#pragmatist

See? That’s his fault, too. We could be fucking a gorgeous man and a beautiful woman right now if it weren’t for him.

“It’d just be Otto. Sunshine’s at a wedding, remember?” he steps onto the balcony, summer heat rippling off the building. Below him, families and couples splash around an elaborate pool in the afternoon sun. 

He’s been so busy the last few weeks he can’t even remember where she was going, hasn’t had time for even the shortest of calls. 

A shriek of laughter; a woman in the pool scooped up into the arms of a young man. She clings to him, kissing him, and Norman’s whole chest aches. 

He should call her. Call her and tell her he misses her, that he can’t stop thinking about her, that he…he….

Coward. You can’t even say it to yourself.  

“Be quiet.” He leans his arms on the balcony railing. 

So maybe she doesn’t say it back. So what? She didn’t say it back to me and I’m doing juuuuust fine.

Norman groans; this is an old argument at this point and it always ends in a stalemate. 

He scans the pool as The Goblin continues making a case for making a complete fool of himself. There’s a family poolside on the concrete nearest to him, the adults lounging as three kids scamper up, demanding the attention of two of the women. Looks like the age-old request to watch them do a cannonball. 

He smiles; Harry always used to do that. 

As the kids move back to the pool, one of the women laughs. 

I know that laugh

Norman shades his eyes against the sun, desperate to pick up details. Laying in the sun, in a swimsuit he bought her, is his girlfriend. 

“Of course. She said something about the wedding being at Disney and I thought she meant Flor-” he white knuckles the railing as The Goblin fights to climb over it, “stop it, you do that we’ll either break an ankle or get arrested for public indecency. Let me handle this.”

His body relaxes back from the edge.

Don’t disappoint me.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nice job” you high five your nephew as he climbs out of the pool. Your aunt and her new husband are already off on their honeymoon, but much of the family decided to stay an extra day or two to make the trip worthwhile. You’re one of the few to spring for a room at the Grand Californian; handily, you being a guest means you can let everyone else into the pool.

Your phone buzzes and you steal a glance at it. Norman’s number. You wonder where he is; he mentioned Stark moved the event to Anaheim. You thought about suggesting a meet-up, but decided against it; Norman, like both you and Otto, gets a kind of tunnel vision around work that can last for weeks. 

You swipe open the message. 

Osborn: Look up.

You lift your head, scanning the balconies. It takes craning your neck backward to spot him. Leaning over the balcony, he gives you a little wave. Smiling, you blow him a kiss, then type into your phone. 

You: Room 421. Done with family stuff by nine. 

Someone calls your name and you turn to answer their question. When you glance back, the balcony is empty.

Osborn: See you then, cinderella. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The knock on your door doesn’t come until well after 11 p.m. You’ve already called Otto to say goodnight, taken a long bath in the fancy tub, changed into your pajamas, and discovered the shocking number of cable channels on the hotel T.V. 

You’re reading Scientific American on your phone when Norman raps on the door. When you open it, his tie is askew and his jacket is slung over his shoulder. He waits until the lock clicks to wrap his arm around your waist and kiss you hello.

“You try to drink Drake under the table again?” You kiss him again, softly, whiskey heavy on his breath.

“No.”

“Did the other guy try to drink him under the table?”

His guilty expression is all the answer you need. 

“I swear the guy is an alien or something, he could out-drink my old man, and that’s saying something.” He hangs up his jacket and toes off his shoes. He’s the only man you’ve ever seen do that with any amount of grace.

You undo his tie, “You’re lucky I didn’t decide to just throw the deadbolt and go to bed.”

“Of course you didn’t. You like your men hardworking and ambitious, even when it keeps them up late.” 

“I also miss them when that happens. I’ve missed you. Otto has, too.” You move toward the bed with Norman following you

“I missed you too” his arms close around you from behind as he kisses your neck, “my princess.”

You set your hands on his, “This ‘princess’ has been on her feet all day. If you want to make a move, you’d better do it before I fall asleep standing up.”

