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Winter's Service

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Agitation simmered under his skin, but Thor kept his jaw tight and tried not to satisfy them with the sight of his struggling. The bonds that held his hands behind his back were too strong to break and too tight to work loose, and they had shrouded his head with a sack. He could see nothing, and his fingers flexed restlessly behind his back, aching for Mjolnir's familiar weight.

He had been deceived, and it burned inside him. He had been told that the frost giants were stupid: mindless aggressive monsters that preyed upon lesser beings and huddled in their ruins, grungy rock trolls without the cleverness. And yet somehow they had lured him into a trap, taken down the scion of the house of Odin, and the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, a handful of the greatest warriors of Asgard.

Thor gnashed his teeth, struggling with the indignity, and the growing sick knowledge in the pit of his stomach that dignity was the least of his problems. To be captured by the enemy on an illicit foray into their territory... His father would be furious and shamed, and he dreaded to think what they would have to give to the frost giants in exchange for his return.

"It was more than worth it. Just as you said..."

"The winter of Jotunheim will fell the might of Asgard! You will bring us back to glory!"

"You get ahead of yourself. First... there is the matter of what to do with our spoils."

They were speaking around him, as if he couldn't hear; most of their voices were thick and gravelly, but there was one softer voice, tenor and clear.

"We have no need of these others. We will return them to Asgard."

"You would turn them loose, Brother? But our advantage..."

"This one is the real prize."

Thor heard the shifting in front of him, cloth against skin, leather against stone. They recognized him, he knew, and he snarled, voice muffled by the sack, "Return my friends unharmed! Take me, and I will--"

"My prince--!" he heard one of his friends cry, a second before a heavy fist the size of his head slammed into the back of his neck, and he grunted, slammed forward against the rock.

The tenor voice scolded, "Gently, Helblindi. He is a very precious finding."

One of the frost giants snarled, "He dared to give you instruction!"

"That does not offend me. I don't have to listen -- and he won't dare to challenge me for long."

Thor bristled, snarling as he started back onto his knees, but he had no opportunity to interject. There was already movement, sound, as if at a trigger, and he turned his head blindly to try and get an idea of what was happening.

"Unhand me," he heard Sif's voice growl. "I will not leave him!"

"Your Highness! Thor! We will return for you!" Volstagg exclaimed.

Thor shut his eyes tightly, and opened his mouth to reply, but he was again beaten to it, his raw, "Go!" spoken over by the tenor voice, commanding, "Take them to the Bifrost site and wait there until they're taken by the guardian. Don't leave until the bridge has closed behind them."

Thor heard his four friends get carried away, and he wished fervently that he could go with them -- that he could take it all back, return to this morning's brilliant idea to go to Jotunheim and punish the frost giants for the mockery of their appearance during his confirmation ceremony. They had paid sneering tribute to the future king of Asgard and spoken with double-edged words that made his hand itch for his hammer. It had seemed the gravest of insults, and he had thought they would never expect the retaliation for their subtle slights -- and yet here he was.

A gust of wind rose as their noise faded away, whipping numbing chill against his skin, and he curled his shoulders away from it, thinning his lips stubbornly.

"Cold?" asked the tenor voice, solicitous. "That will not be a problem for much longer. I have prepared a special provision for you, o prince."

"I want no special treatment from your kind," Thor growled, under his breath as he felt the owner of the voice shifting closer; too quiet, he thought, for the frost giant behind him to hear.

Another soft cloth sound, confusing; Jotun did not wear much in the way of clothing, or so he had always observed, and shouldn't it have left -- more of an impression, one of those thick bodies in motion? On an Asgardian, he might have thought it the sound of someone kneeling down to his level, but with his eyes covered and his hands bound he was powerless to tell.

The soft voice said, "I know that you would sooner freeze to death in the snow than accept this fate. That is part of why it is so very delightful to have you bound to me."

