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The smell of blood in the main hall of the hold Thor’s men had raided had given way to the smell of smoke and roasted meat and mead. The dead bodies had been hauled out and tossed into the courtyard. No one had bothered to burn them; Thor and his men would not be staying beyond the following morning.

The centre table was laden with food taken from the jarl’s kitchens, the mead and the ale flowed from the well-stocked cellars. Some choice supplies had already been taken to their ship, and, now, what remained was to feast on the goods of the hold. It would be a shame to let anything go to waste, after all.

Thor was sitting in the jarl’s seat. It was a handsome, massive wood-carved throne clad with bear fleece for the jarl’s comfort. Perhaps the jarl had even killed the bear himself – he had been a fierce enough warrior, fighting back with fury before Thor had struck him down with one swing of his war axe.

Beside Thor at the high table on the dais sat his closest men, Fandral and Hogun, and the rest had occupied the long table in the middle of the hall. The men had already eaten their hunger away; now it was time for drink and the boisterous recounts of past battles, and the food only served as something to chew on between fresh tankards.

Thor, too, was full and content, muscles pleasantly relaxed after the day-long fight, but he was not sated. With a tankard to his lips, he watched the little alcove behind his men’s table, where the spoils of their raid had been laid.

There were fineries of every kind there: expensive fabrics and fine cloaks and dresses, quality furs, heaps of golden artefacts and silverware, jewellery and weapons, and several ancient-looking tomes in ornamental covers.

But none of these things were what captured and held Thor’s interest. What his eye lingered on longest was a man. Thor didn’t typically take prisoners – he was in favour of killing everyone rather than making choices between possible survivors. But this man had caught his attention amidst the chaos of battle. He had been standing in the main hall when Thor had burst in through the barred doors to meet the jarl. The man hadn’t joined the fight, and just by looking at his appearance it had been easy to recognise him as a witch. That, in itself, was no reason to leave anyone alive – on the contrary, in fact, for witches were fickle, wicked creatures who served best as corpses. But there had been something in this witch’s eyes, when his and Thor’s gazes had briefly met. The witch hadn’t joined the battle, hadn’t even chanted any spells from afar. Even as the last man, woman, and child in the hall had been put to sword, the witch had done nothing but watch silently, spine straight, chin cocked up, motionless but to the slight ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he had watched the jarl’s wife’s execution.

He was a pretty thing. Fairly young, by the smoothness of his face, but old enough to give his silent confidence some credibility. He was draped in a long, dark brown cloak and dark green tunic. His hair fell on his shoulders in black, messy curls, framing his angular, pale face. On his neck hung a golden amulet, darkened with time, with an inset emerald. His slender wrists were bound on his front by bronzed, magic-restraining manacles by Thor’s order, but he looked unafraid; his piercing eyes were curious and strangely unconcerned as he eyed the celebrating warriors in Thor’s hall.

Thor put his goblet on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bring him to me,” he ordered, nodding towards the witch and cutting off whatever Fandral was saying.

Fandral and Hogun did as Thor had bid. They untied the witch from the post near the wall, but kept his manacles on. They walked the witch to stand before the high table, each with a tight hold on the witch’s elbow.

The witch’s insolent little smile didn’t falter, as though he considered what was happening a great amusement – as if his life wasn’t hanging on a thread held in Thor’s grip. It irritated Thor, as he beheld the creature before him. The haughty eyes were green, he saw now. Green like the woods around the hold. Green like the emerald resting on his throat. Snake’s eyes.

“What is your name?” Thor asked.

“Loki,” came the mild answer.

“You will address him ‘my lord’,” Hogun warned the witch in a low voice, and Loki inclined his head slightly.

“My lord.” But in his serpent’s eyes was dancing a twinkle of amusement.

His smirk, barely perceptible, didn’t fade.

“Why are you smiling?” Thor demanded, piqued. “Your village is destroyed. Your people slaughtered. You yourself are kept a spoil of war, your life and your death in my power.”

