Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/636219.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Avengers_(2012), Thor_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Loki/Sigyn, Angrboða/Loki, Loki/Svaðilfari, Loki/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      Loki_(Marvel), Odin_(Marvel), Frigga_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel), Angrboða_|
      Angerboda, Sleipnir, Fenrir
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Abusive_Relationship, Sexual_Abuse, Sexual_Coercion,
      Intersex!Loki, Shapeshifting, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Self-Discovery,
      self-hate, SEADLA_Verse
  Series:
      Part 3 of SEADLA_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-12 Completed: 2013-04-12 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 5411
****** Loki: Bodies and Soul ******
by TerresDeBrume
Summary
     The thing is: Loki is a shapeshifter.
     That means several bodies for only one soul, but that's the easy
     part.
     The hard part is finding one you feel comfortable with.
      
     Or: Loki and his body as viewed through four big steps of his sexual
     life.
Notes
     Story Betaed by Vicky. Thanks a lot for the correction <3
      
     The warnings are here for a reason, and a lot of them apply to
     chapter two of the fic. If you feel unsure about what they mean/imply
     exactly, don't hesitate to ask for clarifications here or on my
     Tumblr!
      
     Likewise, if you think this story is missing a tag, please tell me
     so. I used all those I could think of but if it's not enough, I'd
     rather know it so I can correct the situation, thanks.
     Lastly, though this fic is a prequel of sorts to SEADLA, it is not
     necessary to have read it to enjoy Loki: Bodies and Soul
***** A little more than a boy *****
It feels like a knife is stabbing repeatedly through his gut every time he
moves, laughs, or even breathes. It's like a fist, closing over his insides and
twisting until all he can think about is the painful discomfort of it, unable
to distract himself even with the most fascinating books.
Loki wishes he could just leave the table and go lie down in his chambers with
the curtains drawn and with only silence for company. His chest hurts, his back
hurts, his head hurts, and no matter how much he wipes at his legs, Loki can't
get rid of the feeling of wetness running down his thighs, warm and thicker
than sweat.

"Loki," Frigga asks, brow furrowed in concern, "are you unwell? You look pale
and you barely touched your meal."
"I am not very hungry mother," the boy says, "May I take my leave?"
"But we're having cake for dessert!" Thor protests just as Frigga allows Loki
to leave.

Loki throws a disgusted glance at his brother with his sauce-covered cheeks,
then leaves the table and goes to his room. He disrobes with a sigh of relief,
glad to be let out of a meal he couldn't have enjoyed.
He knows quite well what Thor's friends would say: Sickly Loki, poor mommy's
boy with his frail body and his wavering health. He used to be just as healthy
as the other boys until a few decades ago when he started experiencing terrible
cramps and mood-swings that left him tired and irritated nearly every month,
sometimes for weeks at a time. It's uncomfortable and painful and ridiculous,
and he's had enough of hearing boys compare him to a fragile flower or
something... Loki isn't a girl!
One look between his legs will prove that... Right?

Loki sighs with contentment as the silk of his bed sheets brushes his skin,
causing his over-sensitive penis to twitch with interest. He doesn't know how
or why, but Loki noticed lately that each time his illness returns, his body
always feels particularly receptive to pleasure, as if the nerves of his skin
were multiplied, his senses heightened to the point where they are just short
of overwhelming... And Loki doesn't feel any remorse in exploiting this
peculiarity -finally, one thing he has that others might envy him for if they
knew about it.

He shifts under the cover, enjoying the brush of silk against his nipples and
the way they perk up at the coolness of it. Slowly, almost teasingly, he
caresses his sides, his thighs, feeling his cock harden with every stroke until
he reaches down to seize it, brushing the head against his sheet.
Loki breathes deeply through his nose and spreads his legs, one hand teasing at
his nipple while the other strokes his cock at a lazy pace, occasionally
brushing against his balls.
Heat spreads through his loins and into his thighs, and Loki spreads his legs
further to allow his hand more access as he quickens the rhythm of his wrist.
He bites down on a moan, pushing against the mattress to give himself more
leverage, and reaches down with his free hand to massage his balls. The skin of
his scrotum, just behind his balls, has always been more sensitive than any
other part of his body, including the head of his cock, and when he pushes
against it Loki feels pleasure shoot right through him, making him gasp,
closing his eyes to pretend he can push his finger inside him there.
Sometimes he wishes the skin between his legs were open so he could truly
finger himself to completion, enjoy the sensation of fingers inside him,
perhaps something bigger if he could devise a way.