Then gentle fingers found his neck, and Thor found himself reeling with surprise; they were cold, the texture of skin unfamiliar, but they were small, tracing his skin beneath the rough cloth of the burlap sack with a delicate touch. The voice was definitely male, but the tapering fingers that brushed him were not those of a frost giant, nor of a warrior. For the first time he wondered, Who is this?

He was so startled that he didn't even notice the collar brushing his skin until it clicked into place around his neck.

Abruptly fury raged through him, and Thor thrashed to his feet, lunging forward with shoulder first, knocking the unexpectedly slight figure in front of him backward into the snow. He pulled once more against his bindings, muscles straining with effort, and he had an instant's warning as the frost giant behind him roared in anger and charged for him. Thor dodged, blind, tumbling to the side and rolling back to his feet with practiced ease, trying to shake the sack off his head so that he could have a sporting chance. He didn't need his hands to defeat a lone frost giant and whatever mad Asgardian traitor had helped them plan this--


And to Thor's surprise, he did.

The tenor voice was strained but clear, commanding, and though anger still filled him, Thor found himself unable to move. There was more rustling, before those delicate fingers were back at his throat, this time digging deep, threatening.

"It's too late to struggle now," hissed the other. "I own you. So shut your fool mouth and follow me like a good little plaything."

And once again, Thor did.

He noticed only later on their march that he no longer felt the cold; the air seemed mild on his face, the fierce wind that occasionally rose to drag his cape flat against him strong but not stealing the warm breath from his lungs. Suspicion began to rise in him: A sorcerer. He had been enspelled by the collar. An enchantment of warmth, and of obedience.

Sorcery was something he could not fight with muscle. An art that the Jotun were said to specialize in, but very rare in these times, forgotten but for a few ancient sages. He had been caught unprepared, and now he was trapped by it. If he could call Mjolnir, he might be able to break the binding, but with his hands so awkwardly behind him, he had no leverage to wield it with.

From the sounds beneath his feet and echoing up to his ears he could tell when they entered a building, or a ruin, more likely. They came to a stop, the massive hand of the frost giant pulling him back and pushing him to his knees once more. The tenor voice said, briefly full with some sort of emotion that Thor could not name, "Laufey King."

Thor went stiff, and he recognized the deep, thick voice that answered. "Loki... What have you and your brother brought? The intruder?"

"More than just an intruder." Fingers grasped the hood and pulled it away, and then finally Thor could see again: the world was black and blue, and above him loomed the tall, hungry figures of the frost giants, in the same dull blue as the winter all around them, but for the blood-red of their eyes. They wore only light armor and loincloths, scarred with ritual marks and the ridges of their clans, their bare heads crowned by skullcaps.

Thor's gaze settled fleetingly on Laufey, and then skimmed to look back at his captors, and found to his surprise that the sorcerer he had assumed to be Asgardian was not. The one who now held the hood was a startling sight: he could be scarcely six feet tall, with deep blue skin and ridges lining his face and a thick, smooth fall of black hair, curling into wisps in the frigid air about his neck. He wore black leather and shrouding robes lined with fur, with a woven circlet of gold about his forehead. He seemed both Jotun and not, out of place here.

And he -- Loki, the strange small Jotun -- said with great satisfaction, "The firstborn son and heir of Asgard."

Thor returned his attention to Laufey with a start, and he meant to speak, the words so clear in his mind: You will find no concession from my father. Release me with my friends and we will forget this incident and there will be no war, thick with a pride and confidence he did not feel. But his mouth did not open, and he said nothing at all. The sorcerer Loki's command bound him silent still.

"Ahhh," Laufey said, leisurely, his red gaze taking Thor in with great relish. "This... Odin will pay dearly to make this right."

"You mean to give him back?" Loki asked, and Thor looked at him, surprised to find him -- pouting. What else could Laufey possibly intend but that?

Laufey shifted stance, leaning forward on his throne and saying, "It is a waste not to use him as a tool to bargain with."

