Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Otto?” 

The man in question, preoccupied by the task of soldering a tiny capacitor in place on an equally miniscule conductive pad with the assistance of the enhanced vision of one of his actuators (Flo, in this case), answered automatically; “Yes, dear?”

Not a moment later, Moe’s chitter of alarm was all the warning he was given as Norman suddenly hopped up on the corner of the desk in front of Otto without sparing a thought for whatever he might be working on at the moment. The propensity to perch on things hadn’t left him with the Goblin’s banishing, and Otto found it at turns irritating and endearing, depending on how inconvenient the maneuver was at that moment—which happened to be very, just now. Harry managed to grab the half-full mug of lukewarm coffee before it spilled over the circuit board he’d spent the last two hours modifying while Flo snatched said project and moved it to safety. Norman took no notice, attention wholly focused on the latest iPad he’d acquired. After he’d gotten over his snit of jealousy at Steve Jobs for being the most famous megalomaniacal CEO of a Fortune 500 company, Norman had become obsessed with the brand, always eager to buy the newest edition of programmed obsolescence it offered, and seemed glued to it more often than not. 

“Jesus Christ, Norman!”

Instead of offering an apology or even acknowledging the damage he’d almost caused, Norman shoved the iPad under Otto’s nose. “What’s this?”

Otto’s sarcastic reply died in his throat. The figure in the black and white still--undoubtedly taken from security footage--was grainy but unmistakable. He’d tried his best to avoid news footage of his time as a menace to society, and ordinarily it wasn’t difficult. For as much notoriety as he earned himself at the time, there had been too many bizarre and terrible superhuman-related events since then for most to care much about the mad scientist with robot arms who nearly destroyed the city via uncontrolled fusion almost a quarter century ago. The photo Norman had dug up depicted Otto standing in front of the broken-open bank vault, mechanical arms hurling bags of coin toward his foe off-camera. Otto swallowed, unsure why Norman was bringing up this particular topic now but unwilling to run from it.  “I was obsessed with rebuilding the reactor. I needed money, and didn’t care who I hurt or what I destroyed—“ 

Norman shook his head, tapping on the screen to enlarge the photo. “I don’t give a damn about the bank, Otto, look at you!”

Reluctantly, he did so. Otto almost didn’t recognize the cruel face staring back, eyes behind the dark shades as cold and empty as a shark’s. His memory of the time was strange, distorted by a remoteness that made it almost a nightmare--he could remember what he’d said and done, and even the thoughts and emotions behind it, but it was as if another mind had been grafted onto his own, malicious and foreign. Before he could formulate any sort of reply, however, Norman continued, “What are you wearing? ”

“What do you mean?” Otto replied, giving him a quizzical look. 

Norman whistled. “That outfit! Did you hold up an S & M club right before the bank?” 

“I—what—“ Otto sputtered.

Norman turned the device so that he could see it as well, and squinted. “Are those pants leather?“

“No, just normal pants!” Otto insisted, not altogether sure why he was so defensive. 

“All pants are normal if you want them to be,” Norman returned seriously before becoming engrossed in the picture once more.

At a loss for words, Otto could only watch as Norman swiped through what seemed like an endless series of photos, some blurrier than others, but all unmistakably him at various stages of his rampage through the city. He hadn’t remembered that many cameras being present, but then he’d been preoccupied with throwing cars around and crushing Spider-man’s skull. Quite a few of them seemed to be from tourists who’d gotten to see a different side of the city than they’d planned. 

Norman appraised them as if they were glamor shots in an especially niche magazine. “Decent amount of skin showing, for you at least. That’s not a criticism, mind you—“

“Bullshit,” Otto cut in reflexively, but Norman continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened. 

“—I’m just impressed. Tits out all over New York, good for you Otto,” he asserted with approval. 

“It wasn’t a fashion statement, Norman!” Otto snapped.

“Statement?” Norman turned the iPad to fix the aspect ratio of a particularly detailed closeup that was actually in focus, the broad expanse of Otto’s naked chest taking up much more of the screen than he was really comfortable with. “More like a manifesto,” he purred, winking. 

“I hate you so much,” Otto grumbled, feeling himself blush. 

