Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/532169.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Journey_into_Mystery, Thor_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Loki/Mephisto, Loki/Other(s), Loki/Thor
  Character:
      Mephisto, Loki_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel)
  Additional Tags:
      dubcon, PWP, filthy_filthy_porn, Underage_Character, Gangbang, Tentacles
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-08 Completed: 2012-10-31 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 11380
****** Reckoning ******
by anno_Hreog
Summary
     "Now, run along, little godling. We shall soon have our reckoning."
     In Journey into Mystery (#627), kid!Loki strikes up a bargain with
     Mephisto. Now, he pays up. Demon sex ensues.
      
     Underage for resurrected Norse gods, and dubcon as far as paying back
     your debt in trade is worth. No actual spoilers for #645 are
     contained herein.
Notes
     After ending a long angsty fic, instead of letting off steam with
     goofy fluffy stuff, I ended up with a handful of demon sex.
     Illustrated_panel_reference!
     This is not unapologetic porn. This porn is very very sorry for being
     dirty dirty filthy sick stuff.
     Also, because I find this_guy kinda hot. /double entendre
***** The Tyger and the Lamb *****
 
 
 
“Open your legs. I want to see you ready for me. There’s a good lad. Now, keep
them spread.”
Hot breath tickled at his pubes, and a long pointed fingernail traced his ball
sac and palmed his soft cock.
He whimpered, but kept his thighs open, trembling, and a rumble of laughter
rolled through the dark room. A light switched on overhead, a single flame
shining over him like a spotlight.
He felt the grooves on the altar under his back, smelled the faint hint of rust
and old blood.
Around him, he could see only faint hulking shapes looming in the dark, while
their eyes roamed freely over his bare bright body. Someone grabbed his wrists
and he struggled as his arms were stretched out over his head. There was more
laughter, and a hand at each ankle kept him from closing his knees.
Something wet licked his hole, and he let out a scream.
“Gag him,” someone said.
“No,” said the one between his legs. His cock was a soft, scared thing in this
large hand. “I want to hear his little noises. But you’ll keep quiet for me,
won’t you, boy?” The hand squeezed, and wincing in pain, he nodded frantically.
“There's a good boy.”
The tongue was back, wet and insistent, slavering at his puckered hole, and he
bit back a whine. His spine curled, and he pushed back his hips.
“He wants more. Stick it in his hole, give it to him. He wants it bad,” said a
voice to his right, and his face burned.
Laughter rolling sinfully at his arse, the thick wet tongue entered him, a
slick wet bud at first and growing progressively thicker. And longer. He bit
back a scream. His hole was looser now as he lay there, panting, letting out
small, desperate gasps as the One laved at his insides, tickling the sensitive
puckered skin, thrusting inside, snaking in his insides, flickering…
He clenched and unclenched his fists, and wriggled his hips, ashamed, wanting
more, wanting to hide, he didn’t know, he didn’t know, he didn’t know!
“Look at him, the little slut. He’s begging to be fucked.”
“No, not yet. Take over.”
And the tongue slipped out, quick as a snake, and he was cold now, and empty,
his hole wet and winking in the air.
Another tongue entered him, thicker this time, and shoved in to the root.
Before he could buck, a mouth descended on his cock, and took him down to the
balls. He gasped, thrusting up into the warm wet hel. Rough hands held him
down.
“You like that, do you? Lie back and think of Asgard.”
He tried to rut in shallow thrusts into that mouth as he was pinned down,
fingers digging into his pelvis, his ribs, against the pulsing throb of his
jugular. He was so small in their hands. A flame-like tongue flicked inside
him. Even his cock was too small inside that hot cavern of a mouth, a mouth
whose tongue rolled him around playfully, and laughed as he got hard, stiff and
bobbing around the supple tongue. It sucked that much harder at him, as if it
meant to pulled the very skin from his cock, and he whined, a high-pitched
desperate sound.
“Shut up.”
The tongue pulled out of his arse, and sucked at his balls, mouthing at them
and dragging them down.
A spit-slicked finger pushed inside and stretched him out, buried inside him to
the knuckle, and started probing, and he gasped.
“He’s nice and loose. Fuck him.”
“No.”
The mouth on his cock, so hot, pulling so tight, then letting go, slicking its
tongue around him, and he couldn’t bear it anymore. The finger inside pushed
and probed and something tingled, the shock running up his spine, and the light
above was blinding, and he bucked. A hand pressed over his mouth before he
could scream, a large rough thumb pushing inside.
“Suck it.”
And he did, begging silently with his mouth, taking it in deeper, as the thumb
pressed down on his tongue and at the back of his throat, and he almost choked
on it.
The finger up his arse found the spot again, and he couldn’t make a sound, and
his cock strained, painfully hard, and his nerves were aflame at the soft
scrape of teeth –
His balls tightened painfully before he spilled and spilled, and that hot
hungry mouth sucked and sucked as he jerked into it, his body spasming with
relief. It covered him easily, taking in his balls and even his springy hairs,
tight and hot around him while the finger pistoned in and out to the jagged
movement of his hips, sending shock after burning shock through his body.
He hit his head on the altar as he thrashed. And he was crying while the
laughter rumbled around his cock and he was being milked dry, spilling and
spilling until his cock sputtered, down to the last drop, and still it laved
around him.
“There, there, boy, we’re almost ready.”
Almost?
He was shivering, sweat evaporating off his skin like rubbing alcohol, and his
skin tingled all over. He didn’t want them to touch him any more, but the hands
kept touching him. He pulled away, as the fingers played with his now limp
cock, and slicker stuff was rubbed over his hole.
“No….:” he whined, and a sharp slap across the face stopped him.
“You don’t get to talk.”
“Make him talk. Make him beg,” said another. “Make him beg to suck us off.”
“Gag him with your cock.”
“Later,” said the One.
The One who pulled him up, weak and boneless as he was, to lie across his lap
and caressed his arse. A large hand slipped under him and covered his cock,
cupping him easily. He shook his head, but he was rubbing his face into a sleek
heated thigh instead, thickly muscled and crimson.
A slicked finger entered his arse, and trying to move his sensitive cock away
from that hand, he raised his arse higher instead. Begging. Begging for a slap.
Begging to be spared.
The light sting of the hand spread across a cheek, and another. Then a wet kiss
smoothed it away.
Demon laughter was gentle and it crawled over his skin like flames. Another
finger joined the first, more slick glopping over his hole, and scissored it
wider and wider. Another finger. They twisted and stretched, pushing inside to
find that spot in him again, and he cried out softly. He moaned and rubbed, and
didn’t want to be rubbed, and it didn’t matter because that hand played with
him, gently running up his cock and fondling his balls. 
“Beg,” said the voices. “Beg us to fuck you, little demon slut. Show us how
eager you are for demon cock.”
But the One laughed again.
“He doesn’t need to beg,” he said softly. “It doesn’t matter what he wants.”
Fingers spread his butt cheeks, digging into them as he was lifted and his hole
gaped open, ready and never ready enough. The head pressed at his hole,
deceptively soft, and nudged it even wider open, and he strained and whimpered
again.
Fiery lips brushed over his, flickering flame, and he opened his mouth
obediently as he was lowered onto the cock.
“No, no, no…” but it was swallowed up in that deep dark mouth.
Slowly now, a hand rubbing gently over his back, flames wiping away the tear
that leaked out of the corner of his eye, slowly the cock pushed inside a
hair’s breath more, burning, and stretching him wider, filling him up.
“I can’t—”
“Hush now. You will.”
The tears flowed freely now, as the hand played idly with his cock, grasping
and letting go, slicking it up again to stand painfully erect as the demon cock
penetrated him, and he drew panted gasps, short and shallow as he dared until
it was seated fully inside him. He couldn’t breathe.
“Breathe,” he was ordered, and he did.
It was too full, too big, too wide, and it split him open.
“There, I knew you could do it. Now move.”
He stared, wide-eyed at the eyes of flame, the wide, thin-lipped grin that
looked down, amused at his desperate face, and thighs straining, he lifted
himself slowly on that cock, feeling it drag through his insides and gritted
his teeth as slowly he sat himself down again, feeling stretched anew. He
swallowed a sob.
“Good lad. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” said the One, and pressed a kiss on his
forehead.
“Now, bounce.”
Hands, so many hands groped him from behind, pinching his nipples into pebbles,
wandering over his chest and raking long pointed nails over his soft belly,
combing through his pubes, and he bounced, fucking himself on that demon cock.
The muscles in his legs screamed for mercy as he pumped the cock, not allowed
to tire, not when fingers played with him, making him hard again – no, no, no,
no, no – stroking down his length and slicking him with warm slippery juices,
and he splurted helplessly across the red flesh of the demon.
White sprayed cross his chest, his stomach, and the demon only laughed and
gathered his face between his hands and kissed him deeply, swallowing up his
moaning, stealing his voice, his cries for mercy, for pleasure, and pain.
And the cock was still hard, jutting inside him insistently, long after he’d
gone soft again, and hands hooked him under his arms and lifted him up and down
to keep moving, faster and faster.
They played with him, arranging his body so the cock would jab at that
terrible, wonderful, please no more,spot inside him, and then miss it just so
that he would squirm and wriggle to hit it, and all he had left were animal
grunts, burned out nerve endings that screamed hoarsely as he rutted, impaling
himself again and again on that monstrous cock, until finally the demon spilled
inside him.
The hot spray of seed burned his insides, and he slumped forward onto the
crimson chest in relief, as his body was pumped for the last spurts.
Sighing, he leaned against the sinewy crimson chest, feeling the cock go soft
inside, large and tumescent, and he felt scoured of all sensation and tingling
from too much of it that he thought he would burn and burn. Everything would
burn.
“You did well, boy,” said the One. “I shall enjoy this,” and licked a long, hot
stripe up his cheek, tenderly, the tongue no longer wet and slick now, but dry
as sandpaper. Like a large cat with large pointed teeth.
He felt the cock drag out of his insides, slowly, and his nerves screamed in
protest, but his mouth was ashes, and he was only a puppet. An unresisting
hole.
The sweetest of sweet holes, and so precious, said the One, as he was placed on
the alter again, this time on his hands and knees, cum dripping out of his arse
and trickling down his thigh.
The demon place a last lingering kiss on his gaping wet hole before he stepped
back.
“Who’s next?”
 
