Work Text:
New York City had long since forgotten about the Green Goblin- especially now that his drug induced midlife crisis had been almost wholly inter-dimensionally retconned out of existence. Getting older, Norman Osborn had discovered that things moved exponentially more quickly, even for one of the country’s largest and busiest cities. The goblin had been old news far before Norman had begun to heal from the damage his repeated episodes had wrought on his own life. Truthfully though, he could never forget him, whoever he was. Every loved one Norman had, his son, his lover, even Spider-Man, had insisted over and over that it had never once been his fault. That the Green Goblin and Norman Osborn had never been the same monster.
But Norman knew better. He and Goblin were always one and the same, in some form or another.
His dual faces took their turns showing themselves to the world, for as long as he could remember. When he was frightened as a child, he hid his face, and when he was angry, the young goblin reared his ugly head. Goblin would get buried, then Norman would get lost, and neither of the two could ever fully claim their body and mind- not for long anyway.
“It might not be a dissociative disorder.” Norman had begun to see a therapist not too long after he had gotten back. “The way you described the episodes, they were nearly entirely drug-induced. You don’t need to worry about the possibility of multiple identities if you’re not experiencing those symptoms after you were…”
“Cured.” Norman offered, sitting uncomfortably in an armchair, his hands splayed over his knees.
His therapist nodded. “Why do you call it that? A cure.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” An edge of fear had crept into Norman’s voice, “I was sick, and then Peter was able to cure me.”
Your therapist hummed to himself.
“Let’s say it isn’t a sickness.” He said, “Let’s say…whatever you’ve been experiencing- believing that you’re two people- isn’t necessarily something that can be fixed with medicine.”
Norman felt his blood run cold in that uncomfortable seat.
“But he’s gone, isn’t he?”
The therapist was quiet for a moment.
“Without your serum, it doesn’t sound like he’ll ever exist alone in your mind. You can no longer take turns driving.” Norman swallowed dryly as he listened.
“But it’s always been you and him in the car, hasn’t it?”
~
Norman fumbled with the buttons of his jacket, feeling like his bones would jump out of his skin if he didn’t get it off as soon as possible. How he used to wear suits to work on a daily basis, he had no idea. Now, only once in a while for therapy and the occasional Oscorp function was more than enough.
He sat on the edge of his bed, unmade, though he had the time to make it. He felt bad about not wanting to- he noted the divot in the far side of the mattress, where Otto slept on his stomach beside him. Norman didn’t want to cover that spot now, not when he derived so much joy from looking at it.
He changed into sweats as quickly as humanly possible, trying not to think of what new and terrifying possibilities had been introduced to him in therapy (Damn it, weren’t these sessions supposed to help?). His head hurt.
Forefinger and thumb dug into his temples- now what? Dinner maybe?
Norman sighed to himself. Without Otto and his culinary skills, the only option was takeout. That or mac n’ cheese.
“Norman?” He heard Otto from the living room, the sound of the door closing behind him. Shopping bags. No mac n’ cheese then.
About a year ago, Norman wouldn’t have been able to remotely fathom what it must have been like to live with someone he loved. Harry had been enough for as long as he had raised him in the Osborn apartment- but his marriage had failed spectacularly when his son was three. Otto even being here after years of bad blood was nothing short of miraculous.
It was no surprise that Otto nearly always had to brace himself for his partner all but jumping into his arms whenever he came through the door.
A little ‘oof!’ Came from Otto as Norman caught him up in his arms as best as he could, despite having to accommodate Otto already moving around, setting bags down on the kitchen counter.
“Hold still, let me kiss you first-“
“Norman, you’re going to knock these eggs out of my hand.”
“Give them to Flo, then.” Norman snatched an egg carton away from Otto and raised it high above his head, releasing it to the very gentle hold of the aforementioned actuator.
The rest of the metal children began helping their fathers put groceries away as Otto was unfairly distracted by the sheer amount of kisses being planted on his face.
Otto’s sunglasses were nearly being pushed off his nose and Norman had the nerve to laugh about it. Otto, though delighted, seemed confused about the onslaught of affection, “What’s going on, stressful day or what?”
“Therapy.” Norman said, freeing his lover’s face and pressing his own into Otto’s shirt, breathing in the smell of the fabric as subtly as he could.
“Isn’t that supposed to make you less stressed-?”
“See, I was just thinking that.”
Otto pressed one final kiss to Norman’s forehead and took a step away to grab a final grocery bag from Larry, who had been poking around aimlessly.
“Do you need any help with dinner tonight, or do you still not trust me around the kitchen?” Norman stepped over a low-slithering Mo, who had been hanging about near Norman’s legs.
“No, but thank you.” Otto was shucking off his coat with the help of two of the children, “You surrendered the kitchen to me when you let me move in.”
