Work Text:
The subdued light of the lamp overhead would've been too dim to illuminate the workbench for most, but it was calibrated perfectly for Otto's sensitive eyes, obviating the need for the tinted goggles propped up on his forehead. A tentacle lay on the table in front of him, powered down in its own version of sleep, panels open at the base of the claw to reveal a labyrinth of wiring for installation of a new addition to his arsenal. As always, he found the complex work soothing, hands manipulating the required tools with deliberate, confident precision, one of the other actuators assisting while the remaining pair hovered overhead, their inquisitive chatter a pleasant background noise. He’d developed the device--a prototype sonic weapon, fully directional and modular--after an encounter with the overzealous, brutish Spider-man pretender calling itself Venom. That Otto hadn’t actually been up to anything nefarious (was, in fact, returning home after some errands with goods he had actually paid for) seemed to matter little to the slobbering beast hell-bent on devouring him as punishment for prior transgressions. He’d dispatched the cretin with only a modicum of effort, and foresaw no reason he wouldn’t be able to do so in the future if needed, but would prefer an option that didn’t require actually touching it. The actuators hissed in solidarity with him, remembering the unpleasant feeling of the symbiote's slime clogging up their intricate joints. He soothed them with a calming brush of his consciousness against theirs, and their response fed back into his own like a cat nuzzling the hand petting it. Otto turned his attention back to the task at hand, trying to ignore the craving for the cigar that had habitually accompanied such pursuits until recently.
Presently, one of the actuators perked up, sensing something out of the ordinary, and the other not engaged in the delicate task followed, raising to join it in scanning their surroundings, not unlike a pair of guard dogs, chittering between each other in concern. Otto acknowledged it with part of his mind, trusting his children to protect him should the need arise, and continued working.
The tentacles were thus prepared when only moments later, the sound of glass breaking heralded an attack. Reacting faster than his brain would have by itself, they whipped out at lightning speed to deflect the projectile away from their father before it exploded a heartbeat later. The point of impact happened to be the corner of the large space dedicated to the kitchen and, for once, Otto was thankful the stove was electric and not natural gas. Reactivating the sleeping arm with a thought and bidding it to pull his goggles down to protect his eyes from further flashes of light, he turned to face the threat, the cool night air now drafting down from the shattered window.
A terribly familiar high-pitched cackle resounded through the structure, echoing off concrete, metal, and glass like fluttering birds trapped by the trusses of the vaulted roof. The defense systems would've given him more warning if this particular enemy wasn't already supposed to be here, he thought with some annoyance. He waited patiently, and was ready when the next pumpkin bomb (because of course what else would it be) came hurtling out of the dark through the broken window toward him. Otto twisted out of the way, two mechanical arms propelling him upwards as another grabbed what remained of the refrigerator to use as a shield. The last bomb had been on a timer, no doubt to allow it entry through the window before reaching its target, but this one exploded on impact, sending shrapnel out over the large space. Otto winced when a particularly large chunk shattered the tasteful glass coffee table Norman had insisted on buying not a week ago to fill the sitting area between the two long black leather couches. If the life expectancy of their furnishings was to be this short, he reflected, they might as well go to IKEA next time, despite Norman’s disdain for--in his words--the embodiment of modern plebeian mediocrity.
At last, the originator of the mayhem decided to make his entrance, smashing through the skylight in a flurry of broken glass and violent, chaotic joy, green armor almost glowing in the light of the full moon as he perched atop that damned glider.
So fucking dramatic.
Otto sighed inwardly at the prospect of having to replace yet another of the large panes of glass that had to be specially ordered for the fixture. Though he might be prone to theatrics on occasion, he drew the line at purposely destroying his own property, especially when he'd be responsible for the cleanup afterwards. It was fortunate that they had no real neighbors to speak of in the worn-down industrial park, otherwise he might’ve had to contend with law enforcement as well. Deflecting yet another of the explosives--and briefly mourning the resulting disintegration of the sound system he actually enjoyed using, along with every other component of their entertainment center--he went on the offensive, sending the clawed arms out in brutal, efficient strikes.