 
 
 
***** Burning Bright *****
Chapter Summary
     Now with demon orgy and tentacles.
Chapter Notes
     So someone pointed out that Loki paid his debt in part I. But we
     still wanted more dirty dirty porn. So, they came up with a_few
     rationales. Pick and choose, no waiting.
     Except for demons waiting their turn.
 
 
 
They fetched a delicate string of silver and tied it around the base of his
cock so he wouldn’t come while they fucked him.
At first he was glad of it. His cock ached from coming too much already, from
being toyed with by demon tongues and demon fingers. They ran their pointed
teeth along his sensitive skin, and he tried to scream.
But Mephisto had taken his voice.
“It’s only temporary, my sweet,” said the demon. “You won’t need it for now, my
darling lord of lies.”
Beelzebub didn’t like the sound of that; he was the original Lord of Lies. He
took his turn first, pushing into him roughly, and Loki gasped at the burn. It
wasn’t easier the second time, even with his hole stretched out and sloppy.
“Do you like that, little god? Tell me how much you like it.”
Loki could only grunt as the demon pounded into him, and he let out a small
whimper as razor sharp nails traced the soft underside of his sac.
“How about I cut you a nice wet cunt, right here? You’d like that, too,
wouldn’t you? Say you don’t want it. Can’t, can you?”
Claws dug into his hips, pulling him back to meet each punishing thrust, the
rhythm beating like drums between his ears. Another demon cock pried open his
lips and filled his mouth, nudging at the back of his throat.
Gagging, his knee slipped, and somewhere in the background Mephisto’s laugh
rolled around him like a sea of flames.
“Be gentle with him, boys. Our dear Loki will be staying a while.”
                                       §
In hell, time is fluid.
A moment, an eternity, the past, and the past, and the past, they all mingled
and became now.
Right now all he knew was a cock shoving into him from behind, and another cock
fucking his mouth, as if they wanted to skewer him through and through and meet
in the middle. Two demons rocked him between them, rutting away like animals,
and fingers twisted at his nipples and slapped his cock. Slapped his buttocks
until they burned, too, though they were told not to be too rough. It wasn't
that kind of game. No whips, no blades, no ropes.
They understood. They'd fuck him till he crawled and begged and licked their
hands.
He choked again, and perfectly manicured fingers were at his throat, angling
him so he could take in the cock deeper.
“There you go, Loki my darling. You’re a natural.” Mephisto stroked his hair as
cum spilled in his mouth, hot and bitter. “Good boy. Swallow it all. You’ll
like the taste of sin.”
His cock was hard again, hard when Beelzebub spurted his demon seed inside his
guts, hard when he pulled out, and another demon took his place. This one put
him on his back and pushed his knees to his chest.
“Flexible little thing, isn’t he?” said Mephisto, stroking his chest. “Sweet
boy, you’re doing so well. You could take on an entire legion of hell like a
proper whore. You are that, aren’t you? A whore for the side of light?”
Loki turned his head away, and Mephisto grabbed him by the jaw.
“Don’t, darling boy. Look at me. Are you pretending you’re somewhere else?
You’re in hell, and it’s not your brother who’s fucking you. Were you saving
yourself for him?”
He tried to shake his head, and Mephisto gestured for another demon to sit on
his face and feed him his cock.
“Eyes wide open, my boy. Look at me. Look around you. Never lie to yourself.”
He stroked Loki’s cheek as the demon fucked his mouth and pulled out, spurting
his cum in hot glops over his face. Mephisto wiped it away and smiled down at
Loki as Loki sucked his fingers clean obediently.
He thought of Thor, and Paris, and how he’d felt the memory spark between them.
How Thor had wanted to touch him, but held back because of his goodness and his
guilt, and Loki's lost innocence strained at that. But he was a god, and over a
thousand years old and born again, and innocence was a tattered old lie. Oh,
but he wished he could have had Thor when he was still pure. How he would have
trembled at the freshness, quivered at the slightest brush of his lips, his
sigh, his kind embrace.
But here he was, pinned down and fucked by demons in each hole, and could have
been was everyone else’s sad song.
“Oh dear me, were you a virgin?” Mephisto chortled at that. “Was I your first?
You should have said so. But I am pleased we could make this occasion
memorable.”
The demon between his legs was finishing now, his pistoning becoming ragged and
jerky before he milked his cock inside, and pulled out with a wet plop. The
next one wanted him over the altar, kicking open his legs again and plunging
in, pushing his face into the grooves.
He was fed cocks, one after the other, and he milked them dry like a good lad,
and shifted his hips so they could rut inside him easily. They arranged him as
they pleased, face down on the altar with his wrists pinned behind his back,
riding their cocks on their laps, his long coltish legs wrapped around their
waists, spreading his cheeks wide with his own hands, on his back with his
ankles pushed back to his ears, then back on his knees like a dog, his arse
raised invitingly and high for their wicked pleasure. Mephisto crooned in his
ear at what a good little slut he was.
And it was so important to be good, after all, in hell.
They didn’t kiss him like Mephisto did after he was finished sucking cock,
didn’t try to pull his soul out through his very breath.
But they tormented his cock, sucking at it and slapping at it while they stuck
their fingers inside his arse and played with the sloppy mess they found there,
painting his buttocks white and laughing when they found the special, special