And Loki comes to the crazy idea of a cock tucked in the flesh between his legs
and falls back onto the mattress, skin burning with pleasure and hair damp with
sweat.
He turns onto his belly, exchanges his pillow for a fresh one, and falls asleep
without even bothering to clean himself.
***** Like a crab with a broken shell *****
Chapter Summary
     Magic and willpower aren't of much use when you forget you have them.
Chapter Notes
     First of all, thanks to Vicky for betaing the fic <3
     Secondly, this is the chapter that contains the conjugal rape and
     emotional abuse, please proceed with caution!
“It’s a mystery, Your Graces. All the texts agree that a shapeshifter can only
become with child if she was already a female before her transformation. It
should have been impossible for Svadilfari to impregnate Prince Loki.”
“Yet impregnate him he did,” Frigga says, voice stern. “Are there many books on
the subject?”
“No, Your Grace,” the instructor says, voice trembling. Loki deduces that she
is wringing her hands from the movement of her elbows. “I only know of two
stored in the libraries of the realm. Very few witches wield the power to
change their skin, even fewer wizards do, and those who are naturally born with
the skill are rarer still.”

Hidden inside the walls, in the dark passageways servants use to attend to the
guests during the feasts, Loki stands very still, fingers digging deep into the
soft flesh of his belly, where the scar left from Sleipnir’s birthing still
stings whenever he moves too fast.
Lady Loki they call him, little ergi boy with his big fat belly, leaving behind
him a trail of whispers and queer looks, as if he ever asked to be with child.
Still, Loki worries mainly about his son’s welfare... how is he supposed to
provide for the boy -for he is a boy, be it with eight legs and a muzzle- if he
is incapable of protecting himself?
Loki wishes he could go to his parents for help, but he dares not. Frigga is
uncomfortable around the topic of her grandson, despite her efforts to be
supportive, and Odin... Loki has no idea what Odin thinks, for the king refused
to express any of his thoughts on the matter.

“You will not discuss any of this with my son,” he says now, “nor anyone else,
or you shall face terrible consequences.” The instructor nods with a frightened
tremble, crooked back bending even more under the All-Father’s stare. “I, Odin
All-Father, hereby declare that Sleipnir is to become my royal steed and be
treated with all the care that position deserves. No one will speak of his
parentage, nor use the word ergi ever again.”

Beside her husband, Frigga frowns and opens her mouth to protest, but Odin
raises his voice and the boom of it drowns any protest the queen could have
made:

“The King of All has spoken! Let my word be law.”

The old witch gasps, but nods and bends a little more in a grotesque salute,
and Loki feels a thin trickle of blood drip from the scar in his belly, the
pain of it mingling with the taste of salt on his lips. He turns and runs
toward his bedchambers, the life-long aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth
turning to metallic hatred for the first of many, many a time.
                                     {ooo}

Loki sobs loudly, like a child, salt and snot spilling on his lips and into his
mouth as he wipes the worst of it with the sleeves of his dress. Oh, how he
loathes the taste! It feels to him like he tasted naught but this ever since he
left Asgard. He had hoped to grow strong, to learn the magic of women, as he
thought was his nature, and then he would have gone back to Asgard for his
son... but he learned to cry instead.
What a fool he was to think the problem rested in Asgard! What a simpleton. He
ought to have known it was not so, he ought to have known better than to try
and yet... his teacher had told Odin that only those who were female in the
first place could grow with child while transformed, and Loki thought,
stupidly, that maybe that was the solution. Maybe if he could give himself
teats and a cunt, things would go better.
Only now, all he has is a ragged dress, drenched cheeks, and an empty house,
without even a husband to protect him. He wonders what he did to deserve so
dire a fate.

