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Beautiful nymphs gyrated in the amber glow of a thousand whispering candles, surrounded by intoxicated knights who choired drunken ballads. The great hall's arched ceiling was crowned with splendour and joy. Ne'er ere this hath the castle of the king witnessed such mirth and revelry as the festivity that doth grace this eve.

The bituminous bricks of the walls shone as brightly as the nocturnal firmament.

The newly-wed man did savour the saccharine nectar of triumph, his lips meeting the goblet's rim as he gazed downward from the elevated table upon his matrimonial revelry. With hubris adorning his malevolent countenance, whereas his groom perched beside him, a melancholy visage etched upon his face.

The young prince, drowning in contempt, wished to scratch his eyes until they were nothing more than empty pools of blood. 

Loki was sorely troubled. In paternal perfidy, he found his trust dismantled and his homeland disowned him. His eyes darted nervously, eschewing the gazes of others.

The whole ceremony was turbulent, at least for Loki. The shaman chanted ancient rites to bind his hands to the brute with an exquisite golden cord; it was dreadful, both mentally and physically. Verily, the encounter proved to be of a most intense and overwhelming nature, thereby rendering Loki profoundly shaken. With each incantation, the air quivered, as did Loki.

He wanted to lacerate the cord, rip the crown of white, blue, and lavender lilac flowers from his head, and scream. He clenched his fists tightly, wanting to tear apart everything in his vicinity, as though that would in any wise way assuage the anguish he did bear.

Yet, who was to rescue him from this monstrous creature? The knights serving under his command? The young women who would have sacrificed everything to take his place? They could have him. 

Instead of marrying a fiend who enjoyed inventing new ways to torment people, Prince Loki would have much preferred to be married to a servant. 

However, he was robbed of his choice. 

His father, the stubborn old King of Jotunnheim, should not have refused King Thor’s generous proposal, adding the insult of promising him to another. 

What King Thor couldn’t achieve with charm, he took with blood, broken bones, injury, and trauma. 

After storming the castle, he personally came to collect the spoils of war, snatching the screaming Prince from his chambers as his men cheered, throwing suggestive innuendos. "For the victor and his spoils."

-

The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, and the once grand halls echoed with the sounds of clashing metal and desperate cries. Amid the ruins of what was once a sanctuary, the prince trembled, his eyes wide with terror, as he stared at King Thor. With a hand ensanguined within its gauntleted enclosure, the conqueror laid hold upon the juvenile prince, his grasp unwavering and determined.

-

The married couple’s table was plentiful with heavenly delights, with the scent of succulent meat permeating through his nose and famished throat. Nonetheless, Loki connected the pleasures served right away to the redolence of searing human flesh. 

His mind was tormented by visions and noises of wounded men and women in excruciating pain, soldiers who had sacrificed everything to protect their homeland from the Asgardian army. Silently protesting, his appetite grew weaker. In any case, he harboured no inclination to partake of victuals.

All because he dared to refuse the King’s proposal, but why wouldn't he? For the king was a savage and barbarian. It was as if he revelled in chaos and destruction, and he had no qualms about resorting to violence to get his way. He tore through Loki’s homeland to obtain his prize. Loki would never admit it to Thor directly, but his kinghood became synonymous with terror and oppression. 

He has never met the king before and has only heard tales of his annexation. Brutal conquests painted with crimson essence.

King Thor tore the roasted limb of a boar and took a mouthful of bites. He chewed happily, humming to himself as the flavour filled his mouth and his glacier gaze settled on his lovely prize. Anger tainted Loki's pale visage, but it accomplished nothing to take away from his beauty. 

In fact, it only intensified the desire-tinged taste already present in Thor’s mouth. 

“I have wanted you for many moons, my sweet groom, ever since I saw you frolicking in the enshrouded woodland beneath the nocturnal snowfall.” —smiling dreamily, he continued—"You wore emerald and creme silks and smiled so sweetly. You seemed to be at one with nature, playing with the faeries and dancing with the butterflies, each movement a harmony of effortless grace and fluidity. At that moment, I knew you would be mine," he said. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, It felt like a confession—a dark confession. Yet for Loki, it unfolded as a poignant revelation.

_

Many aeons ago.

Lok remembers that night—the earthy scent of moss, the distant hoots of nocturnal denizens, and the subtle melody of rustling leaves. 

And then the snap of a twig, not feeling alone.

He looked over his shoulder, turning slowly, his heart racing rapidly as he looked into the shadows. Even though he prayed to the Norns not to see anything, he still peered into the darkness. A ghostly mist crept between the trees, obscuring his vision and distorting the shapes that lingered in the shadows.

He could still see him—broad and hunched over—and very tall. Broad shoulders, thick chest, and powerful arms, but the face is hidden. The silhouette, barely discernible against the tangled backdrop of foliage, seemed both ethereal and foreboding. A sudden chill swept through the air, causing the leaves to shiver in an eerie cadence.

Loki sensed he should flee, for if he cherished his existence. But still, he waited for him, as if his mind recognised that imposing figure. Nothing happened; Loki waited for him to say something or do anything, but he just stood still. The only thing that broke the oppressive silence was the creaking of the ancient trees, as if the wood itself harboured a malevolent intelligence.

Loki’s hands slithered under his tunic, where he hid his knife, but then another snap of a twig. This time it felt closer, more chilling.

He whipped the knife, the blade shining under the twilight, and turned around to make a dash for it, but that person was onto him before he could even lift the knife in the air. He was shoved into the rough bark of a tree, whimpering in pain as its jagged edges stabbed him in the back. The knife clattered into the forest floor as his wrist was seized up above his head. It was definitely a man, with hard planes of muscles pressed against Loki’s soft ones and thick thighs wedged between Loki’s in an attempt to halt his movement.

Loki choked out a sob, feeling helpless. He was afraid to see his face, but he turned his face perpetually to see why he hadn't done anything. 

Petrified, his eyes lingered on his chest. Tight, informal clothes appropriate for bed only adorned his chest; smooth skin glowing under the moonlight; blonde hair as shiny as the sun herself hung on his shoulders; and finally, his eyes.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue, reminiscent of a cloudless summer sky. Loki would engrave those eyes in the annals of his memory for all eternity.

The man lifted Loki’s chin to make Loki look at him properly as if he were the prey, but the rest of his moments were gentle. He caressed Loki’s cheek, slow and steady, as if he were afraid to spook Loki.