“You love me desperately, darling, don’t kid yourself,” Norman dismissed with galling confidence. “So when did you decide that shirts were something that no longer fit your style?”

“I didn’t decide to not wear a shirt, dickhead,” Otto fumed, taking the bait even while knowing full well Norman was just needling him for the sake of it. “This might surprise you, but most stores don’t carry a supernumerary limb clothing line. Do you know how many shirts I ruined before settling on the jackets? Those barely fit as it is.”

“I’m not surprised. It takes a higher caliber of fabric to contain this magnificent chest,” the other man quipped with a lusty smile, and reached forward to cup said well-padded left pec.

Otto batted his hand away. “Screw you,” he muttered, ears reddening further.

“The real tragedy here is that you think I’m joking.” Norman raised an eyebrow. “Did all the fasteners on both coats break at some point between Manhattan and Queens?“ 

“No, it was just…restrictive…” Otto admitted with reluctance.

Norman nodded knowingly. “To your ability to serve fabulous looks, I understand completely.”

Otto’s nose wrinkled in consternation. His knowledge of slang had been outdated even before they were unceremoniously deposited twenty years into the future by that damned magician, so when Norman rattled off phrases like this he couldn’t tell whether they were real or just pulled out of his ass to mess with him. He hated it. “I’m not taking this sort of abuse from a man who happened to have a $30 million dollar gimp suit lying around when he went crazy and embarked on a crime spree.”

“It was $47 million, glider not included, but that’s neither here nor there,” Norman dismissed, forestalling a rehash of Otto’s views on the military industrial complex—a long-standing disagreement between them—with a finger to his lips. “At least I get that view all to myself now,” he added coyly. 

“Hmmmph,” Otto grumbled from behind the digit but made no real effort to remove it.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like your sweaters,” Norman continued, finger drawing across Otto’s lips before tracing down his neck. “I’m just saying, if you wanted to resurrect that ensemble for old times sake, I wouldn’t mind,” he offered with suggestive smirk, hand dropping further to sweep over his collarbone and fondle the breast he’d been after before. 

This time, Otto let him. “I’ll…think about it,” he conceded, not wholly successful in suppressing a shudder at the familiar touch.

“Good.” Casually tossing the iPad aside to be deftly grabbed by Moe before it was able to do itself or any of Otto’s belongings damage, Norman launched himself forward toward the larger man, expecting the latter to catch him, which of course he did, rearranging him in his lap with limbs both human and mechanical to straddle him. Just once, he should let him fall on his ass to prove a point.

Norman shot Otto the sly grin that had gotten him in trouble more often than not. “Wanna get drunk and fool around?” 

Otto snorted. “It’s nine a.m., Norman.”

The smaller man scoffed, “We’re retired, who gives a damn?”

Otto tilted his head to the side in consideration. “Fair enough.”

Larry reached out to retrieve the decanter and the fancy cut glasses next to it (because god forbid Norman drink something right from the bottle like a heathen even if it was way closer to dawn than happy hour) from the sideboard across the room. 

Norman watched with almost worshipful reverence as Larry poured generous portions of the expensive spirit (and giving Norman more, the traitor) into the glasses with the assistance of the other actuators. “I knew there was a reason I married you.” 

Otto raised an eyebrow. “First objectified and now exploited for manual labor. And here I thought you loved me for my brain.”

“Again, it’s cute you think that’s a joke,” Norman drawled before downing his with even more of a cavalier attitude than he usually did. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Otto chuckled back, sipping at his own. 

“Such language from you today,” the other man tsked, taking another large swallow. “Besides, I was rather hoping you’d do it for me.” 

“I shouldn’t, considering how much of an asshole you’re being right now,” he groused with little heat. 

“But I’m your asshole, in more ways than one,” purred the former supervillain, setting the glass absently on the desk behind him.

Otto groaned. “Just, no—“ 

“And you’re my squishy octopus,” Norman declared possessively, grabbing handfuls of Otto’s chest and squeezing. 

“Don’t you ever call me tha—mmff!” Otto’s strident objections were curtailed by Norman pulling the dirtiest trick he could, which was using his grip on Otto to bring their mouths together in a kiss that skipped any sort of preamble and went straight to being mostly tongue. He resisted briefly before relenting, ignoring the smirk he could feel shaping the other man’s lips in favor of groping him back with triple the number of appendages he’d been accosted with. He’d let Norman win, just this once.

