For the third time that week Loki found himself on his back, this time with knees to his shoulders, unable to do anything about it.
It was an undesirable situation, to say the least. But he was learning that the alternative to waking up in unpredictable positions – on his knees if not his back, and twice suspended in the air – was to not eat or drink anything. Even so, the Grandmaster had all manner of inventive ways to slip something or other into his bloodstream and render him dead to the world until he woke to the sensation of someone lapping at his asshole.
This time around, it was a huge insectoid creature whose fleshy feeler Loki could only assume was a tongue industriously probed his every curve and crevice. He tried flinging insults at it, but his own tongue was leaden from whatever drug was coursing through him. All he could manage were wordless moans that only delighted the spectators more (and there were always spectators, it was just the Grandmaster’s style; everything had to be a performance). Which was why, out of spite, he bit back all form of verbal protest save for the odd gasp of pain. Those were inevitable when your lot in life now was to be penetrated by every form of pulsating phallic appendage from here to halfway across the galaxy.
Thor would be horrified. But then, surrender was not in Thor’s nature. He did not grasp that surrender, when you boiled it down, was simply a means of survival.
Survival and all its tools was what Loki dealt in now. If his body was the only currency left to him on this thrice-damned planet, he would use it for all it was worth. Already it was paying off. He had risen rapidly from common sex slave to the Grandmaster’s “kitten”, “darling pet” and, most gratingly, “Ki-ki.” Fine new clothes had appeared in his armoire in the private chambers he was upgraded to mere months after his arrival. Even if they seldom stayed on his body for long. He was served daily an array of Sakaaran delicacies, each tray an intricate guessing game where he only ever won two times out of eight.
He could have won every round by simply refusing to touch them. But Loki knew he was being watched – by the guards, by the servants who waited on him, by the invisible eyes the charming tyrant appeared to have on every surface of this senseless, maddening, unending party he presided over. As one of the immortal Elders of the Universe, the man had almost limitless power. And like those who wielded such power, he was as ruthless as the universe allowed him to be.
Loki had seen what happened to those who fell from favour. He knew he wanted no part of their fate.
And so he allowed himself – after a semblance of futile struggle – to be pushed to his knees, to let rough hands prise his lips open and stretch them around a too-thick cock choking him with rivers of spend that burned his throat and rendered him voiceless for days. They liked him silent nearly as much as they liked him mewling, moaning and gasping. Those who made him scream drew cheers and the spill of coin, rewarded for the virility of their violation. The cold silver raining down on his naked shoulders as he lay exhausted and stained with bodily fluids became the sound and sensation of the self-loathing he perpetually held at bay.
He could thank the constant stream of drugs for one thing: it numbed the misery of being torn from his brother at the moment Loki needed him most. As for the thrice-cursed sister who had put him here, she was fortunate his thirst for revenge was incapacitated so.
A bell-like sound filled the air. A new servant appeared (Loki knew there were but a few, but of late his addled mind could no longer hold on to their faces). Another tray of tantalizing bites produced. His fingers hovered over the slices of roast bird and the golden pastries and the potentially treasonous berries. Which one would he gamble on today?
“How’s my beloved Ki-ki carrying on?” came the grating voice over invisible pipes in his room. A voice he had once found melodious, seductive even. “Make sure you feed yourself up. You, well, let’s just say you’ll need your strength. Ahaha. You’re greatly in demand in my new…I like to call it the Throne Room. I just put on the finishing touches, and you’ll look perfect at the centre of it. Wouldn’t be complete otherwise. You’re wearing that new robe I sent you, right?”
The Grandmaster rambled on, clearly loving the sound of himself. Would the man never cease his nattering? The words faded into the distance, ran into one another till they no longer made sense, and Loki realised it was the berries, after all. “Hela, you absolute bitch” was the last thing he muttered before he swooned and collapsed facedown into the cushions.
“Wake up, Ki-ki, darling. I’ve a little surprise for you. Ooohh, I think you’re going to like this…”
“…Loki. Loki! What have you done to him?”