“Pray tell, why are you alone in here, sauntering amidst the woodlands?” and his voice, honeyed with sweetness. The entrancing rhythm played like a seductive dance, leaving a trail of captivation. Loki felt goosebumps all over. 

Suddenly, the weight on his body vanished, and his hands lay limp beside him. The man pulled away, though it appeared to be physically painful for him to do so.

“Go home; it's not safe in here.” and Loki ran.

_

While a server approached to replenish the wine, Thor was cleaning oil from his fingers and extending the adorned glass.

King Thor had his eyes on the prince of Jotunnheim for decades, ever since his boyhood. The reason for this intense preoccupation was whispered to be linked to a prophecy, one that had been passed down through generations of seers and oracles. A mighty clash shall be waged, foretelling the destiny of the nine realms, as decreed by the prophecy.

As Loki listened to the low and pleasant melody of his voice, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Despite the soothing tone, each word that the man spoke seemed to cut deeper than the last, causing tears of anger and dislike to well up within him. The unwanted obscenities that the King forced into Loki's mind threatened to push through, leaving him feeling violated, vulnerable, and powerless.

King Thor's gaze was cold and calculating as he stared at him, as if he were nothing more than an insignificant object to be studied. He examined every inch of Loki’s figure with a critical eye, taking in even the smallest details as if they held some hidden meaning. It was as if he were sizing him up, weighing his worth and value like another dish in his royal banquet. The intensity of the king's scrutiny was suffocating, leaving him feeling exposed and unguarded in his presence.

His tongue flicked over his lips like a slippery, serpentine thing. There was no longer any food that could sate the rumbling hunger inside of Thor.  

He had been waiting for Loki his entire life, and he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. The temptation of mystery, his carnal urges, and the very idea of Loki ignited a flame within him—a flame that refused to flicker even as the years rolled on.

Loki's body was overcome with tidal shivers as he sat in the teeming thoroughfare, the music pounding against his ears like the thunderous heartbeat of conflict. 

In the midst of the room's warmth, he felt chilled to his very bones, his skin prickling with disquiet.

In an ephemeral lapse, he forgot his place and dared to meet the malign gaze etched upon his foe's countenance. A sudden sense of foreboding descended upon them as their eyes locked, and the room appeared to grow cold. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched by something dark and insidious. The intensity of the moment was suffocating, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Fairy tales often say that a soul adorned with shadows and scars bodes for a monstrous face, but even in his greatest despise for the King, he couldn’t deny King Thor was the most beautiful-looking monster he had ever seen. His eyes were illuminated by pure cobalt, lending them a captivating radiance. His features had the unmistakably masculine quality of having been expertly sculpted by a talented artist. He appeared exactly the same, but he was older and fiercer; he had the appearance of a king, not the young man from that night. His lovely eyes had lost their tenderness and had taken on a menacing attitude.

As he looked at the man beside him, Loki couldn't help but notice the careful attention he paid to his appearance. On his square jaw, a light seasoning of stubble grew, carefully groomed to perfection. It was clear that every hair had been placed with care, adding a sense of rugged masculinity to his otherwise polished features. Rich champagne-colored locks flowed down his back in an impeccable wave, adorning his head. It was manifest that he spared no expense in matters pertaining to his grooming, for each filament of his hair was meticulously arranged with precision.

‘Wretched Beast,’ he cursed him under his breath, invoking shadows upon him in whispered antipathy.

As Thor's lips curled into a twisted smirk, Loki felt a tremor that traced its path along his vertebrae. The expression on the king's face was one of pure malice, and it sent frost through his veins. He couldn't help but avert his eyes, wary to encounter Thor's glance, lest therein lies trepidation of what he may discern. Instead, he focused on the sharp knife that perched on the table in front of him, the glint of its edge catching the light. 

It was a small comfort, but it was the only thing that kept him from completely succumbing to his fear. He could feel the weight of Thor's gaze on him, and he knew that one wrong move could mean the end of him. Despite the terror that consumed him, he endeavoured to uphold a masquerade of serenity, praying that his fear wouldn't show on his face.

“Are you not enjoying our nuptial banquet, little snake?” He asked, noticing a muscle twitch in Loki’s clenched jaw. 

Loki's body tensed as he felt another wave of venom surge through him, his muscles contracting involuntarily. It was as if the anger within him had taken on a life of its own, coursing through his veins like a raging inferno. 

He held his breath, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it was a losing battle. The anger was now visibly apparent, burning hot in his eyes and etched onto his face. His hands trembled with the effort of controlling his rage, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of powerlessness in the face of it. It was as if he were at the mercy of his own emotions, a slave to their whims. The venom that coursed through his body was a poison that threatened to consume him, and he knew that he had to find a way to quell it before it was too late.

Thor flashed his teeth with amusement at the sight of his struggle. His precious gem, indomitable, a fortress of unyielding will. Fine, delicate lines caressed his face, like a child of fire. 

But he was truly a progeny of frost.

Loki would be the perfect queen. He exuded a regal air that was impossible to ignore. His slender frame was draped in pure white robes that flowed gracefully around his blue tinged skin, adding to his already striking presence. Expensive jewellery adorned his horns and shoulders, and threads of aureate chokers closely embraced his neck.

Loki would also wage war on Thor if he could, which only fueled Thor's desire.

As the man leaned closer, Loki couldn't help but notice the large dimples that streaked his face. They seemed to deepen as he inhaled deeply, inhaling a gentle breath of Loki's lush skin.

The feeling of Thor’s breath on his neck was both intoxicating and terrifying. He could feel the man's eyes on him, studying him with a predatory intensity that made him feel exposed and vulnerable. The scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of sweat and musk, creating a heady mix that filled the air around them. 

Loki struggled to cradle his equanimity, but his heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel his palms growing slick with sweat. It was as if he was caught in a trap, unable to escape the man's metaphorical grasp. Despite his fear, he couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards him—a dangerous mix of desire and apprehension that left him feeling dizzy with emotions. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of the conflicting feelings coursing through his veins, unsure of what to do next.

The fragrance of virginity, as delicate as an early spring flower, attacked Thor's nostrils. It is a pity he would take it away tonight.  

" Look at me ," the King stated, a command veiled in the form of a request. His voice was stern and authoritative, leaving no room for disobedience. Loki slowly lifted his gaze to meet the king's eyes, detecting a tremor tracing its way along his backbone as he did so. The King's gaze was piercing, and it felt as though he could see into Loki's very soul. 

