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Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing?! Beck’s face morphed into confusion at the sudden change. Just this morning, after weeks of arguing, they’d agreed on the specifics of the patent. None of that had been about the name. Stark couldn’t have changed it in that time! Why would he? It didn’t—
“Or as I like to call it, B.A.R.F,” Stark laughed. The crowd laughed with him, and with a sinking feeling, Beck understood. “A name well suited to its creator, isn’t it?” Stark continued.
Beck clutched the table, nails digging into the fine wood even through the fancy tablecloth. That bastard! Beck would say he couldn’t believe the man could be so petty, but the truth was that he could believe it. The arguing, the lawyers, the mediators— all of them had been pressing for Quentin Beck to have the primary title on the patent. Tony had protested greatly, doing everything in his power to make sure that he got the credit for the invention. Tony barely even knew anything about Beck’s work— just that it was extraordinary, and no one could outdo the Superior Iron Man.
He should’ve been suspicious. He should’ve known something was off when Stark came in that morning and announced that he was buckling. He had slapped the contract papers down on the conference table, flipped open to the page that listed the credits. After seeing himself as the primary creator and no fake pages before or after the credit page, Beck had signed off, relieved to be done. He didn’t even think to check for other changes.
Tony finished addressing the crowd, instructing them to praise the man of the hour for his B.A.R.F. and promising that he himself would be getting thoroughly hammered. He waltzed off into the group of reporters searching for quotes from the slumdog millionaire before he became belligerent. Slummy indeed, Beck thought to himself.
He saw people approaching. Shit. He didn’t think he could keep a straight face and avoid assassinating Stark while being so aptly complimented for what had been a trap. He quickly rose to his feet.
“Now hold on. Let me at least use the bathroom before you swarm me,” Beck held his hands up charismatically and deftly slipped out of the ballroom. He got about eight feet down the hallway before a waiter was suddenly in his way. Beck punched him in the jaw. Drinks clattered across the floor, but Beck didn’t stop, walking with purpose in a direction. He didn’t even realize himself where he was going until he hit the button in Tony’s private elevator.
The elevator rose toward the penthouse. Beck’s mind was racing through its rage. Tony was dismantling Beck’s reputation, and if that was the case, Beck wasn’t going down alone. Tony would learn he was not to be trifled with. He just needed a smidge of evidence. He knew Tony’s secret.
Beck was one of very few who had access to the penthouse. Beck had been around for a while, and he’d been forced to reckon with a truly drunk Tony before. Drunk as in, beyond reason. There was a certain point at which, when drinking, a switch in the man was flipped. He ceased to be funny and upbeat. When he hit that point, he only wanted blood.
Some number of years back, Beck and Potts had walked in on Tony with a superhero emergency. They found him railing a young naked woman, bound and gagged beneath him. It wasn’t consensual, and she bled out on the tarp. Beck had received a $60,000 pay raise, but more importantly, a threat of death from the Superior Iron Man, who no one would dare question. Pepper, on the other hand, found herself in a much more nefarious deal.
Pepper received millions of dollars, and with her already high pay as Vice President of the company, people assumed it was a regular raise. In reality, Pepper had become the most expensive cover story in history. She was paid on a regular basis to accompany Stark to events, talk about their lovely relationship, and sleep in her own suite at night.
Beck watched as Stark funneled millions of dollars every month toward both Pepper and keeping people quiet (assuming he hadn’t just killed them). These transactions were under wraps, but some evidence had to exist somewhere. Beck just had to find it.
He stepped out of the elevator, and dim lights came on automatically. He had one shot at this. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Beck murmured. He heard a small beep acknowledge him. “Activate the ‘Of Mice and Men’ Protocol. Lock down the penthouse and ignore any attempts to get up here by Tony.”
“Yes, sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered. The protocol was meant to raise Pepper, Quentin, Obadiah, and a few key others’ authority above Stark to prevent his secret from getting out. If it was abused, Stark could see in 12 hours who had activated it. That was all the time Quentin had now.
Beck didn’t waste time. He moved around the living room, searching for a hidden storage unit. He smashed thousand-dollar vases, ripped elephant-skin couches, and pulled multi-million dollar paintings off the wall. He broke the tv down and cracked it open with his bare hands to check for a hidden drive. He found nothing, and he’d caused a few dozen million in this room alone.
Beck proceeded to Tony’s bedroom. He pushed the door open, letting it hit the drywall and burst through the thin barrier. He pulled the door back and checked in the wall for any papers. He rummaged through the side table drawers, wrinkling his nose upon finding it full of sex toys. He grabbed the lamp and threw it against the wall. It shattered, and Beck watched the pieces clatter and come to rest. The room had a ringing silence. He heard a whimper. Beck paused, listening intently. If someone was here, they couldn’t get away.