"Is it not our custom to make intruders to our realm pay with their service?" Loki asked, and then coaxed, "Think of how the other realms would take it, to see Asgard's golden prince bound to the will of your heir."

Thor's gaze fixed on him, eyes widening. This... midget? This giant who stood shorter than an Asgardian was the heir to a kingdom of giants who could have easily crushed his chest in their grips? How had he not heard of that?

Laufey's attention had grown contemplative, but he said, "Think of the war it will bring to our people, enslaving that prince."

Loki shrugged, unconcerned. "It needn't be forever. Tell Odin King that we will return him in -- a year's time. Hardly any at all. Tell him that he will work to pay for the lives that he took, and his treachery in breaking our treaty to come here. Then he will be returned. Surely that is a fair arrangement, and in the meantime it is to your glory, to your status among all the realms. They will all see you victorious over Odin!"

There was an almost eager tone to his voice, and Thor tensed, feeling abruptly upset again, freed from paralyzing surprise. He had heard of the Jotun custom of enslaving trespassers, but it was a barbaric act, and never -- never! -- forced on those with rank and wealth to barter with. This was not an exercise of custom, it was an exercise of dominance, an excuse for humiliation. Odin would never allow it, and he would have said so, shouted it to the cracked pillars until an avalanche spilled down around them to bury them all, but he was effectively gagged by the collar's command.

"Or we can be paid in our rightful treasures now," Laufey countered, unswayed.

"Father," Loki said, and now his tone was low, soft, pretty; "I want this."

His fingers fell almost idly, as if he didn't notice them, to Thor's hair, stroking sweetly through the gold strands the way he might stroke a pet. Thor's lips curled, and he made to pull away, but the fingers tightened harshly, so that further movement would be to pull his own hair out by the roots, and he was very reluctantly still, biding his time.

Laufey watched, and his expression shifted, a smug smile slowly creasing his thin mouth. "On the other hand," he said lingeringly, "it does seem a fair arrangement."

The pair that had brought him to Laufey's throne room took him out again, speaking in quiet voices, a sibilant whisper and a dull rumbling both just under the threshold of Thor's hearing. He tried to focus on what he could do instead of think about what he could do nothing to change: his father's reaction, whether or not this bargain would be allowed, what was in store for him... Loki, who had laid claim to him, had called himself Laufey's heir; but Helblindi was the leader of the Jotun who had come to Asgard for the confirmation ceremony, and it was his name that Thor had always heard when they spoke of Laufey's future successor. He towered twice Loki's height, but listened to his murmured words with every evidence of respect and attention, from what Thor could tell.

They stepped down the vast empty halls, pillars stretching hundreds of feet overhead to the high arcing ceiling; remnants of a majesty that Jotunheim had lost long ago. It was an almost unnerving contrast to Asgard's gleaming spires: desolate and nearly abandoned, empty, providing meager shelter against the elements. They were the only ones who traveled its corridors, and when they finally paused, Thor looked about. No one else was in eyesight, and there was little indication that these rooms, of the many closed doors that they had passed, were inhabited, much less by princes of the realm.

"Will you want his hands freed, Brother?" Helblindi asked, his red eyes disapproving as he studied Thor.

"He won't be of much use to me if I leave him bound fit to be chained to a wall," Loki answered, also turning to echo the glance, more considering. "Nor would he be much of a prize. The collar will ensure that he obeys me, either way."

The giant shook his head, and said simply, "Relying on these tricks may prove dangerous."

Loki flicked fingers, dismissing the concern. He stepped squarely in front of Thor, who straightened to return the glance with every ounce of pride he possessed.

"You will take no action to harm me, nor allow any harm to come to me. You will not harm my father, nor my brother Helblindi, while you are here. You will not leave my presence, except when I command, to do only as I command. You will not--" He lifted a finger, precautionary. "--summon your weapon."

Thor's lips thinned again, frustrated, but he was powerless to speak.

The black-haired man paused, thinking it over, and then said, "That should be sufficient. You may release him now, Helblindi."