“No moves tonight.” He murmurs, releases you so he can finish undressing, “as much as I want to throw your legs over my shoulders and make you scream, right now all I’m good for is being a lump under the covers.”

(Jesus, he must have drunk a lot; he’s been stumbling, cackling drunk and still trying to get his hands under your skirt in the back of the car).

“That’s all I need.” You hold out a hand as he steps out of his pants, black boxer briefs showing off his legs. 

It’s hot enough that you’re just under the sheet, rolling onto your right side so Norman can cuddle up behind you. His arm drapes over your waist and you feel him relax, a warm and welcome pressure at your back. 

“Do you fly home tomorrow?”

You shake your head, “Day after, I got a deal if I booked five nights instead of four. You?”

“The same. I built in a buffer day in case Stark decided to hold some sort of post-conference nonsense.” He pets your stomach, “Spend the day with me.”

“If you insist.” You say with faux resignation.

“I do. Think of it as…team building.” He kisses your neck as you snicker, “sleep tight, sunshine.”

You nestle back against his chest, eyelids already heavy. After a few moments, the hand laying on your stomach twitches before sliding down your thigh. His hips roll and you feel the tell-tale press of his cock against your ass. 

“I was wondering if you’d show up.” You murmur. 

“Norman may be outta commission, but I’m not.” He nuzzles at your neck through your hair, “c’mon, sleeping beauty, don’t you want prince charming to kiss you on the lips?” He gropes his hand against your cunt through your sleep shorts. 

“Baby, I don’t know how many miles I walked today but it’s pushing double digits. I’m too fucking tired to cum.” You turn your head to look at him, graze your nails down his cheek, “you can fuck my thighs. Final offer.”

“Goddam I missed you.” He growls, kissing your face as he wrenches your thighs apart and shoves his cock between them. You relax into his arms as he thrusts purposefully, wonder if it’s comfortable without lube or if Norman will discover chafing when he wakes up. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t jump on you all the way from the balcony. You in that swimsuit, s’like putting a juicy steak in front of a hungry dog.”

“More like a horny dog.” You mutter with a smile. 

Teeth bite down on your earlobe and you squeak as Goblin growls, fingers digging into your hips as he cums on your thighs. 

The bite gives way to a kiss, followed by another on your throat. Goblin pulls back, and you feel him adjusting himself back into his underwear. Then he’s cuddling up with a content sigh, and you can’t tell if it’s him or Norman who whispers, “christ, I missed holding you” as you fall asleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Fingers brush your side and the scent of coffee tickles your nose, “Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

“If it’s before seven I’m pushing you out the window.” You crack an eye open to see Norman in a hotel bathrobe, coffee cup in hand. 

“There’s my sunshine. It’s seven-thirty.”

You stretch and climb gracelessly out of the bed. Norman passes you a coffee cup en route; a mocha, clearly from room service. 

You shower quickly, pulling on your own robe and stepping back into the room in time to see him glare at his phone and move out onto the balcony. As he takes the call, you check your own messages. Among the good morning texts from Otto and the photos of yesterday from your brother, there’s one of those “photo memory” alerts from your phone. This time it’s a picture from exactly a year ago. Of your foot in a flip-flip.

Right, it’d been so hot your shoe was melting when it hit the concrete. That turned out to be the least remarkable thing from the day.

“Told them not to call me again unless we’re in the middle of a hostile takeover.” Norman shuts the balcony door behind him. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Norman Osborn?”

“I keep telling you, you and Octavius are making me soft.”

You meet him halfway across the carpet, “He did ask me to give you this.” You kiss him sweetly.

“See?” He kisses you back, “making me into a sap.”

“So that means you don’t want to know why today is significant?”

His brow crinkles with thought, and after a moment he says, “I’ve got nothing. What am I forgetting?”

“Exactly a year ago, you and the other guy admitted that you wanted to be with Otto and I.” You loop your arms around his waist, “it’s our anniversary.”

