Loki was rendered breathless from the second he was slammed to the ground, and not in the pleasurable way.
He looked up accusingly at the patch of sky that had rudely ejected him after his thrice-damned sister had thrown Thor and himself off course to Asgard. He spent a full minute more cursing her name before taking a proper look around.
The strange planet had a desolate beauty about it if one paid no heed to the overpowering smell emerging from the mountains of garbage...or at least, the ones he had had the ill fortune to land among. In the horizon a fantastical cluster of spires and architectural oddities made up what was doubtless a bustling metropolis, although from where he was, it looked more like a dream than anything. A mirage of civilisation far from this scrap heap. A brief distance away, a scattering of masked and roughly armoured individuals dug through the more promising piles for all manner of salvageable treasures: precious metals, mechanical components, broken but fixable contraptions.
Loki rose quietly to his feet to survey this colourful wasteland – but not quietly enough. An ankle twisted in the fall made him stumble and attract the attention of a scavenger. Suddenly all of them were on alert. They turned their heads as one toward him.
Two of them muttered to each other in a garbled tongue as they crept closer. A squat woman in filthy rags growled a question in his direction. From another few heads, he heard the words "price" (or prize?) and "pretty" and, most disturbingly, "edible".
Loki was not a stranger to such threatening situations. He opened his mouth to begin the bargaining process – when suddenly there was a whizzing sound, and a tight net of ropes was wound about his body. He cursed as his body fell to the hard rough ground a second time. Then he could curse no more as a rag was shoved forcefully to the back of his throat. He felt the scavengers close in more and more as they surveyed their newest find with gleaming eyes, their obscured faces unreadable.
A good part of his magic depended on his ability to draw breath over his tongue. He summoned enough force to knock over a few of them, but more kept coming, as if the endless mountains of trash were birthing them by the second. If only he could reach his daggers –
Then a bolt of electricity hit him square in the chest, and a brief burst of blinding pain was chased by blackness.
He woke in a dim, perfumed place, silk-soft and deadly. He felt the sensuous rustle of fabric brush against his skin and knew that he was naked. No doubt every scrap of leather and metal had long passed into whatever trade system the scavengers profited from.
At least his limbs were freed. They struck out in reflex when hard, warm hands that smelt of scented oil gripped his shoulders. Another pair of hands attempted to still him.
"Shush...you will not come to harm here, pretty one."
"You will if you continue to touch me," Loki hissed. He aimed a rush of magic at one, then the other person, getting a brief glimpse of their faces, their paint-lined eyes. With another spell he brought a large glass lamp shattering down, hoping to distract them.
Someone took hold of his arm. Lightning-quick, he reached for a shard of glass and sunk it into flesh; an angered cry, and his arm was free. He sliced into an artery of the second assailant the same way. A third, larger man burst into the room and he sent out an abrasive icy blast that nicked a thousand small cuts into the swarthy face. Yet it was a face that remained implacable, like a rock.
This hulking man pinned Loki onto the bed as easily as blinking. He spat out another ice-filled blast that blinded the brute, and for a second he was free. But then the other two came and wrestled him down. A knee slammed into his back, a hand gripped his hair painfully. Someone pushed his face into the bed and held it there till he surrendered and was allowed to gasp for breath.
As he coughed and panted, his captors looked down at him, all bleeding from their wounds but sneering nonetheless.
"Subdue him – but do not damage him," came an order. Then he was being suffocated by something damp and sickly sweet. The cloth was filling his mouth, clamping over his nose, bent on filling his every pore with its heady smell of decaying flowers. He fought not to breathe, but his body betrayed him by fighting for gulps of air, each one enfeebling him further. He thought of the graveyard rites of Midgard – flowers everywhere, wilting, rotting, like the bodies being buried. He felt he was being buried alive. He could not think; he could not move.
Sparks of half-woven magic died on his fingers as his limbs filled with lead and his eyelids fluttered like dying moths. His protests came out as weak, muffled whimpers through the cloth pressed relentlessly to his face. Someone stroked his hair tenderly.
"Go to sleep, pretty one," came a whisper in the looming dark. "There is no need for worry...no need to do anything but dream. For here is where dreams come true..."
"Mmmhh," was all Loki could say before he sank into the sleep of the dead.