The door opens in front of him, and Loki squints in the sudden light,
Svartalfheim’s afternoon barely warming the outermost layers of his skin like
the ghost of a lover’s kiss. Loki’s heart leaps in his throat, and his stomach
tightens with the violence of a contraction -and he would know, wouldn’t he?
Angrboda is tall and proud, standing straight in the solid boots and boiled
leather he wears, his gaze speculating as it falls to Loki and the the messy
state of his face and hair.

“Were you crying?” Angrboda asks, and Loki nods, sick with nerves.
“I thought you were gone,” he admits. “I thought you’d left me.”
“Of course not,” Angrboda answers, but it isn’t enough to loosen the knot
inside Loki -if anything, it feels like it’s tightening. “I would never do
that. You would be lost without me “-Loki nods, a sob escaping from his lips-
“and your teats are much too beautiful to leave.”

Sometimes, Loki remembers how the men of the court would speak of women, and
how he always resented hearing them reduce the baseborn wenches to their teats
and face. He used to think there was more to a woman or a girl than that, even
a whore -but then, what does he know? He was a child, nothing more.
Angrboda’s hand has slipped inside Loki’s dress, and the calluses of his palm
scratch at Loki’s nipple, feeling like shards of wood as his husband palms him
roughly, hungrily, like a cat playing with its prey.

“I don’t want to hear any of this nonsense about coupling as a man though,”
Angrboda says, one hand unlacing the front of Loki’s dress while the other
pulls the hem of it up his thigh until it reaches his cunt, dry and cold in the
autumn chill. “A real man fucks only cunts, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I could have both,” Loki says without thinking, his closed thighs preventing
his husband from advancing his hand further. Angrboda frowns at that, fingers
pressing against Loki’s sex so hard it becomes painful, and Loki gasps.
“Both?” Angrboda says, a warning note in his voice -his free hand is unlacing
his breeches now, and Loki can see that he is hard already. “Like a Frost
Giant?”
“Frost Giants don’t have-”
“Of course they do!” Angrboda says with a sneer as he frees his cock, and it
stands between him and Loki, angry red and almost menacing. Loki wishes he
could ask his husband to cover himself again -but then, why should he? It is
not Angrboda’s fault Loki’s female body has such trouble feeling pleasure.
“Frost Giants have a cock as well as a cunt, is that what you want? To have me
fuck a Frost Giant?” Angrboda sounds angrier now, and Loki has to tense all the
muscles in his body so he doesn’t jump as he promises:
“No! No, no, no, I swear I don’t! I didn’t know!”
“That’s your problem,” Angrboda says, pushing Loki back on the bed and climbing
over him, “You know nothing. But we’ll correct that, don’t worry.”

His hands have started touching Loki again, roaming up his legs, his thighs,
his breasts. They’re rough and too strong, almost brutal, but Loki knows it is
his fault for angering his husband -he should have known better... having both
sexes -ha! How much of a fool does he have to be? With ideas like that, no
wonder his second child was a serpent.
Angrboda lifts Loki’s skirts up to his waist and pulls on the lapels of his
dress, exposing his sex and breasts to the cold air of their room -the only
room in their house, really- then puts his nose between Loki’s legs and inhales
deeply, nuzzling at Loki’s thighs to spread them apart.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a frown, “Is that the kind of welcome you
give to your husband? Are you not happy I came back?”
“I am,” Loki says, spreading his legs with tears pushing at the back of his
throat, “I am. I’m sorry. I am very happy.”

Angrboda grunts his approbation and spit-slicks himself before he bends to kiss
Loki’s breasts and enters him in one painful thrust.
Loki covers his face with his hand and bites his lips, willing his magic to
give him a beautiful child this time -not a son, not even a big one, just a
beautiful child, one who would take after them both.


When the child comes, she is both pink and blue, and Loki will not realize the
irony of it until many centuries later, when he realizes that both he and
Angrboda had mixed parentage.