The sentence is a fucking Manchurian Candidate trigger.

Norman’s eyes widen, “Then what are we standing here for? We’ve got to celebrate, dinner, drinks, where’d I put my phone-” 

“Table” you tilt your head and he scrambles for it.

He clutches the phone to his chest, “What do you want to do? Anything, princess, any place, any present, name it and it’s yours.”

“Well…” an idea clicks into place, “I did promise you the chance to pick out every part of my outfit, down to the lingerie and perfume.” You flutter your lashes, “want to take me shopping, Mr. Osborn?”

His face is placid but his eyes are huge, “Get dressed. I’ll call for a car.”

“You gonna go like that?”

He looks down at his own robe and growls, “No. You, changed, now.”

You laugh and pull clothes from your bag; black linen shorts and a comfy, peacock green halter top. A black rectangle hits the bed. Norman’s phone.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t look at that! The other guy was driving.” He darts out the door; of course, his clothes would all be in his suite. 

You flip the phone over. As much as you care about Norman, he’s still him. The odds of a scheme brewing in the background are never zero. 

There are four tabs open. The first is for fancy restaurants  in Beverley Hills. The remaining three are: flights to Vegas, nearby jewelry stores, and 24-Hour chapels. 

So the Green Goblin is the marrying kind. Who knew? 

It doesn’t worry you. Goblin is impulsive and intense, but he and Norman seem better able to balance each other these days. Otto’s theory is that they’re united in the common goal of the project you all are working on. 

“Plus” Otto toys with your hair as you lay on his chest, “getting you into bed is something they BOTH want to devote energy to.”

At least you know Norman was telling the truth; he’d never stoop to a Vegas wedding. 

(Would he stoop to asking someone to marry him without ever saying “I love you?”)

The handle jiggles and you let Norman in, passing him his phone. 

“Beverley Hills?”

A glower, his playful one, “Curious little kitten.” He kisses you, “you think I’m taking my girl anywhere other than Rodeo Drive?”

You blush, “That’s not a short trip.”

“Hired a car for that reason. Lots of time for you and I to catch up on the way.” 

You undo the top button on his blue button up–short sleeved, letting you enjoy the muscles in his arms–and scritch the exposed skin with your nails. 

“Then let’s get on the road.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“This is too fancy, I’m gonna get fucking hives.” You link your arm more tightly through Norman’s. 

“Ah ah, don’t get skittish on me sunshine. Besides, you’ve been to swanky events before.”

“For work. That’s different, I just have to look professional. Even when I went to dinner with Harry, that was just a restaurant's worth of people.”

“Just pretend we’re back in the lab in the early days. Y’know, your little ice queen act.”

“It wasn’t an act, you were being a dick to Otto and me.”

“Nah, that was all Norman. I was sweet as could be.”

“Bullshit” You glance at Goblin, “I’m amazed Norman is letting you out.”

“It’s our anniversary too.” He pulls you from the flow of traffic, kisses you hard in the shadow of the awning, “it was me on the couch making you cum like a goddamn freight train, me with the guts to actually get Otto’s cock down my throat.”

“That’s true.” You cuddle up to him, enjoying the affronted looks from a few passersby, “you can still take more of him in your mouth than I can.”

“We’ll get you deep throating like a pro one of these days.” He nuzzles his nose to yours, “Norman can make as many stops here as he wants, but I got a spot for us to go to before dinner. Until then, anyone so much as thinks about insulting you, I’ll throw ‘em through a window.”

“I’m a big girl, baby. I can handle myself. So no assault charges on my behalf. Got me?”

“Fine” he pinches your ass, “see you soon, sunshine.”

A blink and then Norman is back in front, “Sorry about him.”

“But not the positioning of his hand?”

A gentle grope before his touch retreats, “Let’s go. First stop: Armani”

“.....Are we going alphabetically???”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Try these next” Norman passes you two more dresses through the changing room door. You were half-expecting Chanel to be his stop for perfume (Otto told you about the year, early on, when Norman proudly gave Emily a bottle of Chanel Number Five for her birthday). Instead, it’s looking like it might be the winner for tonight's dress. 

