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At times we tie our own leash

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The flames, he thinks, fit Asgard. Shining, golden, lively flames, radiating warmth as they lick the feet of the slender towers. Even the ice is bright, pure crystalline blinking under the sun Loki needs to shield his eyes from.

He is standing in the middle of the courtyard of the royal palace, an unmoving object, not unlike the ice daggers piercing the very earth all over where the eye can see (he just pierced Asgard too, if not so literally) or the frost flowers twining the golden walls like delicate frozen grapes, and Loki is proud. The Jötnar invaded the infallible realm, and he had a great part in it. The centuries of learning and practicing, of trespassing through secret doors between realms has finally paid off. The Jötnar are tramping over the very hearth of the Aesir homes to pay back the old humiliation, the old hurt that has been woven into the Jötnar tales and songs they tell over feasts and pass to their children so it would never be forgotten.

Now they are here to rob them of what is important for them, and rob they do. It is by far not nice but it does not have to be so. They have been waiting for this for a thousand years and no blame can be aimed at them for seizing as much at once as they can.

His own hunger leads Loki to the Royal Libraries, and he feels the roll of excitement, almost like an uncoiling twist of arousal in his loins, flare up in his guts at the sight of the shelves, high as the tallest trees of Alfheim, the labyrinth of knowledge, the buzz of ancient seiðr. He finds the restricted area easily, breaks the protective charms that Odin All-father has casted upon it, and he waves and everything disappears. It is his now; and he takes Odin’s knowledge and he will no less than overgrow him as a Sorcerer.

By the time he gets to the palace, the Casket is already seized. There is rubble everywhere, scattered weapons and scattered bodies but he weaves his way through them as though they were lichen on a forever frozen field.

In Valaskjálf, under the silver dome he finds his father among his warriors and he finds Odin himself, surrounded by his fallen einherjar. The All-father is kneeling before King Laufey in his own chambers, before his own throne and the sight soothes an ancient ache in the Jötnar’s chest as they stare down at him.

“Now we are even. You cannot tell, All-father, that the Jötnar take more than they deserve. We take what is rightfully ours. Now we can have the peace you have been dreaming of.”

Odin glares, one-eyed threat, grey and old. “When have I crushed your realm and tore it apart so viciously?”

Laufey sneers as he looms over him, and his voice is the rumble of breaking ice. “You have been doing so for a thousand years, gradually ruining Jötunheim, piece by piece while we stood by, unable to save it. You shall be grateful that we bring about the fall of Asgard in so short time, and you don’t have to witness it dwindle before your very eye for centuries on and on while–”

There is a loud bang against the golden doors, and an Asgardian bursts into the chamber, in rage almost palpable in its intensity as he raises his arm, and Loki does not need to recognize the uru hammer in his hand to know it is the Odinson flying at the throats of Jötnar almost twice his size. He has seen the Golden Child on his secret treks into Asgard many times, and now he is no less brash and wild as he fights his way through the group of Jötnar. But he is an ant among them, yet a fierce one at that. He is covered in blows but never stops, and Loki knows the fool would fight until his last breath, even when it is clear to everyone but him that he does so to no avail.

Odin knows his son just as much and that can be the reason when he orders, “Thor, stop.”

Even through the fog of red fury, the command reaches his common sense and he halts, and Loki watches with amusement the spoiled child of the Aesir. It is not until the moment the Odinson growls at them that Loki makes up his mind.

“Monsters,” the golden fool spits. “You barbaric monsters.”

And Loki turns to his father.

“A warrant from the All-father would be wise of us to require in order to keep him from retaliation. He took our greatest treasure, now we should take his most prized possession.”

His father might be generous to take only as much as has been taken from him but Loki is unlike his father. Wounds need to heal, and they need to be tended and spoiled to speed up the healing.

“I brought you this moment of glory, I shall be rewarded. Give me the warrior with the foolish heart.”

Laufey considers it only for a moment before giving him his consent when the Odinson barks and strains against the arms holding him back. “I’m not something that can just be given.”

Loki jeers. “You are right. Nobody needs to give you. I will just take you.”

“You cannot just take me either, you small Jötun dog. What are you? Naught but a wild beast, even in built so insignificant. I could break you half with one hand.”

It is an old hurt, a disadvantage Loki has been striving to make up for with magic and wit, a never healed wound the foolish Áss shoved his finger into. Loki walks up to him with a snarl and he hisses. “What am I? I am Loki Laufeyson, the crown prince of Jötunheim. No less in title than you.”

“Jötunheim,” Thor scoffs with disdain, and it seals his fate.