The Goblin was fast, caroming about the room with abandon, but Otto had the advantage in the limited space, as large as it was, and knew his opponent's fighting style almost as well as his own. Anticipating the sudden twists and turns the madman made to evade him, he extended his mechanical arms to their full length to form a shifting net of sinuous, living metal that gradually closed in, threatening to trap his foe in the corner of the room housing the smoldering remains of their formerly well-appointed kitchen. As he predicted, his attacker made a desperate break for the opening in the the skylight, and he bared his teeth in satisfaction when, at the last moment, the head of an actuator clamped down on the glider as another wrapped itself around the fleeing prey, pinning his arms to his sides to forestall further destruction, and dragged them both down to Otto waiting below. He let the claw bite the rest of the way through the glider to force the footholds to release its rider, rendering it a useless hunk of metal, at least for the time being, and tossed it aside carelessly as he set his quarry firmly on the ground in front of him. The smaller man looked up at him without a hint of fear or contrition, grinning madly. At least he wasn't wearing that bloody mask.
“Goblin,” Otto addressed his assailant gruffly, crossing his flesh and blood arms in irritation, one of the unoccupied mechanical ones helpfully removing his goggles and placing them on his work table for safekeeping.
“What’s up, Doc?” the creature wearing Norman Osborn’s face returned with an unhinged giggle. Now that he’d been caught, the Goblin was putting up much less of a fight than he would’ve expected, but Otto wasn’t about to trust the docility for a minute.
He leveled a glare at him that had the tendency to make grown men cry. It had absolutely no effect on his adversary. "Is there any particular reason you've decided to remodel our living space via incendiary device?"
The Goblin’s smirk was filthy as he shifted in the actuator’s grasp in a manner oddly more akin to snuggle than real attempt to escape. "I got tired of watching you parade these gorgeous things around in front of us like a shameless back-alley whore and decided it was high time you actually put them to good use.”
Otto blinked, nonplussed. He couldn’t possibly mean--
The fiend bent his head to lick the coil tight around his chest, wild eyes never leaving Otto’s, then drawled, “I want you to ruin every hole I’ve got with your overengineered dildo arms and monster dick. Do I make myself clear?”
Otto snorted, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Norman had always had that easy confidence of one born to wealth and power, prone to issuing directives from on high with the expectation that his will would be done without question, but it took another level of hubris entirely to demand sex from the man holding him captive who he’d only moments ago been assailing with explosives. Of all the things the creature could request of him, somehow he hadn't considered this, and couldn't decide whether to be alarmed, flattered, or aroused.
“That’s what Norman wants too, but he’s too much of a pussy to ask for it,” the Goblin added, tongue coming out to swipe at his bottom lip. The veracity of that assertion had yet to be determined, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Norman always seemed accepting of the mechanical arms, affectionate even; the actuators were fond of him of their own accord as well.
“And you decided a murder attempt was the best way to go about this?” Otto asked, imbuing the query with all the sardonic incredulity it deserved.
“If you can’t handle a few fireworks, you’re not the overgrown cephalopod we thought you were,” Goblin sniffed in feigned disappointment.
Otto gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. "Let me see Norman."
"No," he sneered, leering at the tentacle wrapped around him, which stared back, perplexed, having never been accosted in such fashion before. “Not until I get at least one of these babies inside me."
That the murderous little cunt was willing to hold Norman hostage to get what it wanted was hardly surprising. As much as he was loath to yield any sort of ground to the Goblin, he knew from experience that it was difficult to banish the fiend once he fixated on something. There were any number of ways this could go terribly wrong (and very few in which the outcome might be considered remotely positive) but Otto found himself seriously contemplating it, tilting his head to the side in assessment, the tentacles hovering above him unconsciously mimicking the movement.
A part of him--the dark half that he hadn't known existed before the accident, which wasn’t born of the wayward technology but merely unearthed and honed by it into a sadist that delighted in the power the mechanical limbs granted, relishing the fear and pain of the weak and pathetic crushed beneath his heel--wondered how far he could push the demented superhuman, how much he could press and pull and twist…
"Come on big boy, we know you want to," the Goblin cajoled, too-sharp teeth glinting in a lascivious grin.
The actuators themselves began to eye the Goblin with interest, clicking with excitement at the prospect of an experiment. Still undecided but intrigued despite himself, Otto started to peel away the layers of the armored suit to reveal the lithe, muscular body beneath, loosening the tentacle around his chest only enough to pull the other man's arms free and secure them outspread in a parody of crucifixion with a rough tug.
“Ooh, now we’re talking,” the demon chuckled, eyes gleaming.