Norman’s made it clear that while he has something in mind for your date, anything you like, he’ll buy. So far you’ve only taken him up on it once: a pair of Armani ankle boots (that you’ll be storing on a high, high shelf so Bot doesn’t get his bunny teeth into them).

You examine the latest dress in the mirror. It’s black, hem sitting at your ankles with a long slit up either side. The top is a simple bandage wrap, showing off your curves more than your cleavage. You look elegant, stylish, and extremely fucking hot. 

Judging by his expression, Norman agrees. 

After the dress comes the shoes. Norman doesn’t bother with the alphabet this time, making a beeline for Jimmy Choo and selecting six pairs in under five minutes. 

On the third pair (blood red, strappy sandals) you stand and shift your feet. 

“I didn’t tighten it enough on my left side, can you-”

Norman kneels on the ground without further prompting. He adjusts the strap, pats the top of your foot, “How’s that?”

“Much better, thanks.” You give him a kiss as he stands up, “I’m gonna take a lap.”

As you circumnavigate the store, one of the young men working murmurs, jokingly, “Is he on something? I never see boyfriends be this patient.”

You chuckle and wiggle your toes for emphasis, “He just appreciates the merchandise.” 

Norman’s final selection is a pair of matte black heels with straps across the top and up the ankle. When he escorts you into a lingerie store, you suspect he’s been scoping out the inventory online. He goes to the counter, and after a quick exchange presents you with two hangers of clothing. 

“Check to see if these fit. But don’t let me see you in them. I deserve a little surprise tonight, too.”

One of the intimidatingly polished saleswomen shows you to a dressing room. The set is all black and made of four pieces: underwear, bra, garter belt, and stockings. Everything but the stockings is studded with small, white crystals. When you put it on, it’s like you snipped pieces of a starry sky to wrap around yourself. 

When you hand the hangers to Norman and murmur, “It’s perfect,” his excitement is palpable. 

It’s only when he guides you to a salon that you hesitate. You haven’t given another human a say in how your hair or make-up looks since you were sixteen. 

“You said everything, remember?” Norman gathers your hair into one hand and drapes it over your shoulder. 

“Promise you won’t make me look like a Barbie doll?” You aim for a joke and miss.

Norman brushes his fingers over your cheek, “I promise. I may be a  cold-hearted, self-centered bastard, but I know what you like.”

A year ago, you wouldn’t have believed him. Hell, even six months ago you’d have been wary.

You lean into his touch, smiling, “Okay, baby. I trust you.” You turn your head and nip his thumb, “But if I come out of there blonde, you’re looking down the barrel of a two month dry spell, minimum.”

“My spitfire.” He takes your hand, holds it as the two of you talk with the receptionist. When she shoots you a subtle, concerned glance as he asks to see specific polish colors, you smile reassuringly. 

“He’s got a much better eye for style than I do.”

“This is the only time she lets me boss her around even a little, believe me.” Norman winks exaggeratedly, laughing when you playfully whack his arm. 

He excuses himself once you settle into the chair for the manicure. Ninety minutes later, your nails are space-age silver and your hair falls in pin-up waves around your shoulders. Norman appears with two new bags (“surprises for later”), whipping out his credit card with a self-satisfied smile. 

Once you’re back in the car, you expect to be in for a long drive–you two agreed eating at the Napa Rose in the hotel was ideal for keeping up the mood of the evening–only for your driver to pull over in another mall. 

“Perfect” your boyfriend growls, closing his hand around your wrist as he addresses the driver, “keep this baby parked right here. C’mon, Cinderella, I got something to fit you for that’s much more fun than a glass slipper.”

“Well that answers whether we’re going into the Good Vibrations or not.”

“Make no mistake, Norman is an equal partner in this plan, he just knows I’ve got the better eye when it comes to choosing our toys.” Goblin scans the shelves, grinning when he spots the shelf of remote controlled toys, “Bingo.”