Loki tried to look away, but the King's voice rang out once again, "Don't look away. Gaze upon me!" Loki felt trapped, like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move or look away. He knew that he had no choice but to obey the King's command, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. The awareness that a single mistake could lead to disastrous consequences was deeply ingrained in him.

"Once upon a time, I flayed a man alive for disobeying me."  

"You are ruthless," harsh words danced from Loki's tongue towards the king, his voice filled with animosity and frustration. He refused to escape how one so beautiful could harbour such cruelty. He couldn't believe that the king would be so cruel despite all the bitter sagas he had heard about the Aesir King, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. He presumed the room fell silent as Loki's words hung in the air, and he could feel the tension building between them.

Thor smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. This was nothing. He had been called far worse things in the last three decades, and he had learned to take it all in stride. It was just part of being a monster, after all.

But he couldn't help but feel a sense of beguilement at the situation. He had always been the bigger and stronger one, and he had always been able to take on any challenge that came his way. He had faced down giants and monsters, and he had emerged victorious every time.

Therefore, it did not matter to him that his spouse called him a few derogatory names. It only temped him more to corrupt his beloved completely.

"You'll have to do better than that," Thor said, his voice laced with humour.

"I've heard it all before."

Loki glared at him, evidently irritated by the fact that his words had no effect on Thor. But Thor only laughed, relishing the situation.

Filled with defiance, Loki uttered the words, "You really are insufferable."

Lips intoxicated with crimson nectar, the king inched closer. The sharp tip of his nose pushed Loki’s hair aside, and his hand moved to pluck a violet flower from the wreath that circled his head. Crude fingers crushed the tiny petal before allowing it to fall onto his wedding garb. A playful hand moved in to take possession, pulling the hem up to secure the silks. 

“I can’t wait to feel you from inside, your nude body surrendering to mine,” he whispered lewdly.

Struck with fright, Loki’s thigh jerked involuntarily. But the king pushed the weight of his hand onto Loki’s leg and continued to lift his overflowing skirts, exposing his knee.

“Get your abominable hands off me, you beastly creature,” Loki managed to croak out. But to his surprise, Thor's reaction was priceless, his eyes crinkling with amusement and his laughter ringing through the room. It was clear that he found the situation highly entertaining, and the corners of his mouth turned into a mischievous grin.

“Now don’t be so harsh, my queen. Is that how you talk to your husband? Many would have loved to take your place tonight,” the low hum of his voice blew against the shell of Loki’s ear. It was a sound that he had heard many times before, but this time it had the power to make him feel weak in the knees. 

He imagined this same voice when he touched himself at night.

He tried to focus on something else, trying to distract himself from the sensation of Thor's breath against his skin. But it was impossible. Thor's voice was too mesmerising, too seductive. Weaving a spell around Loki that he couldn't break free from.

“Let them take it then.” Loki spat, but a petrified hiss broke his speech. Suffocating in his own corset, his breasts pressed into the hard bodice in dire demand for air as Thor’s thumb slipped into uncharted territory.

“Careful now, darling." His voice was low and menacing as he issued the warning, and his eyes flashed with dangerous intensity. And he slithered his tongue to lick Loki’s neck just below his ears while his thumb circled the hidden pearl at the apex of his groin, bypassing the lace undergarment. A gasp escaped from Loki’s quivering lips, and his eyes screwed shut, his lashes adorned with crystalline tears. 

Loki closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound and Thor’s touch on his overly sensitive region. But it was of no use. He was entranced, ensnared in Thor's spell.

"You will love me in time, and you will realise I rescued you from your fading realm," Thor whispered, his voice sending a wave of heat through Loki's body.

Loki tried to resist and tried to push Thor away. But he was too weak, too impotent. Thor was like an immovable mountain, unyielding and adamant, and Loki knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Your wedding night can either be a reverie or a phantasmagoria, a dream or nightmare. Either way, you will carry out your responsibilities as my consort in every manner."

Thor's other hand trailed down Loki's back, sending a shiver of pleasure through him. Loki knew that he should stop him, that he should push him away. But he couldn't. He was too engrossed in the sensation of Thor's touch and the present.

He hated himself for enjoying Thor's touch and for feeling the warmth of his captor’s hands on his body. It was wrong; he knew that. But he couldn't help it. He craved Thor's touch, craved the feeling of his strong arms around him. He felt a sense of shame wash over him—a sense of guilt for his treacherous desires.

A massive thud splintered the hallway, and then there was a fury of embarrassing laughter waves. The broad, inebriated knight fell into a pool of ale and struck his posterior on the earth. For a moment, Loki believed himself to be the subject of subtle derision.  

“My duties?” In the archaic manner of speech, Loki inquired betwixt lips that did wobble, albeit the reply had already echoed within his mind.

His heart dropped to his gut, leaving an empty void in his ribcage. He had always feared this moment. His mother and tutors explained to him his obligations, including the consummation of marriage. He was to serve his husband, bend to his whims, and obey his commands, but hearing it out loud was still a bitter draught to swallow. 

The weight of his responsibilities felt heavier than ever before, and he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to break free from the shackles of his fate.

The king pulled his hand from between Loki’s sweaty thighs, but not before pinching the soft inner thigh area, which made Loki exhale in torment. Pulling Loki's face to meet his penetrating gaze, Thor cupped his fragile chin, feeling the softness of Loki’s skin. 

“You’ll produce me heirs.”

Brief blackness filled his mind, and the chill of his words nearly crippled his limbs. 

‘ Heirs ,’ plural. As he sat there, an unsettling sensation began to unfurl deep within him. Dread, like a slow-burning ember, ignited in the pit of his stomach.

The pain shot through his muscles with an intensity that could not be described; it felt like a million tiny needles stabbing him.

A deathly hush fell upon the room with the sharp thump of Thor's hands on the table. As Loki struggled to collect himself, a poised maid and a stern guard swiftly approached, offering deep bows to their formidable king. This display of respect and loyalty serves as a testament to the power and authority wielded by the ruler. 

The guard's eyes were fixed on the ground, while the maid nervously fidgeted with her apron. Loki could not help but ponder upon the nature of the chastisement that awaited them should they falter in meeting the expectations of their king.

“Prepare your queen for our wedding night." The king commanded, his voice booming across the hall and causing many of the guests to jump in their seats despite their inebriation. 

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the trembling groom, as a demure maid approached Loki. The maid carefully took the groom's hand and pulled him to stand in front of the king, who was now grinning wickedly. The groom's face went pale as he stood before the king, unsure of what was about to happen. The guests watched on in silence, their eyes darting between the king and the groom, waiting for the next move. 