There were no further objections, Helblindi stepping behind him and reaching for the bindings. Thor kept his gaze squarely on the little Jotun prince, smiling so pleased with himself, and thought about how much he wanted to strike him; willed his arm to lift and his fist to fly out, willed Mjolnir to cross the barren wasteland to fit into his hand, with all his might.

Loki waited, very pointedly, and then smiled more. "Well? Nothing?" he said sweetly. Thor's eyes narrowed, glaring at his captor.

"You see, Helblindi? All will be well," Loki said, lifting a hand to touch his collarbone, and his companion repeated the gesture before they parted ways. Loki beckoned idly for Thor to follow him as he pushed open the great doors to the chamber with both hands. Thor moved after him, grudging.

Compared to the bleak exterior of the ruined palace, these chambers were almost cozy: decorated with furs and scattered canvas, little ornaments of crystal and stone lining the walls, littered with papers and inkwells and thick bound books. It was lit with a cool orb of pale light that flared up as Loki stepped into the room. There was furniture, some of it a little big but most of it adjusted in size, and the rooms were not quite so tall as the corridors outside.

"So how much of a fool are you, Odinson?" the sorcerer asked lightly, stepping beyond the outer room and toward his bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder at Thor behind him. "If I permit you to speak, knowing that I can take your words away from you again at any time, will you use them well instead of lashing out like a beast? Nod yes or no."

There was nothing in all the realms that Thor would have liked more than to snarl his hatred at the self-satisfied bastard, but the wording left no room to doubt how unproductive that would be. And he was sick to death of standing silent as well as helpless while he was talked around and spoken of; better, at least, to have the right to talk if he could not act. Thor nodded his agreement, stiffly, and Loki smiled.

"Then you may speak," he allowed.

Thor finally opened his mouth, and the words came out, just as he intended them: "You have no officious rules about what I can and can not say?" It even held the resentment that he wanted.

Loki chuckled, turning away again. "I confess to having some curiosity about what you might find worth observing or inquiring. Try not to disappoint me."

It was irritating; more than that, maddening. It deserved the response that Thor so ached to give it. But he could not settle the matter physically, and he knew that verbally would undo this small good. Thor rolled his shoulders. "How are you the heir to Jotunheim?" he asked. "Helblindi, is he not..."

"Is that what they think, in Asgard?" Loki mused, shrugging out of his fur-lined robe and letting it fall to the ground carelessly. "Your information is greatly outdated, Your Highness. Pick that up," he added, innocent.

Thor snarled, but his body was already obeying. "This is demeaning," he pronounced, thinly restraining his desire to shout, to hurl the words at him angrily.

"Oh, you figured that out? So clever. Odin would surely be proud," Loki said, a mocking smile coming so easily to his features.

Thor strangled back his response. Ask questions. Find information. Learn about this situation. It was the advice he had always been given and never found a use for, but which had somehow lingered in the back of his mind.

"So it is not the case?" he said, tightly. "Helblindi is no longer the heir?"

"Not for centuries." Loki had stripped himself from his leather armor and circlet, leaving him now in little more than a woven loincloth and a slim-fitting tunic. He slid onto his bed, reclining on the elevated dais covered with a thick straw mat and piles of furs and quilts. He propped his head on one hand, drawing one knee up, looking supremely content and relaxed as he watched Thor continue to pick up after him. He mused, "You in your glittering, flourishing city never look to us here in Jotunheim; you see nothing of what we do, do you?"

Thor returned the dismissal with a cool, "What is there to see but mangy curs fighting over their scraps?"

That made Loki rise up again, although he looked amused. "Bold words, from a scrap," he drawled, pushing himself to his feet and beckoning Thor to come to him.

There was something awry here. Something strange. Thor asked as he moved nearer, "Do you speak from hearsay, or have you been to Asgard? I would have seen you there." The Asgardians would have been surprised indeed to see a frost giant with an appearance as unusual as Loki's. Word would have rippled through the great city like water.

