3. The Romantic #4
The object grew in me once more, and as all sense of anything but pressure and pleasure fell away, I let the sensations take me—and watched a bird land upon the railing of the stern. It cocked its head, as if taking in the wideness of my bared hole.
“There we are,” Freyr said. “Are you ready for the real me, Oli?”
Thank the gods . “Yes,” I croaked.
Freyr reached down and slowly pulled out the object inside me.
“Ohhh… fuck .”
How agape I must be now.
Freyr pressed his tip to me and slid inside as slowly as he had pulled out what stretched me. He was still somehow larger, perhaps only because he pulsed with arousal nothing inanimate could mimic, but it made my eyes and mouth water in equal measure, and I surrendered to the expanse.
The bird flew away, but I only barely noticed the flapping of its wings.
As Freyr began to fuck me in earnest, the sheer mass of him made it impossible to do anything but take it.
He aided my legs in wrapping up around him so he might sink inside me deeper, and I felt as though I would be stretched this wide forever once he finished.
That thought pushed me past the peak of any other feeling, and I came with a shudder so deep, it rattled my bones—without Freyr once having touched my cock since the waterfall.
He too seemed lost in sensation, his expression blissful and eyes closed, or perhaps his mind was elsewhere, wishing the body he penetrated belonged to someone else.
The over-sensation of him continuing to fuck me made me feel hot and desperate for the mercy I hadn’t pleaded to be granted before. Then, just when I was about to beg, he returned to me.
“Well done indeed, Oli,” Freyr whispered with a final, deeper thrust and filled me with his seed.
I couldn’t say if I was aware of my body in the immediate minutes afterward.
I knew when Freyr pulled out, and his release followed in a great gush upon the fabrics and furs.
I knew when he gently laid down my quaking legs to rest. But how many minutes went by before I was cognizant enough to turn my head and see him laid out beside me?
“Tell me,” Freyr asked, “have you ever loved, Oli?”
As fuzzy as my mind was, that answer was easy too. “I thought so once, but I am wiser now. I have seen the real thing between others. That is how I know I have never truly felt it. Has Ravnur ever submitted to your stipulation?”
“He has not. But he has never asked to bed me.”
“He wishes for you to ask.”
“You think yourself a seer now?”
“He wishes for you to ask,” I repeated, for no prophecy was needed to know that.
“He would gladly agree to your test of endurance if you worry he cannot handle you. But perhaps, first, a stroll through the wood without plugging him and see what your heart thinks, damaged though it may be. You needn’t be timid with him. Ravnur will not scorn you.”
Freyr’s auburn hair was a beautiful curtain beneath him as he looked up at the clear Alfheim sky. “Have all mortals grown so wise since my last trek to Midgard?”
“Just me.”
He laughed. “It seems Loki chose his emissary well.”
“I think maybe Heimdall chose me.”
“Even better, I’d say, but also, Loki does not take advice lightly.” Freyr allowed me some time to lie and recover—and to mull that over—but eventually, he asked, “Can you move?”
“Somewhat.” I tested with a slight shift.
“Good. Let’s clean you properly.” Freyr leapt to his feet and then hoisted me to mine before I had the chance to protest.
I hissed, but there was no real pain, only an ache and his remaining seed dripping down between my thighs.
Freyr helped me to the railing, braced me against it so I no longer needed his arm about my waist, and climbed onto the railing to dive into the water.
“Freyr!” I called after him. I stared in awe until he resurfaced and yelled up at me.
“You won’t drown! Join me!”
“Are you mad? Movement aside, I can barely stand!”
“So? Swim!” He glided backward through the water, as beautiful with his auburn hair plastered against him as he was dry.
Perhaps all the gods were mad, but a dip in that water would feel amazing to cool my heated skin and cleanse me of sweat and come. “Are you going to ask Ravnur for a stroll?”
“Is that your stipulation for joining me?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes,” Freyr answered softly.
Getting up onto the railing made me groan and grit my teeth, but I made it, readied myself, and jumped.
As soon as I hit the water, everything went dark.