Loki was full sore abashed, and put to shame; why did he have to announce it to the entire hall?

Loki stood on wobbly legs, the colour diminishing from his face. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, and with each step he took, the ground beneath him felt more and more unstable. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest; the sound of it filled his ears, drowning out all other noise. He tried to clear his mind and diverge into the tapestry of distraction, but the words that had been forced into his mind were like poison, spreading through his thoughts and tainting everything they touched.

Forced to follow the guard, he turned away from Thor, but then the king’s fingers snapped at Loki’s wrist and stopped him in place.

“Remember,” he called out, his voice lowering. “I can either make love to you or force it on you.”

The melody of his voice was whispered in soothing tones, yet those words stemmed tears of displeasure and disdain, which threatened to push through. Loki gritted his teeth, feeling the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. He refused to let this person see him cry, refused to give Thor satisfaction. He straightened his back, lifting his chin, and met the other person's gaze with a steely determination. strolling towards the sepulchre the king crafted for his price.

    xx

The bedchamber was a dark paradise. The canopy bed was draped in rich silks, and the soft glow of candlelight added to the room's sense of intimacy and warmth. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood lingered in the air, and a gentle breeze carried in the distant sound of music, making it the perfect place to escape from the world outside. 

Loki tried to calm himself, but he knew he was to be devoured tonight. He could hear the sound of his own breathing, ragged and uneven, and he could feel the sweat on his brow as fear gripped him tightly. The anticipation of what was to come was too great, and he knew that he would soon be at the mercy of his captor.

The chamber was as frighteningly beautiful as it was dangerous and sensual, akin to a shrouded Eden, just like his husband. A meagre flicker of candlelight revealed soft shapes in shades of warm gold and obsidian, an unending struggle between light and shadow spilling over walls painted with celestial figures.  

Wrought with horror, Loki’s eyes travelled from the paintings to the wedding bed, registering the soft white furs and virginal sheets that hid behind a scarlet-veiled canopy.

Silently waiting for a virgin to be sacrificed.

In the aphotic corners of his mind, troubling images began to surface. His consciousness played with the provocative works of art depicting visions of mortals indulging in grotesquery.

"Not while I'm still breathing," he vowed, scratching his claws into the veil of the bedpost while the maid unlaced the back of his corset and stripped him from his bodice. Despite the odds stacked against him, he refused to go without a fight.

Loki did scan the chamber for keen-edged tools when he suddenly felt an undoubtable kindle of hope.

A gentle, shy wind caressed his bare skin, dragging his gaze over an open window. His eyes were drawn to the open window, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the world beyond. Outside, a thick blanket of stars sparkled silently, beautifully, and brightly, as if they were alive and had secrets to tell. The twinkling stars called out to Loki, begging him to join them in the unchained night, away from the troubles of the world. The sight was serene and inviting, and for a moment, Loki forgot about everything else.

But the king’s words still echoed in his mind, resonated in his thoughts like a foreboding spectre. 

The mousy maid dressed him in a nightgown that rested loosely on his naked curves. She fussed with the fabric, trying to make it fit better, but it was clear that it was too big for him. He felt self-conscious and uncomfortable, but he didn't say anything. It was supposed to be seductive and alluring, but he felt like a tavern whore.

The little thing bowed at her queen, blank-faced as she left the room without uttering a single word. However, just before she turned to leave, she clasped Loki's hands in a reassuring grip, squeezing them three times to convey her deep empathy and understanding. This simple act of kindness served as a reminder that he might have someone in this unknown realm.

Staring at the closed door, Loki wondered whether the servant girl was born mute or if the king had taken her tongue as punishment for some unknown offence. It was a cruel thought, but not entirely unfounded, considering the king's reputation for being ruthless and unforgiving. Rumour has it that King Thor slayed an entire court of councils when they accused him of committing patricide. Who knew the truth? Did he actually behead his own father with the mighty stormbreaker? 

Adamant to escape, the young prince hurried towards the gaping windows, his fingers latching around the cold stone ledge. Silver moonlight cascaded over tall, indigo spruce trees, shimmering on the dew that beaded their fresh needles. The midsummer night gazed peacefully, deriding him from the height at which the window stood. Despite the tranquillity of the night, he couldn't help but feel a sense of derision emanating from his surroundings, as if the universe were mocking the chaos of his thoughts.

“Beautiful view, isn't it, my queen?” 

The ground vanished beneath his feet, and a sudden rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he let out a pitched gasp. Strong, calloused hands slithered from his back and held him tightly, almost possessively, plastering him to the rough surface of the ledge. The warmth of the hands was in stark contrast to the coldness of the stone, and for a moment, he felt a strange sense of comfort in the touch, despite the precariousness of his position. Loki scolded his heart for dancing in the shadows of conflicting feelings.

“I don’t suppose you have wings.”

The velvet timbre nearly paralysed his spine, and as the heat of his body approached, suffocating despair strangled Loki's voice. His territory was pressed and annexed by the king, who dwarfed him from behind with his hard body. 

Just when Loki thought his crippling fear could get any worse, a hard, pulsating heat pushed against the small of his back. 

He might have been a virgin, yet he wasn't a stranger to the tales of other wives, their passionate yearnings, and nights spent under the rumpled sheets. 

At last, tears gave way; they cascaded down his cheeks, plump and glossy. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, the weight of the situation proved too much to bear, and he found himself overwhelmed by a tidal wave of grief and sorrow.

Thor gazed upon the drops on his queen’s face that dampened the stone on the window’s edge. As he looked at Loki, Thor couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness and worry wash over him.

Thor almost felt melancholic; a warm, soothing feeling tugged at his heartstrings with an almost palpable force, but he quickly shook it off. He had to be strong and assert his dominance over his queen to mould him into the perfect consort, someone who could aid in ruling Asgard alongside him.

Little sniffles came from the prince; it was natural to cry on the wedding night, but this one was particularly obstinate. Even in Loki’s silent sobs, he could hear the crackling embers of the war he waged against Thor. A darker, depraved part of Thor rejoiced in happiness.

If only Loki knew how it ignited Thor’s longing.

His hands slid up Loki’s arms and latched onto his supple frame, carefully turning Loki to face him. 

Blonde, coarse hair peppered his muscular golden chest, peering forth from the partially ajar, amber-hued garment that graced his chest.