Someone was touching him. No, stroking him. Oil-slicked fingers pushed him into a rude awakening as they slid between his ass and made him twitch in response, despite the heavy fog that he longed to sink back into.
When the two fingers worked him open enough to slide all the way in, he could no longer ignore the sensation. It hurt only briefly – it would be enjoyable if he had wanted it, if his head was not pressed into a pillow that stank of the decay-sweet perfume he now hated.
The fingers began moving to widen him, and he moaned in protest.
"Don't fuss, pretty one. I'm just preparing you so you'll be ready for 'im."
"D...don't...call me...that..." Loki was having a hard time forming words. He could barely lift his tongue, or his eyelids.
"Yes, pretty one?"
"I...h...ave a n-name..."
"Sure you do, my dear. It's of no in'erest to me though." The fingers had finished with his first opening and was moving higher up, to where his cunt lay beneath a cock that – despite his drugged state – was hardening just a little.
He began to register that the lower half of his body was not lying on the bed, but suspended a good two feet above it with chains attached to leather straps around his ankles. He tried to move his toes, but there was no feeling in them just yet. There was, however, an all too intense rush of feeling in the intimate area where the steady stroking had made him warm and slick.
A finger slid in and out of his cunt, and he bit back another moan. "The Grandmaster likes 'em dripping for 'im," said the reedy voice with a chuckle. Loki felt some gentle but methodical prodding about his intimate area, as if he was being subject to examination. "But I gather 'e'll not want you too wet just yet; seeing as you're new, and 'e won't want someone playin' with his new toy too much. Eh?"
The man rose and left, but not before landing a light smack on his bottom. The chains swayed a little. Loki began to fully appreciate how terribly exposed and vulnerable he was. A faint tug told him his wrists were tied to the bedposts. With his legs lifted and spread out, and that damned fog still clouding his head, he could not be in a more helpless position.
His sluggish thoughts drifted to Thor. Was there any chance his brother had landed somewhere else on this godforsaken planet? Any chance of being found before...well, before this Grandmaster person came and subjected him to all manner of ravishment?
Loki felt his throat tighten. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing all of this to be a dream. Perhaps he was still unconscious after being zapped in the chest by those scavenging barbarians –
A rustle told him he had a visitor. He opened his eyes.
A figure in dark robes and an impassive golden mask stood before him, wordlessly drinking in the sight of him, each naked inch of Loki's spread-out thighs and the wet, warm sex between.
"Are you the Grandmaster?" His voice, at least, was now steady; though his heart was pounding as his senses began to recover.
The hooded head moved in a way that might be a nod, or a no. It did not respond, but moved steadily closer till Loki could smell him...yes, definitely a him. A pleasantly masculine but light, piquant fragrance that was nothing like the sickly aromas he had been subject to.
Then a leather gloved hand pressed down on his narrow chest, and Loki felt a new wave of fear.
"Please – I'm sure we can come to an arrangement...if you release me..." He tried to keep his tone composed, but it was hard when that cold gleaming mask bored its gaze into his without giving anything in return, and the robed body seemed to loom larger than life in the dimly lit room.
Then the full weight of the man was upon him, and the gloved hand was smothering him, filling his mouth with the taste of leather. He struggled to no avail – his wrists were locked in place and panic was starting to overwhelm him. His spells and hard-won adeptness at mage-work refused to materialize; ancient runes he had spent decades memorizing slipped away before they could take shape in his mind.
He had barely registered the hard cock against his ass before it was suddenly buried deep inside him. He cried out with pain. The man was gripping his hips and thrusting ruthlessly with no care for how much it hurt him. He was pleading now; he hated himself, absolutely loathed his naked fear and desperation. Loathed the looming, faceless silence that his assailant wielded while sobs threatened to spill from his own throat.
The leather-clad fingers were around his neck, squeezing till he felt giddy and certain he would die here in this bed, beneath this nameless stranger. Then the hands released him. The pain of the thrusting resumed.
From a distance, he heard the growing roar of a crowd. They seemed to be applauding his rape; glorifying in it. An amplified booming voice announced: "Let the games begin!"
What came after that – the indistinct sounds of violence, the clamouring of a bloodthirsty audience – was of no consequence to him. Far more immediate was the unwelcome spill of seed down his thighs and belly. He had never felt more soiled in his life. He was hot and cold all over; half enraged, half in shock.