“You can’t be serious” it’s a pro forma question.

“This counts as an accessory.” Goblin is methodically pressing buttons on each of the display vibrators. Then he pauses, grinning.

“Hear that?”

“Hear what?” 

“Exactly.” He turns off the small vibrator, grabs an unopened one from the shelf, “don’t give me that look, kitten. I heard you telling Octavius about the time you did this before. How much of a thrill you got.”

You go bright pink, “That was in college. But you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the hotel, Norman leaves you with your shopping bags and the instruction to meet him at the restaurant at 7 p.m.

Investigating the make-up bag produces soft pink lipstick, a gold and rose palette of eyeshadow with matching eyeliner, two compacts of blush, and mascara. You look up tutorials on Youtube, settle on a pin-up inspired one to match the hair. 

There’s also a perfume in the bag. It smells like sweet, tart rose petals, crushed into a palm on a hot summer day. It smells divine when you spritz it on. 

The last accessory of the night is the small vibrator. You slip it inside yourself, adjust your underwear and skirt back into place, and go to strap on your heels. 

Once you’re fully dressed you take a selfie and send it to Otto. In the elevator down, your phone buzzes. 

Otto: You look amazing. Norman is going to short-circuit. And when you get home, I expect you to show me all of that in person so I can do a thorough evaluation.

You: it’s a date, doc. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, Norman is waiting for you in one of his black suits. The shirt beneath is deep blue, and the tie is subtly silver. His hair is combed but loose, just the way you like it. 

“There she is.” He grasps both your hands and pulls you to him for a kiss. 

He barely takes his eyes off you on the walk to the table, and is having a noticeably hard time focusing on his menu. 

“How am I supposed to even think when you’re sitting there looking like that?” 

“You dressed me like this, sweetheart. You have no one to blame but yours-” you cut off with a clack of teeth as the vibrator switches on. 

“You were saying?”

You glare playfully over your menu, “Nothing.”

He toys with the tempo, clearly pleased by the blush spreading down your neckline, until the waiter comes over to take your drink order, at which point you’re granted some relief as the toy shuts off. 

When the server departs, Norman asks casually, “What looks good?”

“Everythingnng” You take a quick sip of water to cover your surprise at the vibration, “I’m starving, we were so busy today we never ate.”

“Shit” Norman mutters, looking genuinely chagrined, and the toy stops, “you shouldn’t be going hungry.”

“Norman, I missed a meal, not an entire month of them. And; that’s very rich from the coffee who subsists on coffee half the time.” 

“I have the serum in me” he whispers, then adds with a sharp grin, “now, if you wanted to talk about getting you some kind of enhancement….”

“No. Also, I don’t think that’s how most men in your tax bracket ask their mistresses to get a boob job.”

Norman chokes on his whiskey, quickly covering it with a cough, “You’re not my mistress, you’re my girlfriend.”

“My point is, no ‘enhancements’ unless it’s, like, knee surgery or something.”

He takes your hand where it rests on the table, “I worry about you. That’s all. And I know, I know” he raises his other hand, palm facing you, “I know you don’t need me. Or Otto. But I don’t want you to have to take care of yourself. If you care about someone you...a man is supposed to take care of his family.” The words are quiet. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed to say them.

You squeeze his hand, “That’s both sweet and concerningly 1950s of you.”

“So I’m an old fashioned guy. Sue me.” The joking expression is paper thin. 

“Do you really think of me as your family?” He certainly acts like you are, but he’s never come close to putting it into words. 

“You and Otto both. If you’ll have me.”

“I can’t speak for Otto but…yes. I love being your partner, Norman. In and out of the lab.”

His right eye twitches and he takes another drink. 

“Everything okay in there?”

“We're just...happy.” He flashes a smile, “glad you can finally stand me.”

“I’d say I can do a lot more than stand you.” You run the toe of your shoe up his calf under the table. 