That voice. Surely… It couldn’t be.
“Let him go, or I’ll rip you apart where you stand!”
Thor? His mouth tried to form his brother’s name, but something was in the way. With great effort he pried his eyelids open. The first thing he noticed was the discomfort stretching his limbs; the second was that the world had turned upside down.
Then he realised there was no ground against him, only air. It seemed suspension was the name of today’s game. He looked up to see his arms and legs hanging from the ceiling via deep blue lengths of silk.
The third thing he saw was the Grandmaster’s aforementioned throne – and Thor firmly cuffed to it. The chamber, whether the Grandmaster had intended it or not, seemed a mockery of Asgard’s gilded glory. Everything was big and ornate and oozing gold. And the greatest jest of all: the would-be king trapped in his seat, unable, despite his threats, to do more than crackle with sparks of lightning as he fumed and jerked against the manacles.
“Oooh, did you see that? I like you, Sparkles.” That maddening grin, perfect white teeth against blue-inked lips. “You’ve as much fight in you as Loki here did before we uh…tamed him.”
Loki’s tongue formed a retort, only to hit a barrier. Now fully conscious, he felt the thick gag between his teeth; like a horse bridle, but softer, made to curve around the mouth. The bit was fastened to cool metal rings that cleaved to his cheeks. It was a strangely sensual feeling. He might even have enjoyed being on display like this before Thor, were it not for everyone else in the chamber.
“Calm down, Prince Sparkly-pants. I’ve got a real treat for you. You uhh, have a real ‘thing’ for your little brother, don’t you? Adopted brother? Complicated, et cetera, all that; look, I don’t judge. Don’t worry – Loki told me everything. No secrets between us.”
“Mmnngfh,” Loki protested even as his heart dropped at the information he might have unwillingly surrendered. What had slipped all too freely from his lips during his intoxicated stretches? Had he called Thor’s name while being fucked by some monstrosity? His brother looked at him now with disbelieving eyes, and perhaps a hint of hurt.
I didn’t mean to, he wanted to say. You don’t know the state he’s kept me in! And all the while the Elder tyrant grinned ever broader like a smug cream-filled cat.
“Loki. What did you…how could you –”
Oh shut up, you damned fool! “Nngggfhh!” Enraged in a way he had never been since this whole ordeal started, his façade of compliance fell away as he too thrashed against his bonds. But while Thor stood at least a tenuous chance of breaking the steel around his wrists, Loki’s particular situation was rather less escapable. Not to mention highly uncomfortable. And more than a little humiliating, as he realised the robes he had been instructed to wear did not cover him much in his position – with legs lifted high in the air, his rump was utterly exposed.
His face grew hot as the Grandmaster’s fingers toyed with his opening. “Stop fighting, sweet cheeks. You can take it. I know you can. That’s part of why I love you, you know. So…mmm, so resilient. And flexible. Perfect for the treat I’ve got planned.” He clapped his hands sharply, and the floor beneath Loki opened up.
A low wet-sounding growl rose from the depths. Loki saw what it was, and whimpered.
In his brief time on Sakaar, he had been acquainted with more diverse life forms than in his millennia of existence. But this creature…well. He had seen its ilk in illustrations and the ridiculous on-screen monstrosities Midgardians were fond of. To see it in the flesh was another thing altogether.
And it was huge. And very brightly coloured. Like so much in this gaudily painted realm, its purple and green hues were of the blinding variety. It did not appear to have a face or anything resembling a mouth, even though the growls and clicks were surely coming from somewhere. But Loki’s most immediate concern were the squirming slime-slathered tentacles that made up most of its mass. There were ever so many of them. And they were all very interested in him.