There is an alcove next to the dais of fur and cushion (not really a bed, more like a den) where Loki sleeps. The niche is dark and narrow but just enough to confine his new spoil he earned rightfully. There are chains weaved of magic around Odinson’s wrists, and he is staring at him so wildly that his gaze tickles Loki as he conjures Odin’s treasured tomes and parchment out of thin air. They fill the shelves along the walls, bringing color in the dim, grey space, color, warmth and wisdom, and Loki smiles to himself indulgently.

Thor is snarling and never for a second stops spilling insults and curses but it only amuses Loki. The golden prince is on his knees, clad in flimsy tunic that is way too thin for the crisp air of Jötunheim. Loki relishes in the sight, in the blond locks and warm skin and the bluest eyes that glare him down now – Thor is a unique sight here, just as much out-of-place as the ice daggers on the courtyard of the royal palace in Asgard. Loki lets his own gaze sweep across the plains of the broad chest, the bulging muscles in the shoulders and arms, and he cannot deny he likes what he sees.

It is a mean of humiliation, Thor knows it well, as the Jötun pulls forth a fur coat and wraps it around Thor’s shoulder. He is trembling with pent up rage and cold, and momentarily he is grateful for the warmth the coat provides him so he can concentrate solely on rage.

He needs it twice as much when Loki, for good measure, adds. “I don’t want you to freeze.” As Thor narrows his eyes at him, Loki trails a cold finger along his jaw as he smirks. “Not until I have my fill.”

The soft lines of pink lips twist into an ugly growl. “You monster.”

It amuses Loki, this narrow-sighted way of thinking. “Monster? Why so? In all honesty, Odinson, did we do anything differently from how you would have done?”

His only reply is indignant silence but it tells everything and even more. He will defeat this blundering dolt in his own field and see him crumble. His fingers weave into the golden hair like slender cold-scaled snakes, and the tendons flex in Thor’s neck as he struggles to pull away. His bare neck and the exposed part of the sternum, bronze and solid, make his mouth water.

“Tell me, Odinson, am I monstrous because of my skin?”

His fingers curl in Thor’s hair and he forces his head to bend backward, gradually, ever so slowly. And when Thor looks up, for a moment he thinks he lost his mind, he thinks his eyes deceive him because he sees creamy skin and green clever eyes and raven hair. He sees narrow lips of the color of spilled blood and a row of perfect teeth. He sees the most enticing column of a graceful neck and plains of a pale chest, dips and valleys and curves that cloud his mind in a fog he is unable and unwilling to name. For Loki looks nothing like a Jötun. For Loki is now like the most beautiful of the Aesir.

A gasp escapes Thor’s lips, and he stares in those eyes, watching the golden speckles spark in the green orbs as Loki leans over him, closer and closer still like an illusion. Maybe he exactly is that.

“How?” Thor whispers. Loki is so close now, Thor can look nowhere but him, but maybe he wouldn’t want to do anything else, and the pale, fine-cut face fills his vision. “A shape-shifter.”

Loki’s breath mingles with his own as he asks, his voice is a sigh. “Am I still a monster for your eyes, Áss?”

Thor wants to say yes, he really does, his lips part to utter the word but they end up doing something entirely different. Those eyes are mesmerizing, and before Thor can think straight he closes the gap. It’s only a moment but it’s like the discharge of lightning Thor knows all so well as Loki’s lips brush against his.

Loki laughs against his mouth and pulls away, utterly satisfied, and the spell is broken.

Thor shakes his head in anger and shame, trying to get rid of the numbing sensation that ate itself in his mind. It must have been magic, it could not be anything less that made him go against all things sensible. When he snaps, it is nothing like the whisper before.

“You repulsing mage.”

“Like your own father,” Loki snickers haughtily, and now he is blue again, red-eyed, adorned with pale markings over his body. Only the lithe built and raven hair are the same. And the fine-cut face; that, too, is still unsettlingly enticing. “You may think I used a spell on you if it suits you better. It is understandable. It requires a great deal of courage for one to accept that the monster they are accusing others to be is within them, too.”

Thor simply and literally, not at all elegantly, spits at him, and Loki laughs.

“So tell me now who is barbaric, my godly golden monster.”




No one can tell he is no good master. For days, he doesn’t touch Thor, only keeps him chained in his alcove while he indulges in the content of Odin’s tomes. He even lets him into his baths (chained and bound by magic, of course) lest Thor would repel him with his smell and dirt, and he is too amusing a toy for Loki just to give up before he even started to play with him. He brings him food, meals he knows the Aesir are used to, and takes it upon himself to feed him because nothing can be greater humiliation for Thor and excitement for Loki for he can never know when would be the moment when his golden toy bites his fingers off.

It cannot be told he has never tried.