Chapter Text

Otto paused outside the gate covered in threatening signage, paying no heed to the ‘no trespassing’ warnings, focused instead on scanning the interior of the property for any sign of his mark, both with his own eyes and ears and the much more acute sensors of the actuators. 

There.

A scrape of metal on metal, not loud but sustained, deliberate. He made short work of the tall barbed wire fence, actuators propelling him over with barely a thought. The claws of the tentacles sunk deep into the unpaved ground of the junkyard with each step, muddy from the rainfall last night. The poorly lit site appeared to be laid out in a rough grid pattern, tall stacks of crushed cars formed into columns. Breath fogging in the cool damp air, he made his way stealthily down one of the rows in the direction from which he’d estimated the noise had come. 

Otto had been puzzled by the cryptic note he’d found this afternoon on the kitchen table from his partner naming an address in a rough area of town unfamiliar to him as well as a time later in the evening. When he’d reached the appointed place--a particularly syphilitic porn shop--at the hour specified, it wasn’t long before he realized that Norman hadn’t lured him there at all. 

A high-pitched giggle carried over the stacks to him from somewhere off to his right. Shunning the small pools of light emitted from the sparse, underpowered lamps, he headed toward it. This little game of hide-and-seek had now stretched over several blocks, the Goblin leading him down alleyways and over rooftops with an unhinged sort of joy. The sound dampening mode on the actuators cost him some speed and strength, but his quarry seemed to be making a concerted effort to be tracked; neither had it hindered his ability to slip the patrol car that had attempted to follow him a few streets back. Rounding the corner of another row, he peered down it. 

Empty. 

Stifling a sigh, he moved on to the next. He wondered what the hell the Goblin was up to this time, and could only hope he hadn’t already gotten into too much trouble; equally worrisome was the creature’s improvement in his ability to forge Norman’s handwriting. Otto was getting too old for these nocturnal shenanigans—all he really wanted at the moment was to curl up on the couch-- with Norman --and finish his cup of tea. Not to mention getting all the mud and grime that was no doubt accumulating in the intricate joints of the actuators out later was going to be a pain in the ass. The tentacles themselves concurred with the thought in unhappy clicks. Upon reaching the next row, it appeared unoccupied as well, but there was the barest hint of something-- 

Gotcha.

His teeth bared in a savage grin. The glider was quiet, but its power source left a telltale energy signature that his actuators scented out like bloodhounds. Moving quickly now between the stacks of cars, he chased the signal, using its natural decay as a homing beacon to triangulate its source. Anticipation grew as he closed in on his target, mirroring every dodge and feint with precision. He wasn’t fooled when his opponent tried doubling back along the same row, and vaulted himself over the wall of twisted metal to land nearly on top of the Goblin, who was barely able to swerve out of the way on the glider. 

“You’d better have a damn good reason to drag me out here in the middle of the night,” Otto growled, actuators shooting out to grab the flying menace only to snap closed on air. 

“Oh, is it past your bedtime, gramps?” the Goblin jeered, glider lurching upwards just out of Otto’s reach. 

“You’re three months older than me, dipshit!” Otto retorted, climbing up the wall after him. With a manic smile, the Goblin retrieved a pumpkin bomb from the pouch on his belt. Otto’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare—“

“You gonna spank me, Daddy?” the creature laughed as he tossed the explosive toward the larger man. 

Otto launched himself to the opposite wall to avoid it, snarling, “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” 

“At least until you stop getting hard when I do it,” the Goblin snickered, continuing to lob grenades at him in a manner more playful than homicidal. 

“I do not,” Otto fumed, fighting a blush as he at turns deflected and dove out of the way of the incoming projectiles.

The Goblin leered. “Oh please, like I can’t tell when you’re balls deep in my—”

Equal parts flustered and irate, Otto picked up a loose car—a small one, mind you, looked to be maybe a Yugo—and threw it back. It was easily dodged by his opponent, but at least it stopped him finishing the sentence. As he was about to rearm himself with another vehicle, Otto became distracted by a blur of blue and red out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, either of you guys see an ‘87 Buick? I’m looking to add to my hubcap collection,“ the Spider-man quipped from his perch atop a dilapidated school bus midway up the junkyard wall. 