The King’s scent was a curious blend of burning wood, pines, and mossy tree bark, still damp from rain and ozone. It was as if he had just emerged from a forest, with his clothes and hair carrying the fragrance of the woods. The smell of burning embers added a layer of warmth and comfort to the overall aroma, while the woody notes of pine and moss brought a sense of freshness and vitality. His body seemed to embody strength and resilience, and yet, at the same time, it felt supple and inviting, like a warm embrace from an old friend.

Thor's eyes softened as he took in the thick tears rolling down Loki's face. His expression darkened with the arctic chill that emanated from within him. As careful as a predator stalking his prey, his knuckles reached to collect each tear, tracing tenderly along Loki's cheeks. Thor let Loki's grief coat his fingers, a silent acknowledgement of his queen’s pain. 

Loki flinched at his touch but stared back at the icicles in his eyes. 

False affection , Loki concluded, filled the King’s gaze, his lips pressing together into a silent coo while he tasted Loki’s sorrow, but Loki knew better than to trust an animal. 

Loki's hands trembled as they lifted to Thor's semi-exposed chest, fingers curling into fists. With a sudden burst of anger, he shoved Thor away, his body betraying his emotions.

Yet the king hardly budged. Loki's eyes blazed with a storm of woe. His chest, a pulsing bellow, caught in the rhythm of each strained breath.

A low chuckle rumbled at the back of Thor’s throat. Swiftly, his hands snapped at Loki’s wrist and pulled him against his broad chest. 

“Such an unyielding little spitfire,” he growled, releasing one of Loki’s hands to reach his arm behind his back. 

"I will especially take pleasure in making you my whore."

Lewd fingers squeezed him from behind, groping and slipping lower over the chemise to the sacred spot that pulsated alluring warmth on the rough pads of his fingers. 

The sensation elicited another deep chuckle from Thor, and his cock responded with a surge of excitement.

An alarmed hiss escaped Loki’s mouth as his fingers threatened to press inside him. Rational thoughts went absent in his mind as he instinctively raised his hand and slapped him so hard, tilting his world askew.

The sting tingled on his cheek, and the scent of iron tugged at his nose as something warm and wet surfaced on his bottom lip. His head turned back ever so slowly, his mouth sucking the blood while he stared at his feisty war prize. 

Loki’s chest still heaved, his eyes ablaze. It was clear that he was not going to back down easily; his body was tense and ready for action.

It took every tendril of Thor’s self-control not to rip Loki apart. 

His hand snapped to Loki’s jaw, ignoring the frightened gasps of protest that crooked from his mouth. The sudden movement frightened Loki as his captor's hand closed around his jaw, silencing his alarming gasps of protest. Despite the pain, Loki refused to show any weakness; his eyes locked onto his captor's with a steely gaze.

"I should bend you over the window and ravage your little omega cunt,” he chided, pushing him to stand in front of the bed. The tension in the air was palpable, as both refused to back down.

“Take off your bridal vestments! I want to see what my battle won me.” King Thor commanded, glaring at Loki forebodingly.

"I won't ask twice," he declared, his voice firm and unwavering. He saw the hesitation in Loki's doe-like stare, and it only served to fuel his impatience. He had no time for games, no time for negotiation. It was clear that Loki needed to be brought to heel.

Despite the fear that ran through Loki's body, he could not help but admire the sheer force of will that his captor possessed. Loki knew that he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help himself. There was something about the danger that filled him with a sense of excitement, a thrill that he had never experienced before. It was a reckless attitude, one that had gotten him into trouble before, but he couldn't help himself.

Thor was not only entertained but also deeply impressed by Loki's mental fortitude. The way Loki acted with such recklessness and foolhardiness left Thor in awe.

As Loki found himself cowering before the imposing figure of the King, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread and defeat wash over him. He knew that he had tested Thor's limits one too many times and that he had finally pushed him to the point of no return. As he gazed up at the towering figure of the king, he realised how powerless he truly was in the face of such overwhelming strength and authority. The tangibility of truth unfolded on him, and he knew that it was best not to cross Thor again if he valued his own well-being.

The reality of the situation finally resonated in his mind: he was the king’s consort and thus his property. It was wiser to yield in silence, allowing him to claim what he desired, than to compound the tragedy of his destiny.

With a shivering breath and quivering fingers, Loki began unlacing his nightgown, letting the soft garment slide down and pile at his feet. Thor’s eyes sparkled with vile appetite, feasting on Loki’s naked form languidly. The young consort trembled so much that involuntary sobs left his lips, and his hands rose to cover as much skin as possible.  

‘ Such ethereal innocence, ’ he mused, a ravenous craving within his core. The beast’s claws itched, and his fangs gleamed in a tilted smirk, already fantasising about leaving Loki’s pale blue skin marked and branded by his seal. 

His gaze lingered for a few more moments before he began shedding his attire. With Loki's heart galloping at an alarming pace, he turned his visage away and swallowed with an uneasy grace.

But curiosity defied him; from faltering dark lashes, he peeked, and his lips parted in a bewildered trance.

In the dim light that flickered over his body, Thor was anything but the beast Loki yearned for him to be. He was a god, dauntless and beautiful, but treacherous as the flames. 

Another shiver stabbed at Loki’s nape, and shame suffocated him. A blaze crept up his thighs and the rounded curves of his figure, making him grind his thighs together in dire confusion.

Arrogance puffed Thor's chest. His fingers reached for his endowed cock and held it on display for his chaste groom to see. Betrayed by Loki’s own carnal urges, Thor thought—his sweet, pure husband yearned for something he didn’t even understand. 

Loki’s nipples peaked with wantonness, and the sugary essence of his body was so juicy and ripe, Thor could smell it coating his little omega cunt to welcome Thor in. 

It was a pity to take something from Loki so soon—something he had guarded for years. He was far from done inspecting his valuable new possession, still unravelling the depths of his prized acquisition anyway.

Slipping his large palm into Loki’s own, Thor led him to the large bed. He sat himself down and spread his muscled thighs apart; the whole time, he kept stealing glances at Loki’s afraid face.

Loki was shocked at how fast things were going. Thor beckoned him forward, his face gentle and encouraging. Looking up at Loki, he guided him between his legs. It’s incredibly endearing how out of place Loki looked, following his lead obediently—he’d never admit that, though.

Thor had to be tender; he did not want Loki to unalive himself due to asphyxiation, not when he had only acquired him by shedding blood, sweat, and tears.

“Come here; do what feels natural. Take my cockhead to your lips and kiss it.” and Loki’s heart skyrocketed at the vulgar words. Thor held out his cock like a sacred offering.