“I will hand tame you, my dear,” Loki whispers in his ear and pats him on the top of his head as if he indeed was no more than a furry little pet. So to behave like one, Thor cranes his neck and bites Loki in the crook of his shoulder, marring the delicate, sensitive flesh. Loki growls, a deep rumble in his chest, but instead of pushing him away, he is pulling him flush against his body, and the surprise makes Thor release his hold on him.

“Mm, my fierce beast.” And the sound leaving Loki’s throat feels, more than anything, like a satisfied moan. “You are biting me now, but the time will come when instead of your teeth you use your tongue.”




Maybe to prove his point, Thor finds himself bound on top of the fur and rag of Loki’s bed that evening. His wrists are chained above his head, and no matter how hard he tries to tear them, and no matter how flimsy the chains look, all he achieves is the deep cuts across his wrists where the metal bites them.

From his awkward position, lying on his back, he glares up at Loki, daring him to approach. He has a very clear idea what would follow, and he is determined he wouldn’t go down without a fight. It doesn’t faze Loki, though. As he leans over Thor, ready to move over him, Thor kicks him in the face with a savage grunt. His stomach flips as he watches Loki smirk, tonguing the cut on his lip with gleaming red eyes. At that moment he positively looks feral. He steps closer again, staying just out of reach.

“So furious, so baleful. It will be all the sweeter to domesticate you, my gorgeous spoiled beast.”

Thor’s laughter is a hollow sound and it is cut short as Loki’s hand reaches up and unclasps the cloak he is wearing, letting it pool around his feet. Thor eyes him in apprehension, the lean muscles of his torso, the lines decorating the blue skin. His voice is a deceptive purr as he looks at Thor from the corner of his eyes.

“Would it help you feel less odd if I looked like one of your kinsmen?”

Almost without transition, Thor blinks, and it is the pale young man with the features of the Aesir standing above him. Thor is so surprised and frozen that for a second he forgets to resist, and this short second is enough for Loki to slip between his legs like a slim reptile. He supports his weight by leaning on his palms on either side of Thor’s head, and as he smirks down at him, his skin picks up the blue hue once more.

“I changed my mind. I want you to see who claims you, who makes you squirm and pray for more.”

His fingers wind in the thick golden strands of Thor’s hair. Yes, he will enjoy this. He won’t lock him up in a cage forever – that would not be satisfying enough. He would shove him in the cage and on one point leave the door open – and Thor wouldn’t escape, Thor, the mighty son of Asgard would stay there on his own free will. That is the utter destruction Loki is planning to impose upon the foolish cherished prince.

But Thor still cannot see it. He does not yet know his future when he rasps, “Like it would ever happen.”

Loki drops closer to his ear and whispers, lips brushing the soft skin. “Oh it will. Just watch.”

As an answer, Thor presses his legs closed, the impressive bulk of muscles strain and protrude as he is intent on crushing Loki trapped between them. Loki grunts, his teeth bare.

“You only make it worse for yourself,” he hisses. “You want me to bind your legs, too?”

Before he could weave his magic, Thor releases him with a growl. Loki smiles at him approvingly as he snuggles closer. After all, he has to give him that it takes a certain amount of wisdom to acknowledge when struggle becomes senseless.

“Do not bite me, please.” The words fall from his lips like a plea, soft and almost desperate. “I wish to taste you.”

Thor is rendered speechless by the gentle request, and it doesn’t occur to him that Loki fooled him again, not until a cool mouth caresses his and a slippery sly tongue creeps its way between his lips to tease and prod. When his sense slams back into his head, it is too late and Loki already withdrew with an amused smirk that sings victory.

“You disgust me,” Thor grates but the lingering taste on his lips is anything but disgusting, and it makes him hate the Jötun all the more.

“Oh, I know.”

He cannot see Loki’s smile as his head is nestled in the crook of Thor’s neck but he can feel it in the syllables.

“This is what you do to your captives? And you call the Jötnar civilized!”

Loki retreats, gaze momentarily shadowed. His fingers snap, and Thor’s tunic, breeches and undergarments are all gone, and he is lying there in aught but his boots. The sight somehow amuses Loki.

“If you weren’t so thick-headed, it might give you pleasure,” he muses as he unlaces the pelt kilt he is wearing, throwing the flaps on the floor. “I could be worse.”

Thor stares, although he tries hard not to, his repost stuck in his throat. He detachedly wonders that the fact that a Jötun’s body is hairless is something he never wanted to know – in that as well, Loki seems deviant for he at least has hair, long raven locks lapping the nape of his neck. Thor also never wanted to know that the intricate design of their skin does not leave their member untouched and his eyes unwillingly follow the swirls and waves of the elegant lines from base to the blunt tip.