The next time Angrboda comes home and demands a warm welcome after that, Loki
wishes for a fierce son, who will want nothing to do with Angrboda, a child who
would help him escape.
He is not as surprised or disappointed as he should be when Fenrir’s claws tear
his way out of Loki’s womb, and the first thing his son does is tear his father
to shreds.

(Would that he’d suffered as much as I did, Loki thinks as the blood Fenrir
spilled pools about him, and his last thought before he falls unconscious
serves to hope Hela will find it in herself to be as cruel as she is
beautiful.)
***** Man or woman makes no matter *****
Chapter Summary
     Sometimes you get things that are way better than what you expected.
     In times like this, you try not to be picky.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“How are you going to bed her though?” One of the women -he doesn’t know which-
quips in Loki’s direction, “We can hardly see any prick there!”
“It’s the sight of you that made it so small, crone!” Loki replies, and he
hears Sigyn laugh further up the corridor.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” she laughs at some point, “I am to be unspoiled
when I come to my lord husband!”
“Why fair lady,” Fandral’s voice says, “I couldn’t agree more, and I can only
hope he’ll remember to be a husband rather than a wife!”

The words are like a bucket of ice thrown in Loki’s face, and he freezes in the
hands of his mother’s courtiers, their giggles like hundreds of needles
piercing even his skin, thickened by years of jabs and malevolent words. He
allows them to deposit him in the bedroom, naked as a babe, and suddenly even
the prospect of being finally married to the woman he loves can’t calm him...
what if she took Fandral seriously? What if she’s waiting to see what choice
he’ll make?

Loki feels ridiculous for his self-consciousness, but he doesn’t cry, as all
his tears were spent during Fenrir’s birth and his son’s subsequent farce of a
trial. His face is boiling, but his heart clenches with cold and his stomach
feels leaden as he slides his hands in front of his desperately limp manhood,
hiding the coarse red hair there to try and make the scars fade into the
background of his skin.
They don’t hurt anymore, but they are still there, even after months of
drinking the juice of Idunn’s apples in larger quantities than usual -they will
never go. He will forever bear the mark of Fenrir’s teeth and claws, and the
spell he cast on his son will forever be imprinted in the flesh of his thighs,
pale strips of shining skin framing his sex until the end of his days. He
managed not to think about it these past months, having truly believed no one
would ever see them again -he has insisted on bathing alone since he came back-
but now he can’t help but worry about them.
What will Sigyn think of him?

“My lord,” she is saying, standing naked in the moonlight of his -of their
chambers, “Are you alright?’

She sounds playful even as she says it, but Loki doesn’t hear much past ‘my
lord’ and the wall of courtesy they’d taken down a long time ago. He can feel
the scar of Sleipnir’s birthing scar itch low on his belly, remembers how the
healer had to use his own throwing daggers to free the foal from his womb,
remembers--the warm feeling of fingers over his drag Loki out of his thoughts
and he looks into Sigyn’s eyes, filled with all the love Asgard never had for
him, and none of the distrust and content they gave him.

“Loki,” Sigyn says with a reassuring smile, “you need not be so worried. I take
Fandral’s words exactly for what they are: a cruel and undeserved jab. There
was never any chance that he might have swayed my decision to wed you.”
“There is truth in that, though,” Loki says, voice barely above a whisper. “You
know I can....”
“Of course I do,” Sigyn cuts him off with a peck to his lips, “You were a woman
when we first met, have you forgotten that?”
"No," Loki protests, "of course not, I merely want you to know that you don't
have to--"
"I know," Sigyn interrupts. She kisses him again, her lips soft and tender
against his, then looks him in the eye and says: "But I want to."

Loki's hands literally fall to his sides as she says it, surprise cutting all
the strength from his arms. Did he hear correctly? Surely she can't mean what
he just heard, it would be ludicrous... Wouldn't it? Unless perhaps....

"Do you prefer women then?" he asks, breath catching in his throat and stomach
coiling with something he doesn't want to remember.
"Some nights," Sigyn nods, "Other nights I prefer men. I want you every night
though. Man or woman makes no matter."