Loki has never done anything like this before. But then he remembered the kitchen maid, back in Jotunnheim, dropping on her knees in a similar position and saying, ‘I want you in my mouth.’  

The stable boy, eyes enamoured with desire, replied, ‘Anytime you need to stop, you let me know, okay?’ 

But Loki’s luck was ill fated; Thor was heartless and pitiless. Would the Norns bestow their mercy on Loki?

Thor’s hands went to Loki’s neck; large palms soothed the curls on the back of his neck and tugged him forward. The cushion that Thor threw under Loki’s knees to alleviate the pain was useless; torrential thoughts plagued his mind.

Loki was, of course, hesitant at first and opted to nuzzle into the bare skin of his thigh. Pressing soft kisses over the muscle before making his way up to his appendage, fat and girthy, Thor sucked in a breath. 

“Impressive little snake, keep going; I'll guide you.”

He continued to leave chaste kitten licks across the heated skin - a few of the prominent veins running alongside the shaft throbbing at the contact—before finally, Thor guided the swollen tip into his mouth to the best of his ability, with gentleness.  

It just about manages to fit, with lips struggling to accommodate around the girth and chubby cheeks bulging out from the size.

He felt the heavy weight on his tongue, and a wave of warmth and surrender washed over Loki. The room blurred at the edges, and every touch felt like an electric current, grounding him in a space where time and reality merged into a seamless continuum.

Thor can barely choke back the groan that threatens to spill out. Loki’s tongue is just lapping at his slit, no doubt licking up the stream of cum dribbling out. It was warm, incredibly so—gummy walls, soft and tight, cheeks hollowing out around his glans.

Loki surrendered to the moment, every touch a brushstroke on the canvas of their shared desire. Perhaps he might as well enjoy it. For a while, he allowed himself to enjoy it, enjoy the sensation, and forget the pressing matters.

Thor gradually draws his cock out of Loki’s mouth, resting on his bottom lip, peppering kisses along the glans once again, urging out more cum to ooze out. The motions stopped and started as Loki got used to a rhythm that was a little unsteady at times.

"My dear queen, you appear to me like a picture of beauty that has been painted before my eyes."

Spit and cum seeped from Loki's mouth and onto his chin, leaving a sticky residue behind.

Loki kept sucking, hollowing out his cheeks, and drooling more down his chin as Thor was forced to hook a big, callused thumb in the corner of his mouth and pull it back out with a filthy pop.

But Loki shoved more of him into his mouth suddenly, ignoring the indolent pace of Thor’s large hand and easing him back and forth along his dick. His slit was now brushing up against Loki’s throat, nudging it, and it was clear he overestimated himself because he suddenly pulled back, slightly coughing and whining and tearing up at the size, his eyes glassy.

"Easy, easy." Thor tightened his grip on the back of Loki’s scalp, gently tugged him off his cock, and returned to massaging Loki’s hair once again. A satisfied smile played on Thor's lips, the lines of his face reflecting the serenity within. 

Thor looked almost sweet, and Loki almost forgot for a second that this man claimed his homeland, wresting it from its slumber and spiriting Loki away.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself. You don't have to take it all at once." Thor's unexpected gentleness stirred both awe and curiosity in Loki. 

Loki abruptly let out a needy whine, pawing at him and tugging him back towards his lips. His goal was to delay the inevitable moment when Thor's enormous cock would finally pierce through him. 

Loki would never, ever acknowledge that he found pleasure in serving his king by being on his knees.

And Thor chuckled to himself at the sight, his voice raspy under his breath. 

“No? That's so endearing. You have an innate talent, my prince; I find myself graced with the serendipity of your presence.”

With that, Loki took him back into his mouth once more, this time with more notable confidence than before. However, still sloppy, he showed no regard or care for the way saliva pooled in the seams of his lips; the whines and hiccups increased as Loki took him deeper. Thor was spellbound at the sight. His Loki on his knees, cock inside his little mouth, and beautiful blue skin on display.

"So sweet for me, mmh? Just like that."

Praise falls from his lips easily—it's easy when it comes to Loki—and Loki mewled around his cock in response, shyly looking up at him. Eyelashes were dewy and damp.

But every splendid epoch finds its conclusion. Thor palmed the base of his cock, and with the other hand, he retrieved himself from Loki’s delicious mouth. The mewl that vibrated from Loki’s larynx was laced with displeasure and desire.

"Quiet, I shall attend to you, my dearest.” Thor felt an overflowing warmth and pride in his breasts. He was confident that Loki would acclimatise to his presence over time, but this soon? He was surely not complaining. 

Loki’s chest heaved as he sucked in more oxygen. Looking up at Thor, he felt weirdly relieved, so as to reduce the king to this state, sweaty and wanting more.

Pushing and pulling, desire and disinterest—all combined in a dance. 

“Now go sit on the bed and hold your legs spread open for me. You would look ever so lovely sprawled on your back with your legs around my neck and begging for what you have been craving so badly ever since that night we met in that forest.” 

Loki faltered, his belly sunken inward. “What if I don’t want to?” His voice was thick and raspy, as though each word scraped against the raw edges of a hidden ache.

Tilting his head, Thor narrowed his eyes and offered Loki a cold, patronising smirk. 

“Do you reckon I heed the yearnings that align with your desire?”

Defeated, Loki silently backed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Jaw gripped, eyes oozing animosity and trepidation, he held himself open for the king’s penetrative gaze. It was finally unfolding—his demise was gently rapping at the door.

Through the mist of tears, he watched the king—his husband—crowd towards him as his mind wished for freedom in vain. He wanted this; deep down, he wanted to chase the raw carnal desire.

The gnawing of his claws into Loki’s inner thighs forced him back to reality. 

Saturated with fright, he kicked Thor slightly, yet he held each leg in his solid grasp and kept Loki open. He inhaled him as he inched closer, his primal senses being maddened by the sweet scent and letting out a peal of guttural jeers. 

Quivering wails reverberated within the chamber as the king began to kiss up the path to his destination, licking and sucking every fraction of Loki’s smooth skin. His bristles and tenderness left tingling, wet traces of joy. Behind closed eyes, sinful reveries began to bloom in his mind as Loki queried the sanctity of his mind and the essence of his spirit once the heat of his mouth swung moans on his breath.

"Don't,” Loki begged huskily, trying to squirm away from Thor’s vulgar kiss as the sensation started to overwhelm him. But Thor did not care for his battle, and his tongue rolled soft and languid at the crease of Loki's delicious lips. 