Loki bends forward again, this time snuggling against his chest, and Thor hisses at the sensation of the cool skin against his. Loki feels smooth, though, and delicate. The thought is somehow frightening, and it sends a chill down his spine that makes him buck his hips in panic so hard that he hears Loki’s teeth clatter together as the Jötun is dislodged from between his legs. The small opening is just enough for Thor to deliver another kick, this time his aim slips and his foot lands on Loki’s shoulder instead.

Loki springs to his feet in an instant, and beyond his anger, Thor is amazed how easily he flips him on his stomach and presses his body flush against his.

“I could take you like this, bent under me like a helpless maiden and you would be able to do nothing but scream into the rags as I tear you apart.”

Thor cannot breathe, and the pelts pressing against his nose and mouth are only half responsible for it. He can feel the relentless press of Loki’s cock against his cleft as blood starts slowly filling it, and the sensation renders him motionless.

Loki leaves a sharp bite on his earlobe before he claims, tone sly and amused. “But unlike how you address me, I am no barbaric monster.”

When he turns Thor on his back again, Thor grunts, spitting animal fur everywhere, “You are sadly mistaken if you think the position you take me in matters any.”

Loki laughs, the sound is as derisive as ever. He glides easily back to his previous position between Thor’s legs and this time Thor hisses as Loki’s cock brush against his own limp one. It scares him a bit, the size, and the fact that nobody has ever claimed him like that. But he knows pain, all warriors do, and he doesn’t fear it. He ponders resistance for a minute. He could thrash around, making it harder for Loki, but he knows he would lose in the end. Loki can bind him with magical chains with the snap of his fingers, and he would find himself eagle-spread under him. He will suffer this with as much dignity as possible in this situation so he stills his body, stills his tongue and lies mutely, in apathy.

Loki doesn’t seem disturbed by it, not a bit. He nuzzles the sharp edge of his jaw, his nose drawing a line down his neck as he moves against Thor’s body. His tongue darts out, tasting the skin on Thor’s collarbone. He braces himself on one elbow, free hand roaming Thor’s chest, and as it moves, it leaves goosebumps on its trail.

“Oh you feel so different. I have never had an Áss before.”

“Because you could get one only by force,” Thor snaps. His voice ends in a hitch as Loki bites down hard on his chest, just above his heart.

“Soon I will have one on his own will,” Loki murmurs, and laps at the teeth mark glaring whitely under his lips. Thor can only huff in disbelief because Loki’s hand is distracting as he trails further down on his stomach, past his navel, beyond his hips, and his body clenches in anticipation of the cool touch on the delicate flesh snuggled against Loki’s erection before the fingers turn and slide back up again without touching.

Loki’s lips follow the same path. He travels down and stops just short of his groin, and Thor drives his head into the furs in frustration he doesn’t want to ponder on.

“Mmm,” Loki hums, and it is these small sounds he emits that leave Thor’s blood buzzing and drumming in his ears. Loki sounds like someone over a delicate feast, tasting mead and honey and the roasted meat of the finest game. He licks and bites and tastes him the same way, twirling his nipples between his teeth. Thor snaps his head to the side, and this time it’s him who bites down on his own flesh to muffle himself. He can feel Loki’s snicker against the sensitive flesh as he grinds against him slowly, slyly.

“I see you start to show interest,” he purrs, and Thor doesn’t have to look to know he is half-erect.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wills his thoughts away from the present and wonders if his father would eventually come for his rescue. After all, he is his heir. Asgard cannot afford his crown prince being the captive of a Jötun. Captive, thrall. A toy for sexual deviation. What would the citizens of Asgard say if they knew it? How could he ever look them in the eye?

A wet sensation around the head of his cock pulls him back from his mind, and this time he makes the mistake of gazing down. The sight makes his cock twitch in a sudden roll of pleasure, and Loki smirks around it as he gives a harsh, almost painful suck. His cheeks hollow, and Thor stares with rising lust as half of his shaft disappears in Loki’s mouth. He can hardly keep his hips from thrusting forward and deeper in the cool confine of the Jötun’s mouth. He growls as Loki glides up, and in the upward movement his teeth graze against the sensitive skin before Loki detaches his mouth with an obscene pop.

“Don’t get distracted, my golden prince.”

Thor’s mouth turns into a snarl, and the muscles in his back tauten as he prepares himself to buck his hips again in hopes of smacking Loki in the chin. He is only a split of a second too late. Loki’s hand snatches his cock and he squeezes so hard that Thor cries out in agony.

“I thought we had an agreement. It went so well, did it not?” Loki coos with mock grief before his gaze dangerously darkens. “In retaliation I could cause you immense pain.”

And to deliver his point, suddenly a dry fingertip probes Thor’s entrance with vicious vehemence, and Thor flinches.

