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He still remembers the first time he saw them, dancing through the shadows in the backstreets of Berlin with an overflowing coin purse in their grip. He’d not seen gobins since he lost his clutch and he followed them on instinct, wondering if there might be a group of them holed up around here.
It was only when he’d slipped past the gap in the bricks that no one any bigger than him would fit through that he found them all - a huddle of thin, starving little goblins, staring at the pouch of gold with wide, hungry eyes.
Vesseek, clearly the leader, had flown at him with a dagger and he’d only let them crowd him into the wall because it had struck him that there was a real possibility he might break their arm if he struggled.
But that was many years ago. Many countries ago.
Now they’re here, they’re safe and they’re his.
Set up in their room in the place Grizzop rents for the entire clutch, Vesseek pulls him over to the table where so many of their battles have taken place, be they fought with words, cards, or hands.
Grizzop smirks at Vesseek’s easy expression, flexing his fingers around theirs. They both set their elbows on the table, leaning in to nod their agreement at the encounter starting. And then, the countdown barely past his lips, they’re off.
There was a time, back when they first got to Amsterdam, back when they first were comfortable enough that they could regularly hang out at Die Ecke and not worry about the cost of coffee, that they tried this to a very different outcome. Despite all Vesseek’s big talk and confidence at the time, they just weren’t strong enough to win.
Now, though? It’s genuinely difficult for either of them to get the upper hand. Vesseek is pure strength where Grizzop is wirey. They can be confident in the strength of their arms, where Grizzop uses his entire body to win.
Vesseek manages to force his hand down for the first win of three, and they’re so distracted by the glory of victory that Grizzop wins the second bout, no problem.
Which means that they’re into a decider. He purses his lips as they grin at him, cocky and sure of themselves. He sets his elbow and holds out his hand, wiggling the fingers in invitation. They give a tilt of their head, a roll of their shoulders, and settle in to do the same.
They don’t notice that their shirt slips off their shoulder as they grip his hand. Grizzop does, though. Their shirt is unbuttoned enough to allow it to fall and expose the top of their chest and he glances down, immediately annoyed at himself when Vesseek pushes his hand down towards the table. He recovers, scowls at them and forces their hand over instead.
This, of course, only makes the shirt fall further when they straighten, and he stares as the swell of their breast starts to peek out of the neckline of the shirt.
“I know what you’re doing.” He mutters, dragging his eyes up to their face.
Their smile is broad and cheery. “Do you? Is it winning?”
“You tell me.”
He shoves, hard, thinking he’s got them off-guard, and he almost, almost has it, before Vesseek uses all their strength to pull him back up to the centre. He watches as they scowl, adjust their weight and…
Grizzop curses at the sight of the lovely dark green bud of their nipple as the shirt slips away and Vesseek laughs, full and throaty, slamming his hand down to the table.
“You fucking cheat.”
Vesseek smirks, getting to their feet and rounding the table. He glares at them but they know better than to let that dissuade them, slipping across his lap and working on the few remaining buttons of their shirt. When he continues to pout, they take his hands and bring them to their chest, using his touch to lift and present their breasts for his attention.
“Consolation prize.” Vesseek needles, affecting a ridiculous little pout. “Go on.”
He doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction… but they have really great tits. With a sigh, he leans in and buries his face in the furry softness of their chest, smiling when he hears them give a quiet little groan.
Alright. As far as losing goes, this is probably the most acceptable outcome.