And the stranger was not yet done with him.
A hand now caressed his neck and chest, toying with his nipples till they were rigid. Another pressed on his cunt and began rubbing in slow circles. The texture of leather was intensely arousing. He was wet; then he was dripping. He hated his body for responding. But respond it did.
By the time two fingers made their way inside his slick passage, he was gasping not with pain but with need. The position of his elevated hips made it impossible for him to thrust back, but he knew he would have if he could, against his very will. The thrusting grew more and more insistent until he gave in and climaxed with a startlingly loud moan.
The mad in the golden mask leaned in close; again that clean piquant scent of orange blossoms and musk and sea salt. He shivered uncontrollably until a gloved hand stroked the back of his neck. "Sshhhh." The first sound to emerge from behind the immovable gilded lips.
His bonds were being removed. His legs were finally let down; they cramped up horribly, but not for long. Breathing raggedly, Loki pulled himself upright, wincing at how he hurt from being torn open. He touched his face and realised they were streaked with tears.
The cool rim of a goblet was being pressed to his lips. Despite his thirst, the first taste of the cold sweet drink brought him to his senses. He pushed the cup away. But a hand gripped the back of his head and the drink was being forced down his throat. "Mmmffh – ngffhh!"Despite his choking and struggling, most of it made its way down his gullet, leaving a chilly trail that made him start shivering anew.
A blanket was being pulled around him. He bit his lip till it bled to clamp down a fresh wave of fearful sobs. Then the shivering ceased; his shoulders went limp as the effects of the drink sank in. His eyelids drooped and he fell back onto the cushions, helpless to stop the room and the golden mask from fading away.
He woke to a sore throat, a heavy head, and the news that Thor, too, had been taken captive.
The hunched reedy-voiced man who had 'prepared' him for pleasure (except that nothing had prepared him for what actually commenced) had delivered the news. "He says he is your brother," the man added with an unreadable smirk on his whey-coloured face.
Was his brother being subject to the same abuse? Perhaps not. Surely not. The thought of large, radiant, invincible Thor being violated, humiliated, was almost more than he could bear.
As the manservant swept out of the chamber, he received another at the door. Loki's head cleared when he heard the man murmur "Grandmaster."
The personage who entered could not be more different than the one who left. Radiating an almost leonine warmth, the Grandmaster was the kind to whom elegance came as easily as breathing. His gold and azure robes, painted eyes and many ornate rings would have looked garish on a lesser man. On him they were not even a costume but seemingly an extension of his being. His silver hair shone gently in the golden lamplight...which, Loki noted, visibly brightened with his very presence. The illumination also allowed him to appreciate, for the first time, the room's luxurious furnishings.
"Awake at last," he beamed. "Welcome to Sakaar."
He took Loki's hand and kissed it. It was unexpected, and left Loki feeling strangely breathless.
"Have you eaten? Have they properly fed and watered you?"
Loki shook his head, feeling somehow less indignant than he should. "They even took my clothes – " he gestured to his body, then realised he was no longer naked. Although it was doubtful if the delicate chains and scraps of silk constituting this new garb could count as clothing.
"Well, that just won't do! What does it take to get good help these days?" The man clapped his hands twice, and precisely two seconds later there were servants at the door. They brought in tray upon tray of unidentifiable delicacies. They laid it all out on an ivory-top table, bowed their heads, and left as silently as they had come.
Loki looked at all the food, stomach rumbling even as his throat constricted. In the short time he had been here, he had been manhandled, tied up, electrocuted, drugged and raped. And now this man was kissing him on the hand and serving him a feast. He gripped the sheets till his knuckles hurt. He felt vaguely hysterical.
"What's wrong, Loki? Sweetheart?"
It was the first time anyone had called him by name. Faintly, he registered that the Grandmaster had a voice like rich mulled wine.
"Look, these aren't poisoned, darling." To prove it, the man popped a handful of odd-coloured berries into his mouth, first coating them with a generous dollop of cream. He proceeded to sample every dish, feeding Loki after himself with each tasting. There were savoury flavours, tart flavours, fruity flavours, textures ranging from smooth to tingly to what could only be described as hairy, and innocuous-looking bites that left a spicy burn. There was a shrimp-like creature that looked quite dead but wriggled in his mouth. The Grandmaster laughed when he spat it out.