The witch tilted his head with a minute shrug. The motion drew Thor’s eyes to the delicate neck, to a pale clavicle peeking from beneath the loosely fastened cloak, the dark green tunic underneath. The emerald on his neck glimmered in the restless torchlight.

“They were no people of mine, nor was the village you burned. My lord.” Loki’s gaze didn’t stray from Thor’s eye. “I was brought before their jarl much like I am now brought before you.”

“And where were you before that?”

“In a hold not unlike this one, and I was brought into that hold, too, in a similar manner. They always want to keep me. For luck, and for power.”

Thor released a booming laugh. “Much luck you brought them, witch.”

Loki’s eyes glinted like the jewel sitting in the hollow of his neck. His thin lips stretched into a snake’s smile. “They never listen.”

Shivers ran up Thor’s spine at that smooth, melodic voice. He refused to acknowledge them.

“And what did you tell them that they did not listen?”

“That I would have my dues, my lord. My service is not for free.”

Warmth stirred in the pit of Thor’s belly, brushed over his loins.

“What are the services you provide, then, and for what fees?”

“My services are what I’m willing to offer,” Loki said, “and I ask a different price for each.”

“And what are you willing to offer, little witch?”

“Whatever pleases me… my lord.”

Fandral and Hogun exchanged a glance over the witch’s head. Thor thought of this slippery creature offering his service to others before him, and a green flame of jealousy flared in his loins. He said harshly, “Well, witch, your previous owners are dead. I am your lord and master now. From now on your service shall be mine, and mine alone.”

Fandral and Hogun exchanged another glance.

“My lord,” Fandral said quietly, unease seeping onto his face. Thor ignored him.

“I have no master but myself,” Loki said. “I won’t perform any services against my will, and what I’m willing to do by another’s wish is never cheap.”

The witch’s self-assurance amused Thor. “What happens if I refuse to pay?”

“My lord,” Fandral said again, side-eyeing Loki. “Do you think it wise to keep this creature? Better to swing the axe and be done with it. Who knows what ill luck and calamity he brings? If what he says is true and he’s passed from jarl to jarl, tribe to tribe, leaving a trail of burning villages in his wake…”

The emerald on Loki’s neck glinted and glimmered, dancing with torchlight and shadows both as if it were alive.

Thor turned to Loki again, intrigued. “And what did you do to these people for refusing to pay you?”

Loki’s smile stretched on thin lips like a snake uncoiled in the sun.

“I called for thunder.”

Again, Thor disregarded the chills at the nape of his neck. He laughed. “Little wonder they did not listen. I’ve seen many a rain-caller in my time. Misguided lunatics, the lot of them.”

Loki tilted his head to the side. His raven curls shifted on his shoulders, brushed his pale throat. “And yet,” he said mildly, “Here you are. My lord.”

All laughter died abruptly in Thor’s chest. His expression hardened.

“Leave me with the witch.”

Now Hogun and Fandral looked openly worried.

“My lord, are you certain it is wise?” Fandral asked carefully.

“I said leave me alone with him.”

His men looked reluctant. They were fiercely loyal to Thor, and as such indispensable, but there were times when their loyalty to Thor threatened to overstep his commands. They were, however, also well familiar with Thor’s temper, and with Hogun’s command, the feast was quickly taken elsewhere.

“Never trust a witch,” Hogun warned him before following the rest out.

Thor kept his eye on the witch’s. “I don’t intend to.”

Once the hall was vacated for all but himself and Loki, Thor stood from his seat, unfolding into his imposing height. He walked slowly around the table and stopped before Loki. The witch was nearly of the same height as he, but where Thor was broad and muscular, the witch had a narrower frame. But in spite of his willowy appearance, Loki didn’t look weak.

“What did you mean by your words?”

Loki cocked his head, a little smile dancing on his lips. “What exactly are you asking, my lord?”

