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Embrace the Sun (Without Fear of Burning)

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Loki was but a child when rain ceased to fall.


In the trappings of a family that had no hope for their season’s yields let alone an additional mouth to feed. He was offered to the temple for a meager handful of coins, enough to dig a well or two, or at least try.


Loki is a child still when rain ceases to fall.


Now he is the offering of a different sort.





He is not the first boy they have sent, but the two before him did not satisfy their god’s desires. The priests shook their heads and turned their gazes towards him in response to the mounting hysteria outside on the temple steps. Of civilians who were desperate for them to find a solution to this drought.


Loki had served their god faithfully under their ceremonial tutelage. The possibility was never one he was ignorant of, and yet…and yet. In the favourable eyes of the elder high priest, the one whose gaze always lingered appraisingly, he had hoped that maybe he would be spared.


But soil turned to dust. Families starved by famine. And then not even locusts had anything left to feed on, envious of the carrion birds that were the last creatures to enjoy their stay.


However, status and money of so-called holy men would not protect them should this year’s sacrifice not please. Even the laurel leaves by which they performed their rites had to be traded for from faraway cities. Cities who would do little else to help for fear of inviting calamity.


This time, when the rites are performed upon the circular dais in the pattern of the god’s inscription, it is his turn. Mind a fog from the heavy curling incense and ritual drugs burning in the brazier, they examined him along every inch of limber, taut flesh, shaved what little hair he possessed on his body, and painted sensual lines of mica on his skin that shimmered gold against the torch light. Hands ghosted over his sides, his hips, his privates.


Loki was too deeply under to recognize who.


Like being held underwater, he sensed his legs being pushed apart to appreciative murmurs. He would do. He was their best offering. Their last hope.


And when they finished, he was left tied on the stone surface for the night to contemplate his dreadful fate, all the while trying to convince himself that he was neither scared nor cold.


It is an honour. Indeed, the greatest of honours.


Yet older and more pious than he, the previous boys had gone before him such frightened things.





The next morning, resigned and reticent, they dressed him in white diaphanous fabric, light as a breeze and costing the lives of some hundreds of insects, as well as having taken months to weave such delicate work. It’s the finest material Loki has ever felt against his skin, even though it is small comfort.


The cleft of his ass was slathered in sweetly scented oil mixed with thick unguent, and he tries not to fidget. Tries not to think too hard as to why that might be. If gods didn’t just simply consume the pure souls of their offerings tidy and intact. If he is fortunate: quickly and painlessly.


Finally, they bind a length of red cloth over his eyes – dyed in the blood of a starving lamb. It’s the only item that separates him from a child-bride.


He can still smell the scent of iron.





Barefoot, and blindfolded – the tied him by the wrists and lead him into the dead forest. Trees as matchsticks set near to tinder from the earth that split and peeled as dried skin. In the time they travelled, Loki tried to cling to any measure of peace, but if it did not find him during the night previous, then it was even harder now as he stumbled.


They bought him to a clearing, paganistic and primal. There was a worn marble slab that they roughly pushed him on. He obediently knelt in the way of innocent penitence. It was the height of summer, and underneath the blazing heat, he felt so small, but he straightened his back, manner most devout.


Those escorting him recited more lines of overture, yet Loki found no focus in those words, only the unabated rhythm of ceremony. For who could afford compassion for the condemned in these dire times of need. Not a word of comfort was offered.


Then. He was alone.


He keened his ears for the sound of fading footfalls. When those were none, he tried for anything else, but there was nothing. Not even wind. The forest was devoid of any signs of life, its fauna flown and fled.


Left without any way to tell, time dilated his mental torment. His thoughts of counting seconds for distraction warred with his suffering psyche – for how was that any less futile? His knees were hurting, his wrists chafed, and he was desperately thirsty. Though should he faint first, perhaps it would be the easiest way out.  


Suddenly came the sensation of lambent flames that licked away the cloth and yet did not burn. The darkness underneath his eyelids starts to fade into light, even though he keeps them shut tight. His heartbeat quickens. He fears that if he opens them he shall go blind. Instead he lowers his head for a bow, but before his forehead could touch stone, a hand underneath his chin guides him back up. Touch like sunshine.


“At last. They offer me the kind of beauty money can’t buy.” running his thumb over Loki’s bottom lip. “Yes, I will enjoy you.”


All he could do was give the barest nod of acknowledgement.


His god’s voice was deep and resonant. “Look at me.”