place that made his knees buckle.
A pair liked to soak up the light from his pale godling flesh, liked the way he
struggled between their sinewy red bodies. One hard demon cock jutting hot
against his tender stomach, as if it meant to tear him open, and another behind
him, moving slick between his thighs as he writhed, desperate for release and
not getting it. His ball sacs were taut as ripe plums under their wet,
flickering tongues curling like adders around him. He thought they’d take him,
two at the same time, but they didn’t. Demons didn’t like to share, and rubbing
inside the same hole at the same time was too much to ask of a creature of the
underworld.
“We’re a selfish lot, my sweet,” said Mephisto. “But don’t you worry. We have
something lovely saved for the end.”
Finally, the largest of them pulled Loki away from the others’ tongues, and
somewhere in his mind, a small spark of light resisted – he’d seen jotunns with
slimmer cocks. But his strength had fled, and he was dripping with cum and
fucking the air in front of him helplessly. His cock would burst, and they
tugged at the strings, laughing.
“Oh no, nothing so boring as that,” Mephisto reassured him, as the giant demon
laid him on the altar again, flat on his back and his legs splayed open.
For a moment, he took a deep breath, feeling the cold flat stone. The air was
hot with sex and sweat and warm flesh. It smelled of brimstone and ashes. He
was tired out, worn out, used out, and at the same time strung taut as a wire,
every nerve ending alert and screaming. His cock was almost as red as theirs
now, but hard and hurting, and he would give up whatever he had left if he
could just come. He was grateful Mephisto had taken his voice.
Then, the demons gathered around, leering, and started rubbing their limp cocks
over his body, wiping the cum off of themselves. They liked his face best
because it was sweet, and sweeter still Mephisto said, splattered in seed.
“I’d train you up a proper cockslut if you were mine, ready to ride a horse’s
cock at the snap of my fingers, and swallowing cum like mother’s milkshake.”
Mephisto was playing with a piece of black rubber. “Chained up, naked and
kneeling at my throne – gold, my sweet, or do you prefer silver? You could suck
me off while I attend boring meetings. My friends would love you. We could play
with you during breaks. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my darling? Spread out
naked on a boardroom table? Have you ever been molested by a group of
businessmen in suits? It’s the devil’s playground, my boy. And we have the best
toys.”
The demons were sitting back, their eyes sparkling and alert as dogs before
meat, and they were fixed, not on Mephisto, but on Loki. He tried to close his
knees and Mephisto stopped him, yanking them wide apart, and hooking his ankles
at the carved edge of the marble.
“Not yet, lovely boy, not yet. You’re all dirty, and in no state to go
anywhere.” He raked his gaze over Loki’s body. “You couldn’t walk out of here
if you tried.”
He dropped the black rubber on Loki’s stomach, and Loki winced instinctively,
thinking it would burn.
But the thing was cool and wet, and went splat on his stomach, nesting inside
the dip of his navel and spread, in the shape of a starfish, no, an octopus.
Its tentacles grew longer as it spread over him, and a thousand tiny suction
cups slurped away at his cum stained skin, a cool contrast to the heated
couplings, the stinging pain.
He writhed and wriggled under its reach, his breath shallow and quickening, and
he bit back a moan. The long thin tentacles poked at him for any crevice, and
finding his arse, it leapt, delighted at the gaping, sloppy hole and the
slippery mess inside, and he screamed - his voice finally freed - as it
slithered inside him and Mephisto pulled at the bow of the silver thread,
releasing his cock.
And then he screamed and screamed again, his back arching like a bow, hips
bucking into the air as he came, his long delayed orgasm crashing like a
thunderbolt and frying out his nerves as he writhed and thrashed on the stone
altar, and the black, slippery, tentacled thing rushed through inside him,
filling him up as he’d never been filled before.
“Oh dear,” said Mephisto, wiping the splatter of cum from his own cheek and
licking it off. “I seem to have miscalculated.”
But Loki didn’t hear him, as he rode out this agonizing pleasure for what felt
like an age – though in hell, remember, time is fluid – and the tentacles
fucked its way through and out of him, until it came up his throat, and drowned
out the last of his hoarse cries.
“You are quite a jewel, my dear. I shall miss you," said Mephisto. "And now, we
are even.”
 
 
 
 
***** Better Devils *****
Chapter Summary
     It really wasn’t fair. Mephisto kissed him all the time.
     So, it was really, honestly, completely, not fair that he got so
     pissed off at Loki for kissing him back.
     But try telling that to the lord of the underworld when you’re the
     god of lies reborn, and he’s fucking you raw on the throne of Hell.
Chapter Notes
     So yeah, Journey into Mystery 645 happened. When I'm sad, I write
     smut, and it sometimes makes things better. No disrespect intended
     for our sad "Everything Burns" feelings; the balm is in part 4.
     Anyway, this is dirty shameful underage smut you're reading here.
     No actual spoilers for 645 are contained herein.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
It started with a kiss.
And that was really, probably, most likely an accident, honestly. But try
telling that to the lord of the underworld when you’re the god of lies reborn,
and he’s fucking you raw on the throne of hell.
So, maybe they were just in a rut.
Okay, that was bad. Maybe that’s why they think you’re lying all the time.
Seriously, Loki?
 