Thor gritted his teeth. “You know what I’m asking.”

Loki didn’t cover. Instead, he faced Thor’s glower with impertinence. “So do you,” he said with a knowing gleam in his eyes, green like poison.

Thor’s arm shot out with a speed that seemed to startle even the slippery witch. Thor’s fingers curled around the witch’s long, pale neck; his thumb pressed lightly on the tender skin beneath the apple of his throat. “Do not play games with me.”

“Are you afraid, my lord,” Loki breathed; his chest rose and fell with excitement, his eyes gleamed with poorly suppressed triumph. “Are you afraid that I’ve summoned you?”

Thor’s hold on the witch’s neck shifted; his grip tightened in the soft curls at the nape of Loki’s neck. He tilted Loki’s head back by the hair.

“You did not summon me, witch.”

“Thunderclouds like to think they go where they will, but, in the end, they always follow the wind.”

“And you fancy yourself that wind?”

Loki’s lips parted slightly; the pink tip of his tongue slithered out to wet them, or to taste the air. “I admit, I expected a regular thunderstorm to wreck havoc here. I didn’t expect you laying waste to this land. But I called you, and you came.”

Thor licked his lips. He pulled the witch closer, hand tangled in the wild tresses. “Did you also not expect being caught and bound by me? Becoming my very own spoil of war?”

“I am no one’s but my own, thunder lord,” Loki breathed.

“No,” Thor growled. “You are mine.”

He took Loki’s lips before Loki could use his serpent’s tongue for more nonsense, and gave in to the desire that had been licking at the pit of his belly ever since he had laid eyes on the witch. Loki’s lips curled against his, and Thor kissed him harder for it. Piqued interest was turning into a flame of arousal that, in turn, was quickly morphing into lust. Oh, by the end of the night, the pretty little witch would be smirking no more. Thor would make sure of it.

When he broke the kiss, Loki’s thin lips were red and shiny, his chest was heaving with shallow breaths. But the infuriatingly smug twist of his lips was still in place.

“Do your men know you, thunder lord?” Loki asked, still out of breath but triumphant. His eyes shone. “Do they know who they are following?”

“They know what they need to know,” Thor growled, and plunged back in.

Loki’s mouth was wet and warm, the slide of his tongue slick against Thor’s. The press of his body, when Thor pulled him in, was driving Thor mad.

“I will have you,” Thor panted into the witch’s mouth. “I will strip you bare and have you right here, little witch.”

Loki bit his lip in response, and Thor growled, breaking the kiss. He kept his hand in Loki’s hair – he quite liked it there.

“You think you can take everything you lay your eyes on,” Loki panted, eyes flashing.

“Yes,” Thor said, taking in the flushed and dishevelled look of the witch, viciously pleased with his work despite the throbbing pain in his lower lip. “Get down.”

To no surprise, Loki refused to comply, and Thor pushed him on his knees with a hand in his hair and the other a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Careful how you use your teeth now, little witch,” he said, giving a warning tug on Loki’s curls. “Remember in whose hands your life dangles.”

He unlaced his breeches, freeing his heavy cock from its confines. “Open.”

Loki stared at his considerable length, shiny lips slightly parted, and slowly looked up at Thor’s face, visibly indignant. “I summoned you here. If you think I will –”

A grin spread on Thor’s lips. “You may have called me here, witch… but I’ll show you there’s no playing with things beyond your knowledge. Open.”

Loki’s eyes widened. The apple of his throat bobbed nervously, and Thor felt a lick of satisfaction in his core; for the first time since he had captured the witch, Loki’s smug bravado faltered slightly.

He yanked Loki’s head back by the soft hair, and when Loki’s lips parted in a yelp, took advantage of the opening. Keeping Loki’s head steady by the neck, Thor pushed into the inviting heat.