“But see how forgiving I am today,” Loki squints at him slyly, and in the next moment he conjures a small jar filled with translucent material. As he unscrews it, Thor can smell the crisp and sharp scent, fresh like newly fallen snow. Loki dips his fingers in the lube, covering them properly.

Thor does not omit a sound as one slender finger enters him, and it feels cool within him but not as much as he has thought it would. He tips his head back, crushing it into the pelt, and tries to block out the invading sensation of the finger, then the second and, a few awkward minutes later, even the third one. He tries to breathe around the tightness, and it doesn’t go without effort. The tension drains only gradually from his body as he tries to relax his muscles. Strangely, the only whimper sounding in the chamber is coming from Loki as he slides his fingers in and out in a whimsical rhythm, sighing and humming to himself in wanton satisfaction. He is caressing Thor’s knees all along, nuzzling his inner thigh, nipping his balls cursorily like it was only an afterthought. The sensation leaves Thor’s mind in a state of utter confusion.

Then he stops, and the sudden interruption in the debauching act makes Thor look up. Loki is kneeling now, the front of his thighs pushing against the back of Thor’s, forcing his knees up and closer to his shoulders as he is leaning against him with the full weight of his lower body. He looks like a warrior set on a purpose while trampling over others. It is a disconcerting view between his legs: the proud erection pointing forward and gleaming bluish in the dim light, yet Thor cannot take his eyes off him, of the shaft that would be soon to enter him, and at the thought sweat starts to gather on his forehead.

With languid, lazy strokes Loki covers himself with the lube, every movement is like adoration. Thor is following the movements, caught between trepidation and homage. Loki then settles back between Thor’s legs and sooths him with a gentle hand over his sternum.

“I will go slowly so you can accommodate better.”

Thor pinches his mouth shut and it’s fortunate because of course Loki takes him in one powerful thrust, filling him at once, right to the tilt.

“Oh, I slipped. It must be the lube,” he smirks, but it’s crooked around the edges with seething pleasure.

He falls forward, supporting himself on Thor’s chest, and he can hardly breathe from his weight and the painful girth stretching him apart.

“You brute,” he croaks as his eyes water. His muscles ripple in insane ferocity, working to adapt to the intrusion.

Loki doesn’t react. He seems to be catching his breath as well. His noble nose snuggles close to Thor’s breastbone and he gives him a wet lick.

“You are burning hot inside,” Loki groans as he retreats, stilling for a second as if to cool the sensitive skin before slamming back again.

Nothing in Jötunheim fits him in size, his kinsmen are too large for him and they rarely show interest in his too tiny proportions but with Thor it is a nice change. Their bodies are like two halves of the same thing and move in together perfectly. It is immense pleasure but mixed with pain which makes the concoction so dense that it wipes his mind clean. It feels like it’s not only him taking Thor apart but the other way around, too. He moans helplessly. When he is buried tilt-deep inside, it’s scorching hot, but when he retreats almost to the ridge under the head of his cock, it feels cold outside and the urge to move and take overcomes everything else.

The rhythm and angle he picks up are tiring and his arms tremble, his shoulders sack. He catches Thor behind the knees and folds his legs to reach a more comfortable angle, bracing his own body weight on Thor’s hips. He groans in ecstasy because the angle enables a greater penetration and gravity is on his side, too. Below him Thor gasps after the air got just crushed out of his lungs as he is bent half, and the air he just inhaled is caged in his chest when Loki’s hips plunge against his body with a loud slap of damp skins.

The pain is seething first but it gradually subsides to a level that Thor can easily ignore until it starts to be slowly replaced by dread. What he feels is embarrassment because as the pain retreats, it gives way to something warm and tingling that can sprout pleasure. His voice hitches and he involuntarily cries out in a mixture of surprise, ache and bone-melting bliss as Loki rolls his hips and pounds into him even deeper, on his way hitting a point within him Thor craves and dreads him to hit again. He is grateful that Loki is now beyond talking or observing. His voice is a lilt as he drives into him, an endless hymn of incessant moans and shaky whimpers as he throws his head back, rising toward the blinding white ecstasy like someone who tries to swim to the surface toward the sunlight. His throat is exposed and pulsing with the thirsty gulps for air, and the fine-cut face is contorted into an intriguing expression as he writhes restlessly.

Thor feels a coil of desire squirm in his loins, and his head lolls to the side in honeysweet anguish. He closes his eyes so not to watch, in hopes of keeping the unwanted pleasure at bay but he cannot shut his ears, and the sounds filling the silence, the slick, wet noises, the slaps of skin against skin, Loki’s shuddering, ragged breaths don’t really help. A groan starts to build deep in his chest, the groan of a dormant beast, and Thor bites his own lip until he draws blood as Loki snickers knowingly.