Otto paced in a slow arc around the other man, and his willing prey swiveled his head to track him. With each inch of skin uncovered, arousal gained ground in its battle against reason. Even as the last of the armor was removed, leaving him bare save the cold metal holding him captive, the Goblin seemed unbothered by the scrutiny--reveling in it, in fact, if his growing erection was any indication.
“You ever gonna do more than look, honey?” The deviant sent a sinful come-hither over his shoulder with the mocking challenge. The resulting combination of lust and anger broke what remained of Otto’s good sense, subsumed under the need to control, possess, destroy …
Considering their combined mass (admittedly most of it his) and the force he was apparently being called upon to provide, Otto decided to spare the few nice pieces of furniture that had survived the initial conflict, choosing instead one of the solid steel workbenches. Sweeping away the contents of Norman's desk--if the Goblin wanted to play games like this, it wasn't Otto's work that would suffer--he shoved him down on it face-first ungently with a hand on the back of his neck, forcing his legs apart and stepping between them.
"Oooh, look at Doctor Octopussy finally growing some balls,” his antagonist crooned, craning against the hold to maintain eye contact with the man towering over him.
Otto raised an eyebrow. "This was your plan? Piss me off enough to fuck you exactly the way you want?"
The Goblin winked. “We always knew you were clever, darling.”
He huffed, taking a moment to admire the Rodin sculpture in scarred alabaster before him. Even before the serum, Norman had been fit, blessed with a compact swimmer’s physique that Otto always envied. The transformation had only enhanced it, forging of him a symphony in muscle and bone. It was almost unfair that the damage Norman’s innovation caused was entirely internal, in contrast to Otto’s own metamorphosis from heavy, awkward bookworm who’d spent most of his youth with shoulders sloped down in a futile attempt to appear smaller to the hulking, deformed horror he was now. Bionic Hephaestus to a half-mad Aphrodite , he thought with bitter amusement.
The tentacle encircling the Goblin’s chest nudged at Otto for attention, eager to explore its prisoner. At a nod, coils loosened around the Goblin’s torso, shifting to allow the head of the actuator to trace down his spine, jaws closed, cataloging each prominence and furrow in memory both organic and not. The man beneath him was enjoying the experience as well, judging by the way he arched into the foreign touch, moans increasing in volume the further south the tentacle ventured. He let the claw drag even more slowly down the cleft of his ass, and at the barest brush of it over his tight hole, the Goblin shivered and squirmed as if trying to impale himself on the metal appendage despite the sharp ridges and cruel angles marking it decidedly not designed for this purpose. If this were Norman, he'd take his time, opening him up slowly, with care; the Goblin had earned no such kindness, but neither did he want to truly harm the man left behind when the devil inside finally slunk back to hell.
“C’mon, fuck me already!” the Goblin spat.
"Patience," he admonished, flexing the hand around the other man’s neck in warning, though both were probably wasted on the being of pure id, cunning as it was; delayed gratification likely wasn’t even in its vulgar lexicon.
"Be gentle, Daddy, it's my first time," the imp pleaded in cloying falsetto.
Otto really didn't like the way his gut twisted with a combination of arousal and revulsion in response. He was tempted to shove his fingers into the Goblin's mouth to deprive him the opportunity to offer further sordid commentary but for the almost certainty of the little shit biting him. Instead, he chose to give the fiend what he had (probably unwisely) asked for and let him bear the consequences. He directed the mechanical limb forward to nuzzle at the man’s heavy sac--deliberately avoiding his cock for the time being--then slither back up firm abdomen and toned chest, pausing only to bite and tug on his nipples, wringing a yelp for each, before curving in front of the Goblin’s face, unfurling its claws fully like a cobra waiting to strike.
“Well hello beautiful,” the gremlin murmured, appraising the actuator with pure, unbridled lust as it stared back, clicking softly. He slowly tilted his head back with mouth open like a supplicant receiving a profane offering in perverse mockery of communion. The claw curled itself closed and advanced, slipping easily into the wet heat of the Goblin’s mouth. The malignant elf groaned around it, gnawing happily as if it were some sort of treat. The teeth, sharper than they should be but not nearly enough to do any real damage to the mechanical limb, induced a prickly sensation that was then soothed by swipes of the creature’s tongue to trace the shallow scratches he'd made in the hardened metal. The touch wasn't the same as feeling it over his skin, but went straight to his cock regardless, which twitched in the increasingly uncomfortable confines of his pants. Otto forced himself to release the breath he was holding, entranced by the obscene image of the other man’s mouth stretched wide to accommodate the actuator’s girth. With more reluctance than he’d like to admit, he withdrew the tentacle. He might’ve found the spit slicking the surface annoying under other circumstances but it suited his current purposes well at the moment.