"Perhaps this will be more to your taste, Loki of Asgard." He poured an amber liquid into an ornately carved burnished copper mug and held it out.
"How do you know – ?"
"I have my ways." A wink. He reached out to brush a lock of stray hair from Loki's face.
Loki was outraged to find himself blushing and hid this fact behind the copper mug, which turned out to be full of warm spiced cider. It was indeed quite similar to the kind he had grown up with.
"Tell me more about yourself, Loki of Asgard."
He tried to clear his head; it wasn't easy, with those warm dark brown eyes fixed upon him as if he were the most interesting creature in the world. "Why don't youtell me more about why I'm here?"
The man looked taken aback. "You're not here by your own accord?"
"I was taken captive and rendered unconscious. I woke up in this room and haven't been allowed to leave since. And...and I..." Loki swallowed. "I have been treated with nothing but force and violence by your people." He took another gulp of cider before realising the Grandmaster had not tasted it.
"Oh, but there must have been some misunderstanding. You see, we get shiploads of...well, unsavoury characters coming through every day. Most of them get the treatment they deserve. But you...such a jewel. Such beauty. How could they ever?"
The ringed fingers were stroking his shoulder, his chin, caressing and arranging his hair. Loki closed his eyes, dizzy in a way that did not feel cider-induced. For some reason his wits were not serving him. Never had he felt this befuddled...this overwhelmed.
"Let me make it up to you," he heard the Grandmaster say in that low, warm voice. Everything will be alright.
The man's lips were upon his. He let himself fall into the kiss.
He felt cradled, safe, assured. The man smelt like the air did before a storm, which made him ache deeply for Thor. Was it true that Thor was here, right now, not so far from this chamber...?
Don't think of anyone else. You are the world to me. Let me be yours.
When the Grandmaster's fingers found their way to the cleft between his legs, he moaned and leaned into the touch. He pushed his lips deeper into the kiss, hungry for more. And where he hungered, the Grandmaster gave, and gave.
The warm lips left his, and the man licked his fingers before dipping them back into Loki's wet cunt. "You taste better than anything we've just had," he murmured. "See..." And he slid the come-slicked fingers into Loki's mouth.
"Taste good, don't you?"
"Mmm."
"Mind you lick them clean. Like a good boy."
Despite being undeniably aroused, he also felt warm and drowsy. A hand was stroking the nape of his neck as the other explored the inside of his mouth with firm, experienced fingers that fed him his own pre-come. Now he was being pushed, gently, onto his back; now his cock was being stroked in steady motions that dragged him with maddening slowness toward orgasm.
He was being touched and teased and pinched with such deftness it almost hurt. The slow burn coursing through his nerves built up till he could no longer hold it in. With a series of sharp gasps he came messily, gloriously, his head swimming as the ceiling blurred before coming back into focus.
Another kiss. Less gentle than the first but no less generous; full of hot tongue and ardour and those feathery touches on his neck, the small of his back, that made him shiver. Loki felt himself swoon in the man's arms. He clung to consciousness – he did not want to lose control again, to wake to strangeness and the threat of brutality.
"Don't leave me here." After a beat, he added a seductive "Please."
The paint-lined eyes crinkled with warmth. "As you wish, darling."
The pleasure grounds of Sakaar were surprisingly ethereal. He had anticipated the gaudy and ornate, had expected ostentatious displays like the brocade tapestries in the chamber they had left. He had been prepared for large lascivious sculptures that left nothing to imagination.
Instead, here was a world of sheltered paths, hidden picturesque gardens, and lanterns that hovered like pale moons. Hints of amber and cinnamon lingered in the cool air. Brightly feathered birds flitted freely from branch to branch where lazed the occasional jewel-eyed serpent. In the daytime the silver-leafed trees would surely gleam all the more, and the scent of their ripe fruit would beckon.
Now and then an amorous whisper was heard; here a languid song of zithers and bells; there a glimpse of beautiful young men and nymph-like women, bare-shouldered and laughing, running weightlessly through a thicket maze.
"Ukiyo," Loki whispered into the night.