Otto was always in charge of food, and Norman, who still had the cooking skill of a teenager, never complained about it. They ate the same pasta dish they had been stuck on for a week and cleaned up before heading to bed. It usually took an hour or two of winding down before either of them could sleep.
“Here?”
“Fuck, ow- yeah actually right there-“
Oftentimes Norman would perch himself on Otto’s back, his lover face down on his side of the bed with the sleeping actuators draped over his back and over the edge. Norman dug the heels of his hands into Otto’s lower back, finding all sorts of knots and discovering the range of grunts and huffs Otto was capable of. Norman would find his hands wandering, admiring his body with his touch. He placed his palms flat on each side of his spine, and reverently bent down to kiss his skin, leaving kiss after kiss up each vertebrae. His brows knitted upon feeling cold metal against his lips, Otto’s artificial spine, which he kissed all the way up to his neck.
“That feels so nice, Norman.” It sounded almost blissful. Norman hummed happily in reply.
They were both tired, but not quite tired enough.
“Oh honey-
Minutes later, Otto hadn’t even gotten his clothes off, his pants and underwear bunched up around his knees. Norman gripped the collar of his shirt from underneath him, pushing himself back onto Otto’s cock over and over. Otto moved his hips to meet him, moaning open-mouthed and holding Norman’s hips. He moved one hand away to hold Norman’s flushed face, pressing his palm to his cheek. Norman opened his mouth to him, and Otto pressed the pad of his thumb down against his tongue.
“Oh good boy, pumpkin,” Otto breathed, “My good boy.”
Norman felt heat ripple through his body at the praise, nodding as broken little moans escaped him. Being Otto’s pumpkin and his good boy were both positions he held with an immense amount of pride.
Norman gasped, feeling Otto thrust deeper into him, hearing him moan for him and swear under his breath, quietly marveling at how tight he was. Norman’s fingers were falling one by one from their grip on Otto’s shirt.
“Please,” Norman’s voice was hoarse, “Fuck me, fuck me-“
Norman didn’t know how close Otto was, but his own orgasm had wracked his body before he had even realized it, ripping a cry from his throat, losing his grip on Otto’s shirt, his hands held together against his chest. His eyes squeezed tightly shut and for a moment, he wasn’t there at all.
For a split second, he was in someone’s apartment in Boston. He felt cold, holding his own arms as his orgasm was fucked out of him by a stranger, a boy a little older than him, from a different school.
“Fucking freak.” He had said, “Can’t believe you’re into this shit.”
Norman’s heart was beating like a bird’s, oncoming tears stinging his eyes, suddenly claustrophobic, barely able to breathe. His hands shook against each other.
“Otto.” He reached for him, tears openly streaming down his face, breathing rapid shallow breaths.
“Oh, c’mere baby-“ Otto still sounded worried through his own heavy breathing, struggling for a second to pull out, reaching to hold Norman close to him. He kissed his hairline, sleepily rubbing his back as he sobbed into his shirt, “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”
This happened often- an intense orgasm and a flashback to something unpleasant from Norman’s past. Not every boy had been nice to him- very often he went back to his dorm at MIT with an empty pit in his stomach and a killer hangover.
Otto, used to this, and having been held by Norman post-orgasm multiple times himself (he was still a widower, after all), knew how to go into aftercare as soon as Norman started crying, burying themselves in their blankets and holding his boy as tightly as possible.
“It’s okay, you can cry baby, I know-“
“I promise I’ll suck you off or something, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish-“
“Shh, later, Norman. Just breathe for me.”
Norman never did get to offering Otto the orgasm he believed he owed him. They had both fallen asleep, holding each other's hands with their fingers interlocked. Norman had pulled Otto’s hand into his chest, the rest of him enveloped by Otto at his back, the physicist’s nose buried in his hair.
~
“No class today?”
“No, not on Friday. Therapy?”
“Tomorrow.”
There was an edge of contempt in Norman’s voice, the memory of yesterday’s session still fresh in his mind. He sat curled up on the sofa he and Otto had moved into the living room about a month ago- multiple things had been changed throughout the apartment to make it feel more like a home and less like a haunted museum. Otto sat opposite him with his coffee.
Otto coughed and grabbed Norman’s attention with a gentle hand on his knee.
“You sure you’re alright?” He asked gently, “From last night, I mean?”
“I still owe you a blowjob.” Norman said, smiling to himself. Otto’s face was stern and Norman exhaled through his teeth.
“I’m alright, I swear.” He said, “Yesterday was just a little much, I think. Digging through all of that painful nonsense from over the years and then…coming home and pretending none of it happened.”
“I understand.” Otto set down his newspaper (he wouldn’t read the news online, probably for the best). “What happened to you- to both of us, it’s a lot to carry around, even if we’re together again.”