“Yes, my sweet monster, do not let yourself come. Hold it back.”

And so does Thor hold back.

“Look at you. You are on the brink of completion. Open your eyes and look how I make you writhe.”

Thor obeys but he has a feeling the glare he intended to be savage comes out too weak and sloppy. Loki reaches out, and a delicate finger runs down on the underside of Thor’s cock languidly from the top to the base. A shudder shakes Thor’s body, and he can see the flush flooding his chest. He strains against his biding, wishing to tear Loki apart, or touch himself, but the chains are relentless around his wrists. Loki is watching him with predator gaze, gloating at his obvious arousal.

“You can have me as many times as you want, but it’s only a body, nothing more. Physical reaction of the weak flesh.” Thor scowls with resentment. “You can violate it as you will but it’s not my spirit, not my mind.”

And Loki smirks because it is so much more he wants, and Thor has no idea he is keen on fully achieving it.

“Oh, do not worry, Odinson,” he leans over him, making sure not to brush against Thor’s cock, and the notion somehow fills Thor with disappointment. “I will tend to your spirit, too. I will have it. You will give it to me on your own – free – will.”

To punctuate his intention, Loki plummets into him with a hard heave, once, twice, three times, and he comes with a broken wail, jerking and shuddering as the aftershock shakes him. He can barely keep himself upright as he is panting, head fallen forward.

“It wasn’t bad for a start,” he murmurs with anew amusement as he pulls out, making Thor’s body twitch at the sudden loss of pressure. He ducks his head and gives the tip of Thor’s cock a teasing lick before he envelops it in his mouth, lips braced against the ridge of his cockhead as he tongues the slit wetly. Thor cannot help the moan escaping his throat but the treat lasts only for a moment before Loki pulls away completely.

Thor watches him in trepidation as he picks up his kilt and with easy, swaying steps he disappears in his baths. Thor growls in frustration as he realizes Loki does not intend to give him release and for a moment exasperation threatens to drown him. It is a form of torture to wait for it to subside but, he tells himself, maybe it would be a torture of worse to come and have his pleasure by Loki’s hands.




It goes on like this for many days.

Loki rarely leaves him alone. During the day, he would sit in the middle of the chamber with an ancient tome from Odin’s library and engage in reading and learning. Thor would watch him from across the room, following the complicated gestures and strain his ears to catch the barely audible whispers as Loki practices seiðr. Then he would bring his meal, and Thor does not bite him anymore, he lets the silky fingers slip in his mouth as Loki feeds him, and sometimes when he is too tired to resist (or so he tells himself) he part his lips obediently for Loki’s tongue, and he tastes better than any food he has brought to him so far. At times he thinks it tastes better than any food he has ever had, and it’s an unsettling thought.

Sometimes they have short conversations with him offering curt barks on Loki’s questions, and there are times when Loki coaxes civilized answers from him with a few well-placed words and musing details he shares with him about Jötunheim, about his life in the court of subordinates who could crush him anytime with a single blow.

Thor’s new place is the end of Loki’s bed. It’s large enough for both, with a comfortingly wide enough space between them. Loki keeps him chained but his manacles aren’t long enough for him to move over to Loki’s side and harm him while he is asleep. Of that Loki made sure.

Every evening is spent with the same activity, and there are times when Loki starts the day with it, too, stirring Thor from his slumber with a teasing mouth around his cock, luring his blood to fill it and make it grow solid with his deft tongue. In all honesty, it’s not the worst way he can imagine a wake up. The bad thing about it ensues when Loki doesn’t let him come.

Since Thor gave up fighting and kicking, Loki’s touches have turned gentler. He coaxes a certain level of pleasure out of him but never allows him a release, and Thor is forced to swallow his own arousal and will it away, with his hands bound above his head not able to do anything more than rutting against the fur, but the remainder of his dignity has kept him from doing it so far. Somehow Loki always knows where the exact point lies where he can chase Thor to without the danger of letting him topple over the abyss, and climax. He knows well, and so he tortures him into a constant state of blinding frustration where he is tempted to beg just for one moment of completion, just one soul-crashing fall. He realizes that whatever Loki’s plans are, he might be close to accomplishment, very close.

His cautiousness to keep distance from his untamed pet is reasonable every time he seeks and finds his fill in Thor, as along with his cold seed, he also leaves a murderous rage behind, and Thor sometimes daydreams of strangling him. Sometimes of fucking him before squeezing the air out of his lungs.

But only in his daydreams.