"You did see me," Loki said, lips curving up. Thor's feet took him so close that they were scarcely inches apart, eye-to-eye, Loki standing just slightly shorter than Thor. He was desperately aware of how easy it would have been to reach up, to grab that slender neck in his hands and squeeze, to lift and throw him bodily through the stone wall. The Jotun sorcerer was lithely-built; thin, so that Thor's arms were as thick around as his waist. There would be no competition in terms of strength.

But he couldn't move, and the thoughts were interrupted abruptly as the blue simply melted off of Loki's skin, his red eyes draining of their malevolent color; in a matter of seconds he was pale-skinned and raven-haired and green-eyed, and Thor realized with shock that he had in fact seen this man before -- a bystander during his ceremony, standing out from the others at the front of the crowd because he had not been rejoicing, but watching with a distant, strange smile and lidded eyes. He ground out, "You are Aesir!"

"No," Loki said softly, and the color flooded back into him, blushing his skin blue. "That is only an illusion, to trick the shallow eyes of your people. This is who I am. This is who you submit to."

Submit? The word rankled deep, no doubt just as Loki had intended it to, but this blow to his pride struck harder than his irritation with the insults of earlier. "Never," he said, voice raw.

"You think so?" Loki said, still softer, with a satisfied twist to his mouth. "Then let us find out.


Thor felt himself complying a heartbeat before the command even registered; he was only just starting to be alarmed when he was on his knees, his gaze level with Loki's stomach, watching the rise and fall of his chest through the thin cloth of his tunic. And only then did he think, What does he want? A show of obedience? A gesture of humility? He would not dare -- he would not dare to coerce sexual favor from the future king of Asgard!

But the fingers that settled on his hair this time were slow, stroking almost tenderly, and they moved with purpose, gently turning his gaze lower.

Loki murmured, "Have you ever lain with a man, Asgardian?"

Thor felt emotion surge in him, rising up hot and fast so that he could not control it, only snap, "You are a lunatic if you think that when I am freed, this would not--!"

"Answer my question, and answer it in detail," Loki interrupted him, and then Thor was saying, "Never. There were a few fleeting encounters, satisfied with hands and mouths alone."

He flushed darkly as soon as the words were out of his mouth, feeling abruptly betrayed and angry about it. But Loki seemed pleased, fingers slipping from his hair to trace the short hair of his beard, brush his lips. He wished he could bite them, but his body would not obey.

"So you will know this part," the sorcerer said, his voice humming like a purr, and lifted his hands to pull his tunic up, over his head. He let it fall to the floor, and then his fingers were tangling in gold hair again, pulling his head up roughly.

"Look at me," Loki commanded, a languidness in his red eyes. "Look at me, because I want you to see, and to fully understand, what you are about to do."

Thor stared at his face for a moment more, unwillingly searching out his distinctive features: high cheekbones and tapering jaw, the rich curtain of black hair -- things that had made him attractive as an Aesir, and that persisted strangely despite the Jotun coloring that Thor would have found blinding him to all else, if not for that glimpse without it. Even his blue skin was smooth and rich and flawless, not scarred and haggard the way most of the giants Thor had encountered were; his eyes, though, those were still an eerie red, alien and unsettling.

His gaze edged slowly down, tracing the pattern of lines that swept from Loki's forehead down the sides of his face, his neck, to his chest, where the lines curved to follow the narrow planes of his shoulders, weaving in loving patterns down his arms. His chest was smooth and bare, but the markings returned again to caress his ribs, twining elegantly over taut stomach to flare out again over his hips. This skin too was unmarred, as if he had seen not one day of fighting in his whole life, but he was slender and leanly muscled. It was impossible to imagine him looming the height of his kinsmen; he was... right at this size. In spite of himself Thor wondered if the rest of Loki had the same strange, firm stonelike smoothness that his fingers did; he wondered if the lines were just raised ridges, or if they would feel different to the touch.