He keeps his voice under control for it would do no good to stutter. “I am not worthy.”


Even without opening his eyes, he sensed the surrounding light change, darkening. Perhaps too late does he realize he’s angered him. He sensed the presence move away—No! He wanted to shout.


“Repeat what you said at the end of your rites and refer to me by the name you mortals have chosen.”


Loki took a few shallow gasps, careful to stop himself from taking more for seeming like he’s disobeying. “I serve to the will of my god, as is my place, oh mighty Thor.”


He hummed in satisfaction. “Good. Now look at me.”


Loki had to open his eyes. Slowly. Trying to brace himself for what he might see from a dark place within that was yet denying what was happening. It was surreal, but his eyes did not water. In fact it was easier to do so that he thought. Looking down, he noticed his own nudity. Hands free. He’s no longer in the forest.


Raising his gaze and scanning upwards, breath freezing in his lungs, the god was seated at the pinnacle of holiness, radiant light set behind his gold throne. And the deity himself was…


The most beautiful being imaginable.


A vision of leonine masculinity that called to mind all associations of vigor and might at every part of that sculpted body. Now that he was looking, he couldn’t stop from staring, and his gaze lands on the curve of that smiling mouth, perfect just like the rest...but his sublimity possessed with it a terrifying quality. For it was as if he knew it already, yet not at all.


He wanted to be adored.


He wanted to be ruined.


Thus, like a trance, he moved from the marble slab and ascended those stairs. Becoming lighter with every step like heavenly perdition. He found himself unconsciously drawn and pulled in, despite the risk of getting too close. To kneel between those legs and rest his head upon Thor’s powerful thigh. His god smiled at how he humbled himself, appeased.


He nuzzled into the hand that caressed his jaw, eliciting a low, rumbling laugh that made his mind reel.


So near to the deity, he smelled like crisp ozone and rainwater. Such potent scents that conjured a distant childhood. When he once felt grass between his toes and ran wild during storms. The scent was strongest with a heady musk where Thor’s shaft twitched thick and massive.


He did have to manipulate his offering’s subconscious instinctual fear, melting the boy’s inhibitions, but the tender kiss the dark-haired youth pressed to his beaded slit was all his own. Nudging the tip of it against the seam of those lips, coating them in slick. Never having explored sexual acts, those soft and curious hands stroke the thick underside vein that pulsed as he touched, and Loki shyly peaks up from beneath his lashes as if to implore encouragement. Encouragement that Thor bestows by curling his hand at the base of his skull, forcing that sweet mouth closer.


He had to use both hands to surround his girth successfully, fascinated by the size and stiffness of the flesh. They met at the top, past his crown, almost pressed in prayer, to then move downwards at the wider base, pupils widest with the observation.


That pink tongue peeked out, and soon was laving around the head, lips stretching wide to accommodate where it flared out, working underneath the cap, all the while letting out soft, adorable moans. Thor speaks in filthy lines of praise. Telling him how good, how divine.


But Thor was a god, and he required greater stimulation than this.


So bracing both side of the boy’s face and hooking a thumb into the corners of his mouth, coaxing “Wider.”


Loki hastily obliges, slackening his jaw.


Thor pushed that head down, deep then deeper. Glorifying in the pathetic mewls and whimpers. There was nothing he could do to protest at the treatment, cock shoved past that soft tongue, and bumping up against the back of his throat to slip further down. Not even the blunt, inexperienced drag of teeth would still his red iron flesh. If anything, it made such sensations all the more thrilling.


The poor thing began choking around the intrusion, struggling to breathe. Thor pauses in place. “Accept this. Not every toy they send my way has this blessing.”


It felt like anything but a blessing, but his lips were stretched too tight and he focuses on taking air in through his nose. He tries his best. Truly. Even applying a bit of suction. Thor hisses once he feels the shallow breaths puffed across his cock, and starts pushing again.


“Well done.” commending him.


Loki has always been a quick learner. Learning how to suppress his gag reflex the hard way. He sucks in earnest too. Bobs his head forward and back so that his mouth slides over the shaft. He is diligent in his attention—


Until Thor’s hips begin to move faster.


He silently despairs, losing focus on either moving or sucking. It didn’t seem to matter, for the god was now chasing his own climax. His arms ache as well from stroking the rest of the length this entire time. The enormous cock was now as hard as rock, fully engorged.


He grunted in between thrusts. The boy does well not to try and pull away. Thor is at the perfect angle to thrust directly into that tight throat. The only shortcoming is how he is not able to take him fully by the mouth to the root, for which it is a pity, but Thor does not want to break him.