Otto could only hope Peter hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation. Otherwise he may not be able to look him in the eye ever again after this. “Hello Parker--” 

“Die insect!” With a howl, the Goblin threw a bomb with much more lethal intent at the newcomer, who evaded it nimbly with a backflip, alighting atop the stack of vehicles in a crouch. Otto swiped at the glider and got in a glancing blow, but wasn’t able to bring it down. 

“Jeez, who peed in your Lucky Charms, Gobbo? I thought we called a timeout on this,” Spider-man replied, launching himself off the car pile to avoid another projectile and swinging across the row on one of his webs. 

“You weren’t invited!” the Goblin screeched, diving down toward the webslinger, who twisted out of the way mid-swing. 

“Pretty sure they didn’t roll out the red carpet for you guys either. By the way, anyone ever tell you that you look like less-evil Tony Hawk in that hoodie?” Parker heckled as he aimed for the opposing wall, though his landing was atypically unsteady as the car door he grabbed onto started to give way. 

The Goblin’s eyes glinted with delight at the opening, retrieving yet another explosive from his bag. With rising dread, Otto recognized the cluster bomb in the other man’s hand. The fact that they were too close-quarters for its use probably didn’t even cross the madman’s mind. 

“Goblin, no!” he roared, but it was to no avail as the crazed elf flung it at the superhero clambering for a foothold below him. 

Even with his superhuman abilities, the Spider-man wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to avoid the worst of it; Otto reached out with a tentacle to snag the superhero by the waist and yank him back out of the blast radius. The tower of cars creaked ominously after the overpowered explosive impacted it, and Otto leaped over to it, working to steady the structure with the other actuators. 

Parker looked up at him with a grateful nod. “Thanks Doc.” 

Before he could reply, the Goblin shrieked in outrage. “No! He’s mine!” 

In an instant, the creature went from actively trying to elude Otto to jumping him, leaping off the glider to cling possessively to the actuator holding Parker while whaling away at him with his free arm with wild (and likely ineffective) blows. The bizarre experience of being fought over froze Otto for a second, and the sudden change in momentum also unbalanced him, his remaining claws scrabbling for purchase on the crumbling wall next to him. Just as he righted himself, his attention was drawn back to the brawling pair with growing trepidation which soon proved justified. 

“You’ll kill all of us, you nutcase!” Parker cried, reaching for the bomb now held aloft by the Goblin. 

The fiend armed it with a deranged cackle. “Worth it!” 

Parker shot the explosive out of his hand into the far wall with a burst of webbing. The maneuver was effective in sparing them in the short term but inadvertently directed the full blast into the already compromised structure. Otto watched in horror as the stacks of crushed cars started hitting one another like dominos as they collapsed. He dropped to the ground, tightening his hold on the webslinger and grabbing the Goblin in another claw, then braced himself above them using the other two actuators to shield them as several tons of shrieking steel rained down upon the trio. Covering his face with his coat, Otto grunted under the strain on the mechanical limbs as they absorbed the crushing mass. Just when it seemed they couldn’t take any more—the actuators whining in protest—the pressure began to ease. When he could draw breath, Otto dug deep and pushed upwards and out, forcing the mountain of rusted metal back until the night sky was visible once more. He took a moment to catch his breath in shallow pants. It had been awhile since their strength had been tested like that. 

“Nicely done,” he murmured to Larry and Harry, who basked in the praise with happy if tired chirps. Any relief he might’ve felt, however, was tempered by the sounds of the conflict still ongoing beneath him. 

“No! He’s Gobby’s! Get your own!” 

“Get off me, storebrand Legolas!”

Looking below, he was perturbed to find the Goblin and Spider-man still squabbling and swatting at each other from the confines of their individual actuators like children in the backseat of a car. 