He knew about the man part already.
He knew because on the first night they shared a bed after stealing from their
bed chambers, they spent half the night telling each other what they would do
on their wedding night in tasteful but unashamed details. Loki knows of Sigyn's
fascination for his hair and her desire to have him inside her, and he knows
how she wants him to kiss her breasts until she comes just from that.
They never discussed the fact that he can turn into a woman if he so desires,
which is why Sigyn's proclamation nearly leaves him speechless, until he
manages to mouth 'do you?' And Sigyn's smile broadens, curling with a playful,
seductive edge.

"Shall I show you?"

She tilts her head with a pointed look, inciting him to change -and for a
heartbeat he hesitates. What if things go horribly wrong again? But then, Sigyn
is not Angrboda, and although Loki is more than capable of overthrowing her, it
is the love and trust he feels for her that make him reach for his magic.
He starts with his hair first, turning it black and straight until it flows
over his chest and down to his waist, brushing against small breasts, still
faintly scarred where a training axe cut him yesterday morning -that one will
be gone within the hour, but the same can't be said of his other scars. Soon,
black hair replaces the mess of copper around his cock, and his sex changes to
a cunt under Sigyn's gaze.
He sees no more use in hiding the scars.

"You are beautiful," Sigyn says as she traces Loki's shoulders with light
fingertips, brushes a thumb over the toned shape of his abs. "And handsome
too," she adds.

Loki's body is still taut with nerves, and he curses himself for his maiden-
like behavior when he is now twice wedded and four times a father, but foolish
as it is he can't shake the sentiment.
Sigyn seems to sense that, for she keeps her hands to herself when she kisses
him on the lips, soft as a feather and entirely unobtrusive. When Loki doesn't
tense under her, Sigyn licks his lips in an unspoken demand to open his mouth,
which he finds surprisingly easy to do.
Once their tongues meet, Loki's blood heats and he sighs into the kiss, pushing
his tongue into Sigyn's mouth to relish the taste of her. Only then does she
truly touch him, hands coming up to stroke his face and shoulders, rounder and
softer than usual. Loki takes a shuddering breath and puts his hands on Sigyn's
waist, moving them up as their kiss deepens and his arousal builds up.
He moves to caress her breasts, just as smooth as he pictured them save for the
two beauty spots on her right nipple, which he sort of wants to kiss now he's
noticed them. Meanwhile, Sigyn's hands have moved from Loki's shoulders too,
one of them playing with the hair at the back of his skull while the other
palms Loki's right breast with careful but thorough attention.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sigyn asks after a while.

Her breath is short and ragged, her voice rougher than usual, and Loki feels a
surge of wetness between his thighs, shakes his head to protest against the
idea and manages to mutter seething words that sound like 'never', because what
his wife is doing is too good to let go of.
Sigyn bends down to kiss Loki's nipple, her mouth so warm and tender that Loki
can't help but whimper. His own hands are still trying to reach Sigyn's breasts
despite the awkward angle, but the idea flies out the window very quickly when
Sigyn pinches Loki's left nipple between her lips.
Her mouth traces a searing trail of kisses and small licks on Loki's body even
as Sigyn's right hand abandon his hair to caress his thigh, warm and slow,
teasing at the flesh of his buttocks without actually going there. Loki buries
his hands in Sigyn's hair, relishing the cool silk of them under his fingers,
the cold and smooth support of the door behind his back, the small sounds of
suction Sigyn makes as she laves his nipples in her mouth, pressing at them
with the point of her tongue before she pinches them just shy of painful.
Loki gasps when Sigyn moves from his breasts to his belly, mouth burning
against his skin and branding their marriage into him as surely as a spell. He
lets his bride mouth at the long line left from Sleipnir's birthing while her
hands trace the paler, fresher scars about his thighs and tease him with not-
quite-there brushes toward his eager, soaking-wet sex.

Loki's is just about ready for Sigyn to put her finger into him, and he's about
to ask for it when she blows on his clitoris with a cool, cool breath and then
kisses him there.

"Oh by the tree," Loki moans, and his voice almost sounds surprised even when
his cunt opens wide for Sigyn's tongue.

