Star-Crossed
Authors: cincoflex and starhawk2005
Fandom: Marvel's Avengers
Date: June 2013
Pairing: Loki/ OFC
Rating: Adult (18+).
Summary: Crack!fic; a smut-fic author discovers that the Norse god she's been writing fics about is….real. And horny. ;)
Disclaimer: We don't own Loki. He owns US.
Authors' Note: This is rather…experimental . Starhawk wrote the OC's POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki's, so it's kind of a blend of fic and roleplay….
She shivers, watching the portal of green fire twist in the middle of the living room. She cannot believe it - he - is real.
It had started innocently enough. Life was not cooperating, and just to blow off steam, she'd blogged an 'open letter' to Loki, asking him why he was determined to ruin her life.
She'd laughed, her commenters had laughed, and that was the end of it. Or so she thought.
A week later, the message. Appearing mysteriously in the middle of the Word document (yes, an erotic fanfiction!) she was working on. It claimed to be from Loki, and it mocked her, telling her he had ruined her life the better to encourage her to focus her writing and her attentions entirely on him.
That was where it began.
She had mocked him right back, engaging him in a battle of sharpened wits, and at some point, things had become...seductive.
She found herself wanting to believe it was Loki, and not some hacker with a thing for Marvel-flavoured kink.
When he tempted her with bed-games they could play, she met him fantasy for fantasy. When he chided her for defying him and threatened to 'correct' her, she told him it was about time.
When he told her: By the time the sun sets I expect you to offer yourself—meekly and obediently—for discipline. You have been sulky and headstrong in our negotiations and while it was amusing at first, I cannot allow it to go any further, not without correction, she laughed at the sheer absurdity.
So the green portal shimmering before her is...a surprise.
She thinks she knows where it goes. One of his messages to her had said he maintained something he called a 'pocket universe', a place where he could remain safe from prying eyes like those of Heimdallr. He'd told her it was a valley, ringed around with old, dark pines, silvered eternally with frost.
But that is not what stirs her fears. If this is real, does she really desire this? It is one thing to tease and play pretend. If this is real, if Loki is real, then she could be playing with fire. And the immortal is unlikely to be the one burned.
Curiosity and need wins out. And although she had promised to appear before him, naked and on her knees for his punishment, she finds herself searching a little-used drawer, trying to find something acceptable, enticing. Something that might lessen the keen edge of punishment, if possible.
She finds something wedged at the very back of the drawer. She acquired this a long time ago. It is black and sheer, panties that edged with black lace. Above the lacy waistband is a part resembling a corset, made of sheer black fabric that clings and softly hugs her curves, stretching halfway up her ribs. More black lace down the front, and the back is slit from the top of the corset to just above the curve of her backside, this slit held closed by cross-tied black ribbon...it may serve. She strips down and steps into it, praying her Dark Prince will like it.
She stands in front of the portal, taking a deep breath. She steps through, her vision fading into a green glow.
When her eyes work again, she's in a long room. She can see polished slate stone floors covered with wolf-skin rugs, and one end of the room is dominated by a throne of ancient yew and pale marble, heavily carved with runes. Next to it is a small cushion of thick grey rabbit fur. And she knows exactly who that cushion is intended for. His pet.
Her.
At the other end of the room is a large bed, luxurious and opulent, adorned with elaborately carved ivory bedposts that end in snakeheads with jeweled eyes. The mattress is piled with pillows of black and gold, the bedclothes obviously made from the finest fabrics - wool, silk, fur.
In front of the bed is a thick carpet with an exquisite border of dragons and serpents, and on that is a seat of gold, backless and with low arms, upholstered with a velvet cushion of green.
On that lounges a long and impatient figure.
His gaze burns into hers. "My patience is not endless!"
"Oh shit," she mutters under her breath before she can stop herself. Then she freezes; the mouse before the snake. All plans of defending herself shattering to pieces before his beauty.
Loki glares. "Do NOT add tardiness to your punishment."