Questions he would never care to find the answers to. Thor growled thickly, "What I see -- is disgusting."

"Be careful, or I will tell you to speak only in truths," Loki said, light and unbothered. "But I have another use for your tongue now."

Thor felt his heart beat faster in his chest, but the rest of him felt almost numb. Loki was really going to say it. And he was really going to obey. No matter how intently he willed it, no matter how powerfully he focused, he was incapable of so much as shifting from his kneeling position in front of the sorcerer. The muscles did not even tense, his body completely compliant to Loki's orders.

The smile sliced wide over the Jotun's face, and he said, slow, tasting each word, "You will use your mouth to pleasure me, Thor Odinson. And you will do it... reverently."

And then immediately Thor's hands were reaching up, finding the ties of the leather loincloth and pulling it open, pulling the last covering from skin so that Loki was naked before him.

He was not hard yet, his cock thickened but not erect, and Thor's head turned to press a soft kiss to the length of him, feeling rather than seeing a sigh go through the Jotun in response. He nuzzled in closer, lips and beard caressing the sensitive flesh, encouraging it to blush darker with blood, taking a breath and feeling briefly disoriented by the dusky scent, not unpleasant.

The restlessness was still seething in him, coiling tight under his skin. He wanted to do a thousand things other than attending to Loki's pleasure attentively, coaxing him almost sweetly to arousal, behaving in the manner of an infatuated lover.

It was only heartbeats before Loki was ready, and then he needed to give no further instruction; Thor felt his lips parting, and he moved forward to take the tip of Loki's cock in his mouth, circling his tongue around it before starting to ease lower. Thor's hands tightened into fists, resting helplessly on his knees, stubbornly determined not to give him the satisfaction of touching more than he was compelled.

Loki sighed again, a hotter, more vibrant sound than before, petting Thor's hair gently now. The cool of his fingers should have been a potent reminder of blue skin, of a touch that could wither and blacken flesh, but it was hard to think of Loki -- infuriating and ruthless though he might be -- doing such a thing after all of this. Instead of disgust, all he felt was reluctance.

And as he moved, stroking with his mouth and flickering tongue over the sensitive parts that he remembered dimly from past encounters, he pulled little sounds from the Jotun prince that were wholly familiar. Soft gasps of pleasure, low thrumming noises of approval -- things that made Thor close his eyes and envision someone else standing there, an Aesir. He had never knelt before another man and taken his cock in mouth -- would never volunteer to enter into such a demeaning position. But imagining his companion as someone else, he could begin to relax, even to appreciate: the way that a certain curl of his tongue prompted a small involuntary rock of hip, the way that harder pressure inspired quiet voice into a louder moan.

In spite of himself, Thor found himself responding to that want, the steady pulse of his heart speeding slightly. He edged closer, skimmed his teeth gently against the shaft, and he felt a flare of real triumph when the other man exhaled a choked sound, fingers tightening automatically in Thor's hair.

"Your mouth is so hot," Loki murmured, a husk in his voice. "You have -- some skill with your tongue after all, Odinson."

Thor opened his eyes in reflex, glancing up at him; he couldn't help the suspicion that this had been the goal, to make him look, to remind him, to ruin that delusion that this was something else. But Loki wasn't watching him and gloating. His head was tipped back, his breathing fast, a flush darkening his high cheekbones. It was infinitely strange to see that hunger on the slim Jotun, but his rapt concentration on the sensation was obvious, and the sight of it sent a frisson of answering interest to coil heavily in Thor's belly, as if the sounds and movements hadn't been distracting enough.

He should finish this quickly, he thought suddenly, and then his body responded. Thor leaned forward, a hand curling around the sorcerer's hipbone, and he took Loki deeper into his mouth, as far back as he could. He hollowed his cheeks, drawing on him, and let the suction linger deliberately. The reaction was instant, another shameless moan slipping from between thin lips, and Thor's fingers tightened on cool skin to keep Loki from rocking forward.