Loki didn’t even realize how aroused he truly was, not until now as Sigyn's
tongue licks the moisture off his clit, making him bite his lips to restrain a
moan. He shudders, legs buckling under him when Sigyn finally pushes her tongue
inside him... She catches him by the waist with one hand and uses the other to
hook his leg over her shoulder.
The new position stretches Loki open wider, and he moans as Sigyn finds an
especially pleasurable spot to lick and tease. He presses his back harder
against the wooden door, thumping his head to prevent himself from crying out
in pleasure, eyes screwed shut and mouth open on a moan he doesn’t want to
release.

Then Sigyn’s fingers join her tongue and Loki’s body spasms, grows taut with
his climax as a strangled sound escapes his lips and he slumps forward, more
spent than he ever was before. Slowly, carefully, Sigyn guides him to the floor
and they sit together against the door, Loki’s breathing still ragged as his
wife strokes him back to calm.
Her lips glisten with Loki’s fluids as she smiles, and the sight sends a rush
of joy through his chest, something deep unlocking in the pit of his belly so
suddenly it brings tears to his eyes... Loki doesn’t try to restrain them.

“I had no idea a woman’s body could feel this--” he doesn’t know what word to
use next.

Alive? Loved? Pleasurable? Good? Loki Silvertongue is left speechless and that,
perhaps, is the most frightening yet positive things he experienced so far.
Sigyn smiles and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand before she says:

“That’s because you never had someone who wanted to make you feel this. I
promise that you can have as much fun as a woman as you can as a man.”

Loki feels so ridiculously happy about this perspective that he isn’t even
bothered by the phantom sensation of his cock still begging for attention.

For love, he’s willing to compromise.
Chapter End Notes
     Comments and reviews are always appreciated, both here or, if you'd
     like to remain anonymous, on_Tumblr <3
***** This is mine *****
Chapter Summary
     It's not always easy to take control of your life, or yourself.
     That's what it feels so good to do it.
Chapter Notes
     So this is the last chapter!
     A big THANK YOU to my Beta, Vicky who did a wonderful job and helped
     make this story better than it was :)
     Thanks, also, to all of you who read this fic, with special nod to
     those who reviewed, because reviews are the love.
     I hope to see you again on other SEADLA Verse stories <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Most of Loki's nightmares involve Odin, Thanos, or Angrboda, though more often
than not, the three of them are all present. He spends the night trying to
escape them, trying to keep them at bay with his vast knowledge of spells to
counter mind control, but it never works, for these spells are no use against
regular dreams. He keeps meaning to ask Coyote for a dreamcatcher, but can
never bring himself to actually do it, and it kills him, really, this bone-deep
reluctance to speak of his past even in such an indirect fashion as that.
 
He hates the idea that he is defined by the things he was made to endure. He
hates the idea that, for all his life, the people in his life have been trying
to rob him of himself and put what they wanted him to be in his head instead,
but most of all he hates that he let them, that the only thing he ever fought
for was to conform to their expectations, even the most innocent ones. He hates
that it shaped him, and he hates that it shapes him still. He hates that he has
become an incredible mess of contradicting feelings tangled in such twisted
forms that he doesn't know where others’ influence ends and where his own soul
begins.
He hates and hates and hates, and it seems sometimes that he can't let go of
this hate either, that it's the only part of him that's true, tangled with love
and need and loneliness, tinting the edge of his world with Jotun-Blue, the
color he always associated with the feeling -the color he now knows... no. He
doesn't want to think of that.
 
He can't afford to think of that.
 
Usually, he makes a good job of forgetting how different he truly is. It's
safer to remain the one he always was and to conform to the norm -to the extent
that a Trickster can conform to the norm. It's not quite comfortable, but it's
familiar and well known, something he's been navigating for a long time now,
something he knows how to handle... yet, there have been glimpses.
It seems clichéd to say it started with Stark, yet it is the truth. He wouldn't
go so far as to say the mortal was a revolution, or a revelation of any sort,
but in talking with him, Loki has had cause to voice things he never realized
were true. It is different from speaking with Sigyn because as supportive as
she always is, she never quite understands. She can never truly grasp the
meaning of his words, and although it pains her as much as it pains him, there
is nothing they can do to change this... which, in all honesty, is a source of
relief for Loki. He would never wish for Sigyn to feel about herself as he
feels about himself.
Tony Stark, on the other hand, does understand, his story disturbingly similar
to Loki's despite some obvious differences.
 