“Nnngh, more,” the Goblin demanded as soon as his mouth was free to do so. Gritting his teeth, Otto brought the now-lubricated appendage back down to the man’s ass, spreading the firm cheeks in front of him before pressing in, feeling the tight ring of muscle yield to metal, catching on every bump and ridge with a delicious pull.
His enjoyment of the act was immediately spoiled by the creature’s babbling. “Fuck yes, wanna cum on your bitch tits--”
Irritated, Otto used his grip on the other man’s neck to slam his head back down with more force than he’d meant to use. He’d accept that sort of comment from Norman, usually delivered in a gentle, teasing tone, but hearing it in the Goblin’s voice rankled.
Predictably, it did little to dissuade the foul-mouthed nuisance from spouting more lewd drivel. “Oh yeah, hurt me, Daddy!”
Otto grabbed his face with another claw, sharp points digging into his cheek drawing beads of crimson, and pulled it against the pressure he maintained on the back of his neck to torque his head around.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, scowling down at the caricature of Norman Osborn spread out beneath him.
“Make me,” the creature spat back, all petulance and spite.
Otto favored him with a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Gladly.”
Extending the limb encasing the other man’s left arm, he slid it over to curl around the Goblin’s throat with enough pressure to be uncomfortable but not cause actual harm, replacing the hand he’d been using to anchor him to the table, before pushing the tapered head even deeper down the man’s throat than before. The ability to feel the motions of the actuator--and the creature’s efforts to swallow it--from both inside and out was a sublime pleasure he hadn’t even pondered before now. He found himself absently palming himself through his trousers, and shook his head to clear it from the haze of desire threatening to overtake him. There would be time for that later.
Control.
Letting the tentacle occupying the Goblin’s mouth do as it wished, he turned his attention back to the actuator making its first foray into sodomy. Pushing the mechanical limb further into the man’s tight passage yielded a series of delicious whines; Otto tried rotating it, and the full-body spasm the maneuver produced was gratifying. Varying the angle, depth, and motion of the tentacle, he experimented with what would best render the savage underneath him a gibbering mess (not that he had much further to go, really), but deliberately avoided any sort of regular pattern that would give the demon the release he craved.
Otto reveled in the opportunity to watch himself taking the Goblin apart from multiple angles, the vibrations of every grunt and moan transmitted perfectly through the conductive hearing of the actuators and his own ears. It was second nature for his mind to add their sensory input to his own, but something about the active participation on behalf of the tentacles enhanced it. The tightness and heat of the penetration wasn't the same as feeling it with his fingers or cock, but as wrong as it should be, it was good. He tried to not think too much about what his inquisitive--if naive--creations might be learning from this experience. Part of him wanted to continue, to prove he could get the man off with this alone, but he wasn't about to let him win that easily, and reluctantly retracted the limb from its position deep in his tight channel.
The Goblin protested the loss but was soon distracted by the slick claw curving forward to finally address his impressive erection, bobbing neglected between his legs and dripping precum. The tentacle drew the spiked tips of its digits down in sharp, light presses that Otto imagined might feel like nails before wrapping the dexterous claws around it loosely, the articulated metal surfaces offering only an approximation of hands. Nevertheless, the urchin tried thrusting into the alien grip, eager for more.
Otto chuckled darkly. "You really think you're still in charge here?"
The imp nodded with an unbearable arrogance, and had the temerity to suck harder on the actuator crammed in his mouth, unashamed of the drooling mess it had made of him. Otto smirked, shifting the tentacle to coil tightly around the base of his captive’s prick as well as twisting around and between his balls, dividing and tugging them down. He extended the smallest of the forceps of the claw wrapped around his shaft to encircle the head before slipping into the slit with slow, steady pressure, eliciting a whimper from the Goblin. The combination should ensure the man wouldn’t be able to come without Otto letting him.
“Every hole. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he drawled cruelly.