 
                                       §
 
As always, he descended the steps perfectly dressed and not a hair out of
place, black leggings, green tunic, and the bands of gold shining like the last
beacons of hope. A little pert, more than a little cocky, and definitely too
good for you, all of you, his every movement seemed to say. Mephisto liked it
that way; he liked watching the proud fall and the pure sullied. It was demon
nature.
It was all the better to have the demons descend upon him like slavering hyenas
and pull his clothes from him, leaving him disheveled and bare, vulnerable and
shivering. He never cowered, though, never begged. He never put up a real
fight, either – that would have been uncouth.
“You are delicious, my dear,” the demon said, nudging his knees apart as he
pulled him onto his lap. “That barely concealed look of disgust, that bred-in-
the-bone Asgardian contempt for all lesser beings. How do you put up with the
likes of us? You’re a mirror image of your self-righteous brother.”
Loki turned his head away.
“No,” was all he said, though whether that was in denial of the resemblance or
a protest against what was being done to him, it wasn’t clear. Mephisto only
laughed, and brushed flickering flames along the nape of his neck.
The monstrous red cock was hardening already, filling with blood and heat and
growing dark in anticipation, and the demon took the slender white hand and
wrapped it around him.
“There’s a good lad. You know what to do.”
He smoothed his palm up that cock, ran his fingers over skin unbearably soft
for all that hard, demon lust underneath, felt the throb of the vein pulsing on
the underside, the cock too large to close his fist around it. His own cock was
a small, trembling thing, lying quiescent and half-crushed, hoping it would go
unnoticed.
The demon always noticed.
“My dear, my dear, we can’t have this.” Mephisto gestured for this demons, and
already, hands were parting his buttocks, and fingers, so many fingers were
curling over his ribs, pinching his nipples, wandering down to comb through his
pubic hair. Loki could feel the smaller ones crawling up his leg, and he tried
to shake them off.
“That’s not very nice, sweet thing,” said Mephisto. “They only want a piece of
you, and you’ll give it to them.”
“No,” he said again, and Mephisto liked that especially. Demon hands were
already playing with his cock, weighing his balls between their fingers like
fruit squeezed for ripeness, and slick fingers pressed into him from behind.
With a gasp, he was pushed into that great red chest, his cock hardening as it
rubbed against the larger, demon cock. His breath caught in his throat, and he
keened, helpless and wriggling in their hands as they worked his hole, teasing
it open.
They liked to put things inside him, long slippery things, cold things, things
that wriggled and probed and pushed on their own. Things that made him jerk his
hips forward and rut in shallow thrusts, his thighs spread wide on the lap of
the demon lord of the underworld.
All the while, his hands worked furiously up and down the rigid red prick,
Mephisto’s perfectly manicured claws in his hair, soothing, his fiery breath
whispering in Loki’s ear, telling him how perfect he was, how utterly debauched
and despoiled, how lovely and young and maleable, as one hand raised his thigh
and pushed it high and up, his muscles straining as the demon cock nudged its
head inside.
 
Oh, but no matter how much they prepared him, no matter how much slick they
rubbed in, no matter how much they relaxed and played with his hole, he was
never quite prepared for that cock stretching out that ring of muscle, never
loose enough so it could ever push in without burning so hot it felt like
tearing him apart from the inside.
Mephisto liked the way he screamed.
So much that his hands curled around the base of Loki’s neck, caressed the line
of Loki’s jaw as if cradling a delicate flower, and he drank deep, swallowing
the sounds of pain and desperation, of pleasure and shameless lust. He didn’t
call it kissing. He called it stealing breath.
 
 
                                       §
 
It really wasn’t fair. Mephisto kissed him all the time.
He kissed him when he stood Loki on the throne of the underworld so they were
of a height, and he reached down and played with his soft cock, fondling it oh
so slowly into hardness, Loki’s own fists curled up into helpless fists at his
side.
Loki wasn’t allowed to do anything, touch anything, move at all while the demon
sped up his strokes and pulled away, pressed his fingers at the slit and rubbed
the weeping precome over his slender length, playing with the soft loose skin
at the head, then pinching at his tautened balls, so sharp and so painfully
that he’d wilt and soften, and then, Mephisto would start all over again.
“Let’s see if we can last an hour, my pet,” he’d say, and tease him and play
with him, stop mouthing his balls only long enough to rise and kiss him,
thrusting so insistent and deep as if he meant to fuck Loki’s throat with his
demon tongue.
Loki never could make it up to an hour, though, not even half an hour. He was a
god, albeit a small one, but in this body, he was still too young, too weak,
too little of everything. He’d shoot his load all over the demon’s stomach, and
then he’d have to clean it up, in small kittenish licks.
 
Mephisto would lean in to kiss him from behind when he put Loki on his lap,
like a child in a blasphemous tableau, demon cock pressed hard against his
backside and Loki’s thighs spread wide and hooked over his knees. The demons
would approach the throne on their knees and offer to suck off his lovely
prize, one by one, until Loki was bone dry and aching and telling them, his
voice hoarse from crying out, to please stop. They never listened though.
 
And Mephisto always kissed him when he was being fucked, when the other demons
put him on his knees and used him and passed him around and fucked him in turns
and squirted their loads on his back, Mephisto was always there kissing him.
Little pecks of kisses, deep, wet, lingering kisses, tongue curled around
tongue and sliding over the roof of his mouth, nibbling and suckling at his
lips as if his mouth was a fountain of pure, dark, undiluted sin.
So, it was really, honestly not fair that he got so pissed off at Loki for
kissing him back. It wasn't like it even meant anything.
Honestly.
 
 
                                       §
 
Loki didn’t mean to go back, really, he didn’t.
But he had work to do, people to wheedle and sway, worlds to save (even if said
world was hateful and ungrateful), schemes to scheme and plots to plot and…. A
boy couldn’t do all that and be tense and wound up with nothing but pictures of
Midgardian rutting and his own left hand as his best buddy.
Not when he’d been through a demon orgy that fucked him out so thoroughly and
bonelessly that he didn’t have a stray distracting sex thought until… well,
until the next time he descended those fiery steps, and by then, they had a
good thing going.
A bad thing. A good bad thing. Demons could be so touchy about stuff like that.
Like they’d suddenly molt white feathers and start strumming at harp-like
instruments if they’d accidentally said ‘love’ or ‘good.’ Completely
superstitious, those religious types.
 
 
                                       §
 
It felt like forever, it always did, when Mephisto’s cock pushed inside him,
burning and stretching and filling him up so tight and full that he ended up
trying to half crawl up the great expanse of that chest to get away from it.
And still it pushed inside.
It always hurt, and hurt so wonderfully, and Mephisto liked to lick away his
tears.
“Fuck yourself. Fuck yourself on my cock, my dear.”
And he did, swallowing hard as the titter of demon laughter rolled around him,
feeling the pull of that cock inside as it dragged its way out and sitting down
again, all the breath sucked out of him as he did, that horrible, terrible,
utterly brilliant ache inside, growing, building, the heat pooling low in his
gut, as the demons pinched and pulled at him.
His cock stirred awake again rubbing itself against hard demon flesh as he
fucked himself on Mephisto’s cock, in Mephisto’s lap, as Mephisto watched
through lazy half-lidded eyes as if he was only amused, as if he felt nothing,
as if it wasn’t his cock inside Loki, his cock that made the boy breathless and
desperate, his cock jutting over and over at that place inside that made Loki’s
thighs weak and his pace falter and his knees hit the back of the throne.
He wrapped thin arms around the demon’s neck, the zing of electric white
pleasure overtaking the pain, and when the demon’s lips caught his and the
demon’s tongue invaded his mouth, he suckled at it, wanting to cling to
something, needing the bruising lips on his, breathed in breath for breath,
sliding tongue against wet, demanding tongue.
So, yeah, Loki kissed him back.
 
One moment, he was fucking himself on a ginormous huge demon cock, a hundred
demon fingers feeling him up all over like he’s everybody’s favorite fucktoy,
the next, that cock’s pulling out of him so fast he’s sure it’s left permanent
cock-burn on his insides, and he’s landed flat on his back – ow, these stones
are hard – and staring up dazed at a furious demon lord.
 