Norman waits until you’ve ordered your food to turn the toy back on. It’s nowhere near enough to get you off, even as he plays with the rhythm and intensity, but it does make you glad your table is at the back corner of the room and you’re facing him, not the other diners. It’s just as thrilling as you remember, made all the better by the fact that the man across from you is calculating, clearly dedicating quite a bit of his brainpower to fucking with you. 

In between his attempts to make you spill water on your chest, you and Norman talk about some of the more promising research coming out of both Mesa and the Oscorp Chicago branch. Norman also mentions he’s hoping to take Harry on a “boys trip” sometime in the next few months, asks your thoughts on his different ideas (“the other guy is lobbying for Vegas. Too tacky if you ask me”). 

The food is good but, if you’re honest, tonight it’s barely registering. And not solely due to the vibrator that means you’re currently sitting here with soaked underwear. Norman’s conversation is bright, his grin even brighter, and as you talk you feel like he means every word, like the only thing he wants in the entire world is your attention and affection. 

When the waiter asks if you’d like dessert, you both shake your heads. As he leaves, blue eyes lock on yours and you watch Goblin slip through. 

“Got something sweet that I’ve been waiting alllllll day to sink my teeth into.” He turns the toy up as high as it’ll go.

You bite your lip, “I hate you.”

“Love you too, princess.”

Norman blinks back into place and the toy stills. He stands, keeps your arms linked as he pays for dinner and guides you to the elevator. 

When you reach his suite, you expect him to pounce the moment the door closes. Instead he stands, contemplative, fingers resting on the handle.

“Norman?” You’re not worried, just curious.

He looks at you, chest rising in a deep breath, “I love you. I have for a while and was too much of a coward to tell you but it’s been blaring like a goddamn siren in my head all day. I wanted to say it before we got distracted by all the” he gestures toward the bed, “wild stuff.”

The simplicity of it wrong-foots you into silence. Norman waits, only half looking at you, and it gives you time to think. 

You have dozens of thoughts and questions about what it means to be with Norman, what it means about you that you can trust him, care about him. But under all that noise, there’s a very simple truth. 

Norman looks like a scared, cornered dog when you first step toward him. You set your hands on his cheeks and kiss him, feel his lips part in a shaky inhale. 

“I love you, too.”

His hands settle on your hips, voice painfully earnest, “Say it again.”

“I love you.” You kiss each cheek, then his chin, “I love you.”

“Yeah?” He grins, nuzzling your face as he guides you backward toward the bed, “You love me?”

You giggle as he cheerfully peppers you with kisses, “Yeah. I do. I love you.”

He’s laughing too, now, boyish and sweet, “I love you too, love you so much” he moans as you push his jacket off and away, “so much, let, let me?” He rests his hands on the straps of your dress. 

You nod, feel the fabric slide down your arms. Norman kneels, continues peeling the dress down as he does. Once it pools around your feet, you step out of it. Norman pivots, still on his knees, and runs his hands up your thighs. 

“You look so good like this, goddamn I love being right.”

“Shocking.” You tease as he presses kisses from the top of your stockings to your underwear. 

A light slap to your ass, “Play nice, princess.”

“I’ve been low-level turned on for hours. If you don’t do something about it soon I’m going to see if Drake is still hanging around.” You tug his hair as he kisses the front of your underwear. 

“No you won’t.” He kisses your stomach, looking fondly up at you.

“No?” You take two steps back. 

Norman follows you on his hands and knees, “No. Because you love me. And you know I’d come find and take back what’s mine.”

“Mmhmm. All yours.” You sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread enough for him to watch you nudge the thong aside and remove the vibrator, “now what are you going to do about it?”

He crawls until he reaches your left foot. Dips his head to kiss the top of your foot. Plants a row of slow, firm kisses through the stockings, onto your bare skin, and along your inner thighs before hungrily dragging his tongue up your cunt.  