She goes to her knees immediately, and then remembers herself. She does not know why, but whenever she wrote to him, she found herself mirroring his odd sentence construction, and she finds the same thing happening now. Even her thought processes have been invaded. She no longer thinks like the modern human woman from the year 2013, that she was before she stepped through the green ring of fire appearing in her home.
"Please forgive me, my Lord, but although I promised to appear to you in the nude, I thought you might enjoy it even more if I wore this. Alas, it took me longer than I expected to find it." Better she tell him that, than the truth; that she had not believed he was real.
"I . . . approve. In this circumstance I will permit it." Loki rises and circles, gaze missing nothing. "Are you cold?"
She looks down at herself. She is bare to the waist - she had no brassiere which matched - and her nipples are hardened. It is chilly in here, though it could also be the burning weight of Loki's assessment of her form. She prays that he likes what he sees...
"A little, my Lord Loki. Thank you for your concern," she smiles, but can't quite bring herself to raise her gaze to his. "But I can bear it, for you."
Loki smiles, revealing dimples. There is a glow to his eyes, a hint of ruby that gleams out. "And so you shall. Given what is to come, you may need cooling down."
He moves to the golden seat and drops himself into it, watching his pet. "Rise and turn for me; I would like to see more of what you are . . . almost wearing."
She restrains an amused noise at his choice of words - ''almost-wearing', indeed- and she rises to her feet, slowly turning to let him examine her from every angle. At least she feels the heavy weight of his smoky gaze a little less when her back is to him.
She turns to face him again, shifting from foot to foot as the silence becomes oppressive. "Do you like what you see, my Prince? Did I choose my attire well, even if it made me late to our...appointment?" she finally asks. Anything to break the thick silence. She has not even truly had a chance to look at him, she has been too occupied trying to mollify him.
Because she has no idea how far he'll try to take her. How much 'correction' he expects her to withstand. She bites her lip, waiting for his response, finally daring to look up at him to assess his mood. He's wearing a dark green shirt, black leather pants, and black boots, she notices at last.
Loki brings a hand to his chin, gazing at her with keen interest. "You're nervous. It adds a luster to your eyes. I rather like that."
She manages a small laugh. "I fail to see how I could NOT be nervous, my Lord. I was brought here to be punished, after all." She lowers her gaze again. "And after that, I do not know what you will do with me. So many things we discussed - collaring, 'grooming', games with gems, and relentless teasing of certain...sensitive areas. I know not what you have in store for me at all, my Dark Lord."
He motions her forward, sliding one hand under her chin to lift it, locking gazes with her. His smile is small and his gaze intense. "The not knowing . . . that's part of what excites you. I know it does, I can feel it does. Oh little Star of mine, your heart is speeding up even now."
Loki can see her breathing deepen, and he lets his fingers slide away from her chin, one by one before speaking again. "I know what you are trying to do, pet, and charming though your seduction attempt is, I still must punish you. Oh you look lovely, and I confess your choice of garment is . . . distracting, but you have transgressed, and need to learn that I always mean what I say. Tell me pet, confess. How have you been a bad, bad girl?"
It's his best croon, the low, seducer's tone that has gotten him invited into many a bed, but this time it comes naturally, easily as he watches the girl in front of him. There is still a hint of defiance to her bare shoulders and the temptation of her perky breasts almost distracts him.
She stirs him, oh yes she does. She's a bold one at times, and the night is looking very promising indeed as he waits for her to speak up.
She blushes. "You do not know what I had planned to do if you had refused me again this night. And I am also realizing that I failed to discuss something very important with you."
His brows draw together, and Loki glares. "I refused you? Oh how rich the impertinence! You are dealing with a god, not some brainless Midgardian male that you bat your eyes at!"
She can feel some of her other self (from the other side of the portal) fighting to return. "Stop putting my people down. I told you I was ready last night to submit, and you ignored me. What else should I call it?" She matches him glare for glare.
Loki draws a breath and forces himself to relax as he leans back in the chair. "No. I see I must be mistaken. You're not ready yet, not fully aware that my time is not yours, and that no-one-"
She steps back, shaking her head. "This is so not working. I didn't- I wasn't- What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
He reaches for her, catches one hand and pulls her to stand between his knees as he meets her gaze. "I. Am. A. God. I cannot promise to be at your beck and call, but I can assure you that ignoring you is not what I want to do."
