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He, as Rachel would say, was done. Absolutely, officially done.
He had been shot at (all misses but one). He had been chased and chased and chased. Through the forests of Vanaheim, through the forests and mountains of Alfheim, through the hills of Svartalfheim. Hel, he even dragged them through Jotunheim. It wasn’t until Asgard - running down every main street and slipping through every small alley he could - that he lost them.
And through all this madness, he bled and bled and ached, ached in pain. He might have gotten out of Vanaheim with only an arrow lodged in his shoulder, but that’s not to say Alfheim or Svartalfheim treated him quite as well. Scratches upon scratches from branches, to tumbles and falls to the ground.
Yes. He was most certainly done.
And now that he returned home, where be his ever dear sweet lover?
Silence.
He sighed. Of course. Natural. Every follower claimed to love and adore him, would pledge themselves to him and his cause. Yet... Where are his ever loyal and doting followers now?
Dark shadows sprawled across his features as his expression fell in displeasure, disappointment, anger, hurt, exhaustion... and dissatisfaction. He turned and trudged down the hallway. Every scratch, every wound (Oooohhhh... Especially the wound in his shoulder. They must have spelled the arrows with dark magic.) screamed and wailed in pain. Dear Norns, help him-
Ohhhhhhhh, Norns. Oh, he had forgotten just how much they loved irony.
Sprawled across the bed was none other than his dear beloved. Legs wide open, head tilted back, mouth wide open in pleasure as her fingers served her purpose well. His purpose. His place.
Oh, yes. This is the last straw.
Bringing his arm up and across his chest, his hand reached behind the opposite shoulder, digging into the wounded flesh and grasping the broken arrowhead that was lodged inside, and yanked it out, throwing the piece of metal somewhere far to his left. It fell to the floor in silence. The soft cushion of carpet forbidding any sound to be heard.
A few choice words of Old Norse whispered under his breath and he looked nothing of an exhausted, blooded man who looked as if he just returned from Hel. Not a scratch nor wound on him. (An illusion was cast over his shoulder wound. The best he could manage was to stop the bleeding.)
Silently, he moves towards her, towards the end of the bed. Her pants and breathless moans could even be heard from where he stood.
He smirked.
But it wasn’t enough, was it?
Without warning, he grabbed her by her ankles, yanking her down the large bed, her legs now conveniently placed so that they bent exactly at the edge of the bed. Her sudden shriek at this action, though, was greatly pleasing to his ears. She deserves this, after all.
She didn’t actually think she could just get away with it, now did she? That she could please herself as a means to only tease him? No. She deserves this. And he will teach her a lesson, to never tease him like this, so unmerciful like this again.
He trailed two of his fingers down her slit. (A gasp, a breathless moan ending as a whine.) He darkly chuckled, teasing her back with, “My, my, my. So wet, already? Surely, you couldn’t have done a good enough job just yet.” He slammed one finger deep within her (a small noise of surprise mixed with a gasp) and curled it, slowly dragging it out of her. (A grunt that turns into a mmmmmmmoan.) He did it again, and again, and again, and again. (Pepper in a mix of various gasps and whines and mmmmmmmoans.) And then he added another finger. (She bit her bottom lip and mmmmmmmoaned and whine so deliciously so.) Oh, did she like two fingers. His two long lithe dexterous fingers. (A slow, long moan escaped her lips as he pumped his fingers and curled and slowly dragged them out again, and again, and again, and again. “Mmmm... Faster.”) A smirk spread across his features. She dared to give him orders as if he were some servant of hers? Oh, quite a bold move, indeed. And one she would pay for, dearly.
Ignoring her needs, he unburdened himself from his pants. He grabbed her by the insides of her knees, dragging her just a bit more further down towards him. Teasingly, he rubs his tip up and down down her slit. (A gasp followed by a whine.) Up and down, up and down. (Perpetual whining. “Loki, please.” She bites her lip and whiningly ummmmphs. “Loki.”) Finally, he slams into her, caution and care be damned to Hel.) He pulls out, slams back in. Out, Slams in. Out, in. Out, in. Until he’s at a fast pace. Out in out in out in out in. Over and over and over.
And her delicious loud moans, he finally gets to hear them. As she yells and whines and mmmmmmmmmmmoans.
Yesssssss. “You like this don’t you, my little whore.” He bites his lips, pumping quickly in and out of her tight, wet, quivering quim. “Like being fucked as if you were some common harlot.” (He intentionally slams a lot harder into her, hitting her immaculately sweet spot. She rewards him with a scream.) “Yes, that’s it. Scream and let all the nine realms know who you belong to. Tell them the name of this shameless wanton whore’s master. Tell them the name of her king.” (Her screams amplified, growing gradually louder and louder. His name howled from her lips as he slammed and slammed and slammed into her ruthlessly.)
He wouldn’t let her get away from this indiscretion so easily. And after all that running, he had built quite a need. She was his, and the only one to please her as such was him. No meager hand could compare to him. She knew that well enough. Yet, she had chosen to satisfy herself with her own measly fingers. He will change that. She will now never even think to dream of using her fingers for such matters. It will be him and him alone.
He slammed sharply into her before her body arched as far as it could away from the bed. And from her lips, the most delicious moan he had ever heard.
He slammed into her a few more times until he himself came also. The orgasmic explosion rippled throughout him, a deep groan falling from his lips as the pleasure shot though every vein, every part of his body. With a grunt, he let his body fall onto hers, both gasping for breath.
Once he regained his breath a few minutes later, he stood, finally removing his weight from her. She made to sit up, but he instantly pushed her back down again. With a smirk, he asked, “Who said we were done?” He smirked widened. “I was just getting started.”