“You racist motherfu--”

“Oh please, if either of us were any whiter we’d be translucent—“

Otto swooped down, depositing Parker on the ground out of reach of the Goblin. The smaller man managed to somehow pull his arm free, however, and immediately tried to resume bombarding his opponent with explosives, forcing Otto to put himself in between them as a buffer as he tried to subdue him once more. The scramble left Otto in possession of the Goblin’s bag of munitions and the latter’s arms and legs wrapped around Otto like he was a tree. 

“Doc? Are you--uh--ok?” Parker asked with some concern. 

“I’m fine—“ he started to say, but was interrupted by the Goblin licking up the side of his face in one long, wet stripe. Otto turned to the man clinging to him with a grimace. “That was both unpleasant and degrading. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” the Goblin returned proudly, looking so happy with himself for being polite that Otto couldn’t find the strength to be truly angry. 

“I heard the call on the police scanner and thought I’d check it out. I gotta say I’m a little disappointed, Doc. I thought you two were past this,” the Spider-man chastised with a shake of his head. Otto focused his attention back on the vigilante, ignoring the Goblin’s grumbles. 

“I’m sorry, Parker, we’re clearly still working--ow, ow, ow, stop!” Otto tried to pull away from the beast now nibbling on his ear, perhaps in retaliation for being neglected or just out of pure boredom. 

“Wait, are you two…oh god I think I’m gonna throw up,” Peter groaned, face in his hands. 

The Goblin stopped chewing on him but then chose to stick what felt like his entire tongue in Otto’s ear canal; it was simultaneously somehow the most revolting thing he’d ever felt yet incredibly arousing. Otto yelped, “ Not better!” 

“That’s--just wrong,” Parker gagged. How he managed to get the mask to convey absolute horror and disgust was beyond Otto. Perhaps it was another superpower. 

The slurp as the other man’s tongue retracted from his ear made Otto’s stomach turn as well as his cock twitch. Goddammit. 

“Oh fuck off. I refuse to be kinkshamed by the guy who sprays wrist spunk all over the city like it’s confetti,” the Goblin barked with a roll of his eyes. 

“Um…” The ordinarily garrulous crimefighter was at a loss for words. This was a momentous occasion indeed. 

“Parker, just go,” Otto sighed. “It’ll be easier to get him home without you here.”

“I…just…promise not to hurt anyone,” Parker stammered. If the mask could blush it would be a redder hue than it already was. “And whatever this ‘Me, myself, and Irene’ thing you have going here is, I hope it works out,” he added tentatively, the sentiment seeming genuine if incredibly awkward. 

Predictably, the Goblin did not appreciate the gesture of support. “How open-minded of you, you sanctimonious--”

He slapped his hand over the Goblins mouth, which only worked to silence him because he got distracted licking Otto’s gloved fingers. Otto tried mightily to ignore it, smiling wryly. “We’ll do our best. And I’ll bring the new chip sets by on Tuesday if that works for you.”

“Yeah, uh, see ya Doc.” The Spider-Man swung away with a wave, but didn’t offer any similarly friendly goodbye to the Goblin, which was probably just as well as the other man was still growling at him from behind Otto’s hand. The tenuous armistice and even more precarious research partnership that existed between himself and Parker was still in its early stages, and he hoped tonight’s activities hadn’t jeopardized either. It had taken a lot to convince the crimefighter that Otto’s contrition was genuine, and that he wanted to adapt the neural interface of his actuators for safe use in prosthetics as a form of atonement without any underlying malicious intent. Not that any acknowledgment of his involvement would ever be possible, but that mattered little to him. 

Otto turned his ire back to the cause of the evening’s misadventures. He supposed he should be grateful that the Goblin hadn’t decided to piss on him to mark his territory. Addressing the man wrapped around him with a disgruntled look, actuators hovering over his shoulder likewise clicking in disapproval, he removed the hand covering his mouth. “Mind telling me what the hell all this is about?” 

“You said no bombs in the house,” the Goblin whined. “And there are so many cars here for you to throw.”

Otto shook his head, exasperated. “I still don’t see why --”

“Norman gets you all the time,” the other man mumbled sullenly, finally letting go of Otto with his arms to cross them but leaving his legs tightly wound around his torso. 

Oh. This was his idea of a date.  

Otto huffed. “You do know that we can have sex without fighting first?” 

The Goblin’s brow furrowed. “...we can?”