Perhaps, then, that is why Loki feels almost tempted to take him into his bed.
He doesn't know how that happened, as he thought his carnal appetites were all
but gone after he and Sigyn agreed  not to have sex anymore... it used to feel
as if his failure to take compete pleasure from his coupling her meant he could
never feel or want sexual arousal again. It lasted for so long Loki had almost
forgotten his cock could serve for anything other than relieving his bladder.
And yet now that he has left Tony in the council room and reached his own
bedchambers, Loki simply can't ignore the straining of his cock against the
fabric of his breeches, the wet sensation of his cunt between his thighs even
when there is nothing there. Loki looks down at himself, wondering how best to
take care of this, until he remembers the feeling of Tony pushing upward as he
came, as well as the fleeting image he had of himself riding the mortal, his
cock bracketed between their two bodies until both his cock and cunt were
satisfied.
 
The thought takes him, fleetingly, to the days of his youth, long before even
Svadilfari happened, and Loki takes a deep breath as he divests himself of his
clothes. Vest, tunic, undertunic, boots, and breeches fall to the floor, and
Loki looks at himself in the full-length mirror he set up in the corner.
He has gone back to his most familiar form for this, red hair covering his head
and the base of his cock in fiery halos of curls, runes framing the lines of
his body, as they have always done... it's almost comforting to see himself
like that again, more himself than the black haired body he uses now.
His cock is half-hard already, a few strokes away from a full erection, and
when he lets his cunt open behind his balls, Loki can feel how wide he is
already. Just the idea of being fully himself makes Loki take a shivering
breath, and suddenly it's like he needs to see what he really looks like down
there. On a whim, Loki decides to sit down on the bear-pelt at the foot of his
bed and spread his legs so he can watch himself in the mirror.
 
His cunt is, quite frankly, ordinary to the point of being almost
disappointing.
It's nothing Loki hasn’t seen before: lips red with the blood of arousal,
moisture clinging to the scattered hair around his slit... nothing exceptional.
He doesn't know what he expected, truly. Something different, something ugly,
maybe monstrous... but in the end, it's just a cunt with a pair of balls in the
front, and the knowledge fills Loki with a relief he never expected to feel.
He breathes out slowly, releasing all the air from his lungs in one go, and
leans back on the ground, one hand stroking his cock while the other teases his
nipples. His preferences haven't really changed since his youth, and the
gestures are much the same as he teases his sides, his thighs, his throat with
feather-light touches, enough to make his skin prickle with goose bumps.
He is fully hard now, and while he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock,
Loki uses his free hand to massage his balls for a moment before brushing
against his clit and pushing his middle finger inside himself, the feeling just
as good as he imagined it would be all those years ago.
 
For a fleeting moment, as he strokes himself to the edge, Loki remembers
Angrboda standing over top of him and saying "Only Frost Giants have both."
It's almost enough to make him stop, to make him lose all will to pleasure
himself, until he catches himself.
 
“No," he mutters.
 
No. This, just now, is his. It doesn't belong to Angrboda, or Odin, or Thanos,
or Laufey. It doesn't belong to anyone but himself, and Loki is determined to
not let even the memory of them deprive him of his climax.
He strokes himself harder, almost aggressively, fingers scissoring his cunt
until it's just shy of painful, until he comes, tired and lazy, but real.
 
It is not, by far, his most sensational orgasm. He has known much better, both
as a man and a woman, but this one feels like a victory, and it makes Loki
heave a deep sigh and rest his head against the fur below him, relieved
laughter bubbling on his lips.
 
He can't let himself get close to Tony on the next day or it would take his
mind off the plan… but if he could, he would definitely thank him.
 
Chapter End Notes
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