Loki’s bound hands instinctively shot up and latched onto Thor’s leather-clad thighs for support. Thor fed him his cock, unheeding of the little choked noises he kept pushing out of Loki’s throat. The heat and the pressure made him heady, and he kept pushing until Loki’s nose pressed into the coarse hair of his groin, until Loki’s throat convulsed around him, until Loki’s fingers dug into his thigh through the leather breeches and clawed at him in instinctive panic.

Thor let him struggle a little, then decided to be merciful and pulled Loki off his cock by the hair, chuckling, delighted, as Loki greedily gulped for air, chest heaving and eyes watering. Tears looked good in his raven lashes. Not so smooth and collected any longer, was he?

“Is this the first cock you've had in your mouth, little witch?”

Loki fixed him with a venomous eyeful – which was rather impressive, considering how out of breath he still was, how wrecked he already looked. Thor dragged a thumb over those shiny, reddened lips.

“You're a pretty one indeed,” he mused to himself. “Would have thought that every one of your previous masters had tested what good this mouth is for.”

“I have no masters but myself,” Loki hissed and attempted to rise.

“You do now,” Thor told him and pushed him down onto the steps of the dais.

He twisted the indignant witch around with delightful ease, turning him so that he fell forwards, bound hands barely managing to land on the lowest step. His knees remained on the top of the dais, two steps higher, which forced his back into a beautifully wanton arch. He scrabbled to keep from slipping onto his chest, but Thor's hold kept him steady by the hips, ensuring that Loki remained where he was. Thor didn't worry about he discomfort the position surely provided to Loki; the witch clearly enjoyed a little roughness. Otherwise he wouldn't have been putting up such resistance, but taken Thor's cock obediently like any other wench instead.

Loki made to immediately rise, but Thor kept him in place with a firm grip on his neck. With his free hand he pushed aside the witch's cloak and rucked up the tunic, bracketing Loki's thighs with his own to restrain any excessive wiggling. Loki's leggings, though of leather, gave easily in Thor's strong hands – he ripped them at their seam. It was purely a show of power; he could have just as well yanked them off. But Loki craved his power. That's why he had called the storm. Now Thor would give it to him.

And it seemed to work: the witch stilled in Thor's iron grip. His breathing grew quicker, more shallow. He tried to rise up again, but the attempt was half-hearted at best. Either Loki had realised there was no escape now, or he had finally given in to his own craving. Or both.

Thor knelt between the witch's legs, settling over his back, his chest to the rucked-up clothing. He brought his hand to Loki's mouth, trailing the thin lips and enjoying the way they pressed together, as if anticipating Thor's intentions.

Thor brushed Loki's ear with his lips and cooed, “Open for me.”

Predictably, his little witch remained stubborn, so Thor lowered his voice. “You know you want to.”

It seemed Loki simply couldn't leave unchallenged anything Thor said. But that was fine. Thor liked when they struggled a little.

“You think you can order me –”

Thor shut him up with fingers in his mouth. He pushed three of them as deep as he could, his cock throbbing with the memory of that delicious heat. Oh, but it would get better soon.

“Get them wet for me, because that's all the slick you'll be getting.”

Loki was visibly seething, but, this time, he complied. He sucked on Thor's fingers almost vindictively, committing fully to the task. Thor growled lowly when the wet serpent's tongue slipped between his fingers, coating them in saliva. He pushed deeper, relishing in the way Loki's throat spasmed around his digits. Oh, Thor would definitely keep him. He would keep this little witch on a leash, never far from Thor, always open and ready for him. He would--

He pulled his fingers out and grabbed Loki's firm ass roughly, cradling Loki's neck in his palm almost tenderly before pushing it down, forcing Loki's chest onto the lowest step of the dais. Loki's arms gave out at Thor's insistence, and, with a grunt, he barely managed to keep his face from hitting the floor.

“You barbaric-- ah!”