“What,” Mephisto was saying, slowly, carefully, “in the name of Hell, was
that?”
His cock, huge, wet, hard, was bobbing angrily against his stomach. He hadn’t
come yet, pulling out like that out of Loki’s ass. And from the look on
Mephisto’s face, nobody was going to come today until Daddy got himself some
answers.
“Nothing,” Loki said quickly, scrambling fast for his scattered wits.
“Absolutely nothing. I was fucking, I mean you were fucking me –”
“Did you enjoy that, Loki?” Mephisto asked, his voice silky smooth again. “Did
you enjoy our love-making? Did you like it?”
Loki shook his head wildly, then, at the demon’s look of mock dismay, switched
to frantic nodding.
“Yeah, you were great,” babbled Loki. “Awesome. No, wait. I meant awful. It was
horrible. You’re an absolutely shitty, terrible fuck. I don’t know why they let
you even own a dick, you’re so rubbish at it. No, that’s not what I meant. It.
It. It was horrible. Don’t make me do that again, please, you’re so big, and it
hurt so much, and I hate it and it makes me feel soooo bad –”
“You’re a terrible liar,” said Mephisto dryly, yanking him up by the arm and
dragging him to the other side of the hall. “And you used to be so much better
at it, if you weren’t as sweet and virginal. Pity, and I did so enjoy our
little sessions. Oh well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk.”
He flung Loki onto the stone altar, and clapped his hands. “Boys. I think we
shall prepare for the festive season.”
“Wait, what are you –”
A hand clamped down over his mouth, and he swallowed a silent scream as he saw
a golden needle come down to sew it shut.
It stopped before it pierced his lips.
“No,” said Mephisto, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. “That would
elicit pity and remorse. We can’t have that. Bring me the gag. No, the larger
one. Number 13.”
The demon was casually stroking himself as they pushed the dildo into Loki’s
mouth. It looked so real, and smelled and felt and tasted of cock, and for a
second, it squirmed inside his mouth and nudged at the back of his throat that
he almost choked – and Loki remembered he was in Hell, of course they had real
dicks for dildos. But the come leaking into his mouth tasted sweet, like candy
corn, when he managed to swallow around it and not gag on his own spit.
“No, no, my dear,” said Mephisto, not taking a break from working on his own
cock, and he tilted Loki’s head up. “You know how to take a cock deep-throat.
Best show off your lovely skills, shan’t we? All the wonderfully clever little
things you’ve picked up from your stay here. Your brother will be so impressed.
Ah…”
His brother.
And that’s when he really started to fight, fight against the demon hands that
weren’t stripping and fucking him anymore, but holding him down as Mephisto
spilled his seed all over his back, and turned him over so he could drizzle the
last of it over Loki’s own cock, the hot white fluid soaking into his pubic
hairs.
And all through this, they held him down, pinned him to the altar so he
couldn’t do more than struggle when the cock was wiped clean between his arse,
and another toy, wider than almost anything he’d taken before was pushed into
him. The flare at the base nestled between his buttocks, and he squirmed
against it, uncomfortably full. It didn't budge, only made him want to rub
himself on something like a mindless little animal in heat.
He choked on the gag, and felt sticky sweet spit at the corners of his mouth as
he was plugged. He was going to suffocate on a real, live, candy flavored dick.
Only in Hell. He closed his eyes, raised his head carefully and remembered to
breath in through his nose.
A mesh of silver was pulled over his cock and laced behind, white satin ribbons
criss-crossing over the swell of his buttocks. The demon lord pulled at the
strings and tied a neat white bow at the small of his back.
“There, that should keep you loose. Do you like it, my dear? You look
positively angelic. A used and filthy heavenly whore. Did you think you could
fool me, godling? By pretending you were unwilling, that you were doing this
for the good, pretending you were prying little secrets and pandering to my
good will? Or did you think we were lovers? There is no love in Hell,” he
whispered, the corners of his fine thin-lipped mouth curling up into the
faintest of sneers.
The demons scurried onto the altar and pulled a soft white shirt over him, the
fine cotton soaking up the demon spunk on his skin. They lost interest in
groping him, finding much more glee in primping him in this mockery of purity.
The sleeves, too long for his arms, were pulled back and knotted behind him,
like wings broken mid-flight.
“You dream of your brother, don’t you, my sweet? You count the days till you’re
finally old enough, until hisconscience breaks down and you can offer up your
innocence, precious and pure like a perfect fruit for him to pluck? Did you
think you could trick him, too? Play the blushing virgin who falls, oh so
bashfully into his arms? Well, we shall serve him up a lovely treat for All
Hallow’s Eve. I’ll send you to him all trussed up and soiled, smeared and
stinking of demon sex from all comers.”
Loki wriggled, trying to rid himself of the plug to no avail. That, too, had
been smeared with something that smelled cloying and sickeningly sweet, like
over-ripe peaches. Worse, it made him itch inside in a maddening way, and, he
realized, it made him hard, and it would keep him hard for however long, with
no relief.
Frantically, he tried to rub himself against the stone of the altar, and moaned
against the gag as the silver mess dragged at the too-sensitive skin of his
cock. Mephisto laughed.
“Just a little something to keep you in the mood. Think of it. Think of how
he’ll look at you now, how your brother’s eyes shall be opened to the truth,
and he will see you for what you really are. A filthy demon’s slut, debased and
disgusting and rotten to the core, as you always have been. He’ll never touch
you now. Or if he does…” the demon chuckled at that, “your dear brother knows
well-enough how to wipe his cock on a used-up rag and walk away. Did you think
it would be different this time? That you could be better somehow? Sweet, sweet
Loki. Things never change.”
The lord of the underworld patted his cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
“Never lie to yourself, my dear boy. Open your eyes, and see.”
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Part 4, Of Trickery and Treats will be up tomorrow.
     [eta] aak! Running late! Definitely here for Halloween!
***** Of Trickery and Treats *****
Chapter Summary
     In all this mess, there was definitely a trick wrapped up inside
     another trick somewhere.
Chapter Notes
     For Halloween. And the end of Loki's run on Journey into Mystery.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
Thor had left him alone. He had gone away and left his brother with people who
disliked him, then abandoned him again with ‘barbarians.’ Loki had said that.
Of course there was the small matter of Thor dying and having to fight his way
back to the living again. Loki should understand that better than anyone. As
for ‘barbarians,’ Loki did not seem to mind Midgard so much anymore. He seemed
to prefer it to Asgard these days.
Which again brought Thor back to the point, which was of leaving Loki alone to
his own devices. He only wanted Loki to make his own way with a fresh start.
That was all he had meant to do, give Loki another chance. Thor didn’t mean to
neglect him. It wasn’t deliberate.
“Oh, Thor,” Sif had said with a sigh. “You don’t mean to take that up again, do
you? Not this time?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, ducking his head to search for his boots
under the bed. Sif was always a little too sharp for his own comfort.
“You know exactly what I mean,” said Sif. She looked so lovely in the mornings,
and less likely to take your head off with a swing of her sword. Didn’t mean
she wouldn’t do it, though. “It’s all in what you’re not doing.”
“If I’m not doing anything, then there is nothing to concern you.”
“Myconcern is not the issue, here –”
“There is no issue, here.”
“You don’t carry him anymore,” said Sif baldly. “Are you afraid of touching him
now? You weren’t so cautious before. Is it because you want to do more?”
“If this comes from spite and jealousy, it does not suit you, Sif.”
Sif sighed heavily, patiently, which meant she was trying hard not to kick his
feet out from under him.
“Are you avoiding your brother because you are afraid of yourself?” she asked.
“Are you afraid of what you might do?”
Thor snorted through his nose. “I am not afraidof anything.”
“Don’t change the subject. Or is it shame? It never stopped you before –”
“And perhaps I wish things to be different now!” roared Thor, finally breaking.
“Perhaps I wish to amend my ways, so he may amend his – nay, so he may have a
chance to be good this time. And I will not wreck that chance! I will not be
the one to lead him astray!”
Sif gave him a long even glance over her shoulder, then slowly turned around to
face him, slowly brushing out her long dark hair. She reminded him of Jane when
she had that look on her face, sweet, clever Jane Foster when she was all
wrapped up in a question.
“Yes, who knows what Loki might become, even with the best of intentions.
Raining destruction down on Midgard, releasing Storm Giants, the Destroyer, and
that other loathsome henchmen – the strange absorbing one – on his fellow
Asgardians, usurping the throne, Ragnarok… those are a few things I wish he
would avoid this time around. Sleeping with you,” she was saying slowly,
turning over the thought in her mind. Then, she burst into a fit of giggles.
“Not on his list of top ten crimes.”
“If you tire of me, lady, you need only say the word,” said Thor testily.
“I shall,” Sif assured him with an amused little grin. “I was only venturing a
guess.”
“I would rather you wouldn’t,” said Thor.
“Iwould rather you took him to bed than he set fire to the world.”
“Sif!” cried Thor, appalled. “He is but a boy!”
Sif looked at him curiously. “Aye, a boy. A boy who is a thousand-years old and
who knows how many handful of years more. This is new. Do you follow particular
Midgardian tenets now? Two-thousand years ago on a scattering of islands,
twelve was frowned upon but the chaste wooing of boys was encouraged. Five-
hundred years in another corner, fifteen was respectable, but only if you
desired girls. So many different places, so many rules. I wonder if I should
make up a chart to distinguish them. Perhaps they are finicky about the ways
and means of childbirth as well.”
“I am not interested in bedding my brother,” insisted Thor.
“Oh, pity,” she said. Sif was rifling through a mass of papers. “Because he
only has eyes for you.”
“What?”
 