"Pardon?"
"The floating world of ancient Edo...the old Japan. On Midgard. Where illusion and art are one and the same, and everything is but a dream." His gaze wandered down a narrow inviting lane where slim coy figures disappeared through doors. "I was there, briefly, in the guise of a tayu courtesan."
"Fascinating. Tell me more."
"It is hard to capture; you had to be there. It was a place that relied not just on stone and wood and mortar, but on the collective imagination. A place you create in your mind, and will it forth. This haven of yours is not quite identical to the ukiyo in appearance...but in spirit, it is very close."
"Hmm. A place where anything can happen." Those fingers running down his back again. He tried not to shiver.
"Indeed. Or so it seems."
"And what do you seek, in this...floating world?"
To be free of it, thought Loki. Instead he answered by taking the Grandmaster's hand, running it over his open lips and down his neck. He answered with his body, pressing it against the other's, waiting till he felt the man's sex harden against his thigh before abruptly pulling away.
"Tease," the Grandmaster growled playfully as Loki smiled and disappeared into one of the half-hidden gardens.
It took several days and nights, one blurring into the next, before he could get close to obtaining the information he sought. Each sunset saw them in a different bedchamber, or out in the open, the wind tickling his bare back as the Grandmaster bent him over a stone fountain or a bench softened with velvety petals and had his way with him. Once or twice a merry stranger passed them by and hooted appreciatively.
It soon became evident, too, that the Grandmaster loved his games – both in and out of the arena where gladiator slaves were made to battle for spectacle, a place he suspected captives like Thor must be headed for. By the third night blindfolds and shackles were the order of the day. Loki found himself suspended from the air in an elaborate swing-like contraption – wrists pinned to his back, legs spread with a cold steel bar, and pleasuring the Grandmaster's sizeable cock with his tongue while robbed of sight.
"No relief for you till I come in your tight little mouth," said his captor in that smooth, warm voice. Almost an hour later and Loki remained hanging from the ceiling, ready to sob at how his own dripping sex ached and throbbed.
No matter how tender the Grandmaster was to his precious new pet, no matter how attentively those lips worshipped every inch of his body, he was not allowed to come without explicit permission. Loki soon found himself stealing away for a much-needed moment alone when his urge grew too great and he was near feverish with arousal. Sometimes he wondered if the constant edging kept his wits duller than usual or if he was simply out of his depth. Loki had a tendency to bite off more than he could comfortably chew, but he always landed back on his feet...eventually.
But it seemed this time he had met his match. The Grandmaster was in the habit of springing up on him with surprise 'inspections' where a hand would snake beneath his garments and check for telltale signs. If he suspected Loki of pleasuring himself without orders, the punishment was a thorough spanking that left him dizzy with pain...and still, after all that, unsatisfied.
It only happened once, and on a sultry afternoon where he would rather have been eating iced fruit in a shaded gazebo than be displayed outside it with his increasingly reddened ass bared for all to see. The paddle was a finely made thing of satin-smooth rosewood inlaid with mother of pearl. One would never have guessed at its function as an instrument of discipline. His wrists were tied to the rafter above and his unprotected nipples were pinched every so often in between blows. Passers-by were given license to participate in the punishment, stopping short of actually fucking him in any one of his openings. Those were still the property of the Grandmaster alone.
There was one occasion on which this strict rule – defining which parts of his body were accessible to whom – was relaxed.
After biding his time and proving his worth, Loki was finally freed for a night from the secluded pleasure palace to attend a lavish party being thrown in honour of a particularly anticipated battle the next day. The Grandmaster was having moneyed guests flown in, teleported or otherwise materialised from numerous planets and realms for a night and day of feasting, fucking and watching warriors bludgeon each other for their gambling amusement.
When he expressed regret that he would barely have time to make use of Loki during such an affair, Loki had replied: "I can pour a mean martini. You do have those here, no?"
"Martinis we have. Bartenders, we also have."
Loki stretched a coy leg across the Grandmaster's lap. "You need someone to serve them."
A slow smile crept across the man's face. "Now that I think about it...you could be quite the spectacle." He seemed possessed of notions that made him lustful, and made vigorous love to Loki for nearly two hours straight.
Loki wondered just what he was thinking of. He did not have to wait long to find out.