Chapter Text
You don’t ask him how he found you.
You don’t ask, and Loki doesn’t tell. He corners you on your ship before you can leave. You expect admonishment - punishment - not the sad-eyed kind of resigned disappointment that makes your heart ache, hollow and empty.
You would take his anger over this - his venom - his vitriol; you are deserved of that, this you know. Instead he is like stone, cold and immovable.
You crave the beginning of things: When it was all fire and fever, skin pressed together in sleepless nights and days where the madness of extended wakefulness made your mind blur until all he was all there is: Loki Loki Loki, singing in your bones.
You miss the molten, slower moments, when the galaxy slowed for the pass of his lips over yours, when you would inhale his kiss and it would burn you inside, burn until you crumbled, exhaling ash and dust.
Now, he won’t touch you - won’t even look at you. And beyond that, he seems...older, somehow, the weight of something you can’t see on his shoulders, dragging his head towards the ground.
“Loki.” Your hands worm under his armor, his tunic and leathers, small and warm and cloying. You can’t help it; he is the current that runs through you and draws you to him like a magnet whenever he is around. It’s why you left without seeing him - without saying anything - you knew he’d be able to make you stay.
“What burden is so heavy that you can’t even muster the energy to punish me?”
He looks at you then - and you wonder if you made a mistake - the edge is there again; honed to a point rimed in frost. Loki gives you the full force of his anger, spearing you with his gaze and you almost physically recoil, until his fingers close around your throat and you stifle a gasp at how warm they feel.
Or perhaps you’ve just grown cold.
“The burden of purpose,” he tells you and he squeezes and it’s wonderful, the strain and seize in your lungs as they fight for oxygen. All you can do is release a soft sound - a facsimile of a whimper - going limp as Loki bears you towards the deck.
At first you think he’s going to kill you - keep squeezing until the life fades from your body. But he lets go just as black begins to creep into the edges of your vision, and you gasp to inflate your lungs, dizzy and impossibly aroused.
Loki watches you breathe, the rictus of a snarl caught on his lips, but there’s a longing in the icy glaze of his eyes that you recognize.
“I missed you,” he says, voice low as if afraid someone might hear it. A note of disgust discolouring his words. “This time, you’re staying with me. You’re mine.”
Yours, you agree silently, for you don’t have enough oxygen for the words - yours yours yours your body answers for you as he takes down your pants, too impatient to bother with magic as he buries his mouth between your legs.
His lips are soft and smooth and a contrast to the edges of his teeth as he worries your flesh with the pointed edges of his canids. You hear him laugh as you twist and buck beneath him - a sound of cruel enjoyment and yes, here is the punishment you are deserving.
Loki takes his time with you. He merely nuzzles your cunt, pressing devastating kisses to your flushed outer labia, your inner thigh, and here and there your clit to keep you on the precipice of wanting. When his tongue joins the dance, finally, it feels like it’s been hours - days - an eternity; he laves the flat, wet, textured surface across the whole of you, licking a filthy stripe from your hole to your clitoris which he sucks viciously, batting it to and fro with his tongue.
It’s too much all at once, and it tears a wail from you, your knees drawn up and your hands fisting in his hair. The memory of how soft it felt beneath your fingers intersecting with the reality of it, clenched in sweaty handfuls as he fucks you with his mouth.
When his fingers join in, blunt and probing at your entrance, you gasp, and he delights in the noises he pulls from you with the thrust of his digits home. He fingers you deep, curling them inside the clutch of your quivering cunt in the way he knows you like, the way that never fails to bring you to the sweating, trembling precipice of orgasm.
And then he pulls back.
“On your knees,” he commands, an immense shadow looming above your pathetic, shivering form. You start to protest - once, you would have - but you know at once that you haven’t earned that right back. Not yet.
You shuffle towards him - not even bothering to remove your pants - and before you can fumble with the fasteners of his, they’re gone and Loki is bare before you. Bare and magnificent, and you think he doesn’t need golden horns to be a king.
Your King.
He slaps you when you try to look at him, to make eye contact - the brief contact of his palm against your face almost loving in its ferocity. Your head rocks and you taste copper but you grin around it and lick a hot stripe up the underside of his dick - just as he had done to you moments prior.
Your pussy still aches, and you rub your thighs together for some relief as you tongue the head of Loki’s cock. It stands thick and proud, already weeping precome from the tip - something you’d be smug about, if he’d allow it. He tastes bittersweet, and this flesh is hot, searing as you swallow inch after inch down your throat.
“Fuck,” Loki hisses, and now he’s the one grabbing handfuls of your hair - moving your head gently to and fro to admire the stretch of your lips around him. He groans at the sight of your face, tears in your eyes, and he smiles right before he pulls his hips back and then plunges right back in.
After that, you’re given scarcely a moment to breathe - your whole concentration is on the surge of your tongue, the stretch of your jaw as Loki pounds into your mouth. You choke a couple of times, but your gag reflex is refined enough to pull you back in line, and Loki too as he slows.
“You want my come?” he mutters - you gaze up at him; his teeth gritted, a vein standing out on his forehead, hair and eyes wild - he looks out of control, beautiful. He grabs you by the handful of hair at the back of your head and yanks you roughly off his cock. “Earn it.”
You grab his hand as he goes to slap you. “Make me.”
Before you can figure out what’s happening, his hand is on your shoulder - spinning you around - between your shoulderblades, a pressure that plants your face on the deck, ass in the air. He smacks you once, a sound that rips through the space, a shock of pure pleasure-pain making you clench inside.
You’re so tense that Loki has a difficult time breaching you - forcing the swollen, purpled head of his cock through your drenched folds, he groans with the effort. “So - fucking - tight,” he grunts, in time with the savage jabs of his hips that soon has him balls-deep, pelvis-to-pelvis with you.
“Loki,” you whimper, but he doesn’t hear you. He’s too busy drawing out - all the way out - before hauling himself forward, inside you everywhere, all at once. You think you might scream - scream or pass out - but you do neither, gasping in raw shock instead.
“I cared for you,” he grunts, his fingers digging in to the flesh over your hips, like talons bruising their grip into your skin. “I worshiped you. And you - left!”
This last word, punctuated by a grinding plunge of his cock, has you seeing stars - has you being them, born with dark matter in the place of a heart, blank and unknowable. It’s filled by the supernova of your orgasm, flooding light through you in waves - you seize and shake and clamp down on the pulsing rod of his cock.
And through it you cry: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Loki is unmoved. He doesn’t let up; his pace only quickens as he forces himself through the squelching mess of your pussy. The sounds of raw, moist flesh moving together is obscene, makes your mouth and your eyes water; you grab out for a grip on the deck - something, anything - as the frantic rock of your bodies scrapes your knees across the metal.
Loki comes with a snarl - curving over you with a vicious “You’re mine,” hissed into your ear. He bites down on your shoulder, the sharp clinch of his teeth a counterpoint to the sweet wave of pleasure undulating within you. He buries his cock deep once, twice more before holding there, gasping as he fills you with the molten heat of his come.
He lingers there a while, just breathing, and that gives your heart time to slow. Then he slumps onto his side, you with him, still joined at the hips. Propping himself up on an elbow, Loki smooths your hair back from your face; he kisses your cheek, your temple, your shoulder. Soothes the bite marks with a press of his lips, rubbing at the bruises forming on your hips, gentle but still a reminder of the pain he claimed you with.
“Never leave me again,” he murmurs into your neck. It’s phrased like an order - but it comes out like a plea.
“Never,” you promise. And you obey.