Beck dropped to one knee and ripped up the skirt of the bed. There were a few fine boxes there, but none big enough for a human. Beck checked anyway. He tried to break the lock on a small wooden chest with his hands, but when that failed, he flailed it to the side. It smashed into the closet doors, and there was a muffled yell. Beck looked up. The closet? He walked closer, keeping his footsteps quiet.
Peter was scared. Mr. St— Master was drunk again. He could tell by the heavy footsteps, and by the sounds of crashing, it sounded like he was in one of his moods. Peter’s arm ached as it remembered what had happened last time. He hadn’t moved fast enough, and Master had broken his bicep. It took a week to heal, during which the man dragged Peter around by it whenever possible.
He couldn’t contain the whimper when he heard the lamp shatter. Once, when Mr. Stark was first exploring Peter’s abilities, he pressed shards of glass into the small hero’s back, just so he could watch as his body pushed them out. The sounds ceased. Peter stopped breathing. No! He hadn’t meant to remind his master that he was here. He wasn’t! He shouldn’t be. When the man was so far gone, it meant a sure maiming for the boy. And the thing was, his Master never let him die. He just had to sit with the pain until it healed. Something hit the door then, and Peter yelped into the tape around his mouth. Peter quickly swallowed the sound. Dark ideas flashed through his head of what the man might do. Peter trembled as the footsteps drew nearer. The door ripped open. He looked to the side, not wanting to give the man any satisfaction. Not until he was ordered to. However, no order came.
Peter’s eyes flickered up. It wasn’t Mr. Stark. It was Beck. Quentin Beck. His brain raced in a search for possible explanations, and for the first time in months, his heart rose with an old feeling— hope.
Beck stared in surprise at the young man (or was he still a kid?) duct taped in the empty closet. The moonlight behind him illuminated the pale face, now looking at him with just as much confusion. Beck tried to understand. Tony had never kept a victim before. If he didn’t kill them himself, he’d have them disposed of afterward. No one survived the man. Moreso, Tony’s victim choices tended to be spontaneous, so surely he couldn’t be saving him for later? Especially when dried blood and scattered bruises indicated that he’d already been damaged. In order for Tony to keep someone, they had to be special. Really special. He had to mean something to Tony. Beck had hit the jackpot.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Beck mused. The boy looked up at him and made a noise into the duct tape. Beck took his hand off the door and ripped away the duct tape to reveal fluffy, cracked lips. The boy’s lip parted, but he couldn’t think of the words to say. He’d thought about this so many times. He’d rehearsed so much for when someone finally stumbled upon him and rescued him. But something about the man’s words felt wrong. Beck, meanwhile, was surprised that he recognized this one.
“Parker?” Beck asked, and the eyes that zipped up to his confirmed his suspicion. “Peter, right?” The boy nodded, still wary. His neck tingled in that way that meant something was wrong.
Peter had interned for Beck’s lab back in June. Quentin had found the way Peter said ‘sir’ quite frankly adorable, and Peter’s professional demeanor overall was leagues above anyone else who Quentin worked with. However, only a couple weeks after the start of the program, Peter had bailed on the internship with nothing but a curt email to Tony Stark. Quentin had found it a little odd, since no one had ever quit their internship program before, but he soon after forgotten about it. Now, he was realizing, Peter had never quit at all, had he?
Quentin ran a hand down his face, and then, he chuckled in disbelief. Peter stared at him.
“Peter Parker,” Beck laughed. Beck shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, beginning to pace with energy. He couldn’t believe it. This was too good. Yes, he’d noticed the lack of non-disclosure contracts, but he’d assumed Stark was just putting distance between them as Beck finished his project. But really, this whole time, Tony had buckled down and actually committed to someone. “Holy shit. This is amazing. I didn’t think it was possible. This is— This is too good. I can’t, really—“ he held up a hand to stop Peter’s words that weren’t even coming.
“Whoo, okay,” Beck leaned against the wall, catching his breath. He did need to actually do something before Stark noticed he was gone. Peter managed to find his voice, but since he seldom used it these days, it came out hoarse.
“Can you untie me?” It was shorter and more blunt than Peter meant, but that was the extent of the words he could get out. Beck swiveled his head to look at him.
“What? No,” He scoffed. “You’re like a golden goose. Except instead of golden eggs, you’ve got an ass full of Stark’s cum. You know, you would go for a lot on the black market…” Beck mused. Peter’s eyes widened in shock.
“What?” Peter croaked. Beck considered if he should call his underground contact. No… no… the market would be too easy. Stark would just find him and buy him back. He needed to make the kid unusable to Stark. Not simply dead, but held just out of arm’s reach. A grin grew on Beck’s face. Yes… he’d have to taint him, and he couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy it.