Saliva and pre-come gathered on the sheathable length of his member, Loki’s mouth abused and drooling, but taking him as best he could. So well. So devout. With some of the previous sacrifices, he had to forcibly extinguish their will to resist, but such action took away that conscious spark in their eyes.


The spark that now glimmered green in such sacred surrender.


Yes. The boy pleased him greatly.


The picture of profane perfection.


His hands continued working on stroking where his mouth could not reach. And faster, now that Thor was thrusting into him, careful to keep that head in place, enjoying the way each rut forced out a wet whine, creating delicate vibrations as he grinded. He was impressed by just how much could fit inside, if not everything, and how that virgin mouth created the most wondrous sucking seal along his cock.


On the next drag, Thor’s sac seized while he savoured pulling him off, finally, only to have hot ropes of come spurt all over that lovely face. Loki coughs, wretchedly, body shaking as he takes in air. When he regains enough of it to remember himself, Thor is still coming, and Loki’s expression was utterly dazed with mouth slacked open, and belatedly he cupped both hands in front to catch spend that did not land. 


Thor milked himself, reveling the image the mortal made.


Loki accepted it, even though it nearly burned his tongue. Acrid and molten, like melted gold. He swallows what there is in his mouth first, feeling the viscosity flow and weigh down, and with a shuddering breath “My lord overwhelms me by the extent of his generosity.”


There was still so much left.  


Spots danced in his vision, and he still weakly knelt before him like a splay-legged foal. Then Thor lifted him and placed him in his lap like he weighed nothing. Dipping a finger in his own cupped spend, he traced over the lines of decorative mica, languorously, until they seeped into Loki’s skin with a glow.


Like a brand.


“Now you’re mine, body and soul.” tone heavy and possessive.


Loki sensed it even as it was spoken. It followed upon his last exhale. As if even the air he breathed in and out belonged to his deity. Suddenly he felt very tired. Sleepy, perhaps, from the amount that he swallowed. Like it was the first full meal in ages. How would a god’s release nourish him he wonders, but Thor was not done.


“You did well. Even though you’d never learned how to offer pleasure, you made sure all the while to keep mine paramount.”


He leant into the god and the way he was praised. Feeling like any child would upon doing something correctly on the first try. He didn’t want to be greedy. Couldn’t ask. But while he was servicing Thor with his mouth, his own had…


Thor’s large hand palmed Loki’s adolescent cock. It was tiny in comparison, but he intuitively thrust into it, desperate for relief while mortified by his own, uncouth actions. Young acolytes were instructed never to impurely touch themselves. As devotees, they were reserved by divine right for selection. To otherwise disobey the rules of worship would’ve been the utmost blasphemy. Until… “Until now when you’ve been offered to me.” He whispers, petting Loki’s head and reading his thoughts. He laughed gently in amusement. How rare. How…quaint.


He had never cared about the previous sacrifices’ gratification. But this one endeared him.


Made him feel generous.


And Thor did not have to provide much: merely the steady hold and squeeze of his hand as his small plaything pumped into his fist. He lavished on him the words that a child abandoned too soon wanted whole-heartedly to hear: that he was wanted, that he was worthy.


Thor whispered to him all its variations, until all he called Loki was ‘Mine.’ growled into his ear. Then Loki was abruptly coming, and coming… small body spasming in the aftershock of the first orgasm he’d ever had in his life, wails high and reedy. Spirit entwined, Thor felt the ecstasy as well. The euphoria of all things in their discovery.


Loki collapsed limp against his chest.  


When Thor brought his hand up, the one coated in the boy’s seed, Loki licked it clean. A kitten to milk.


Watching intently that pink tongue work, Thor’s arousal stayed hard, never once softening, but now needing to be tended to again. He stroked Loki’s cheek “I still need one more thing from you.” and he arranged Loki’s legs so that both spread apart astride him. Bracketing his slight being between him and his shaft.


His hand found the curvature of that plump and pert little rear, his rough hand fondled the smooth skin and there was an easy glide from the lubricants the priests had slathered him in. Thor’s fingers probed him while Loki’s eyes widened in new fear at the implicit meaning. He tried shaking his head and lowering his eyes without being outright defiant.


Thor could not deny that fear also fed into his insatiable lust.


It was all happening too soon! Loki’s mind catching up to himself again. Dread turned him lucid, the kind of animal terror that drove all mortals to folly.