Thor plunged two of his wet fingers into the witch's hole, effectively shutting him up. “From now on all you're allowed to use your mouth on is on begging and on my name,” he told Loki, moving his fingers swiftly in and out, not wasting effort on gentleness.

“I don't even know your – ahh – name!”

Thor leant over him and dragged his tongue slowly over the witch's ear. “What name did you pray to when you called for me here?”

“I didn't direct that call at you,” Loki gritted out, dropping his head between his elbows to rid himself of Thor's tongue in his ear.

“Mm, but you said so yourself,” Thor purred, teasing the third finger through Loki's tight rim and relishing the involuntary shudder of the narrow body beneath his. “You called for me.”

“I didn't-- nngh.” Loki's back arched beautifully as Thor worked him loose. “I didn't think--”

“No, you didn't. You didn't think. You didn't expect me, did you? But you craved power, little witch, you dabbled in forces beyond you, and now I am here, and, much like you, I collect what is mine.”

He hit that spot inside his witch for emphasis and Loki made a strangled sound.

“Then get to it,” he snarled as soon as Thor ceased to abuse his sensitive pleasure point.

Thor laughed out loud. “Now now, I know you can beg prettier than that.”

The look the witch gave him then could have made a lesser man tremble in fear. It was pure venom, green and fierce and delicious on Thor's tongue.

“Beg,” he commanded the witch.

“Curse you,” Loki hissed in response.

Thor twisted his fingers inside him. “Beg.”

But Loki only pressed his lips into a thin line, and, though tiny sounds kept pushing through his resistance, he didn’t beg.

Thor tsk'ed. “Stubborn, huh. No matter – you’ll be yet singing my praises as prettily as you did when you begged for me to the skies.”

He spat on his palm, smeared it onto his cock. He took himself in hand and positioned the tip at Loki's entrance. Loki made a last – futile – attempt to wriggle away, but Thor's hold on his hip was bruisingly strong. Enough of foreplay.

He breached Loki in one relentless push, stopping only when his cock had disappeared entirely into the maddeningly tight heat of Loki's ass. A strangled sound, between a gasp and a shout, broke free from Loki's lips. He slumped, dropping his forehead on top of his manacles, his black, wavy tresses falling around his face like a curtain. Thor didn't like it – he wanted to see his witch's face when haughtiness finally dissolved from it in Thor's hands. He supported his weight with one hand on the floor and with the other reached for Loki's hair, twining his fingers in the raven curls and yanking. The position was a little uncomfortable even for him – sheathed deep inside the witch's taut body, kneeling between Loki's thighs, his weight on one arm – but his hand in Loki's hair gave, surprisingly, a good point of balance in addition to baring that face for his hungry eye. The need to begin moving burned in him, to begin taking what was now his and hearing the screams that he knew would follow. But he would give Loki one last chance.

“Beg, little witch,” he whispered, twisting his hand in Loki's hair, turning that sharp face more towards himself.

Loki's mouth was sweetly parted with his shallow pants, lips red from Thor's earlier work with them. Beads of sweat had formed along his hairline, a pretty flush adorned his cheekbones. He looked delectable.

But his wicked green eyes were as rebellious as ever.

“Fuck… you,” he panted.

Thor dropped Loki's hair and draped himself fully over Loki's back, forcing the witch down with his bulk. He gave an experimental push with his hips and grinned when Loki's knees slipped even further apart on the top of the dais. Loki himself managed to stay quiet, but Thor didn't mind – it was all what they called calm before the storm. The position was a little heavy on his hands, but it would also put the gravity behind his thrusts. Oh, his little witch would be getting it good.

He buried his face into Loki's neck, took a long, deep breath. What had Loki called him earlier? Thunder lord?

Thor licked his lips.

Loki had called for thunder. Now Thor would give it to him.

