9. The Swindled #2
Before I could wrench my arm free, I found myself somewhere much higher.
I teetered at the top of Yggdrasil. The very top. I was on the highest branch, above Asgard, above every realm, and as distant as they appeared, I could see them like globes, like apples on a tree back home.
As I stared, breathless, at the expanse below me… Loki pushed me to plummet to the worlds below.
“Loki!” I screamed.
That bastard .
He wouldn’t let me die. He wouldn’t let me land and splatter upon the gleaming halls of Asgard, or on that altar where he’d first snatched me like a lamb to slaughter. I knew he wouldn’t.
But it was still fucking terrifying falling like a shooting star out of the heavens!
A giant eagle, large enough to carry me, swooped down beneath me and caught me on its back.
It dove with me as I clung to its feathers, down, down, at such impossible speeds that I had to close my eyes to keep them from stinging.
I was thrown from its feathers just as unceremoniously and toppled safely onto a bed of grass.
I sat up with a heave, trying to decipher if I was on Midgard or in the field where Loki and I had been talking, when the eagle landed beside me.
“Prick!” I snapped at him, because of course it was Loki, and he proved it by transforming as he neared me, still with his tunic torn.
“Why, why do I want you?” he roared.
“Because I’m a delight!” I roared back, leaning on my hands, too breathless to get to my feet.
“Just like you are. And I will not put up with your tricks. I would also never hate you for them, tempted as I am right now. Your tricks, your wrongs, your mistakes, are part of what makes you, you. What makes you as human as the rest of the gods, who’d have guessed?
Only us mortals don’t get second chances after we die.
“So, one: don’t ever fucking do that to me again!”
Angry as Loki was trying to be, I saw his mouth twitch like before.
“And two: since you do get a second chance, don’t waste it.
Don’t believe you shouldn’t be forgiven, not if you ask for it, not if you mean it and actually change and try to be better.
Regardless of if some scars never heal. Scars don’t make you less insufferable. Or less delightful. They’re just you .”
The fury in the trickster was reduced again to a pool of wetness in his eyes and a sag of his shoulders. “ Fuck you ,” he said, blocking the sun with how he hovered, so he seemed haloed by it. “I hate it when Heimdall is right.”
He fell upon me, gripped the front of my tunic like he might tear it from me the way he had his own, and kissed me with the lunging speed of a snake.
Fucking finally .
I took hold of Loki’s cheeks, but as soon as my hand landed on his scars, he tried to pull away. I stroked the twisted tissue with my thumb, not letting him go—I refused to let him go—until he relented and kissed me deeper.
I rolled us in the grass, getting atop him, and started to paw at Loki’s belt to unfasten it.
I needed it gone. For all that torn and dangling fabric to be gone.
As soon as his belt was undone, his tunic fell open with a final, meager tear needed to rend it completely. Then I reached for his trousers.
Loki rolled us the other way, getting himself back on top, and I felt the give of something plush beneath us. We were on a bed. Where, I couldn’t guess, but it was a bed somewhere, just me and Loki.
“You could warn me before transporting me places.” I tried to pull him back down, but he resisted.
He was on my hips, chest bare and trousers open, but he still looked conflicted.
After all this, he wasn’t sure. “For fuck’s sake, Loki!
” I reached again for Loki’s scars. He needed them touched.
He needed to know they didn’t need to be hidden.
“It’s okay. Let me help you. Please. Let me worship you like you deserve, so you can finally forgive yourself and give us both what we want. ”
Loki didn’t shrug off my touch, but he still winced from it. “I told you the gods didn’t need worshipping.”
“ You do,” I said. Then I waited. I waited until I felt the resistance against my hold give way, and only then did I try to pull him into another kiss.
“Just don’t act smug about it,” he said, and licked inside my mouth.
“That’s rich coming from — ”
He pulled away from me.
“Okay! Okay.” I held onto him but waited for him to concede.
Slowly, Loki eased back in, lying atop me. “How do you want me then, Oli, almost former thrall and quaker of the heavens?”
Flatterer. “Meaning?”
“As a man?” Loki brought my hand into his trousers and wrapped my fingers around his cock, helping me stroke.
I got lost in the feel of him, until he rolled us again, putting him on the bottom, and slid my hand up to a…
Breast?
“Or a woman?” he— she —said, in a slightly higher pitch but still very much Loki.
