Chapter Text
Fuck!
Of course the hot older guy who just became well, whatever he was, was now your boss. That was just how your luck shook up, you have a weekend filled with hot tantric sex and Monday rolls around and changes everything in an already precarious situation.
Not to mention you hated change.
Dr. Miriam Richardson - Miri if you were on her good side (like you were) was a mentor who’d recruited you for your Graduate program, an incredible example of a woman in STEM who said fuck it to all the assholes in the field and got what she needed done done. Admittedly with the due date for her first child on the horizon her otherwise tip top management style with all the interns had been kinda lax…but you understood. She and her husband had been trying for years to have a kid, finally had success thanks to their last round of IVF - but man, her being gone so abruptly? That was a blow.
Now to mention some of these interns were assholes if left unsupervised.
You try not to look up, hands falling to the edge of the table as your foot taps in aggravation against the tile floors, hoping that if you refused to look up again - perhaps Otto would disappear. Hell, you hoped you would.
He saw you, the second after you rolled your eyes and looked up - your eyes magnets, drawn together. They were dark, colder. Nearly the opposite of the ones boring into you between silk sheets, branding you as his despite the circumstances of the arrangement. Something had flicked in his gaze…had it been hurt? He’d never asked about what your internship entailed, where and who it was for. Then again, you never offered. You should have cut ties the moment you realized who he was - but god, you really wanted to fuck him. And not because he was Dr. Otto Octavius but because despite meeting him on an app that made your skin crawl - he was a man who saw you.
Who maybe finally saw you, however fleeting it had been.
---
“I’m certain that with Dr. Octavius here, the anxiety Dr. Richardson’s absence might bring you will be forgotten quickly,” Osborn continued, patting Otto on the shoulder, their white coats practically glowing under the fluorescent lights, “Do your best to make him feel welcome.”
With that, the automatic double doors open wide as Osborn steps out of the room, quietly sliding shut - leaving Otto to the mercy of your peers.
“Now, I’m sure you all have questions…” Otto trailed, clearing his throat, eyes surveying the people who filled the lab. Some inquisitive, some apprehensive, others…he didn’t want to think about right at this moment, “Questions I’ll be more than amenable to answer.”
His eyebrows arch up at the number of hands that rise up.
A blonde haired technician raises her hand.
“Yes?” Otto responds, “Your name?”
“Gwen Stacey, Dr. Octavius,” She clears her throat, “I’m one of Dr. Richardson’s lab supervisors, will there be a staff meeting in the near future to bring you up to date on the work Dr. Richardson was accomplishing in the lab? I’m more than able to assist with scheduling one with the other Supervisors and technicians.”
Otto grunts in approval, nodding his head, “Yes, once I’ve taken a moment to get my bearings I’ll arrange a meeting between all the supervisors, do a check in with each of the technicians to see where the work is at this stage. Anyone else?”
What follows is an endless chain of questions that could be answered if they were patient, but Otto remembers being just like them - and so he answers to the best of his ability - no matter how irritating the throbbing of his head is. He shouldn’t have worn his contacts today.
The questions are what he’d expect:
“Will any of our work be changing?”“How long will Dr. Richardson be gone?”
“Was this the plan to begin with?”
“Will you be changing procedures within the lab?”/“Is Dr. Richardson fired?”
“What are you working on now?”
It’s cacophony, a tirade of anxious twenty and thirty somethings, and while valid - they’re so tiring.
It only spirals, until he puts a pin in the discussion.
“I can assure you all, I do not intend to change any of the work being accomplished in the lab. Dr. Richardson laid out very clear instructions for whoever would be briefly taking her place while she is on leave. You’re in good hands.”
He nearly rolls his eyes when a hand slowly rises up, until he locks with a pair of familiar eyes.
“Yes?”
You clear your throat, a wobble to your voice that nearly breaks his heart.
“Is Miri-” You catch yourself, “Is Dr. Richardson okay?” You pause, looking directly at him, hoping for something to ease your own nerves, “...Is the baby okay?”
His eyes soften, remembering what a breath of fresh air you were.
“Yes,” He smiles gently, the anxious energy pervading the room subsiding for just a moment, “Of course…Dr. Richardson is tired, but they’re both well.”
---
The remainder of the day continues like any other day in Dr. Richardson’s lab, despite this being unlike any other day. Otto stands in her office, reading over countless lab reports in between calling supervisors and technicians in for discussions - a schedule eventually worked out amongst everyone to touch base about the status of various research topics. If you hadn’t been otherwise distracted over the weekend, more work would have been done on your own…but of course he knows that.
It’s a quarter past five when you finally look up from your station, a better part of the lights and equipment shut off in the lab - everyone is done for the day. Except well, obviously you. Of course, you would’ve been done analyzing these samples ages ago if you hadn’t been distracted by a certain someone. He’s sitting in her office now, eyes carefully reading through something on the tablet in his hands, the piece of technology looking absolutely tiny compared to-
Stop it!
You can’t be thinking about those hands anymore. Can’t be thinking about him like that anymore.
What's done is done.
You sigh, jotting down another series of observations on a few of the neurons you were studying, shrugging your shoulders. You didn’t want to go back home, feeling alone and frustrated. You suspected that you were the only one left in the lab, and took out your airpods - slipping them back into their case. This meant you could listen to whatever you wanted without some peer who hated Taylor Swift or Carly Rae Jepsen glaring at you from across the lab.