"Are men the same everywhere? You're picking up on exactly the wrong thing. I thought you wanted me to tell you what I was going to do when you left me alone. I did NOT want you to jump on me like I was accusing you of abandoning me! I wasn't trying to say you wanted to ignore me."
He laughs. "Perhaps this is why I am the god of fools. Clearly I need to listen to my OWN words. Shall we try again, luscious little hell-cat?"
"I don't know. I have a bad feeling that there are pit-traps lying in wait for me everywhere, and no matter what I say, somehow it will wind up being the wrong thing." She stares down at the floor. Or tries to. She is standing too close to him.
The scent of her skin, touched with musk, arousal and tension makes him tense. Loki slides a hand around one of her hips and lets his touch linger even as he blows lightly along her shoulder. "You have been sulky and disobedient. I have been foolish. Therefore we need to . . . rectify ourselves."
Talk is not going to work, she decides. Instead, she kneels down between his feet and bows her head. And puts her hand lightly on his thigh. "Since I cannot seem to please you with my words, my Lord, tell me what I can do to please you." This has to be the safer path, if there is one. Maybe there isn't.
Her throat is so dry. "If you wish to punish me, then I beg you to begin. Tell me how and where you want me to position myself. I have displeased you, and I continue to displease, apparently. So I beg you to allow me to set it right, Loki." Then she resolves not to say anything else, if it can be helped.
Except, there is still that one small matter. She bites her lip and stares down at the carpet beneath them. "And should you decide you want to have sex with me, we need to think about some kind of birth control. I'm not prepared to have another kid, and I don't think you'd find me too much fun to be around when I'm pregnant - I get tired easily and have zero interest in sex. Not that you probably find me that much fun right now," she adds, the last sentence a lot softer than the rest. Then she resolves not to say anything else, if she can possibly help it. This is not going at all the way she predicted or wanted.
Loki reaches a hand down and encircles her slender wrist, feeling the warmth of her skin. He thinks to himself how much he wants this girl, how her very nearness is making him hyper-aware of his needs.
"Across my lap," he tells her, his deep voice slightly raspy. "And when you are there, I will tell you not only what I'm going to do, but what will follow after."
She gets up slowly, trying to ignore how her legs are trembling. She circles even more slowly around to the side of the chair, as if she is walking to face the executioner, aware of his hand still firm around her wrist, of how his eyes are locked on her bared breasts.
There is something so decadent about being half-naked in this opulent setting, and she would be enjoying it so very much more, if she were less anxious about what was coming.
She is not sure how to settle herself on him, but Loki solves the dilemma, drawing her forward by the wrist until she is laid face-down across his lap, arranged the way he wants her - head and breasts hanging down, her backside poised high in the air. She feels his hand on her inner thigh, pressing her legs wider apart, and she does not resist, even though she wants to. She bites her lip hard as she attempts to empty her mind; if she thinks too much about what's coming, she might just panic, and she cannot imagine that that will end well.
His thighs are like steel underneath her, the scent of leather and pure maleness envelops her. And she can feel him, aroused and rampant, pressing into her side. She shivers, trying to decide where to place her hands. On his thigh? Let them dangle free in front of her? Tuck them down next to her own sides? But then her arm would be pressed to the bulge in his pants-
"This lace is pretty, but under it, your tender skin . . ." he drawls, big hand gliding up one rounded cheek, "is very soft. Now listen carefully, little hell-cat. You have vexed me approximately six times in the last few days. Because I am a good master I have kept count, you see, and now . . . now you will keep count for me. I think that for six moments of sulky defiance you more than deserve six smacks."
She tries to move her arm, but Loki lifts it and folds it so that the outside of her wrist lies at the small of her back; the way it would if she had them crossed there at parade rest.
The other he keeps a grip on.
"I'm tempted to bind you, but now is not the time. Consider it a little test of your self-control," he murmurs thoughtfully, his long fingers in a loose hold around her wrist.