“Yes. And I distinctly remember having a conversation about using our words to ask for things,”  Otto admonished.  

“Yeah, but isn’t this fun?” The imp smirked. 

“While I very much appreciate the effort you’ve gone to, this is someone’s business,” Otto replied, arms folding on his chest to mirror the other man, “we can’t just destroy it.”

The Goblin looked at him as if Otto were the insane one. “They’re all broken already,” he declared, gesturing to the graveyard of rusting vehicles. 

“Yes but people get the parts from them to fix their own cars,” he explained patiently. 

The Goblin gaped at him, utterly baffled. Otto might as well have told him they would be reprocessed into Pop Tarts. “Why not just buy a new one?”

Considering Norman himself was so far removed from the realities of vehicle ownership that he had to be taught how to pump gas when they went on a road trip, Otto gave up on explaining the concept of automotive salvage to the Goblin, who was already several levels beyond normal human experience to begin with. “Never mind. Regardless, we shouldn’t wreck someone else’s property like this.”

“Didn’t think you’d care so much about Rhino’s trash,” he mumbled glumly. 

Otto cocked an eyebrow. “That’s who owns all this?”

The Goblin nodded petulantly. 

Otto gave him a broad grin. “In that case,” he drawled, taking one of the bombs out of the satchel and handing it to the smaller man, “smash away.” 

The Goblin hurled it with glee toward the large crane in the center of the lot which had been left relatively unscathed until now. The tall structure buckled and groaned under the assault but teetered precariously on the verge of collapse. Otto brought them closer to pull it down the rest of the way, and it landed in the dirt with a satisfying crash. The Goblin, who seemed in no hurry to release Otto, targeted the small fleet of working trucks in the open corner of the lot next, demolishing them with a series of precise throws even as he snuggled against Otto’s chest. Feeling playful, Otto picked up the dilapidated remains of a Volkswagen bus and tossed it in the air in front of them. His companion hit it dead on with glee. 

“We probably have a few more minutes before the authorities arrive. Someone’s going to call the police eventually, even if this is mob territory,” Otto remarked. He had to admit, this was sort of fun; the actuators were likewise enjoying themselves, throwing more cars into the air for the Goblin to destroy. 

The creature waggled his eyebrows at Otto salaciously. “And then we fuck?” 

Otto frowned. “Yes, but not here. I don’t think either of us is up-to-date on our tetanus shots.”

“Wanna suck your cock,” the Goblin declared with a filthy grin. 

“Only if you behave,” Otto stipulated with a raised eyebrow. The smaller man nodded eagerly. Otto narrowed his eyes. “And if I feel any teeth whatsoever, I’m knocking them all out.”

“Promises, promises,” the Goblin snickered. “And then we get Thai food after?” 

Otto found his stomach grumbling at the thought, unsurprising considering the amount of energy he’d expended this evening. Though it was one of his favorites, it had been awhile since he’d eaten that particular cuisine owing to his partner’s dislike of it. For Norman, anything more than a sprinkle of pepper was too spicy, but his alter ate ghost peppers like they were candy, and the former often paid the price. Otto huffed, “Norman is going to really regret this tomorrow, isn’t he?” 

“Don’t care. It’s my turn,” the Goblin asserted, face set in a mulish expression. 

“That it is,” Otto conceded, looking down at the other man fondly despite himself. At least until the Goblin tried to kiss him. 

“No! Not until you’ve brushed your teeth!” he sputtered, holding the smaller man at arms’ length. 

“Why?” the Goblin grumbled. 

Otto snorted. “Why? Your tongue was just in my ear , that’s why!” 

“Killjoy,” the smaller man hmphed, pouting like a kicked puppy. Otto sighed, resolving to gargle an entire bottle of mouthwash when they got home (and ensure that the imp drank at least twice that much as he was partial to it anyway), then leant down to press his lips to the Goblin’s, who reciprocated with enthusiasm. Otto let himself enjoy it until they were interrupted by the sound of sirens approaching in the distance. 