                                       §
 
Sif was wrong, of course. Loki was not looking upon him with lascivious eyes.
Loki did not look upon anyonethat way.
His newly reborn little brother had many and varied interests: Midgardian
electronic devices, milkshakes and dogs and games, old books, new spells, and a
thousand fascinating stories. He was not like other boys his age, or indeed
like Thor had been at that age, graceless and awkward, turning into a
gibbering, blushing idiot because of his fancies.
Loki was an glittering icicle, a charming, happy smart-mouthed innocent who
looked upon the fumblings of desire with the boredom of a knowing child. Sex
was beneathhim.
Hmm… perhaps Thor should be a little worried. Perhaps he should pay Loki a
visit. Thor was contemplating the wisdom of this, and thereby burying the
disturbing kernel that Sif had dug up that morning, when he received a missive.
It said simply, in Loki’s crooked script:
                                   Midgard.
                                     Help!
 
                                       §
 
 
Of all the confounded, cryptic messages he’d gotten, this last one was the
worst.
                                   Midgard.
Whereexactly on Midgard? Midgard was not such a small or tidy place. Loki could
be anywhere.
Loki was not in England, where he was last seen, or Paris, or Kolkatta, where
he might have run off to to tease the good Dr Banner. Nor was he in San
Francisco, Shanghai, or Fez. Loki had said he’d wanted to go to Fez once.
Thor turned the city inside out, and went down the list, but at the end of the
day found nothing. Perhaps this was a jest. A very unfunny jest that Loki had
decided to play on him. It was, after all, the season of mischief.
Tired and feeling quite unamused, Thor turned back. He was too tired to make
his way to Asgard tonight. Any port in the storm….
 
After many years of visiting Midgard, he was accustomed to the strange costumes
the mortals chose to wear at the end of the harvest season. To frighten away
evil spirits by dressing as them, or so they claimed. There were several
children, and even adults, dressed as Avengers. Making his way to Stark Tower,
he passed several little Thors, and even a lady Thor whose armor was more
revealing of her plenteous assets than protective.
So, Thor was not too startled when a thin man with bright red demon skin walked
by, dressed in an immaculate red and grey pinstripe suit. He seemed to have
styled his hair so it would resemble flickering flames. It was quite ingenious.
“Trick or treat, Thunder God,” said the man, flashing him a blinding white
smile.
Thor gave the man a courteous nod – he wished for neither, or both, but that
was not a matter to go into depth with strangers. He thought no more of it.
 
He still had his suite of rooms in Stark Tower – Thor was touched by that. It
was a considerate gesture on the part of Tony Stark that Thor should, as he put
it, ‘always have a pad to crash’ when he had his sojourn in Midgard.
The building was mostly empty except for the top floor; the Man of Iron was
celebrating his Feast of Ghouls by throwing a loud and raucous party. Thor had
been invited – several times – but he was weary and he wished to be left alone,
far away from the noise and confusion, away from flamboyantly dressed mortals
so anxious for comfort and intimacy that they should throw themselves upon
strangers for succor.
He would find his wax ear-buds, obtain a warm herbal drink, and go straight to
bed.
Those plans dispersed, like the last wisps of smoke before a storm, when he
found what had been left in his bed.
 
                                       §
 
He tried struggling to get out of his bonds. No use. He only ended up rubbing
himself against the sheets, and that just made it worse.
Loki almost cried when, after rubbing himself raw on the delicate silver netted
around his cock, he ended up spilling his seed, and it leaked through the mesh
and stained the sheets.
It didn’t give him any relief either – whatever ointment was on the plug or
Mephisto’s own demon cum, he didn’t know – only gave him an itch somewhere deep
that he couldn’t scratch, and it made him hard again. His calves ached, his
ankles yanked back and tied to his wrists for what felt like hours. He couldn’t
feel his arms.
He thought he would go out rutting against the mattress, alone, forgotten,
milked dry, tired out, and still not satisfied. When the door opened a triangle
of light into the room, and solemn footsteps approached the bed, Loki fervently
wished he was dead.
As if wishing ever helped anyone.
 
                                       §
 
His room in Stark Tower, unslept in for months, stank of sex, and at first Thor
thought irritably that one of Tony Stark’s more amorous guests had wandered
into his room and made use of his bed. Then he looked down and his eyes met the
wide, horrified eyes of his little brother.
It was Loki who looked away first, burying his face in the white sheets. He
couldn’t say anything. Thor felt his heart stop in his chest when he saw the
glint of gold over his brother’s lips.
They’d sewn his lips – no, no, no, after bringing him back anew, without the
horrors of his past to haunt him, they had gone and sewn his lips -
 