Such comfort. Such warmth. Such a wondrous pillow beneath me, soft fabrics encasing taut thighs.
They felt firm and yet relaxing to doze upon, something I had only ever known in the dimmest memories of my mother’s embrace.
But this was different, and clearly different thighs, for these were in trousers, and the fingers combing through my hair, untied and unbraided, yet somehow dry, though I would swear it should be wet, had curiously pointed nails.
My eyes sprang open, and there was no doubt whose lap my head was in when I saw the greens and sunset colors of his clothing.
“Hush now,” Loki said, raking his nails along my scalp, which felt… possessive in a way but still pleasant. “That pert young ass needs a rest, I think. I’d have saved Freyr for the end, but you’re the farm boy who waxed poetically about nature.”
The imp. I found myself settling in more contentedly upon Loki’s thighs, trying to catalog his smell, like a lush wood after a rainstorm. “My ass does indeed need a rest, thank you, but my belly needs food and ale. I don’t suppose the trickster god can manage that?”
“You call me trickster again?” Loki leaned over me, and I peered up at his pretty face, framed by fiery hair.
Or half his face. One side was still in shadow.
Always in shadow.
“Loki—”
“I haven’t tricked you at all!”
“Um, yet.”
He sucked his teeth and patted my head with a thwap. “Such little faith! Food and ale it is then, while the farm boy’s ass recovers.” He vanished, right out from beneath me, and my head fell upon the cushions of a bench.
I sat up, taking in my surroundings. It seemed to be a small home, similar in style to Heimdall’s, but I could see no stairs to a second-floor bedroom. No door either. No way out of this room at all, with its bench, small table, and nearby kitchen.
Loki didn’t have a hall of his own in Asgard. No stories mentioned one. He was like a specter, haunting the homes of the other gods with his pranks and revelry.
So, where were we?
“If you can walk, my friend, feel free to take a seat at the table,” Loki said from the kitchen. “This trickster knows well how to feast. It’s part of why I’m everyone’s favorite! Or was.”
I snorted. Although, I supposed there were just as many stories of Loki having fun with the other gods, Thor in particular, as ones of him annoying them.
I did as requested, finding movement easier than expected, as if my ass had been treated by a healer, leaving only the faintest of remaining aches.
I was also back in my clothing, despite having leapt into the lake naked.
Alongside Loki’s snake and Heimdall’s horn and all-seeing eye had been added Freyr’s sword.
What other stitching would I receive, I wondered?
With my hair loose, I swept it to one side and let it hang free. Loki set the table with all manner of delicious smelling food and completed our feast with two large mugs of ale before he joined me.
“To our fruitful partnership!” He raised his mug in a toast.
I raised mine in kind. Perhaps Loki was a delight, in the right instances.
Whatever remaining ills I might have had were soothed by that first gulp.
“ Fuck . This is the best ale I’ve ever tasted.”
“Naturally. The food is even better.”
There was everything I could have wanted: meat, cheese, vegetables, bread and butter, fruit and honey. I partook of it all, and rightly praised Loki after every bite. I wouldn’t butter him up the way I had my bread. The praises were genuine. I had never feasted so grandly in all my life.
By our second mugs of ale, I was downright giddy.
“Tell me then, farm boy,” Loki began as my appetite dwindled, stuffed full and content, “what else do you like besides good food and ale?”
“I never actually farmed as any of my thrall tasks, you know.”
“Oh? What did you do?”
“You don’t know?”
“I am not the watchman.” Loki gulped from his own refilled ale, and then rested his chin on his hand, batting long lashes at me like some maiden trying to woo above her station.
Why that was the way I interpreted it, I tried to ignore. “I cared for the horses,” I said, and immediately realized the depth of humor in that, given current company.
Loki grinned.
“One word about me shoveling shit, and I’ll lose my taste for ale.”
“No shit-talking! Understood. What else did you do?”
“I mostly fed and cared for the horses, ensuring those that plowed versus those that were ridden were fit for their tasks. I occasionally helped carry in supplies to the kitchen and stored what was harvested from farming, but my tasks were easier than most others. So as not to diminish my beauty or soft touch.” I sneered at the echo of words Thorsten had once said to me.
