to that declaration with words, so he didn’t.
Instead, he cupped the back of Aleksander’s head and standing on his tiptoes, he kissed him.
Aleksander let him press their lips together in a gentle kiss for a few moments; sharing breaths and feeling the soft skin of his lips against his own. And then he held Peter tightly, surrounding him with his scent and the feel of his body pressed against him, and practically devoured his mouth. A clash of teeth, lips and tongue; Aleksander kissed him hard enough his lips felt bruised within minutes.
He nipped at his bottom lip, and licked into his mouth; tracing every contour and ridge. Peter felt like he was choosing between breathing or choking on Aleksander’s tongue, and the tongue was winning every fucking time.
“What’s my calendar like from now until tomorrow morning at 9am, Peter?” Aleksander asked against his lips some time later; his voice gravelly and doing delicious things to Peter’s brain.
“Uhh—” He tried to get his brain to actually work, then remembered it was gone 7pm and nothing was booked. “—you’re free.”
Aleksander’s eyes somehow became even darker as they looked at him with desire and love swirling in their depths. “Good. Now, unless there’s any objections I’m going to fuck you over my desk, take you home, order us take out, and then fuck you again.”
“And tomorrow morning, before 9am, I mean?”
Aleksander grinned wolfishly at him. “You’ll be waking up with my cock in your ass, darling. Any objections?”
Peter shook his head. He didn’t object to any of this (only that it hadn’t happened sooner). In fact, it was all he ever wanted and more. “My favourite take out is Thai.”
They’d had take out together numerous times, when they’d had to work late for deadlines, and Peter always suggested Thai food more than any other option.
“I know.”
Peter rolled his eyes. He still wasn’t sure this wasn’t one big hallucination, but Aleksander felt so real underneath and against him, he kind of had to believe it was real. And if it was real, that meant he no longer had to keep all his feelings locked up behind his ribcage.
Aleksander had no idea the insanity he was getting into.
Peter looked forward to showing him.
“You mentioned something about fucking me over your desk, Sir?” He bit his lip and fluttered his lashes, giving credence to the fact that the term of address was no longer being used to create distance between them. In fact, it was the opposite. Peter wanted them as close as possible, you had no idea where he ended and Aleksander began.
“I did.” He stroked Peter’s messy hair away from his face and kissed him again. “Don’t worry, I cleared all the important paperwork away. The only things that will be made a mess of are the dark Oak wood of the desk, and your tight, little hole.”
Peter shivered in pure, unadulterated want, and stepped out of Aleksander’s embrace to strip off his clothes.