The grave tone in which he spoke made Norman want to reach out to him- and he did, holding his hand. That deep sorrow in his voice was reserved only for the times he remembered Rosie. And that was only half of what Otto was dealing with. Norman couldn’t imagine what losing a spouse he truly loved must have been like- he hated Emily and the divorce was already hard enough as it was. It was no wonder, to him, that Otto had gone off the rails after the accident.
“It is.” Norman agreed, “I know this work I’m doing with my doctor is good- but its difficult work.”
“Necessary work is often difficult.”
Otto’s sharp gaze softened for a moment, looking for a second that he was no longer trying to kill Norman’s trauma with his mind. Then his eyebrows twitched, remembering something.
“Do you remember that night,” he started, “It was maybe a week after we’d gotten back- you saw your reflection in the bathroom mirror and wouldn’t stop crying.”
Norman couldn’t resist rolling his eyes, “Yes, I remember.”
“Don’t do that, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Otto’s voice was sharp, but not cruel, “That was the first time I’d seen you cry since…I don’t know when. We had to watch the Twilight Zone to get you to sleep.”
“I remember all that, yes.” Norman’s face was flushed with embarrassment, remembering how stupid it all was. “Spent a day in another dimension and came back acting like a frightened child.”
“That’s my point, I think.” Otto said, “You were frightened. You were a frightened child.”
Norman cocked his head, feeling insulted. He was many other things too- he was a former CEO, an inventor, an engineer, a father, a partner, and an adult. An adult capable of handling himself despite a brief history of drugs and illness.
“What I mean is,” Otto reached for Norman, pulling him close to him, “The Norman I knew from Hartford, Connecticut never wanted to grow up. From the second I met him, I knew that Norman was a crybaby with a sugar addiction and the biggest imagination in the world.”
Norman’s face was screwed up in a discontented spell of concentration. He kissed Otto’s jaw, wordlessly urging him to continue.
“Norman, maybe that’s all this goblin is.” He said gently, “Maybe that frightened child is still in there. Maybe his existence needs to be addressed.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Norman kissed him, despite blushing madly from humiliation. Though it wasn’t a terribly unsound idea. Damn Otto for being the smarter of the two of them.
But there was a terrible feeling in his chest, one he knew from hearing other painful truths from the past. He hated this other Norman, this goblin from his childhood that had followed him around and appeared in his nightmares, in his reflection. How could such a rabid animal, this bloodthirsty presence he had grown to fear, be anything more than a sickness? How could he too, have feelings?
He sighed to himself, answering his own question. The goblin was Norman too.
“So what?” He asked quietly, “Do I foster the damn thing until he comes out again?”
“Maybe he won’t.” Otto offered gently, “Unless you plan on taking hallucinogenic steroids again.”
Norman buried his face in Otto’s shirt.
“Not funny.”
“I’m kidding.” Otto sounded tired, squeezing Norman, “But I did think about all of it. You’re at your happiest when you let yourself have fun. Just because you liked the Twilight Zone when you were eight, doesn’t mean you can’t like it now. And I…I did something yesterday, and I wanted to wait before I told you-“
“What?” Norman broke from Otto’s hold, panicked, “What did you do?”
Otto looked worried, guilty almost. He exhaled slowly and kissed Norman’s forehead.
“Wait here.”
If Norman had waited any longer, he would have exploded, thinking of only the most frightening of possibilities. Maybe therapy was making him worse.
Otto stood before Norman with one of the smaller bags from yesterday- he recognized it as the one Larry was curiously poking- because he was doing it again. Otto shooed him away, looking like a nervous boy on a first date holding a sad bouquet of flowers. He handed it to Norman before the actuators got too curious.
Norman took the bag, reaching into it and fearing the worst. He stopped upon grabbing something soft. Norman took it out of the bag and looked at it in complete awe, then back up at Otto, then back again.
“What…?” Norman was dumbfounded, “Why?”
“I thought you’d need it.” He said simply, “I thought it would make you happy.”
It was soft, and large enough to sit in his hands with a comfortable amount of weight. It had a pair of soft wings and two shiny black eyes, a plump charcoal grey body, with two big ears on its head. A plush bat.
It would have been rude to reject a gift from Otto, especially when Otto usually had a hard time finding gifts in the first place. The sheer amount of earnestness in his lover’s voice compelled him to experimentally hug the thing to his chest. He nuzzled his chin against its soft head. Somehow, instantly, he felt his muscles relax just a bit. He rolled his eyes, seeing one of the actuators hovering by his head to look at the bat.
Otto had squatted down to Norman’s level on the couch. He smiled, reaching to run a hand through Norman’s hair. Norman had to admit the plush was deeply comforting to hold- and the gesture was beyond sweet. He couldn’t help himself, burying his face in the bat as he often buried his face in Otto’s chest. A muffled shaky breath left him.
“Oh honey,” Otto whispered, “There you are.”