“Fuck” You gasp as the fumbling rustle of clothing comes from below you. When Norman presses his mouth back against your folds, warm skin rubs your stockings. His cock ruts along your leg, the silk becoming wet from the pre-cum dragging along with it. 

“Good boy.” You brace on his shoulder with one hand, grip his hair with the other, “fuck, Norman, baby, that feels so good.”

He tips his face up at you, pleased, and you kiss the taste of yourself from his lips before letting him go. 

His teasing of you at dinner means your orgasm doesn’t take long to arrive. Your thighs tense and you dig your fingers into his hair, beg him to keep going and praise him when he does. 

You cum with a moan, Norman pulling back to kiss your thighs as the pleasure rolls through you. He wraps his arms around you, hands scrabbling at your lower back as he grinds against your leg. 

“Gonna make a mess of my stockings, handsome?”

“Yes” He grunts, jerking his hips more firmly, “I’ll buy you more, buy you enough that we can do this every night.”

“I know you will.” You scritch his cheek with your nails. He shudders, moaning, and spills down your leg, the last pulse catching the top of your foot. 

He straightens, running his hands up your sides, “You’re perfect.”

“You’re sweet.” You peck his cheek. 

“I’ll get something to clean up with. Be right back.”

As he heads for the bathroom, you shift to lay fully on the bed. The lingerie makes you feel like a goddess, and you’re loath to take it all off just yet. Maybe the stockings, though you need to get the shoes off first…

You sit up, intending to draw your foot toward you and take off the high heel. A voice freezes you in place.

“It’s not midnight yet, Cinderella. Those slippers stay on.” Goblin is fully naked as he rounds the end of the bed.

“Gonna take me dancing, tough guy?”

“Nah” he clambers between your legs, “gonna have a ball, though.”

“You’re impossibAH!” You clamp a hand over your mouth. You didn’t mean to shriek when Goblin threw your legs over his shoulders, but you weren’t expecting him to shove his cock in with one thrust, either. 

“Awwww, sensitive sunshine?” 

“A, a little. Norman made me see stars.”

“Too bad.” He thrusts aggressively, “I’m not letting him shut me out on my anniversary. Fuck, fuck, love it when you get this wet. Really makes a guy feel smug.” He leans forward, reminding you why you’ve been shelling out for those yoga classes. 

“Does it now?” You manage to reach up and cup his cheek with your right hand. 

Goblin rubs into the touch for a moment, then licks his lips, “Do it.”

Your palm stings when you slap him, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. Goblin snarls in delight, sinks his teeth into your right stocking and the leg beneath it. You whimper happily at the pain, cling to the blanket when he does the same to the other side. 

“Ah ah, no use crying now, spitfire. If you dish it out, you better be able to take it.” He thrusts harder, yanks the cups of the bra down enough to expose your tits. 

“You hit me again, I’m gonna hit back.” He pants. 

You slap him, swallow down a cry as he slaps your right breast. He does it to the other side, then seems to become distracted by the prints his fingers leave as he gropes you and switches you playing with your tits rough enough to bruise. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Holy fuck. If you keep doing that while you fuck me I, I think I might cum.”

He smiles adoringly, turns his head to kiss your leg. “Good. Nothing quite like watching a pretty little princess go to pieces to get the blood flowing.” His nails dig into your skin, and when you whine his name he simply chuckles, “oh, sunshine, you’re never getting rid of us now.”

“Don’t want to” is all you get out before you cum. Goblin fucks you wildly as you do, lets your legs fall from his shoulders to focus on thrusting deep and staying there, grinding against your with short, demanding motions until he pulses inside you with a gleeful moan. 

You stroke his back, smile as he kisses your face and murmurs that you’re his, that he loves you, that he hasn’t been this happy in a long time, all while Goblin gives way to Norman so subtly you can’t really tell when it happens. Goblin isn’t as opposed to the mushy stuff as he tries to pretend (especially if he’s just cum). 

“Y’know” you push his hair from his sweaty forehead, “for a cold-hearted, self-centered bastard, you’re pretty fucking loving.”