Innocence tasted unearthly; every drop was an elixir of youth, and malevolence's avaricious phantom that resided in him encouraged Thor to steal more from the whimpering Jotunn. 

Entirely trapped by Thor’s erotic ministrations, juices mingled in a sensual dance. Pressing himself into Loki’s mound, the purposeful melodies of his voice vibrated an exotic perception that brought tiny sparks to crackle where the King indecently kissed. Loki’s thighs tightened around Thor's head.

“Stop!” The strange feeling that started to spread through every nerve caused Loki to cry out in shock. For a moment, Loki’s eyes rolled back as he thought about how inappropriate and wrong it was, but he couldn't deny that he felt a perverse lust at the way Thor forced himself on him. 

Glowing cinders nestled in the pit of Thor’s lower belly as his bristles chafed, and he continued to devour Loki’s lush paradise. Burning flares threatened to break through, and Loki's legs quivered wildly when Thor suddenly tore his lips away and left Loki panting with a disillusioned grimace.

“I forgot how sweet virgins are,” he taunted, wiping his beard with the back of his palm and moving to kneel between Loki’s spread legs. The sight of him spread out  was a dream—Loki's torso curved with beads of sheer sweat, his hole slick with ambrosia. 

If only Loki weren't so resolute, he would have made him come so hard that he would have realised his new place.

But now that Loki’s climax has nearly peaked and his slit has grown tighter, the ache within him will impart its wisdom. Loki’s impatience and anxiety burgeoned within him, blossoming into a fervent restlessness that stirred beneath his surface.

Thor suddenly snapped his fingers around Loki’s throat and lifted him against him, drawing Loki impossibly closer to him. In a fervent embrace, Loki succumbed to lips that bore a vampiric allure, swallowing every yelp before Thor threw Loki flat into the dark lair that was their marital bed.

Between opaque veils, Loki crawled back, terror-wracked, but the beast soon moved to mount him. Talons etched at his thighs, forcing his legs apart. Rough and tufted with coarse strands, his sturdy chest pressed against Loki’s tender midsection.

In a ridiculously disproportionate fight, fists and elbows smashed into Thor's unforgiving chest. Oh, and it aroused Thor beyond measure. 

Loki’s heart raced in exhilaration as Thor’s heavy weight grounded him down to the mattress. Hollowness beat at Loki’s chest; desperation for something outlandish left his skin damp with apprehension. 

Fear, against his will, gave birth to a repulsive thrill, a primitive material that coursed through his veins, making him want to be snatched by the beast.

“You’re mine to love, mine to bed whenever I desire.” 

‘You weave tales of love, yet in its depths, have you ever truly danced?’ Loki wished to shout it out loud, but he knew he shouldn't. For now, it was a part of his internal monologue; he would ask the king, but sometimes later. 

As if under the same spell, Thor appeared utterly oblivious to the feeble, futile endeavours to resist his imposing presence. 

Calloused hands traced Loki's form, claiming it as his own in an intimate exploration; his lips followed, kissing, sucking, and nuzzling his neck. Night after night, he waited to taste his little bird, eager to embrace the yielding allure of the flesh engulfing him and unburden his love into the heavenly pit of Loki’s body. 

Loki was made for him, and now he too will be proven by how much their bodies were shaped to match.

A gasp died in Loki’s throat as he felt the pressure between his petals. The crown of Thor’s shaft alone felt too large to fit into his tightened threshold. In his hasty, mindless fantasies, Loki hoped his body would forbid Thor from desecrating his innocence. But as the bones of Thor’s hips came crashing into Loki’s, the dream dissipated amidst an icy wail.

Piercing, agonising ache coursed through his pelvis, staunch and dense, as he tore through Loki’s tightened chastity. Shuddering, guttural roars swallowed Loki’s screams. Lips claimed Loki’s own in a fervent kiss—that seemed to suck the life out of him—it was a symphony of paradise and pandemonium entwined.

Savouring the bliss, he delved his cock into Loki’s untouched cavern, his girth stretching and claiming, moulding Loki to fit him. 

He never stopped to lessen Loki's suffering, nor did he care for the rambunctious wails thrown at him; instead, he swallowed them down with reverence.

The strange sensation of another person filling Loki's body deprived him of oxygen in his lungs. Thor delivered a barrage of blows that stopped Loki's sobs and made his tears stay still. His body gave in with unpardonable ease to the man who had murdered his people and forced him into marriage. This man had now repeatedly invaded his flesh. 

The most beautiful chants fell from Thor’s mouth. Melodic deep groans, hauntingly beautiful. Being inside Loki was like the melancholic serenades of doomed affection, both sweet and gloomy and, oh, so beautiful. 

“That’s it, my love." His hot breath caressed Loki’s cheek, his voice, a murmur lost in the ether as Thor felt Loki’s sweet virginal garden squeeze around him like a treacherous thicket and lush stalking vines. 

Resistance and demand met at the seams. Defiant, Loki’s walls attempted to push him out, though he was already sheathed deep inside him with no intention to cease. 

“Can you feel yourself splitting open for me?” He grunted and reached for Loki’s smooth legs, hooking his knees beneath his sweaty fingers for smoother access. 

He shoved at Thor's chest while whimpering anguishfully, but Thor kept fucking him, growling as Loki's claws carved red arcs into his flesh.

Amidst the rhythm and the raw, gnawing pain, Loki’s thighs bucked involuntarily, spreading wider and drawing to take Thor further and deeper into his wetness. Carnal sins had poisoned them from within, and wicked villainy enkindled the demanding coals. 

As Loki looked at the monster who rocked above him, lust weaved with disgust and shame. All he could think of was how beautiful his husband looked with his brow furrowed and his lips parted open. The once pristine chambers of Loki’s heart now echoed with the haunting whispers of desires that had led him astray, staining the purity that once resided there.

These had turned from being the virgin's wails into a whore's wantons. The alpha in Thor swelled with pride.

Sensing the subtle transformation in Loki's demeanour, King Thor's expression contorted into a contemptuous sneer. With a mixture of mockery and triumph, he leaned closer, the weight of his arrogance evident in the way he extended his tongue to lasciviously taste the salty residue that clung to Loki's cheek. The lick, laden with the bitter-sweet flavour of past transgressions, became a symbolic gesture in the ongoing power play between the two of them.

“So wet and tight for me, taking me all the way inside. I knew there’s a whore in you.” 