“Loki…! Gods damn it, don’t you DARE let it violate him, or so help me – ”
The Grandmaster emitted an annoyed huff. “I’m beginning to think I gagged the wrong sibling. Somebody swap it out, please – besides, Ki-ki here has such a sweet voice, I want to hear what he has to say…”
No, you don’t,Loki thought as the leather bit left his mouth and went to work silencing his volcanic-with-rage brother, albeit with limited success. Thor’s muffled roars still punctuated the slithering sound of the tentacle thing clicking keenly in his direction. They only grew louder when Loki’s already skimpy garments were stripped away to make of him an even more tempting morsel.
“Anyway, introductions! This magnificent beast here is Jer – Jero – oh, what’s his name, Topaz?”
“Jerilingus,” came the disaffected reply. The brusque, stoic woman who was second in command here beheld Loki’s mounting distress as if she was watching paint dry.
“Right! Uhh, I call him Jerry for short. At least I think it’s a him. He’s adorable isn’t he? Say hi to Loki, Jerry!”
Jerry said something in a series of garbled growls and clicks. And then went straight to the business of finding Loki’s most evident openings. He wished immediately for the gag to be restored; it would have helped keep at bay the slimy appendage pushing persistently against his lips. A slimmer tentacle wrapped itself around his cock and began gently squeezing. The resulting rush of blood to his nether regions made him dizzy. With each stroke and squeeze he felt positively drowned in his own arousal. Jerry, it would seem, gave the galaxy’s best handjobs.
More boneless slithering limbs pinched and stroked him in all his sensitive spots, homing in with almost psychic instinct on the places that made him shiver with pleasure. As soon as he could no longer bite back a gasp, the tentacle edging around his lips slid right in and proceeded to explore the depths of his mouth and throat before settling into a steady rhythm.
Meanwhile, the tip of another tentacle had located the hidden fold beneath his cock and coaxed it into blooming. His female sex soon gaped warm and wet and all too receptive to its intruder even as its owner tensed in vain efforts to keep it out.
Thor groaned at the sight of his little brother being violated so. Loki wanted to reassure him that this was not the worst he had been subjected to – yet – but his mouth was quite fully occupied. The steady flow of viscous fluid Jerry was pouring down his throat seemed to have a dizzying effect. Loki couldn’t believe that, for all its novelty, this situation would end as every unfortunate encounter had before it: with him being forcibly drugged and used in ways he wouldn’t be present to witness.
He gave a frustrated whine as the huge room began to spin. But it soon turned, involuntarily, into a whine of arousal. The tentacles were rough and gentle by turns in a way that was undeniably pleasurable. And he had, after all, blacked out in worse situations.
But the loss of consciousness did not come. Instead, the chamber became a moving writhing mural of horrors. The Grandmaster’s face went from its twinkly-eyed mask to an openly leering, carnal visage with a mouth far too wide and eyeballs that grew so big they spilled from his head like egg yolks. Behind him, the faces of the spectators were melting and shapeshifting into senseless blobs or masses of teeth – far too many teeth – and now the ceiling was dripping thick blobs of blood and –
Loki let out a garbled wail as he thrashed in Jerry’s grip. He choked and tried to eject the appendage from his mouth, finding it hard to breathe. They’re hallucinations, he told himself.Close your eyes till it’s over, just close your eyes and you’ll be fine
Except he was not. Upon clamping his eyelids shut, voices and sounds became monstrously distorted, and all of them clamouring to creep right into his ears, into his brain. The Grandmaster’s light unctuous tone became grating and guttural. “Jerry’s, uhh, bodily fluids have a variety of interesting effects on those who come into contact with them. Isn’t it thrilling??” As for Jerry, its clicks and grunts turned into a wet ghastly sop-sop-sop that for some reason chilled him to the bone. A raucous cheer from the spectators took on a shrill teeth-chattering pitch.
He wanted to scream. He heard his own whimpers, the only normal sound in a world gone mad, escalating into panicked gasps as he struggled to breathe. By the time Jerry freed his mouth, he was hyperventilating. He turned to Thor only to see his brother’s handsome face turned to a horrible waxy death’s head – eyeless, noseless, a formless opening where a mouth should be.