Because in the night, he dreams of blue skin, of a suppressing power entering him every time, spreading hot and cold in his insides like coolly smoldering ashes, and he wriggles in his sleep and fights but not against the intrusion but for keeping it in place until he can finally reach completion, until he is shattered. He thinks he is shattered already anyway, if in a different form. But even in his dreams it is not granted, and he wakes in sweat and hopelessly aroused. Then he turns his head and the pale skin with the whirling intarsia of markings is there just an inch away, and he is tempted to lean closer and mouth it, lick the shallow dips of the lithe body and bury himself in it – until he remembers. And when he remembers, he is mortified.

Then one time Loki asks, “You crave to touch me, do you not?”

And Thor does, oh how much he craves it rattles him, and it is clear Loki knows it just as much. But he also knows it’s a trap. There is no right answer. If he denies it, Loki wouldn’t let him touch, if he says yes—no, that he cannot do, cannot admit that Loki won.

But his silence is just good enough indication of Loki’s victory, and Loki allows himself to be generous. He kneels beside Thor’s head, pushing cushions below it to lift it higher, and Thor’s stomach wavers with buzzing excitement for Loki’s treatment is always two-sided: a blade edged with lust and pain.

This is the only way Loki allows a touch: with Thor’s mouth.

Loki is taking it slowly. He lays his cock across Thor’s lips, rubbing it back and forth, and suddenly Thor finds himself eagerly opening his mouth for him. His tongue darts out and he licks its underside as it glides from the left corner of his mouth to the right, then back again. His teeth softly scrape it, and Loki moans, unconsciously picking up a speed. Loki feels silky and cool between his lips, yet he can catch the wild throbbing of the veins as he probes it with his tongue.

Loki’s hips stutter, and the head of his cock bumps and sticks in the inner side of Thor’s right cheek, and before he can think, Thor turns his head and draws him deeper still.

“Oh, how you are burning me,’ Loki groans, and Thor cannot decide if he does so out of pain or pleasure.

Loki tastes differently than any Aesir Thor has ever had the chance to take, his pre-cum spreading on his tongue feels somehow refreshing and salty-sweet.

The friction hurts the sensitive skin of the inner side of his mouth but the cool flesh of Loki’s member is soothing like the most perfect ointment. Loki bends over him, bracing himself on Thor’s shoulder, groping for support as he drives into his mouth, in his ecstasy poking him in the back of his throat, and Thor’s eyes fill with tears of strain and embarrassment. He cannot help it, though, the way how his tongue curls over the head of Loki’s cock, steals its way into the shallow slit before Loki spills, and the good pet he is, Thor laps and laps and swallows, and it’s the greatest sensation for his sore skin as the cum slides down coolly and sweetly.

Loki smiles down at him, and it’s the rewarding type of smile, content and sated, and his fingers rub gently against Thor’s scalp. “Now you start to understand the meaning of docile.”

And the worst in it is that Thor really thinks so.




Loki deems him ready. He ponders the time has come for the final test, the completion of his vengeance: to leave the cage door open.

He is smirking to himself as Thor’s legs encircle his waist, just like the last few occasions, trying to keep him inside long enough for his own orgasm that would never come – Loki has seen to it. He watches Thor with a faint sense of captivation. Thor should see himself, see himself like this, flushed, a wriggling mess of want and desperation, driven wild and almost to insanity by this never-ending chase. His body bucks and sinks and convulses in the most beautiful ripples, the muscles in his abdomen and chest make Loki’s mouth water with lust. He leans forward and nuzzles the bronze throat, bites the protruding tendons in his neck. Thor is now sensitive to the slightest touch and groans and arches to his lips, claiming more and more friction. He is like a ripe fruit beneath his tongue, and Loki finds a minor addiction in himself for this taste. He forces Thor’s head (it’s not really a force by now, just a soft nudge, really) and captures his lips, pulling back quickly before Thor would bite him. He dips his head and trails a wet line from the bearded chin to the hollow at the base of Thor’s throat. He is not sure if Thor is aware of sighing Loki’s name but as the word falls from his lips, Loki almost loses it and comes.

Thor arches away from the bed, drilling his head into the pelt as Loki angles his hips upward and brushes against the sweet spot in him as he thrusts forward then pulls back. He halts, pushes himself back and rubs the spot anew, this time with such force that a keening whimper of hot white pleasure curls from Thor’s throat like thick smoke.

“Ahh—please please ple-“

An undignified sob is bubbling up his throat, and Thor clenches his teeth to keep it from bursting. Loki is blinking at him through his own haze, ebony locks stuck to his forehead, and the sweat covering his chest and running down his neck is like beads of dew, pure and cool. He is utmost enthralling, intriguing and even when he rocks into him there is something intangible about him, unearthly like he was no more than an illusion. Thor watches as he wriggles and shudders above him, the ornaments on his skin rippling, and Thor wonders if they really are moving or it only looks so with the muscles dancing under the blue skin. For a second Thor wishes to read them as if his body was a map to a hidden treasure.