Peter didn’t like the look on his face. It sent shivers down his spine and made every hair of his body stand on end. He twisted his wrists in the duct tape. Quentin Beck must be joking… of course he would let Peter out. He’d hopefully call the police to come help, too. That wasn’t what was happening.
Beck kicked the door shut and locked it. Peter watched fearfully as Beck came closer to him. The man grabbed his arm, and Peter let him have it, hoping he would grab the lip of the tape and start to unravel his bindings. Instead, Beck hooked his fingers between the small forearms and pulled the kid to his feet. Peter’s vision spun at the sudden movement, and he stumbled forward. Quentin shoved him, and Peter fell forward onto the bed with no hands to catch himself. He tried to spin onto his back, but a big hand held him pressed to the mattress.
“What are you doing?” Peter squeaked. He squirmed until Beck grabbed the back of his neck tightly.
“Stealing you,” Beck hissed. He yanked Peter’s shorts down, and although the boy struggled, Beck was easily able to hold him down. He spread his cheeks and ran his thumb across the hole. It felt pretty smooth, actually.
“You’re in pretty good shape. You sure Stark’s fucked you?” Beck asked. Genital mutilation wasn’t uncommon, and if Peter had been here for months, Beck was sure Tony would’ve hurt him at least accidentally. Peter just dug his face into the bed. Beck slapped his ass, and Peter cried out in surprise. “Answer me, Parker.”
“I’m— I’m enhanced. I heal fast,” Peter stammered. Beck’s eyebrows shot up. So he’d found an enhanced cockslut that Stark had gotten attached to. That meant this bitch knew the drill, and Beck didn’t need to waste time with more precautions.
Beck pulled himself out of his dress pants, and without any prep, he pushed into Peter. Peter yelped in surprise, but he took Beck fairly easily. Beck didn’t wait. Stark would notice he was gone soon. He started thrusting in and out of the kid in earnest, thinking about the horror, anger, and shame that Stark would feel when he found out. He’d probably kill the kid and then get even angrier with himself.
“Barf,” Beck hissed out loud. “He’ll regret that.” He grabbed Peter’s hips in order to fuck him harder, bring his ass up to his groin with each thrust. Peter made moaning, slutty noises, no doubt trained that way by Stark. They weren’t real, but Beck didn’t care. It was like a porno movie, and he was the hero. Tony was the villain. Beck felt himself getting closer.
He reached around and grabbed the front of Peter’s neck. Peter whined in fear and tried to grab Beck, but his hands were still bound. He arched his back beautifully as he tried to save himself from being choked. Beck just switched to a chokehold to keep the new position. He heard a change in pitch that he assumed meant he was hitting Peter’s prostate, and soon, the teenager was coming, spurting white all over the silk covers and tightening around Beck. Beck fucked him animalistically, enjoying the ever-tight fit until the end. He came in Peter, but he forced himself to keep fucking him through his overstimulation. Twice. He wanted to double-tap mother-fucking Stark.
Pulsars could be heard outside. Stark rose to the window and without the face mask, Beck could see his face morph into horror. Beck grinned and held his middle finger out to Stark as he impaled Peter violently with his cock. A pulsar blast took out his face, and Peter yelped as the dead body fell onto him.
Stark landed inside, anger flaring. He ripped Quentin’s body off of Peter, who quickly scrambled across the bed to get away. Tony lit up his pulsars and burned holes through Beck’s face and crotch, just for good measure. He blasted the man’s discarded jacket, lighting in ablaze. Other objects flew, broke, and exploded as Tony vented his anger, and when the red started to clear from his vision, he realized he didn’t know where Peter had gone.
“Pete?” Stark called out, walking around the destroyed bedroom. Peter had used his elbows to try and slide himself under the bed, but it wasn’t high enough to allow his head, and he’d desperately pulled some of the displaced comforter over his head. X-ray was built into the SIM suit anyway. Tony pulled the covers back. Peter was deathly pale and too scared to move. The billionaire grabbed Peter’s arm and dragged him out onto the carpet.
“Did he cum in you?” Stark asked. Peter whimpered and ducked his head into the carpet. Tony knelt down and grabbed his hair, making Peter look him in the eyes.
"He- He… Mr. Stark… I—“ Peter cut himself off with a cry of pain as Tony tightened his grip.
“Answer the question. And what was that you called me?” Tony goaded, and he lit his repulsor to idle, letting the bright glow rest near Peter’s face. He’d burned the brat before, and he’d do it again. Peter's lip quivered.
"Yes, Master,” Peter sobbed.
“Shame,” Tony said dryly. Peter was shaking so violently that Tony could feel it even through the suit, but he let go of the kid as if he’d been touching germs. Tony stood up, and Peter curled in on himself. Another repulsor blast. “Fuck.”