He wanted to scream. Perhaps he did, or perhaps the scream was in his head.
Then the horror of a mouth spoke and said: “You will not breed him!”
What…? What does that mean?
The Grandmaster’s voice, normal again now, said as if from a distance: “Oh, but that is what I kept him for! I’ve been waiting for the moment. And so has Jerry. I didn’t know if your brother was fertile, but Jerry does. And his kind doesn’t, ahh, mate with anything that’s not. So unless his senses are very much off, little Loki’s going to be popping out his babies in the near future…”
What? NO! Loki began thrashing anew in dismay. Surely the Grandmaster was not this cruel, to subject his body to this new level of violation. As he felt his bonds being severed, freeing him to fall in a boneless heap into Jerry’s embrace, he also felt the thick phallic tentacle penetrating his cunt throbbing with promise, on the verge of releasing some dastardly seed or sac of eggs into his depths.
Weakly, he managed to kick away the writhing appendage and clamp his legs shut as tightly as he could. “Thor,” he cried out hoarsely. “Help me!”
It was all he could utter before a tentacle slithered into his mouth and made him swallow a different kind of liquid, bitter and less viscous and rendering him almost immediately lethargic once he ceased coughing from his body’s attempt to reject it. “Mmmmhh,” he grunted heavily as his eyelids drooped and the fight left his limbs.
It seemed the monstrous Jerilingus would get its way after all. All struggle was futile; he could barely move a finger even as his mind railed loudly and uselessly. Two of its tentacles pried his thighs apart while another two pinioned his arms to his sides. He felt a fifth tentacle, the terrible bearer of monster-children, tickle the folds of his cunt –
A mighty roar ripped the air. There was a deafening boom, and the ceiling came crashing down.
At some point, the cacophony of destruction and barrage of noises mashing into one another ceased as the world began to make sense again. He peeled open an eye and was thankful to see that the ceiling was no longer writhing.
From the silence, the sound of his name emerged.
He groaned, feeling battered and sore all over. He was also, incredibly, in his brother’s arms. And safe; a feeling he had almost forgotten.
“I thought you were dead,” he murmured.
“I thought the same of you.” Thor’s voice was thick with love and worry as his lips brushed Loki’s forehead. What a sentimental fool. Loki was dizzy with a sudden, overwhelming rush of affection. And also nausea.
“Put me down.”
“Loki…you don’t look like you can walk just yet – ”
“It’s not that,” he said with a wince. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
And throw up he did, bent over on his knees (thankfully of his own volition this time) and puking up streams of bile and half-digested fine pastries along with whatever disgusting substances Jerilingus had pumped into him. By the time he was done, he could only collapse on his side and let Thor gently wipe his mouth as if he was a child.
Faintly he registered the ruins of the golden chamber, the heaps of gold and plaster and shattered gaudy extravagance, the debris beneath his fingers. There was also quite a bit of blood. “What happened?”
“The creature and its master disappeared. I killed everyone else,” came the grim reply.
“Good,” said Loki.
He shivered, mostly with relief. Thor took it to mean a lack of coverage from the elements. “We should get you some clothes.”
“I’m n-not c-c-cold. Though I would appreciate not being n-naked except when I w-wish to be.”
A fierce frown. “What did they do to you, brother?”
“You don’t want to know.” Some buried part of him felt embarrassingly small and scared. But right now he was mostly weary, and glad for the broad chest against his drooping head.
Thor did. Despite his mouth surely tasting of puke, his brother enveloped him in deep, tender kiss and embrace, leaving him with a breathless hunger for more as soon as they parted. He was also, he realised with consternation, crying a little.
“Clothes,” said Thor firmly as he stroked a tear-stained cheek. “And then we talk.”
Loki managed a wobbly smile. “A bath first. Preferably with you in it.”
In reply Thor swept him back off his feet before heading in search of the nearest shower. After the trying time he had been through, he could not find the strength to even pretend resistance. They had thought each other gone for good. It was nice, for once, to be wrong.