The Goblin’s eyes flashed with haughty defiance despite his obvious discomfort. Clenching his jaw in irritation, Otto finally gave in to the temptation to release his aching cock from its confines. He allowed himself a few strokes of his length, spreading the substantial slick which had accumulated at the tip before lining himself up with the man’s clenching, puffy entrance. The work of the mechanical arm had loosened it enough for him to slide in with a single harsh thrust, and the beast howled beneath him, muffled as it was by the actuator in its mouth. He didn’t give him an opportunity to adjust, and immediately started fucking him with a slow, punishing rhythm, hands encircling his slim waist, fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise. Otto lost himself in the pleasure of driving ever deeper into the tight heat of the man beneath him, hole stretched wide open but still gripping his substantial girth with a delightful pressure.
"Well? Does this meet your expectations?” he inquired in between ragged breaths. The Goblin made an effort to reply that was unintelligible with the tentacle down his throat moving in counterpoint to Otto’s thrusts. Against his better judgment, he withdrew the actuator occupying that foul mouth, and almost immediately regretted it.
"Not bad for a fat, ugly, mutilated freak," the Goblin needled hoarsely. The words hit their mark, of course, in a voice too similar to the man he deeply cared for to ignore--not only that some part of Norman thought them but understood him well enough to know that Otto himself couldn’t help but fear it true, dragging out that deep shame from the darkest parts of him to use as a weapon.
"I may be all those things,” he growled. “But who's the one here so desperate for the fat, ugly, mutilated freak to fuck them?" Otto emphasized with a particularly brutal twist of his hips that left the other man unable to form a coherent reply, only able to glare back at him.
The reprieve wasn’t to last however, as a few moments later, the Goblin struck back with malign rancor. "You think Rosie would’ve let you fuck her like this?"
Otto's vision went blood red, going still save for the tentacle tightening even further around the other man's throat. "That you could've done without saying," he hissed, voice low and lethal.
The Goblin began fighting against him in earnest for the first time, with a fear that had not been present at any point before now. Osborn was strong, the serum granting him abilities far beyond that of an ordinary human--the Goblin more so out of sheer recklessness--and might've had a chance of fending him off under other conditions, but he had let--nay, demanded --Otto wrap himself so thoroughly around every limb that he had no purchase to resist. Minutes passed, lack of oxygen sapping the strength of the Goblin’s struggles and turning his face red, then a sickly, paling blue, powerless in the face of Otto’s implacable, cold rage. Only the knowledge that Norman was trapped somewhere within the demented little prick allowed him to collect the tattered remains of his control and release the strangulating hold before the point of no return.
The sick fuck sneered at him in triumph even as he inhaled air in desperate, coughing breaths, smug in knowing Otto couldn't bring himself to actually kill him if it meant the loss of Norman as well. Otto ground his teeth together but forced himself to calm down and regroup. Brute force wouldn’t win him this particular battle, so he decided a change in tactics was needed. Before his adversary could recover enough to say something else suicidal, he shoved the actuator down the bastard’s throat once more, the novelty of having found a non-lethal method of silencing that perverse mouth too enticing to resist for more than practical reasons. Otto resumed fucking his opponent at a brutal pace, leveraging his hold on the fiend to imbue each thrust with savage force. As soon as he felt the telltale signs of the other man’s impending orgasm as he clenched around him, however, he halted.
"Let me talk to Norman," Otto spat viciously, "or you don't get to cum."
The Goblin tried to push back against him to get the friction he needed, but Otto tightened the limb wrapped around both his legs to lock him in place against the worktable. Testing the limits of the other man’s flexibility, he bore his full weight down on the man’s hips while arching his torso backwards with the tentacles around his chest and arms, knowing the position was perfect for nailing his prostate with even the slightest movement. He bent forward to bite down hard on the demon’s left shoulder, drawing blood, the coppery taste coating his tongue, and ground his hips torturously against his foe’s until the latter began to tighten around Otto's cock, and stopped yet again. The pressure and heat was agony to withstand, every cell in his body begging him to move , but the stakes were too high to give in now.
Breathing hard, he hissed into the Goblin’s ear. "You think I won't do it? Fill up this dirty little hole and leave you here soiled and wanting like the psychotic needy bitch you are?"
Unable to even budge, the man tried clenching around Otto for relief, to no avail.
"No!" Otto snarled, taking a handful of auburn hair to yank his head even further backwards. "Norman, or nothing!"
