Mjolnir hummed. It was being carried through the halls of its lord's new home to where it knew not. Restlessness rolled off its lord like rain, translating through the tightness of his grip on its handle and the spark of power that connected them. Something had happened that day, something terrible among the ones its lord called the Avengers. The tall one with energy that tasted of ants and goodwill had split off, and the hole in their hearts was palpable, even for one of Mjolnir's limits.
Soft sobbing carried through the hall, growing louder as the lord walked. The soul of the crying tasted of honey and loss. The lord stopped before a door, gently pushing it open.
"I had feared I might find you here, gentle Wasp."
"I'm fine. I'm fine, I just—I'm just angry." The Wasp's voice was stern as steel, but still underneath there lay the tremble that came with mortal heartbreak. Mjolnir knew it well; it seemed the mortals were forever losing themselves to it.
Mjolnir found itself set aside on a pillow as its lord joined the Wasp on the bed, offering her the strength of his heart in her time of need. And, as was inevitable when so great a gift was extended, the Wasp accepted.
When the lord first touched his lips to the Wasp's, the shock of it rattled Mjolnir down to its handle. A strong connection, vast and vibrating with life. Mjolnir felt the room change, from salt-sorrow and regret to something deeper, richer in flavor and texture. Wasp, though mortal, must have felt it too, for the noise she made was one of surprise and deep longing. Her knee knocked against Mjolnir's handle as she climbed into its lord's lap, fists tight on his collar.
Compared to its lord, the Wasp was tiny. Not only in size, but in fragility, in the tender moment of her transience. The care its lord took with each touch, the battle to not leave bruises or marks plucked the connection between them. Each touch and sigh was a caress to its lord's sweet spirit, one needed perhaps as desperately as she.
But still, reluctance dulled the moment. Uncertainty clouded passion. "Janet—we should not—"
"Hank's gone." Her voice was iron once more, but heated. It arched through the room, scorching the walls and slicing away reservations. "He's made his choice; I'm making mine. Fuck me."
Wasp's hand, soft and light, reached out to clutch Mjolnir's handle. The strange touch was heat lightning, flicking over its surface. Though she was unable to lift it, her fingers slid up and down the shaft, shivering through the uru heart of the hammer.
The lord's shock was near as great as Mjolnir's own. Still, his lust rose. "I—you are certain...?"
"I'm very certain." The bed rolled under them as the Wasp rocked her hips, every scrap of friction a new storm. "I want you to stick that hammer inside me. Slowly. Carefully. And then I want you to fuck me with it. Is that so hard?"
"N—no, my lady..."
The first of the clothing fell slowly, but the rest took great speed, ripped away by impatient hands. The honey of Wasp's spirit took on a distinctly sharp spice as she pressed the lord back to the bed, drinking in his form with touches and lingering kisses. Together they rocked, touches turned frantic as their passion built.
Mjolnir found itself pulled from its cushion by a rare unsure grip. Wasp guided its lord in placing the hammer between his thighs, so its handle stood tall and proud against the shaft of its lord's cock. This was new, an exciting connection between them in the press of soft skin to hard, worn wood, curled golden hairs tickling the base where head met shaft. Millennia of service had worn its handle to a polish, but Mjolnir strove to smooth itself even farther, to adapt to this new need of its lord.
Then something new descended, warm and even softer than the tender skin of its lord's manhood. Her rapturous cunt was slick and hot as she rocked up and down, rubbing along their combined shafts until they glistened with her need. Mjolnir's shaft was first, sliding deep into her. It found itself enveloped by tight muscle and the flavor of spiced honey. Wasp's pleasured groan rocketed through it and its lord, tangling somewhere in the hammer's soul as she rode it.
"M—more—" Muscles clenched, slowing the drag of her delectable cunt around it to a crawl. Orgasm hovered on the horizon like building lightning, sizzling in the air, waiting for the lord to call it to him. "God, Thor, more—"
And then, bliss. Another touch, familiar, joyous. Mjolnir felt its sheath being stretched wider as its lord joined it. Proportioned according to the gods as he was, fair Wasp only gasped and arched wantonly, her hips working as the flower of her womanhood was filled utterly by the power of the Thunderer.
More kisses, teeth and tongues and spirits combining to form a new, stronger whole, in the same way their bodies did. Mjolnir was cradled between them, immersed as entirely in their souls as ever a thing was. It could feel everything, the rising elation of pleasure, of release both emotional and physical, the writhing when its lord took his tongue to fair Wasp's bosom. They moved together, their bodies surrounding Mjolnir in a symphony of sensation until finally Wasp arched one final time. Her cries rose to the gods as she climaxed.
The lord kept riding her, his hips rising when hers faltered, though that jostled the handle between them. When his end finally arrived, it was with a great shout and the snap of thunder as his pleasure affected even the heavens.
As they lay together in the aftermath, Mjolnir found itself pulled away and set aside so that they could better embrace. It didn't mind. The moment had been etched into its metal, seared into wood and leather.
They were the Wasp's now, it and its lord. She held them and all they were cradled in her two delicate hands. Allfather guard whoever challenged her.