5. The Glutton
Chapter five
The Glutton
LOKI
I wasn’t going to look.
I wasn’t.
Not this time.
Not this time!
I did not need to watch.
But fuck me . I went anyway, right on Oli’s heels.
OLI
Which realm I had been transported to was immediately apparent. Mostly because of the array of drunken, passed out dwarves littering the hall—a massive feasting hall with walls that gleamed as if made of gold.
Nidavellir.
The dwarves, or dark elves as they were sometimes called, might be shorter than the average man, but their ingenuity with crafting and building meant everything they made was grand, fit for giants.
Or for visiting gods from other realms who were as large as giants.
As I pivoted to take in the scene of great revelry, which had long since ended, one partaker remained in good spirits, still eating and drinking at the long table.
“You’re no dwarf!” He boomed—the real reason he was thought to command storms.
Thor, just as I’d seen him in Balder’s sweet memory with his brothers.
Could lightning really fly from his fingertips and his voice command clouds to roll in with a downpour? Right now, he looked more like a gluttonous warrior having his fill after a battle. But the battling was all over now, wasn’t it?
“On some quest, mortal?” Thor turned to me while taking a bite of meat off a bone. He was a beast of a man that made me wonder how close he might be in size to Freyr. Not as large, according to lore, but proportionate to his towering height and broadness, with muscles bulging.
He had removed any tunic or true armor, and instead, was bare chested with leather straps crisscrossing his pecs, holding pauldrons to his shoulders lined with fur.
From his belt hung leather straps as well like the mimic of a tunic, but his thighs were naked too.
There was an undergarment there but no trousers, and I could see clear to the tops of his hips through those strips of leather, and the shapely curve of the ass he sat upon.
“‘Tis rare to see your kind in these halls. Have a seat! I am in need of more company, having outlasted all my friends.” He laughed.
He had outlasted them indeed. I didn’t see a single dwarf awake.
As I moved toward Thor over slumbering and even drooling dwarves, I took in more of the warrior god.
His hair was my color with a few darker highlights in bloodier red, a curly mane, almost as wild as Freyr’s and as long as Heimdall’s to his waist. Except one side had a deep, scalp-close shave, and upon his skin there was a blue tattooed rune often associated with his name that meant thunder .
His beard was the fullest of the gods so far, to mid-chest, braided and adorned with iron baubles. Iron gloves rested on the table beside him, with the shape of Mjolnir, Thor’s fabled hammer, branded upon their wrists, for they helped him to wield it.
If Freyr and Balder were the most beloved of the gods among themselves, then Thor was the most beloved among mortals.
I had yet to meet a single noble who didn’t wear a finely crafted pendant that looked like Mjolnir.
More for fashion these days than belief, but still.
Free men and slaves crafted our own crude approximations, because to embody Thor was to be brave, strong, fierce, and to survive any hardship.
“I am on something of a quest, yes.” I sat in the chair beside him—empty because its previous owner was passed out beneath it.
Loki had sent me away after all. I had no choice but to do what he’d summoned me for. So what did Thor need?
“May I ask why you are feasting with the dwarves, and not in your own hall in Asgard? I hear Bilskirnir is the largest of the gods’ homes. Perfect for… a celebration, is it?”
“Always!” Thor raised his mug before downing its contents.
His fur-lined bracers bore the shape of Mjolnir too.
“And Bilskirnir is a formidable hall. I would rattle the walls of any smaller home with my merrymaking. Why, I quake the very earth with my festivities!” He stomped what I realized were bare feet, and the hall seemed to tremble, or maybe that was distant thunder.
“I have no doubt. Yet you are here, not home.”
“Dwarven craftsmanship can withstand me just as well.” Thor shrugged and tore into a piece of bread, speaking while he chewed. “Especially in these deep, fortified caverns!”
That was right, we weren’t simply in some golden hall but deep within the cave systems that made up Nidavellir, almost as deep within the bowels of Yggdrasil as Hel itself.
“After all, my dwarven brothers built my best toys. Sindri still thinks of Mjolnir as half his.” Thor tapped the tabletop, and since there were no dwarves sprawled upon it, I peered beneath.
Thor’s hammer, which could fell mountains and slay monsters, was being cuddled by a dwarven man like it was some childhood doll stuffed with sheep’s wool.