The Goblin glared up at him in pitiful, impotent fury, the overstimulation and desperate need for release accomplishing what a near-death experience hadn’t in finally bringing the beast to heel. Otto knew the moment he’d won when a physical change came over the man underneath him in a shudder as the Goblin relinquished control, crazed rictus softening into the precious, worried features he knew so well. Otto instantly released the crushing grip of his mechanical arms, withdrawing the actuators to pull Norman up against his chest.
"Otto?" Norman’s broken voice was pained, almost lost, and hearing it made his heart wrench.
"It's ok love, let go," he murmured. Norman's mouth sought his in desperation, and he allowed himself to kiss the other man for the first time as he came apart with a few strokes of Otto’s human hand, sobbing as the long-denied release wracked his abused body. Otto followed, groaning into his lover’s mouth as he spilled as deep inside him as he could get, the relief the closest thing he’d felt to peace since he’d torn his own world apart. When they broke the kiss off for need of air, Otto dropped his head to Norman’s shoulder, face pressing into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him now adulterated by blood, sweat, and metal. As his breathing slowed, he was hit by the reality of the devastation wrought by the Goblin’s mad whims and his indulgence of them, both in the ruins of the room around them and the man sagging in his embrace, held up only by Otto’s hold on him.
Norman whined when Otto pulled out of him, and he was concerned by the streaks of blood mixed with his seed dripping down between his thighs. Norman turned around to clutch at him, and he gathered the smaller man in his arms. His partner must’ve been even more disoriented and confused than he usually was awakening from a fugue state but didn’t question him, seeming barely able to hold his eyes open. As much as Otto himself was ready to collapse on the nearest flat surface, he still had to see to Norman’s injuries, and both of them were in desperate need of a shower. Fortunately, the wing housing their shared bedroom with its en-suite bath had been spared the onslaught. Otto carried him to the oversized stall, the mechanical arms accomplishing the complicated maneuver of stripping off his shirt while not fully relinquishing his grip on the man snuggled into his chest, as well as removing his boots and remaining clothing on the way.
After turning the water on at the highest pressure and hottest temperature he thought Norman could tolerate, he began to assess the damage he’d wrought as he gently washed him clean, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. The wounds--still exquisitely tender though accelerated through the normal healing process as they may be--seemed to cover every inch of him; cuts and abrasions were interspersed with bruises, the worst damage done to his neck and chest, the latter probably suffering a cracked rib or two. The bite on his shoulder was ragged and deep but beginning to draw together and would fortunately probably be fine without stitches as long as he irrigated it well. After doing what little he could for the injuries, Otto shut off the water and toweled him dry him with the same care, letting the tentacles take care of themselves as well as the rest of him.
It wasn't until they were settled on the large bed, Otto propped up against the headboard, two of his extra limbs coiled behind himself to take pressure off his back, the other two draped over Norman curled comfortably in his lap, that the former let himself begin to relax. Norman brushed his fingers lazily over the sensitive scars where Otto's soft belly met bands of metal harness, a gesture of affection he usually found soothing but couldn’t right now, feeling too raw and exposed in the wake of the night’s events. The insults had not pained him nearly as much as the reminder that his wife would be horrified by the monster he'd become, inside as much as out. Furthermore, he found himself deeply unsettled by just how close he had come to murdering his lover but was unable to articulate it, guilt welling up as a sour taste at the back of his throat.
Norman felt him tense, looking up in concern. "I said something, didn't I? What did I do?"
Otto shook his head. “Don't worry about it. Its all right." It wasn't, but giving Norman even more to feel guilty about would accomplish nothing other than increasing the Goblin's hold over him.
Norman shifted in his lap to straddle him with a wince, hands planted on his chest, fear in his bright blue eyes. “Otto, I’ve hurt you. Please talk to me.”