Unbidden, Loki’s life up until then, up until the temple even, flashed before him. And each emotion of unease, worry, and doubt, reared their heads. Pushing back the acceptance he thought he’d attained.


He trembled in Thor’s hold.


“You’re still thinking of your family. Even now. Even though they ultimately sold you to this.” Thor ran a hand over his sternum and his gaze turned distant. “The hunger pangs were too much for your mother as she died in her sleep. Your father perished on the road, never to return after trying to beg for trade from neighboring cities. Your eldest murdered your younger brother over a hock of stolen ham that was then stolen in turn.” He said it all with such impassivity that it made Loki shiver against the heat of his embrace.


“Your brother is alive. Though he is ill.”




“No longer.”


“I can give you that you see. I can give you that and more. You need only please me. Perform well little one, and I shall reward you.”


He nodded. Throat still raw. He couldn’t help but feel like wanting to cry – but he held the tears back. Voice small but brave, “Please, have mercy.”


And what feeling closest resembled human pity, the deity offered as consolation for the prized being that was his due. “I will try.”


He was always reminded of exactly how small these humans were when he pressed against that tight ring of muscle, seeing the expression of the boy wince, how he brought his arm up around Thor’s broad shoulders. His finger pushed inside, only one and to the knuckle—and the flesh gave like a ripened, bruised fruit.


Loki gasped. Shock tingling up his spine. Naïve innocence wept –but he couldn’t, it wasn’t—


--in his power to refuse.


With a strangled sound, he tried to relax so the god could prepare him deeper.


A second finger joined the first, and the burning around his hole intensified with the intrusion of something Loki never had the capacity to entertain. Thor scissored him wider, and Loki fixated on the back and forth of it instead of the fact that there was no sound of a heartbeat within the chest of the deity his head leant against.


His own fluttered like a bird’s. Helpless and tiny inside this mortal cage made flesh.


When a third joined, that response turned to panic as he stared up in desperation. Thor soothed the sweat-slicked strands of hair back from his forehead. A tender contrast to the three large fingers that were violating him in sacrosanct sin.


Thor’s expression was calm and beautiful still. With increasing hopelessness, Loki realized his suffering would not deter this. He sobs. Words choked.


“I can’t.”


“You must.”


A trickle of oil ran down Thor’s wrist.


“I don’t know how.”


“But you will.”


Three finger lengths’ entire, all the way inside, and he gaped soundlessly in response. “I think I’ll take your voice for now. It is only temporary. Until you start to enjoy this.”


‘How?’ his mind quailed. It was too much. And those were only fingers! Instead he shook his head, but the deity only grinned. The handsome visage marred by inhuman cruelty. He bunched them together and forced them in and out. Involuntary resistance met him upon the former at being spread open so far, but that obedient pucker never ceased to amaze him after Thor methodically eased him open beyond understanding.


And Loki’s frame went from taught to quivering. Barely holding on with his arms around Thor’s thick neck.


The fingers left then, without warning, and his stretched hole was left winking wetly in the air and aching with neglect. Both hands grasped and spread his ass cheeks in an iron grip, guiding him onto that ramrod length, lowering him onto the blunt tip of his cock head.




“No, no, no…”


But his voice was gone, and he was alone in his plight.


“Prove to me the extent of your devotion.”


Then, everything else all but ceased to exist except for the feeling of being split open. Wide-eyed, thighs straining, he was pushed onto that giant cock and felt every increment of it drag along his insides. Thor’s large hands gripped him by the waist and he tipped his blond head back against the seat of his throne as Loki was forced to take it.


The being that was his. Utterly and completely his.


As Loki’s body impossibly took more, his nerves went from burning afire to searing screams. There was no room inside to wiggle, and no chance in hell to push away. It would have been easier to simply be burnt on a pyre.


Those hands dug deeper into his hip, pushed him down more insistently despite the limitations of the flesh. Loki never thought it would’ve been like this: near to skewered through.


Thor’s cock finally, fully sheathed. There was barely even room inside him to breathe.


“Good boy.” he growls into the nape of Loki’s neck. Tears streamed down verdant green eyes where Thor licked them from clavicle to cheek.


But then – oh but then.


His innocence was already a broken thing, but then when Thor begins to piston is when sanity shatters. Each motion an excruciating line of fire licking through oil.


And Thor takes his time speaking to an uncomprehending mind. “Even now they beg for mercy. For rain. For thunder and lightning.” In his younger days, he was more benevolent to their pleas.