“Now eat, mortal! Drink! Feast and revel if you are to sit with me! Which of my stories do you know?” Despite his voracious eating and knocking back of more ale, it was truly godly that nothing caught in his hair or beard.
“Many,” I said, filling the plate before me and securing my own mug of ale, “but I would be honored to hear them told by Thor himself.” Perhaps that was what was needed first, what Thor truly wanted.
For someone to listen.
I heard a groan and caught sight of a few dwarves sneaking from the hall, as if I had just given them the diversion they’d been waiting for.
Thor clunked his mug against mine, not noticing the retreat. “Well then! The most harrowing of my adventures began…” he said, and little did I know, but time was about to stand still.
“I cleaved a whetstone in two with a mighty heave of her!” Thor’s pounding on the table roused me from my daze.
My head was swimming from too much ale and a full belly, and I was in dire need of my own nap like so many of the dwarves around us. Maybe not many for much longer, for more and more had escaped while Thor waxed on—and on, and on —about his greatest exploits.
“Straight through to slay the Jotun Hrungnir who had thrown the whetstone at me. Oh, what a fine hammer she is, my Mjolnir.”
She? I would have guessed a hammer to be a he, but who was I to judge?
I had prompted Thor initially, urging him to tell story after story, though he hardly needed encouragement. Eventually, it no longer seemed like he needed someone to listen, so much as enjoyed hearing himself talk.
“Eat up!” Thor smacked my back with his mighty paw, and I felt my stomach lurch from the jolt. “We have more to feast upon and tales to tell!”
Please no .
Oh Loki, you snake .
“Not all can keep up with you, great Thor,” I said, fit to bursting, and not in the way I’d imagined of this encounter. “While it pleases me to partake, I was sent to aid you.”
“ Aid me?” His voice sounded suddenly less friendly, and I blinked through my haze of drunkenness at his narrowed eyes, as he slammed his mug on the table.
Brave and noble, yes, but Thor was also the god who reveled most in bloodshed. “I-I mean… in as much as any celebrating needs a second to be enjoyed! And beyond just feasting! I was sent courtesy of the god who knows you best, after all.”
Thor leveled me with a steady stare, and I imagined Mjolnir being plucked from beneath the table to cave in my head.
Then he cracked a fresh smile instead of my skull.
“Loki sent you? To help me finish my meal, he sent me another one?”
“Another… meal?”
“What else? Whether drinking, feasting, fighting, or fucking, I devour all before me.” Thor stood. Even seated, he had towered over me. Now I felt like a gnat beneath a bear. “Or have you not heard enough of my tales?”
“I’ve heard!” I pushed my own chair back. “But I would rather know. I would rather experience. No story could be as impressive as a demonstration.”
Thor seized me by the waist, hoisted me onto the table as if I weighed no more than a babe, and spread me out upon it like his next course.
This was more like it. “Then know you shall. Like how I fucked after every victory whichever willing partner was nearest, from fellow warriors to my zestful bride after securing her new hair when Loki cut it.”
I would have groaned at the start of yet another story if that didn’t give me pause.
Sif. Thor was married. Many of the gods were, but Sif was one of the most well-known spouses, with no indication that she might have left Thor like Freyr’s wife had.
“Worry not of my wife’s wrath!” Thor boomed.
“We are neither jealous of each other’s bedmates.
We are each of such powerful appetite that we are free to feast as we desire.
” He gripped the front of my tunic and tore it from my body like I’d had Heimdall tear his in two, only Thor tore mine from me completely and tossed it away like scraps.
Loki could reform it. Probably.
Jealous wives hadn’t occurred to me, but I pushed such thoughts from my mind, as Thor plucked my boots off and tore my trousers and undergarments into tatters too. My cock bobbed with excitement. How it wasn’t completely spent yet, I took as more godly magic.
Thor ran his rough, powerful, mammoth hands over my skin before parting my legs to take in my prick.
He nodded with a lick of his lips. Then he removed his belt.
Like his bracers and iron gloves, the center of the belt bore a depiction of Mjolnir, and the leather straps were attached to its base, dangling as he held it aloft.
But rather than drop the belt, he clasped it around me.
It tightened on its own to fit me, and a surge of lightning filled my veins, making me gasp from the exhilaration, feeling stronger than I had ever known. The wonderment of the sensation made me moan once I had caught my breath, and my cock bobbed higher from out of its skirt.
“You will need this to withstand me,” Thor rumbled, “or I am likely to break you, mortal.”