Otto took in the bruised, split lips and raw, angry markings covering nearly the entirety of the other man’s skin and shook his head at the irony of Norman being concerned for him after the damage he’d done. Most of it would heal in the next day or two, but the image of the Goblin’s-- Norman’s --life fading from his eyes would linger, as would the unequivocal truth that for at least a moment, Otto had enjoyed it. There was no blaming it on the actuators, no convenient Hyde-like personality taking over, only Otto’s own pain and rage. The tentacles shrank back from Norman in trepidation as Otto let his hands fall to his sides, drawing a deep breath to give the confession that might cost him everything he’d never deserved in the first place. “No, I’m sorry, my love,” he choked, having to force the words out. “I-I almost killed you.” Norman looked taken aback but didn’t pull away from him. “The Goblin said something, about Rosie, and I couldn’t--”
Otto’s head slumped to his chest, unable to bear facing Norman’s reaction, the tears blurring the edges of his vision until he closed his eyes in defeat, acutely aware of how pitiful the excuse sounded. He was nothing more than the lowest form of abusive cur, blaming his victim for his own sins. No better than his father. A cruel laugh escaped the deepest recesses of the mausoleum of his mind from a skeleton long-buried but not gone, carrying with it the stench of sour beer and stale cigarettes and hurt--
Soft fingers pulled his face upwards to meet Norman’s, expression open and impossibly kind. “I forgive you.”
Otto recoiled in shame. “You shouldn’t. You don’t even remember what happened--”
“I forgive you, Otto,” he reiterated patiently, thumbs drawing upwards to smooth over the deep creases in between his eyebrows. “I trust you. I love you. ”
Otto swallowed heavily. “I could do it again--”
Norman shook his head, his expression pained but resolute. “You don’t think I’m just as capable of something just as bad, or worse? How many horrible things have I done, and how many of them have hurt you? How many times have you had to save me from myself?”
“That’s different,” he tried to argue, but Norman wouldn’t yield.
“It’s not,” he returned firmly. “The Goblin is a part of me, and I bear responsibility for his actions as much as you do yours.”
Otto’s voice cracked. “You could’ve died-- ”
“But I didn’t. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere,” Norman declared, and the simple affection in his eyes finally shattered Otto. He didn’t recognize the broken, barely human sounds as his own at first, and was barely aware of arms coming up to wrap round his shoulders, tugging him down against the slight but powerful frame in his lap.
This was wrong. Norman shouldn’t be the one comforting him, he didn’t deserve it. He tried pulling away but his partner used his own considerable strength to anchor him in the embrace. Giving in, he buried his face in the smaller man’s neck, and didn’t realize he’d been shaking until he felt gentle hands brushing up and down his back, soothing skin and metal alike. He lost track of how long he stayed curled around Norman before regaining control over his frayed emotions. Eventually, Otto slowly sat up, wrapping his hands loosely around Norman’s waist, avoiding the bruises his fingers had made.
"We're going to have to set some ground rules then, if your alter wants to come out and play," he remarked with a levity that was forced even to himself.
“I suppose so,” Norman concurred, lips quirked in a self-conscious smile.
"First off, absolutely no bombs in the house,” Otto stated dryly with a soft grin.
His partner tried to hide his flush of mortification in his hands, but Otto caught his face tenderly in one of his own, drawing his thumb gently over the sharp angle of his jaw. "Secondly, I'm willing to explore this…" Otto credited himself for only minimally stumbling over the words, "... aspect of our relationship only as long as both of you are comfortable with it."
Norman's gaze went unfocused for a long moment, and Otto thought with some dark amusement that it probably looked similar to how he did when conferring with the artificial intelligence of his mechanical limbs. He wondered how much of the night’s events the Goblin would share with him, if any. A question for another time, he determined. Finally Norman came back to him, answering with resolve, "Yes, we are."
"Good. Lastly, Goblin,” Otto addressed the interloper directly in a much harsher tone, minutely tightening his grip on the other man’s chin and leveling a glare he knew the twisted parasite could see watching from behind Norman's eyes even if he didn't afford his host the same courtesy. “At any point, if I want to talk to Norman, you're going to let me."
A flicker of madness passed over Norman’s face as he nodded sharply, but just as quickly, the darkness receded, leaving behind only the man he loved, gazing up at him as if Otto deserved to be loved in return.
"All right then," Otto sighed with a subdued smile. A more detailed discussion was called for but would have to wait, as neither of them were in any condition to have it. Norman drew his fingers through Otto’s damp curling hair, pulling him down for a slow, soft kiss that was the antithesis of their prior coupling. When they parted, he tipped his head back to rest on a pillow provided by a tentacle, Norman once more cradled on his chest, held securely in arms both flesh and metal with his hands curled on the back of Otto’s neck. A mechanical limb unwrapped itself from Norman long enough to draw the thick comforter up and tuck it around them both. Otto didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but found his eyes falling closing at the rhythmic strokes of fingers over tortured muscle where metal bit deep into his spine.