Cooperating garnered much more efficient results than simply allowing it. Loki did not fight his gentle grip, shifting his hips and tensing at each slow, elaborate curl of tongue mapping his length. Thor was relentless, using every trick that he knew, everything he liked to be done to him, with such focus it felt like worship.

Loki breathed, "Yes... Just like that, that feels so good," the words spilling out of him, sending another flicker of lust into Thor's gut. "And -- when I finish, I want you to drink it down."

For a brief moment he felt the irritation again, the indignity of the position, but Thor only redoubled his efforts, suckling harder, bobbing his head to mimic motion. His own heart was beating quick, loud in his ears but drowned out by Loki's pleased hiss. His grip tightened on Loki's hips, holding him still with greater strength, but Loki only responded by pulling his hair, urging him to move faster.

Then it was over, the slighter man coming in thick jets, with a shuddering groan rattling in the air between them; Thor struggled to swallow as he had been instructed, closing his eyes again for a moment. Finally Loki sighed, taut muscles unlocking, and stroking an unsteady hand through Thor's hair, one more approving caress.

Loki eased back a step, settling on the edge of the mat with a lazy murmur. The red of his eyes was muted, hazy with satisfaction as he looked at Thor again, surveying him -- on his knees, lips reddened, breathing fast despite his best efforts to rein it in. The flush in his face and the uncomfortable spread of his thighs was hint enough to his own state of arousal.

"Still determined to... never submit?" Loki asked him, thickened voice curling with amusement.

Thor felt his skin heat further, and he said nothing, allowing the frost giant his victory -- however short-lived he was determined it would be.

"You found that exciting," he continued into the silence, one foot extending, settling lightly on Thor's knee, bringing the god's attention uncomfortably to the heat pressing against his trousers not far higher. "What part, exactly, did you enjoy about being forced to service a disgusting creature like myself?"

"Enough," Thor growled, and Loki only laughed, and said, agreeably, "I suppose it is."

Loki reclined gracefully against the furs, making a humming noise of contentment before sliding up to the stuffed pillows above him. For a moment, Thor did not understand, wondered if he was meant to... But Loki pulled a fur over his hips idly, settling down, and Thor couldn't help a reflexive, almost petulant, "And now you just go to sleep?"

The sorcerer stroked fingers through his hair and chuckled, casting another glance down at him, still kneeling there, aroused. "How would you have me return the favor?" he asked, the sweetness of poison in his voice. "Should I use my mouth on you...?" His lips parted, and he ran his tongue lightly over his lips. "They call me Silvertongue, you know. For... many reasons."

Thor couldn't quite contain the shiver, the pulse of excitement that sent through him. He shouldn't have found it arousing; the idea of the blue-skinned Jotun touching him, mouth stretching around his cock, laving it with the same enthusiasm he had been made to show... should have repulsed him. But in this state, he was finding his tastes less discerning.

Loki's voice dropped, "Or were your claims of my hideousness exaggerated? Would you like to sink between my legs? Mount me rough and hard to take your revenge from my body...?" His fingertips skimmed over his own chest, down to his flat stomach, his narrow hip; paused there, the furs shifting in a way that Thor could imagine only too easily being his thighs sliding apart, offering himself in a way that Thor recognized on a primal level. It made it hard to breathe.

"Or is it the force that you enjoyed? Would you prefer me to show you my power over you yet again, and push you back and take you--"

That tore him from his reverie, and Thor snapped, "I would have you not at all!" cutting off the hateful flow of words.

That only made Loki chuckle. "Not like that, then? That's fine." He lifted his arm again, slung it behind his head, contentedly. "You needn't stay in that position, but do not move from that section of the floor. You may sleep where you like." His red eyes closed, and with them, so went the harsh light illuminating the room.

"Good night," Loki's voice said into the darkness, sly.

And then Thor was left, pulse hot and ready in his cock, tasting seed on his tongue, and frustration threatening to overtake what little reason he had remaining.