He pulled out of Loki's hole nearly all the way, and slammed back inside with all the force he had been withholding. Loki was so tight – so tight and so hot around Thor. An ordinary man could have lost his mind, presented with such an offering, but Thor was no ordinary man, and once he had got a taste of it, he didn't stop. Couldn't have even if he'd wanted, probably, not with that sweet hole pulling him in, or the nimble body arching and twisting beneath him so deliciously. He rested his chin on Loki's shoulder, cheek to cheek, letting his beard rub against Loki's smooth, damp skin. He took with the ownership of the thunder god that he was, and his little witch, who had so carelessly called for him before, could not but give.

But it wasn't enough. Something was missing: other than the near-silent little sounds Thor kept punching out of him, Loki was biting his teeth together, swallowing down all the pretty prayers Thor knew him to be capable of. That would not do.

“Come on, little witch,” he murmured, sucking on Loki's earlobe and then biting on it, relishing the shivers that shook Loki's body as he did. “Sing for me, as you did before. Call my name – we both know you want to.”

“I called for thunder,” Loki gritted out, eyes screwed shut, arms trembling where they supported his weight and Thor's thrusts on his elbows. “Not for-- not for a regular brute who, hng, who ruts like a dog.”

Thor laughed, full-bellied if somewhat tight from his own efforts. Loki was infuriating… but he at least had some nerve. Thor found he was beginning to quite like it. “Sharp words for someone who takes it like a bitch,” he noted. “But very well, my little witch. You want the thunder?”

He was already getting close, his pleasure mounting with every thrust, and it was high time that the witch finally broke. Loki was trembling all over, already teetering on the edge, Thor could feel it. He would only need one little push.

Electricity hummed all over Thor’s sweaty skin, gathering at his will, waiting for his command to discharge. Thor pulled Loki’s head back and chuckled breathlessly at the green eyes widening in shock as understanding dawned in them. He curled his palm around Loki’s beautiful, pale throat, and bit at the sharp line of his jaw.

“I'll give you the thunder.”

Loki screamed, and screamed again in ecstasy and pain until his voice turned hoarse, and Thor spilled to the sound of his release, into his beautifully convulsing body. Loki slumped onto the floor, drained and listless, and Thor swept his curls aside and tilted Loki’s face up to admire it. The witch's eyes were drooping and dazed, reflecting unfocused light like the emerald on his neck, his cheeks wet with tears and sweat, rubbed red by Thor's beard. He was gasping for breath like a drowning man, each desperate sound like a private prayer to Thor.

Lightning was still dancing on and around them, thunder rolling outside the jarl's hall. Thor kissed Loki's temple softly.

Loki's eyelids fluttered as he slipped into unconsciousness. Thor, rumbling with deep contentment, ran his thumb along the thin, intricate lightning scars now decorating Loki's beautiful pale neck: Thor's mark on him. Loki had fancied he had Thor at his summons – now he himself had become Thor's. Thor’s claim was for ever; he could hardly wait to see his witch’s expression when he’d understand that.

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, and leant to lick along the line of one scar.

“This is just the beginning.”




The morning arrived gradually, wary and quiet after the long, stormy night. It pulled Thor out of his sleep slowly, as if to keep from disturbing him. Thor stretched on the furs languidly, feeling in his every muscle the signs of a good fight and a better fuck, pleasantly sated. He threw his arm to his side, to pull his little witch to him; nothing made a better start for the day than a promise of a good servicing, or a promise of a good battle. Now, Thor was rather in the mood for the former, though, with Loki, fucking admittedly felt a bit like a mixture of both.

His hand landed on nothing but cooled furs.

Thor frowned, blinking his eye open and raising onto his elbow, taking a look around.

Loki was gone. In his place on the furs were only his magic-binding manacles, left behind in a silent taunt.

Thor growled in discontentment and clambered up.

Very well. Now he was in a mood for a good, bloody fight. Loki would have to wait until Thor got his hands on him again. And he would find Loki again – his mark on the little serpent’s skin ensured that. But there would be a time for that later; for now, it was time to set sail.

The winds were calling.