No.
It was only a gauzy gold kerchief tied around his mouth. Only.
Thor slipped his finger under the silk and pushed it down over the boy’s chin.
There was more. This was no time for questions. He untied the silk kerchief,
wiping the spit from around Loki’s mouth and pulled out whatever it was that
had been shoved into his mouth.
It was in the shape of a man’s member, and a very well endowed likeness of one
at that. It was obscene.
Startled, Thor dropped it on the bed, and it fell right in front of his
brother’s face, wet and glistening with his spit. It should not be anywhere
near his brother. And yet, it had been shoved into his mouth.
For a moment, Loki had stopped his struggling and lay there, arched backwards
like a bow. The silence was broken by the sound of coughing and hacking, as
Loki tried to recover, and Thor resumed untying the bonds around his brother’s
hands and feet.
Worse and worse.
He stank of debauchery, and what was once a very fine shirt was stuck to his
skin with dried seed – Thor felt his vision go red, and almost tore that
remnant of filth from his younger brother when Loki tried to raise a hand and
stopped to cough again.
“Don’t –” Loki’s voice was hoarse and low, and he had never sounded so
defeated. “I… it might take the skin off with it.”
Thor unloosened the bonds, but left the shirt hanging off his shoulders, and
rushed to run the bath.
When he returned, Loki was tugging at the bonds at his back, wincing as the
blood started flowing back into his hands again.
“Stop,” ordered Thor, not trusting himself not to sound harsh. “You’ll break
your wrists that way.” He sat down at the edge of the bed to undo the last
knot, and saw what Loki had been in such a rush to rid himself of.
His slim, boyish buttocks were trussed up in a harlot’s skimpy finery.
The disgust must have crept onto his face – not so much the sudden and shameful
heat in his groin – and Loki tried to scramble off the bed. Thor caught his
arms, a wriggling, manic little fury.
“Let go, let go of me, don’t touch me –” hissed Loki, angry as a trapped
wildcat, and Thor dropped his hands from his brother, as if he were a lump of
hot coal. How could he? How could he lay rough hands on his brother when it was
clear – 
“Who did this to you?” he demanded. “Who dared touch you? Who raped you?”
He thought he had seen the worst when he saw his innocent little brother’s face
turn away from him in shame. It was nothing to the hot angry tears that spilled
down his cheeks at that, as if Thor had torn away his world and crushed it
under his callous bootstep.
 
                                       §
 
He thought facing Thor’s disgust would be the worst. Loki thought he couldn’t
bear seeing that look on Thor’s face – just as Mephisto had said, he was
horrified when he found out – and it burned, he thought, worse than anything.
But it wasn’t the worst. It wasn’t as bad as the pity.
Because when Thor looked at him again, when his noble nature shook away his
disgust, his eyes gentled and looked upon Loki as he would an abused innocent,
someone small and weak and fragile. And broken.
Thor would never touch him now. He would never lay hands on a victim. His
chance was slipping, hope was dying, and that door was closing, just as Thor’s
strong arms lifted him gently from the bed, and Loki struggled, pushing and
kicking at him as he was carried to the bath. It was as effective as eggs
thrown against a boulder.
“No one!” shouted Loki. “Nobody raped me. I wanted it! I wanted all of it. I
asked him to do this to me. I wanted him to fuck me. I begged for it –”
“Hush,” said Thor, terribly.
“I wanted to do it. I let him fuck me! I'm stupid and horny all the time
because of you! I can’t get enough cock to stop thinking about – ”
Without warning, Thor dropped him in the bath, and he swallowed bubbles.
Bubblebath? Strawberry bubblegum bubblebath? Of all the - !
Thor thought he was a baby! He’d done stuff! He’d done stuff that would make
Thor blush and stutter! He'd show him!
“You’re too young,” his brother was saying. “You’re far too young for any of
this.”
He was perched on a low footstool next to the tub, hanging his head and
refusing to look at him.
“Says you,” said Loki, glowering at him from under his wet hair, the suds
sliding down the side of his face. “I’m old enough.”
Thor made a sound, halfway between a grunt and a snort.
“Old enough to suckle at a mother’s breast,” he said, then sat up abruptly.
“Was it a woman who did this?” demanded Thor, like he was steeling himself to
punch a woman in the face if he had to. A scary-ass woman, Thor was probably
imagining, nine-feet tall and all dressed up in dominatrix leathers with a
riding whip ready to spank him – oh, yeah –
Loki made an annoyed face at him. It wasn’t just mouthing off at Thor. That
damned plug was still itching up his arse, and he couldn’t believe this.
“My boyfriend’s way older than you are,” he said, in a snotty voice, “and way
more experienced. We do all sorts of hot, perverted stuff in bed –”  he’d never
actually done it in a bed,  “ – and he wants me, like, all the time,and he’s
got this really huge dick and he likes to make me –”
There was something like a growl from Thor this time, and Loki looked up, and
against all odds, hope was stirring. Thor was rubbing his face like he wanted
to rub it off completely.
“Your boyfriend…” he was muttering, “and he left you like this….”
Loki sunk low in the bath. His hands were tingling like a thousand needles
jabbing at him at once. Gingerly he flexed his ankles. Stupid demon, tying him
up so tight, like he was in some kind of real hostage thingy. Like demons would
even understand the concept of fluffy handcuffs.
“So yeah, maybe I pissed him off a little,” muttered Loki, scattering a
mountain of bubblegum-scented bubbles. “So maybe I was, like, soooohorny and
insatiable that he couldn’t handle a hot little number like me ordering him
around in be–”
“Hush!”
The water had soaked through and softened the dried demon spunk, and the shirt
floated around him. Loki gathered it, dripping and soggy, and tossed it out of
the bath. It made a sodden mess on the tiles. Thor didn’t deign to look at it.
They didn’t say anything for a while. The hot water from the tub was steaming
up the bathroom.
“Thor?” he said in a tiny voice. His brother was staring glumly at his own
feet.
“Thor?” he tried again. He tugged idly at the ribbons, loosening them under the
bubbles, and the bindings and the silver mesh came off, rising to the surface
like a dead jellyfish. Quietly, he slid that out of the bath, too.
“Do you hate me now?”
Thor raised his head. “What?”
“Do you hate me now… because I’m, like, dirty and stuff? Do you think I’m… do
you think I’m… filth?”
“What?”
“He said…. He said you would.” In the bath, Loki poked discreetly at the edges
of the plug, and winced. “He said you’d think I was awful once you found out
about it. This. You know. He said you wouldn’t look at me except to spit on me.
He said –”
And Loki was pulled halfway out of the bath and crushed against a steel
breastplate in his brother’s embrace.
“He says too much, and knows too little of truth,” said Thor. His vambraces
were digging into a tender spot on Loki’s wet back, but he didn’t care.
When Thor finally let go, Loki leaned on the edge of the tub and looked up at
his brother, and Thor smiled finally – a weak one almost tipping the scales
into sadness, but it was a smile – and he brushed the soap suds off Loki’s
forehead.
“Maybe he just…”
“Enough about him,” said Thor, and he stroked Loki’s cheek, the line of his
jaw, and it was different when it was Thor. It was different when that
gentleness meant something.
“So maybe he was jealous,” whispered Loki, looking up at him through wet
lashes. “Jealous because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
And this time, Thor’s smile didn’t look so sad any more, and just a little
smug.
“So, you wanted this,” said Thor.
“Like I’ve been saying all along,” said Loki. “How else was I going to end up
naked with you?"
And Thor's eyes glinted, not so gentle now. Loki grinned.
"Scrub my back, brother?”
 