She says nothing. Six blows, she can take six blows. She can do this. Then she realizes Loki is waiting for an answer. "Yes, my Prince."
"Trying to be a good girl now won't stop me," he purrs back, secretly amused and seriously aroused. What is it about this girl that gets under his skin like this?
She does not know what to say to that. But he's waiting again, damn him. Honesty might work, she tries that: "I don't know what you want me to say." Why does he not just get on with it?
Loki draws in a quick breath, and lets his hand rise and drop, hard. The resounding smack is loud in the quiet room, and his palm stings with sweet pleasure even as he feels himself throb.
Gods. This is delicious! he thinks, fighting to stay calm. Under him he feels Star flinch, a little gasp chuffing out of her as much of surprise as pain.
It hurts, but not as bad as she expected. "One," she says, but she clenches her jaw in anticipation, because it can only get worse from here.
Loki lets his hand slide off her cheek reluctantly, and cocks it again, gritting his teeth. She weighs nothing, and yet the heat of her . . .
She feels Loki shift underneath her, his arousal rubbing against her bent arm. She tenses a little more, waiting for the next blow. She's not going to cry out, damn it. She won't give him the satisfaction.
He strikes, the blow swift and stinging, this one on the other cheek, and the crack is satisfyingly sweet. Loki rubs the spot a moment and gives a low chuckle. "Number, or I will have to add another stroke to the punishment."
"Two," she grits out. Of course he would. She ignores the heat building between her thighs, or at least she makes an effort to do so. Her arousal is a victory for him too, isn't it?
He blows a breath down on her skin, letting his frost breath ever-so-lightly kiss the pinkening surface of her ass.
She jerks at the coolness, clenching her hands into fists.
"How you fight it, that streak of rebellion in you," Loki rumbles with delight. "You're trying so hard not to react and yet your entire body is on edge."
His is too, he knows, but it's not important. Not AS important as hers right now. Loki sends another stinging blow against her ass, noting his finger-marks against her skin.
She is ready this time, so when the blow lands, she turns the sound wrenched out of her throat into the required number at the same time. "Three," she barks. Halfway there. It hurts, though. He's not hitting her harder, but her skin is hypersensitive now. Sweat springs out all over her body, and tears prickle in her eyes, but she blinks them away quickly.
Then he is massaging her again, caressing much of the sting away, and she feels another icy exhalation curl around her hip. There's an insistent throbbing between her wide-splayed thighs, her body responding almost without her will to his gentler touches. He knows from their previous messages how interested she is in his Jotunn side, in how his cold touch might feel - no doubt that is part of his game, too.
He's playing her like an instrument, each pain followed by its soothing. Keeping her on edge, just as he said he would.
Loki breathes deeply, taking in the scent of her arousal, aware of the lovely cleft of her ass, and the hint of curls visible between her thighs. The rosy heat of her cheeks looks marvelous, and he throbs, feeling his cock strain against Star's light weight. Every smack so far has brought matters into sharp focus.
"Halfway done," he sighs. "How you must hate me. Poor little pet humiliated like this because even though she's furious, she's so very, very aroused. I can feel you, I can smell the honey of your need, Puss."
Then fucking do something about it, she wants to scream. But that would be little more than playing right into his hands, so she merely says: "Yes, my Lord," because he's surely expecting some kind of response, and maybe that one will get her in the least amount of trouble. Then she tightens her jaw until it aches and glares straight ahead through the locks of hair that have fallen over her face, half-blinding her, and says nothing more. No doubt he's looking for any excuse to add to her punishment, and she won't give him that.
The ribbon running down between her thighs is slick now, and Loki hooks a finger under it, tugging up and making the girl squirm slightly. He grins. "Be still . . . oh, you can't, can you? Rather too much sensitivity right now, my naughty pet?" He really must provide more lingerie like this, Loki muses. The potential is delightful.
Still, there is the matter of her delectable ass, and he strikes again, managing to aim the blow low; between the rounded bottom of her ass and the soft crease of her upper thighs. Loki knows the sting of it will flush through and along the insides of her legs, heating more of the soft fur there.