Loki’s head bounced helplessly against the force of his pumps, looking indecently like the nodding motions of a passive doll-marionette. His eyes glazed over with virginal carnality.


For a time he thought he could be happy with their worship, but increasingly the invocations began to grate, greedy and graceless.


“Shall I grant it to them in the form of floods? To make up for lost time?” Punctuating each rhetorical question with harsh, jagged movements. The only response was the delicate heft of that small body meeting the harsh impact of his thrusts.


In recent centuries, gradually so, the offerings had become fewer in number and frequency, until now when they would tarry to keep the best for themselves. No, Thor would not stand. For such irreverence


“Do you know what I would’ve done if they had sullied you? I would’ve simply let events continue on as they ought to, and then started over.”


If they thought they’d have gotten away—


But no matter.


There were more gratifying distractions at hand.


Ah yes… now their movements had settled into a rhythmic unity. He knew he’d be able to take it. They all did. In the end. A few miracles were to be found within mortals at least. The boys thoughts gradually quiet as his awareness narrowed down to the fire in his backside and the fullness of a vessel existing only to be filled. Such a pale and supple receptacle.


Time unravelled as seconds, minutes, and hours blur into eternity. Thor bends time to prolong this.


Thor’s pace is ever steady, relentless, spearing inside.


Over and over and over.


A thin moan escaped those lips.


Thor drinks it down like ambrosia, then takes in more for the plunder.


The boy’s cock was hard again.


Now that the give and glide of his gaping ass was self-sufficient, Thor had one hand fisted in those dark locks, angling his head up for Thor to consume all the flavours of sounded delight, and the other tugging on his adorable, perfect pink prick.


His tempo was quick for himself, and slow for the sacrifice, but it wouldn’t be much longer for either…


Loki’s coltish limbs dangled at their sides, his body’s ministration taken over completely for his god’s pleasure. He couldn’t even speak to beg. He couldn’t even beg for want. More? Less? It didn’t matter. The agony felt so awful in his abandon, but the submission felt just as sweet in his surrender.


He was being fucked to the core.


The culmination of his existence, of his purpose: a ragdoll for the sun god’s cock.


Sun god indeed.


He felt scorched all over.


He’s never felt this hot in his entire life. Not even when he’d once been sick with fever and still tasked with toiling in the fields during summer at its height and the blank skies baking down upon them in their misery. It was a good burn, he decided. A noble one. He thought he felt droplets from the corner of his eyes as the only cool sensation leave him.


After spurting his second release, he is all but bone dry.


Thor’s eyes were incandescently white, wild with need. That smooth composure of a god, smoother than the marble slab he’d been initially presented on all this time, finally cracks as desire starts to lose control. His pace faltered before picking up faster than before. Slamming now as a bull in full rut. Equally magnificent and monstrous.


That tongue curled around his. Sucking. Demanding.


But his soul was already forfeit.


His mistake was in thinking there was something to give, when he was meant to receive.


Thor came in him like a torrent scouring his insides. It bubbled and leaked out of his rim and still he kept. Thrusting. With a roar. Seed-smeared smacks sordid for all that was sacrilege.


Pleasure and pain. It swelled in tandem with his heartbeat and breaths. The pressure kept building and building and building and Loki’s body would not be able to contain it. Thor kept pounding into the overfilled brim--


Like drowning in a tidal wave of flames.


His eyes rolled back.


The sensation of being caught as he fell away from those lips were the last things he remembers before hearing his echoed screams.


Then, only the dreamless dark.





He wakes on a beach.


How and where is of little importance.


The pain was gone too.


Surrounding him, sunset lighting and zephyr air sang like the sovereignty within a cathedral. His worries, or what he remembers of them, are already dissolving from his mind. Such is the release from where he was to where he is.


In the far-off distance, like the echoing sound of thunder, a lifetime ago behind him, Loki hears rumbling and smiles. He walks along the shore drinking nectar dripping from petals by merely tipping the chalice bloom unto his lips.


Here, it is carefree.


Here, he’ll want for nothing.


The clouds above drift directionless and untroubled. His beach is boundless and beautiful, footsteps indenting the landscape behind him before being scrubbed clean and absolved by the waves. Already he feels every strand of himself stitched into this golden tapestry.


When at last he tires and warm night settles like a blanket upon this realm, Loki lies upon the sands with the line of crystalline water beneath his waist. He parts his legs wide and lets sleep wash over, hoping, waiting…


For his god to grace him.