                                       §
 
The bath tub was too large. And this was just a guest suite. Damn that Tony
Stark and his overblown sense of extravagance. Thor was leaning against the
edge, resting his head back, and not intruding in Loki’s space at all. For all
that baths were supposed to be relaxing, he looked tense as… well, Loki knew on
good authority that Hell wasn’t all that tensed up.
Loki drew his knees up in the water and fiddled with the base of the plug. Thor
was trying hard not to look at him, which was harder since a lot of the bubbles
had popped down, and most of what was left was a flat pinkish foam on the
surface of the water.
“Do you think I’m bad, now?” Loki mumbled. The plug wasn’t going to come out
easily, and it was just his luck if it came out with a really embarrassingly
loud pop. With bubbles.
“Not this again,” said Thor.
“Do you?”
Thor only smiled at him and shook his head.
“What if I end up bad, Thor? What if I was just bad all along. What if –”
“Shhh… you worry too much,” said Thor.
“You’d worry if you were me,” said Loki rebelliously. “It’s not like I want to
be bad, but I just end up tangled up in really complicated stuff, and then you
have to catch me at it at the worst possible moment, and then it looksreally
bad but actually –”
“You’re not bad,” interrupted Thor. “There’s no such thing, only mistakes. And
we can always overcome them, and try to change things for the better.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
“But what if I make a huge mistake, so huge that I can’t ever –”
“Then you will go on,” said Thor. “And keep going on. You must have faith, and
above all faith in yourself.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” Thor was looking at him now, pinning him with that straight-on
earnest, unflinching clear blue gaze that he had, and it was Loki who looked
away, rubbing idly at his arms.
“Do you have faith in me?”
And Thor didn’t stop looking at him.
“Always.”
No matter what happened, no matter where he landed, no matter what he’d have to
do. He’d hold on to that. Thor was making small waves with his hand, and
fiddling with the panel of settings on the side. Warmer water whirled in,
funneling out the lukewarm old bathwater from the bottom, and this time the
bubbles were blue. Blueberry flavor. Man, Stark had issues. Not that it was any
of Loki’s business.
The water buoyed his hips and he wriggled a little. The force of the stream
tickled at him in exactly the wrong way, but this was the time to do it.
“Thor?” he asked, above the gentle hum of the bath.
“Yes?”
Thor had blue suds on his shoulders and clinging to his hair, and later, Loki
was so going to build a ship made of bubbles on his head. Later.
“Could you help me get this plug out of my butt?”
 
                                       §
 
He didn’t haveto fall forward into Thor’s space, didn’t have to wrap his arms
around Thor’s neck and hold him tight, but he did, as Thor found the plug and
gingerly, oh so carefully, spread his cheeks and slowly and gently pulled out
the toy.
“Ooof!”
He didn’t have to fall, cock first against Thor’s chest either, and slide down,
rubbing it all the way down and end up sitting in his lap, his legs wrapped
around his brother.
Thor looked too startled to jump back at first, and then, when he tried to
scuttle away, Loki was sitting right in his lap anyway and went along with him
until he hit the edge of the tub.
They looked down, through the suds and wavery water, at the indistinct shape of
Loki’s cock, hard and pressed up against Thor’s own cock, and stirring it
awake.
Loki writhed against him, urging Thor to hardness.
“Loki, what are you –”
“It’s the stupid plug. It's doing this to me,” said Loki quickly. He wasn't
lying, at least he wasn't sure he wasn't. Maybe it was actually true, he didn't
know. “It had weird stuff on it. I’m really hard, Thor. I’ve been kind of
reallyhorny all this time, didn’t you notice? I really appreciate the pep talk
and all, but I really, really, really need to come, like right now. I'm so
hard, it hurts.”
Thor was staring at him, flabbergasted. Loki didn’t stop humping him.
“It’s got to be some kind of evil sex drug,”said Loki, rubbing his cock against
Thor’s desperately. That made sense, didn't it? It felt so good, and it was
going to feel so much better with a hand wrapped around them both… yeah. “Or a
spell or something. You know! Haven’t you had this happen before? You’re a
superhero! Didn’t anyone ever put an evil sex spell on you? Didn’t Iever do it?
Well, I should have! Come on, Thor. I really reallyneed to come reallybad.
Please! What if I die if I don’t get a good fuck? Do you want that to happen?
You’d rather let your little brother die than not fuck him? Ohhh…”
It didn’t take much.
He had, in the end, only a pubescent body, and he wasn’t lying when he said
he’d been hard all this time, with his cock trapped in that infernal little
silver net. Rubbing against Thor, stuff of dreams, with Thor’s cock against his
cock in the grip of his too small hand, that had been more than enough. He
spilled and spilled, the hot white fluid hitting the hard planes of Thor’s
stomach, only to be washed away in the water.
Loki slumped, panting against his brother’s chest. This was it. It was short,
but this was it. No matter how many demons fucked him, no matter how
interminably long they drew it out, it wasn’t anything compared to a few
precious moments of rubbing up against his brother – wait, not few,lots,
lots!He lasted way longer than that. It was all about where you started
counting, honestly!
Thor was stroking his hair, and his shoulders, and running his large callused
hand down one arm in a soothing way, like you’d gentle an excited little
animal, and Loki sighed, wearily. Thor kissed his brow, and Loki wanted to stay
this way forever, close and comforting. He smothered his face in the crook of
Thor’s neck.
Wait a minute. He was getting hard again.
“No way, you’ve gotto be kidding me.”
Yup, he was hard again.
He was still loose and open from the plug, and quickly he lifted himself up,
gripping Thor’s still hard cock, and lowered himself down on it.
Thor’s eyes were wide, and his mouth dropped open as Loki’s mouth did the same,
as they drew in the smallest, shallowest of gasps as Thor’s cock entered him
slowly, filling him up so complete and full as no demon cock could, and oh,
this, this was what it felt like, to finally come home again, to feel so
unbearably, excruciatingly, wonderfully alive.
Fully seated, he held tight to Thor’s neck and sighed.
“I’m not rapingyou, am I, Thor?” he asked, and Thor wrapped a hand around
Loki’s cock, his other hand curled possessively around the base of Loki’s neck,
which set off another faint memory. His head was full of bygones.
“What do you think?” said Thor, his voice barely a groan as Loki was riding
him, pulling his length through that vibrant heat.
Loki cried out, shaking his head as Thor gripped him tight, held him by his
slim, boyish waist, and sheathed Loki's hard, impatient cock inside his fist
and pumped it, watching Loki’s eyes, the way his mouth formed a lovely oh as
Thor’s cock found that spot inside, and how it wrecked him and how he clung to
Thor, and Thor thought couldn’t bear it. How his sweet little brother came
apart in his arms with wanton lust, and still held him tight, as each stored up
the memory of slide and burn, sensation and scintillation, skin against skin,
and skin inside skin, as if this was the last time they would ever have
together, instead of the beginning of something so secret and so perfect that
it would last forever and ever and never die. And why, why should it, when now
they knew how to feel and not to lie, wrapped up in each other and inside each
other and never let go?
Thor must have come, and Loki too, their breaths mixed as he found Loki’s sweet
boyish lips and his sweet eager tongue, the warm sudsy water washing away their
pleasure and their joy in each other’s bodies that had no need for words.
 
When he awoke, Thor found himself on the bed, Loki curled up against his chest,
twitching like a puppy chasing rabbits, and whimpering. He pulled the blankets
up to cover him, and gathered him close to watch his little brother sleep.
Loki kicked, and cried out softly as if he was the one being chased by the
monsters from the depths of his troubled mind, and Thor shook him gently.
“Loki, it’s only a dream,” he said, and when Loki turned from him, grumpy, he
slid his thigh between his brother’s legs, and tucking his brother into the
soft heat of his groin, eventually Thor fell asleep again.
What nightmares the future brought, they would overcome them together. Enough
of trickery. Now was the time for treats.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Stay safe, stay dry, sweethearts.
     Happy Halloween!
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