So you press play on the spotify playlist pulled on your phone, laughing under your breath at the title of the Daylist, “ Pensive, lovelorn, pop, Monday Evening” to be greeted by the Folklore album. You work like this for a while longer, happy to be alone…until you hear a throat clear, and jump, hands fumbling for your phone to stop the music and you look up to find the last person you wanted to see.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Otto states, somehow sheepish, “I stepped away for a conference call, and just came to grab my things.” He pauses, “Didn’t expect to see anyone else here, guess we both lost track of time.”
“Sorry, Dr. Octavius,” You whisper, slipping your phone into your back pocket, “I was just about to wrap up, sorry, I know how Oscorp feels about Interns racking up over-time-”
Otto shrugs, waving that off, “They’ll get over it, but really, they don’t like it, means they have to start paying you more.”
“Couple of billionaires?” You roll your eyes, saving your lab report and shutting your laptop closed, “We both know they can’t afford that…”
He laughs, and that little sound sends a burst of serotonin into your system that you’d like to ignore.
“Listen, all seriousness….” Otto trails, looking down at you, a hand coming to rest on the cold steel of the lab stable, “You should head home.”
The very thing you didn’t want to do.
Closing your eyes and taking a breath, you nod, wondering not for the first time if the two of you would talk about this new development at all.
“Yeah,” You agree, not meeting his eyes, “I should.”
“Just a piece of advice,” Otto looks back at you, eyes not quite meeting yours, “Don’t let the work keep you from your life.”
He waits for you by the elevator, and you try to ignore the anticipation pulling in your gut as you approach. It wouldn’t be smart to do anything with him any longer, least of all where anyone could see in the clear glass of the elevator.
The two of you stand, not facing one another, a polite distance between you as you press the button to the ground floor, doors sliding shut to prepare you for the twenty floors below.
“Are we gonna talk about it?” You ask, staring straight ahead at the labs that pass, wondering not for the first time how the folks in the genetic testing wing are doing with their Spider research. You always liked them, “About our, uh, arrangement?”
“I didn’t know I’d be supervising you,” He states, “had no idea when I accepted the position.”
“How long did you know you’d be coming back?” You ask, adjusting your bag, “Was it always the plan? I know Dr. Richardson was in planning mode for months to find a replacement for while she was gone and I-”
“I knew for a while.” Otto admits, “it was always discussed in theory, but I didn’t know factually until a month ago, so before any of this, with us.”
You nod, watching as the next few floors go past before speaking.
“We should probably end things.” You state, adjusting how you stand to make yourself feel better despite not really meaning anything of what you say, not truly. Honestly, you hadn’t felt anything like what you felt with him before, you didn’t want to stop any of it now. Not when it was just starting
“You know, be professional and stuff,” You continue, “wouldn’t look very good for me, or well, either of us honestly, for my boss and I to be having maybe the best-”
Everything in your body tenses up when you feel him step closer, his lips by your ear.
“As much as I’m flattered, truly, we should probably have this conversation somewhere a little…quieter.”
“Yeah, probably.” You rasp, nodding your head as Otto steps away.
“When we get out of the elevator,” He patiently states, “Walk ahead of me, I’ll likely stop because an investor will insist upon speaking with me in the lobby. Meet me a block away from the building, and we’ll talk at my place.”
You nod once, a flush rising to your cheeks, trying to ignore how everything flutters.
“We’ll just talk.” You state, likely to convince yourself.
“We’ll just talk.” Otto affirms, failing to convince himself.
You do as he says - noting how in the elevator he was already texting his driver the location to meet him at - and walk out of the building, swiping your ID card at the exit - slipping out the revolving doors and into the streets of New York. It can’t be later than eight o’clock, but it was the city that never sleeps - just as bustling as ever. Easy to get yourself lost in a crowd, especially when you’re not wearing a white coat.
You wait outside a coffee shop a block and a half away, head leaning against the dewy glass window, mist from the evening rain dampening your hair. You’d just talk, the two of you couldn’t continue, that’d be asinine, asking for the two of you to slip up and ruin both of your reputations. Though if you were being honest, you worked at Oscorp. The STEM-lords and businessmen who flooded the building would likely praise Otto while tearing you down if anything were to occur. He had millions of dollars, lawyers, supporters to keep him afloat. All you had were two roommates who vaguely judged your life choices, thousands of dollars in debt, and chutzpah.
So when he arrives and the car pulls up to the curb and he gestures for you to step inside ahead of him, you listen. You resolve yourself that all you would do is talk, say that things would end amicably, that it would be insane to let this go any further.
He says as much in the car, albeit hesitation lacing his words.
“I mean, it would be nuts to let really good sex get in the way of our work…” you trail, a hand settling on his thigh, “I don’t know about you, but we have to control ourselves.”
Your carefully manicured nails press into his thigh, a sigh escaping Otto.
“Yes, we do…” He grunts, a hand rising to dig into his hair, not moving your hand away from him, he’s not sure if you know what you’re doing to him, “I’ll mention something though.”
“And what is that?”
“It’s only temporary, the position.” He states, glancing down at your eyes, “I think we can keep our hands to ourselves for a little bit.”
“A little bit…” you sigh, a hand inching closer to him, meeting his gaze, “Totally.”
Nobody needed to know that you wound up on your knees, one of his hands threaded through your hair, gently gripping your head as you licked up and down his cock, working through the inane urge to touch him out of your system.
Nobody needed to know that you followed him to his bedroom despite having none of your overnight things, he’d just buy you some to keep there.
Nobody needed to know that he’d order your favorite foods from the places still open because oh, the two of you both just happened to forget to eat while you were busy working. Nobody needed to know a thing that went on between you two - you could keep it professional.
All you needed to do was work through it.
To get him out of your system.