Loki ruts into him with a feral thrust, his back arches as he comes, his mouth hangs open as he lets out a long cry that sounds so much like awe, and oh sweet Nornir, he is beautiful.

“Oh Thor,” he sighs as he pulls out, and Thor feels like screaming in despair as Loki retreats to his side of the bed.

It has been gathering and gathering inside him. His building pleasure as Loki ruts into him glows brighter night by night and it has been increasingly hard after each occasion to come down again from the precipice he was just rejected to throw himself off from. Thor fears it might break his sanity. There is only one thought left in his mind, and it’s the uninhibited hunger for his release.

“I hate you more than anyone in the Nine Realms,” he rasps, voice broken and ragged, chiseled savagely by his simmering need. His erection is a heavy reminder against his stomach.

“I know,” Loki chuckles. Sated and undone, he stretches languidly and settles for sleep. Thor longs to touch him, Loki is enticing like a cat lying under the autumn sun. His arms twitch and strive against the binding, and he is the most surprised when he discovers it yields. His muscles scream in pain as he pulls his arms to his chest, quietly shaking off the chains.

He looks at Loki and ponders. He weighs the possibilities: he could now wind the chain around the slender neck and pull until he cuts that vile breath forever. He could do it with his bare hands. Then he could jump up and find a way out of Jötunheim even if he has to tear the whole realm apart to get back to Asgard

He shuffles closer, rises to his knees. Loki’s semen is trickling coldly down his thighs, and it’s all but uncomfortable. If anything, it feels arousing. His hand slips on Loki’s clavicle, but there is no lethal pressure there. His fingers twitch at the touch of the cool skin. This is the first time he can feel it, the emblazonments, and his body moves over Loki and between his legs on its own volition, and he meets no resistance. His painful, hungry erection rubs against silky thighs, and Loki looks at him lazily from under his lashes. His chest arches against Thor’s, trapping Thor’s cock between their bellies and they moan in unison.

“So what now, my beautiful monster?” he murmurs with luring voice that lulls like a spell, and Thor’s hand slips off his neck to rise up instead. He pushes two thick fingers in his mouth, and Loki sucks, twirls his tongue around them, lapping at the knuckles and wetting them thoroughly before Thor pulls his hand away with a low animal growl, half-crazed with desire. He enters Loki with both fingers at once, and Loki stifles a whimper. Thor doesn’t waste his time, he is haste like someone fearing he would never get to his destination, and in all honesty Loki cannot blame him.

Thor slips into him with a loud grunt and buries his head in the crook of his neck for a moment as a mind-blowing wave of pleasure washes over him. He has been waiting so long for this, and Loki feels amazing inside. The sensation almost drives him crazy as he is basking in its glow. He sucks at the spot below Loki’s jaw as he pulls out, and bites down on his collarbone as he slams back into his body. He slips a hand under Loki’s hips and lifts him, pressing him closer still as he rocks in and out. Loki’s legs fly up, bending around Thor’s waist and he moans deliriously as Thor impales him thoroughly, head lolling backwards in ecstasy. It’s pent up desire and anger in his movements, and Thor is no gentle but hungry and desperate, and he is sure it has never felt better and more intense before. For a second he wishes he could stay forever buried inside Loki.

Loki grabs his hair, forcing his head away from his neck and smirks at him wickedly. He then crushes his lips against Thor’s in a messy bold kiss. He does not need to coax his mouth open, Thor does it for him immediately, slipping his tongue out and twirling it around Loki’s in an obscene rite, dancing at the rhythm of their moans.

Loki’s voice is a high hitch of laughter as Thor spills inside him with back arched and head thrown back, with a long moan curling from his mouth, and Loki says:

“Look at you, mighty son of Asgard. Do you realize that it was your chance to escape, to save your life and run back to your precious home, and instead, you are here to find your foolish pleasure in the Jötun monster and bed him like a lover. You tell yourself it is vengeance? That you are conquering me now? You are all mine, fully and completely, you blind fool.”

And he laughs because it is Thor’s utter destruction, and Thor knows he is right but he cares naught. He seals his further cruel words with his own lips, pinching the lines of the cruel lips with his teeth, and he can still feel the smirk against his mouth but Loki is docile and yields in easily, matching his fierceness with his own as he kisses back.

It’s still hours until they finally sink back with body pleasantly humming with satisfaction, perfectly and thoroughly unmade.

“I will keep you for myself forever,” Loki murmurs as he nestles against him, and Thor is simply too tired to object.