I looked at her, not all that changed really, but the feminine differences were, admittedly, not as alluring to me as Thor in a dress. If anyone could come close to convincing me of the merits though, it would be him. “You are ravishing either way, but not my preference like this, I’m afraid.”
“As a beast then?” Loki asked.
Before I could question that option, I was rolled yet again, returning Loki on top, as he—definitely he , given I felt a fresh cock press into my hip—shifted into something larger.
The hands pinning my shoulders grew claws where his pointed nails had been, and I watched his muscles bulge and fur sprout over most of him.
His ears became that of a wolf, his teeth elongated, and his eyes took on an animal’s glow.
I almost expected the full form of Fenrir to be upon me, but Loki remained in that half-turned state.
Where there wasn’t fur held a tint of gray to his skin, and his eyes were more captivating than ever with that glow.
“Are you mocking me, Loki, or can I admit how enticing this option is?”
A growl formed in his throat like a purr. Like an animal’s laugh. “You can have me any way you want me, Oli. If you want me,” he echoed my words back to me.
“I want you,” I said. And yet, for a moment, I thought he looked sad again.
He began to undress me, slowly, even with claws risking tearing the fabric.
But slow he went, undoing ties, parting my tunic, sliding his claws up my stomach beneath it once my belt was gone.
After he’d pulled my trousers to my knees, he left them there.
Left me twisted in fabric with nipples to knees exposed and tilted my hips back to get at my entrance.
My first thought was how grateful I was that Odin had cleansed me of him. I was clean again. Fresh for Loki. New. I wanted him to spill inside me and to never know the spill of another again.
As Loki’s tongue, long like a wolf’s, licked my rim, and then licked higher, coiling around my balls and further up my length, I pondered that thought.
Did I mean it? Did I want Loki for more than a night?
“Well? What do you think of the god of monsters?” He licked my tip, and then tilted my hips down and took my hand to bring it to his cock again. It was larger like the rest of him in this form, with a noticeably thicker knot partway down the shaft.
That was new.
Loki’s tunic was in shreds, lost, and what remained of his trousers disintegrated to join those tatters. He rocked me back again and moved my hand on him, as if I were the one pulling him to me. So, I kept hold of his thickness and brought it to my entrance.
Loki slid from my grasp, rolled me back further, and plunged in his tongue where I’d expected his cock. His claws dug into my hips like they might puncture me and draw blood, but they weren’t nearly so unforgiving, and I would have welcomed any scratches or grooves left behind.
“Monster… is subjective,” I groaned.
“Yes?” he asked between thrusts of his tongue, “Do you like coming undone? Begging to release, while driven toward madness?”
Those were Thorsten’s words. Spoken to throw me? To hurt me? I hated that I’d thought I did like it with Thorsten, but what would make me like it… well. "Yes… but only with you.”
Loki pulled up, tongue slithering out of me.
Even with the gray to his skin and fur in places, his scars were there.
I didn’t shy from touching them. Not now.
Not ever. Not the ones on his face, or down his side where they gave way to the thickest of his fur.
His red hair contrasted this form so beautifully.
“Only with you,” I said again, and as Loki loomed over me, he pressed his tip to where he’d wetted me and began to push.
I’d had mammoth-sized Freyr, Yggdrasil’s branches, and the whole of the Wild Hunt with me—potentially. Father of Fenrir with a wolf’s dick was a fitting climax.
Once his head was in, Loki pushed in deeper until the next resistance. His knot. Meaning this was the halfway point, and already, I felt full. Filled. But if his knot matched or even exceeded the full girth of Freyr, I knew I could take it.
I wrapped my legs up around Loki’s waist and tugged him closer.
The knot popped in, and my mind emptied.
The moan that left me became more wrecked the deeper he slid.
Loki began to rock once he was seated, faster and faster like a rutting beast, and I remained limp, allowing him full hold over my body.
It was rough and raw and feral, because all foreplay had been the leadup. Our banter. Our fights. Our denial. No longer. But because there had been so much leading up to this, it was over far too soon.
Loki growled, having rut enough that he spilled, but I hadn’t come with him.
He didn’t touch my cock. Or move, not even to pull free and let his seed dribble out of me. Instead, he pulsed within me larger, stretching my insides wider.
“ Fuck .”
“Indeed. I could stay like this for a good long while,” he said, and licked the rim of my ear.