Rage thick as tar poured through as his words registered in Loki’s mind. During this emotional upheaval, Loki's self-control broke like a fragile branch. Without a moment's hesitation, his hand surged forward with a flash of unbridled fury, the impact echoing in the charged silence as it landed with a resounding smack against Thor’s cheek.

"I despise you," he screeched, the words tearing through the air like a serrated blade, each syllable laden with a visceral intensity that reverberated through the room. The venom in his voice echoed the depth of his emotions, a tumultuous sea of resentment and frustration crashing against the shores of his consciousness.

The King stilled for a moment; a deep grimace painted his face, and his eyes pierced holes into Loki’s skull. Sliding his hands to his consort’s thighs, he abruptly rose to his knees and yanked his hips towards him. 

An unmistakable moan of gratitude escaped Loki’s throat as he nearly slid out completely and was then forced into him once more. The new position yielded an even better passage, and Thor beamed at the image of his pleasing little husband.  The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow that seemed to accentuate the radiance emanating from him. 

Lids heavy with desire, Loki’s hands gripped and kneaded tightly onto his breasts, and of course, the little patch of blood at the apex of Loki's groin was certainly a sight to remember. 

"I have desired you for an extended period," Loki gasped in desperation. Although he didn't mean to say it out loud, Thor’s hips faltered just for a second in bewilderment. Loki was so engrossed in his feelings that he could not fully comprehend the profundity of his admission.

“Thats it elskan min,”

One of Thor’s hands glided from Loki’s leg to his lower belly, and as his fingertips traversed the journey from Loki's leg to his lower belly, a myriad of sensations unfolded where he felt the shift of his thrusts. 

“I will put myself in there, pump you full with my seed, and you will be mine forever.”

Loki felt a terrible tremble in his heart as a result of his words, causing his legs to shake under his grip. 

He whimpered, "No," shaking with fear, but with every thrust, his body cried out for more, soaking and milking Thor’s cock. 

“No! Please, please don’t!”

“I will make a real queen out of you." King Thor rasped and repeatedly rutted into Loki with brutal force. Viscous liquids ruptured between them, signifying their sensual and decadent relationship. It was impossible to know where he ended and where Loki began.

“You will learn to love this.” He groaned, feeling Loki tighten and convulse around him as his orgasm drew near. 

“To love me.”

“No, my king, please–”

Something inside Loki broke loose—a suppressed bliss that pushed its way through every nerve ending in his body with an overpowering feeling. Loki’s orifice clutched onto Thor’s girth while the waves of fire kept eating away at him from the inside out.

It felt as if they were one. 

"Thor," he let out a pitying whimper.  

The King pushed Loki's spine off the mattress and struck him hard against his pelvis, striking a region inside that caused them both to scream as Loki's velvet walls pulled around his length. 

Provocative slurs and deep moans echoed through the space as he grew even more inside Loki. He could feel his cock twitch and a hot, milky liquid rush into his womb as everything around him continued to tremble. 

Gasping heavily, Thor continued pumping himself in, giving Loki every drop of his potent nectar and filling him to the brim until it overflowed and seeped from his violated omega hole.

Sweat dripped from his blonde curls and gathered on the curve of Loki’s abdomen. Huffing, Thor watched the little undulation of Loki’s protruding belly, now harbouring the promise of his legacy. 

A low velvet groan stalked his heavy breath, his shoulders slumping. He threw Loki’s legs down and dropped to lie beside him on the bed, content and exhausted. The room bore witness to the aftermath of their tussle—qualled sheets and scattered pillows attested to the vigour with which they had engaged.

The bed shifted with his weight, making Loki jostle beside him. Loki turned his face aside and sniffled lightly, ashamed to stare at his husband and admit the delightful tingle that still simmered across his skin. 

Thor was no longer uncertain, as their marriage had been consummated. His hand smoothed down the valley of Loki’s body and cupped his battered little mound. Loki didn't even react; no flicker of emotion crossed his features, and his gaze seemed fixed on some distant horizon, as though the happenings around him were but a distant murmur in the vast expanse of his thoughts. The usual sparkle in his eyes, a mischievous glint that betrayed his scheming nature, was absent, but his carnal urges were sated—though he would never admit it. 

He loathed to admit to himself that he felt satisfied.

Thor was collecting the mixture of blood and the fluids of their union on his fingers. He brought them to his mouth to take a taste. The taste lingered, leaving an indelible impression on his memory. He coveted more, but he wasn't cruel enough to subject Loki to such labour again, even though Loki was now loose from their previous tryst. Thor could easily slide into Loki’s channel again, but Loki deserved some respite. 

No matter what Loki believed, Thor adored Loki. His love was poisonous, a toxic elixir that insidiously seeped into the cracks of his heart.

At first, Thor believed it bore the semblance of passion, an intoxicating blend of desire and allure. However, as time unfurled its cruel narrative, the poison within the love manifested in subtle, corrosive ways.

“Now you are wholly mine, little queen.” He spoke viciously and pressed his lips to kiss Loki’s temple. 

“And I suspect you enjoyed this.” He laughed and ran a hand down his own abdomen, idly stroking his penis. 

“You should be thankful, for we will do this every night, even after you are rounded up with my heir.”

Loki wiped his face with the back of his hand and shot daggers into his eyes, silently stating his hatred for his husband. The intensity of his gaze bespoke a depth of resentment that had weathered countless storms. 

It was unfortunate that King Thor was still beautiful—unbelievably so. And the thought of how much Loki wanted more of what he had just given him made him shudder in the hallowed recesses of his mind.

A profound, weary exhale escaped from Loki's core, and his eyes floated to the stars outside the window, now appearing worn and dim. His hopes, his dreams, and his life now belonged to his husband. 

Desolate veils enticed him to close his eyes, and he succumbed to fatigue, thinking of the many nights he would spend with his husband—more pleasure, mingled with terror. The blurred line between arousal and agitation dissipated.

Loki’s eyes fluttered open as he felt Thor's hand cupping his jaw and reaching to turn his glance at him. Gentle warmth shimmered in his gaze, an otherworldly presence that stunned Loki. 

Within his soul's depths, Loki pondered whether madness lay in believing his conviction. Thor pressed a chaste kiss on Loki’s temple and soothed his hair away from his eyes.

Loki might grow to want Thor. It is possible—albeit highly unlikely—that Loki will discover a hidden desire or a nagging feeling inside himself to seek a closer relationship with his current spouse.

Who is he fooling? Since that fleeting meeting in the woods, he has harboured a profound yearning for Thor.