Chapter Text

Curled up against the arm of the couch, Norman flicked back and forth between open tabs on his browser and trading apps with fierce concentration. The future had been a strange and disorienting place, almost as alien as the alternate universe they’d been spat back out of, but he’d been reassured by one enduring fact--Norman Osborn could still make money like it was a superpower. Sure, there had been a learning curve in navigating the new systems and terminology, but the underlying tenets of capitalism--greed and imprudence--hadn’t changed one bit. Lost in the machinations of enterprise, out of the corner of his eye, he took note of the large form lumbering over to sit beside him, and the couch, sturdy as it was, groaned under the added weight. Without looking up, Norman shifted his legs out from under himself and turned, plopping his feet in the newcomer’s lap. His companion let out an amused snort, but still began to massage his stockinged feet with practiced movements in response to Norman’s unspoken request. 

“I have something for you,” the deep voice of his partner finally drew his attention away from the tablet. 

Norman looked over the iPad with a smirk. “Is it your dick?”

Otto shook his head, amused despite himself. “No.“ 

“A box of donuts?” Norman wondered hopefully. 

“No—“

Norman’s eyes narrowed slyly. “Is it your dick in a box of donuts?” 

Otto sputtered, “ No! Jesus, Norman-- ” 

He loved seeing Otto flustered like this, would never get over how easy it was to get him to blush considering the man spewed the most lewd, twisted filth while practically splitting Norman in half whenever he riled him up enough. “Well that’s a shame. Can it be?”

Otto rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “Why is it always about my dick with you?”

Norman chuckled. “Do you really have to ask, husband of mine?”

Grumbling, Otto withdrew a small, unmarked envelope from his pants pocket, but stilled for a moment, looking at it oddly. 

“I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” Norman guessed with mock surprise and horror. 

Usually, he could get Otto to laugh at a joke that bad, but he now just looked nervous, fidgeting with the item dwarfed by his massive hands. His husband’s trepidation sobered him. Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, he asked, “Is it some sort of special occasion? Did I miss an anniversary?”

“No, nothing like that.” Otto swallowed heavily, handing it to Norman with an imploring expression. “Just--here.”

The envelope was unsealed, and the object inside small but hefty as he tipped it over, the latter dropping into his hand with a soft thud. At first he didn’t recognize the silver band, rolling it over in his palm, but when he figured out what it was, Norman felt his heart stop. 

The Midtown High School class ring had seen better days; the green stone in it was chipped, the metal scratched and tarnished, but Harry Osborn in stylized script was still legible on the side opposite the school crest. Harry’s graduation day had been one of the few times Norman hadn’t been an utter bastard to his son, especially towards the end. He’d been genuinely proud of his boy, but all he could muster was a damned handshake , and then immediately undercut it with his admiration for Peter. He would trade anything for that chance back, to hug him and never let go, actually tell him that he meant the world to Norman and didn’t need to be anything other than himself--so much regret and so many squandered opportunities that it felt like a weight on his chest most days. 

“Peter was cleaning out some of his things and found it,” Otto murmured, large hand drawing up and down Norman’s back in gentle motions. “He knew how much it would mean to you.”

After Harry had passed, much of both of their belongings had been sold off or simply disposed of. The Osborn legacy, such as it was, would die with Norman. It was probably better that way. Tears blurred his vision, and it was suddenly becoming hard to breathe. Big arms, both human and mechanical, drew him into Otto’s lap. 

He missed Harry so much. He’d wasted years with his son, events both big and small forgone because Norman had been too preoccupied with his damned company to notice what actually mattered , what was right in front of him the whole time. Norman was well aware he’d been a terrible father. Perhaps if Emily had been there, things would’ve been different. Maybe Harry might’ve had a chance to really grow up, to be his own man, have a family, or at least feel free to do whatever the hell he wanted rather than follow his father to the grave. Or maybe Norman would’ve made the same mistakes all over again and destroyed the lives of two people he loved instead of just one. 

Otto had been a great hugger even before accidentally acquiring extra limbs, and now Norman found himself almost wholly enveloped by the large man, cocooned protectively as he rocked back and forth, face pressed into his partner’s broad, cushioned chest. He hadn’t cried like this in a while, since Harry’s birthday a few months ago. The pain didn’t lessen, but it became easier to hold on to the good parts over time. His therapist had spent many an hour with him working through thoughts and emotions he’d never learned to properly handle before, and though it had been difficult, overall he felt like a more functional human being most days. Forgiving himself for failing Harry would likely be a lifetime process though. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to upset you this much,” Otto apologized, clearly agonizing over his decision. Norman reached up to cup Otto’s cheek, his salt-and-pepper beard short but so soft under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure he’d like it at first, he’d never had a partner with facial hair before, but it suited Otto so well he’d have trouble seeing him without it now. 