“And if you could have chosen something else to do with your life?” Loki asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had the luxury to wonder. Daydreams don’t make reality easier. Although I did like being taught the needle and thread. And woodcarving. Even dyeing fabrics and choosing which threads were best for their stitching had its charms.”
“An artist then!”
“Perhaps.”
“And a lover of stories, yes? You know ours. I’m sure you’ve told them on occasion too.”
“From time to time.”
“That’s artistry as well—storytelling. And so much better than warcraft, if you ask me.”
“I won’t argue with that.” I had never known war, but the prospect seemed terrifying, to fight and die for something you might not even care about.
The warmth in my belly from the ale made my vision hazy, similar to after Freyr’s formidable fucking, and by extension, Loki seemed hazier too. Softer. Prettier.
When he licked his lips of his next gulp of ale, I followed the trail of pink with a sense of pining to taste him too.
“You’re staring,” Loki said.
“You stared first.”
“Just looking for faults.”
“ Faults ?”
“There must be something wrong with you.”
“Fuck you too!” I spat. “Just because you have so many faults doesn't mean I have to.”
There was that softness again, a little less grin in his smile, but just when I thought I was seeing it, it was gone. “Would you call ingenuity a fault?” he asked. “Would you call a penchant for chaos evil? Many have.”
“Are you admitting to being chaos incarnate?”
“‘Tis the nature of Jotuns! After all… in the beginning ,” Loki boomed, like some practiced storyteller, which he clearly was, “there was fire and ice and the void between. Chaos. Disorder. Darkness! But when the flames from Muspelheim, the realm of fire, and the frost and frigid winds from Niflheim, realm of ice, met within the void, henceforth was born the first Jotun, first of my brethren.”
Loki’s voice was enchanting, and I found myself leaning closer and closer as he spoke. The room seemed dimmer too, with the only light coming from us.
“So you see, Oli, I exist because two opposing forces that never should have met became something new in their joining. Chaos incarnate indeed! May chaos reign—”
“Not only you though.” I stopped him short. I really couldn’t resist. “All life sprang forth from that joining, which, by your logic, means I am as much a child of chaos as you are.”
“Well—”
“And no, I don’t think chaos means evil. It’s simply the opposite of order, of monotony. Spontaneity can represent some of the greatest joys in life, faults and all. The greatest beauties. The greatest…” I stared at Loki’s lips. “Pursuits.”
“Careful,” he said in a lower husk. “You’re still telling a god he has faults.”
“You started it.”
There . Softness again in the curves of his lips. The room was so dark now, even the visible side of Loki’s face was shadowed, so the second half of his pretty bowed lips was hidden.
“Ingenuity isn’t a fault though, no,” I continued. “You are certainly ingenious with your shapeshifting. A horse. A bird. A fly.”
“I was a flea, actually, when I snuck into Frigg’s room to prove she’d been an unfaithful wife to Odin.”
I leaned closer, almost enough to bump my nose to his, because I wasn’t talking about stories anymore. “I think you were a fly.”
Loki’s gaze darted to my lips then, but it was me who bridged the gap.
His finger intercepted me. “I’d say you’re in the right state of mind now, yes?” Loki stood, and I teetered forward with the imbalance of his loss.
“Right state for what?”
“A meeting with my daughter.”
“… what ?”
“This old trickster does swindle on occasion, but do forgive me.” Loki was backing away as I spun in my chair. “I wanted you thoroughly relaxed and pampered to not be too angry with me when, truth be told, your next stop? Is Hel.”
“But—”
The floor dropped out from under me, and instead of stealing a kiss, I plummeted into unknown depths.
LOKI
Damn it.
Damn it .
Oli was everything he was supposed to be.
Spontaneity can represent some of the greatest joys, beauties, and pursuits in life, eh? I hoped he still felt that way after meeting Death .
He had faults a plenty, and not a one of them was something I couldn’t tolerate. Not a one was a part of him that I didn’t want to know better.
If only my faults were as simple.