“No, it’s ok. Thank you,” Norman sniffed. “Peter’s such a good kid.” He couldn’t help but think of him like a son even though the odd time shift had made them less than a decade apart in age physically. It was one of many bizarre adjustments he and Otto had made in the otherworldly transition from dead to living. 

“That he is,” Otto agreed, sighing. Norman grasped the ring tight enough for it to imprint his palm, and lost himself in the rhythmic respirations of the man beneath him, chest and belly rising and falling, the displaced volume carrying Norman up and down slightly with each breath. At length, Otto spoke; “We’re due to meet Peter and MJ at the restaurant in an hour, if you’re still up for it.” 

Norman started to rub his face on his sleeve, but gratefully took a tissue from the box offered by a concerned Flo. “Where?”

“They wanted to try out that new sushi place that opened up around the corner from them,” Otto answered, likewise wiping the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Eager to lighten the mood, a mischievous thought took him, and Norman formed his features into a worried expression, letting concern color his voice. “Are you going to be ok with that?”

“What do you mean?” Otto replied, puzzled. 

Norman’s eyes widened in false horror. “Ika somen? Tako nigiri?” The large man looked down at him utterly clueless. “Your brethren, sliced into tiny pieces and served over rice for consumption by the masses? You heartless cannibal, you,” Norman finally dropped the act with a snicker. 

“Oh goddammit, not you too. I get enough of that nonsense from Parker,” Otto groaned, rolling his eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” Norman giggled. Otto growled, and Norman refrained from letting him know just how adorable the sound was for fear of him withholding it in the future. Trying for innocuous and failing miserably, he inquired, “Can we pick up donuts on the way home?”

Otto gave him a long, highly suspicious look. “…they’re going to end up on my dick, aren’t they?”

“Well, the only place that makes ones that might actually fit over your glorious cock is that jumbo donut shop on Fourth Street,” Norman replied with a filthy grin. 

“I hate that you’ve clearly thought about this before.” Otto groaned, wincing. “Did you learn nothing from the last time you wanted to mix food and sex?” ”

Norman cocked an eyebrow. “That your tits look fantastic covered in icing?”

Otto’s irritated expression was undercut by the heat on his cheeks. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get melted chocolate out of pillows?”

Norman shrugged. “No?” 

“That’s because it wasn’t your turn to do the laundry,” Otto sniped.

“If I promise to clean up afterwards, can I play donut ring toss with your penis?” Norman pleaded with the most winsome smile he could conjure. 

Otto sighed heavily. “I am going to deeply regret this, but…fine.”

“You’re going to love the shit out of it, but I’ll let you pretend otherwise for now,” Norman returned confidently. “We should probably get changed though.”

“Agreed.” Otto gazed at him expectantly. “Well?” 

Norman shrugged. “Well what?”

Otto huffed. “Are you getting up or not?”

Norman scratched the nearest actuator--Moe--under the chin, and it nuzzled him back with an electric purr. “Why would I bother using my legs when it’s much sexier for my big, strong husband and his technological marvels to do it?” 

Otto rolled his eyes, but stood nonetheless, arms wrapping more securely around his partner. “Shameless flatterer,” he snorted. 

Norman reached up to plant a kiss on his partner’s slightly crooked nose. “Love you.”

“I love you too, you horny idiot,” Otto chuckled back. 

“That’s Doctor Horny Idiot, thank you very much,” Norman declared haughtily, crossing his arms in ersatz pique. 

“Of course it is,” Otto laughed, dropping his head down to kiss Norman properly while the actuators not wrapped around the smaller man handled the task of navigating them safely to the bedroom. Norman deepened it, sucking Otto’s tongue into his mouth with a moan. There was a high likelihood they might be a little late for dinner, but he was sure the Parkers would forgive them.