He waits, savoring this lovely moment-will she remember to count?
She flinches, surprise finally drawing a whimper out of her. Sharp tingles and heat seem to sizzle from the hot palm of his hand into her skin, and then radiate deep into her core. She arches her back before she can stop herself, wishing her body would stop responding - even her nipples are prickling to attention.
Now he's found a way to hurt and excite her at the same time.
Bastard. "Four," she snarls, but she can't stop herself squeezing her thighs together. Only two left, only two left, she chants inside her mind.
Loki forces himself to calm down a bit, although it's a serious challenge to his self-control. To have her warm weight pressing down on his erection in just the right way, to feel the heat radiating from her is dizzying. A part of him wonders if it's part of Jotunn nature to seek heat and master it. He trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh, enough to be felt, to torment.
She wriggles and he strikes, a wide-palmed smack that makes a meaty sound.
This, Loki thinks with a mental growl, is very nearly addictive. There is fire in his pet, and her grind against him is making it nearly impossible to concentrate.
She chokes out the number, her voice husky now, so he reaches for the bow at the top of the corset, tugging it impatiently, one finger working the laces loose. "Shhhh, you can take more," he croons.
"One more, my Lord," she rasps out, without thinking about the possible consequences, that he might choose to interpret this as more rebellion and decide to add on a few more spanks.
She can feel him loosening each lacing of the corset one at a time, then softly, ticklishly stroking her bared skin, working his slow way down towards her abused posterior. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. His length is pressing into her side, hard, and some impulse makes her wriggle against it. The faster she can goad him into delivering the last smack, the sooner this will end, she hopes-
He dangles the cool satin string along one reddened cheek, aware that his pet is still pushing a bit, but he's enjoying it now, anticipating each little move. "One more?"
She tenses all her muscles. "Yes, please, Loki," she manages to say. To lie.
An idea occurs to him; devious, slightly cruel, but perfect. Loki delivers the last strike, and leaves his hand braced on her stinging skin. Swiftly, he lets his Jotunn form cover his hand, the chill radiating immediately against her abused skin, coldly.
He swears he can almost hear the sizzle.
This isn't like the previous blows. There's the expected sting and then...ice. She nearly jumps out of her skin. "What the hell-!" she sputters, fully aware of Loki laughing wickedly at her reaction. The sensation seeps into her skin, coolness cancelling out the heat, and she shudders and goes limp, resting her head against his thigh. "You're a bastard," she says, without much conviction.
He chuckles again, and suddenly the touch is lighter, almost tender. "I am, in many ways. You deserve a bite for that. I punish you, and even now you try to curse me. What a beautifully fractious creature you are."
"Pot, meet kettle," she mutters.
"Mmmmm. I want you," he adds, the words conversational, but his hands roaming now, moving to tickle the backs of her knees.
"Yikes!" she jerks away - she's definitely sensitive there. "Then stop teasing and just. Get. On. With. It."
Loki manages to scoop her up and rise all in one strong motion, his tone huskier. "Pushy, I believe you Midgardians call it. Were my need not so great I would prolong this, but like a good master I sense you need me."
"Christ, do you ever stop talking?" She grabs his face in her hands and kisses him. Hard.
He opens his mouth, the purr of a laugh against her lips as he waits for her tongue.
It darts against his, sugar-hot and questing, eager. Loki quickly catches her tongue with his teeth, lightly raking it, letting his senses savor her taste.
She twists fingers tightly into his hair. He was the aggressor, now it's her turn. She explores his mouth hungrily, trying not to smile at his low moan - surprised you, did I, God of Mischief? But she realizes it's getting dangerous now, unless she can make him understand-
She breaks the kiss, stating firmly against his mouth. Three words: "Birth. Control. Loki." Raising the child of a god of chaos? No thanks.
He shakes his head slightly, his lips brushing over hers. "Hush now," he whispers, but she's not done. "And you're wearing way too many clothes," she adds in a growl, pulling at the collar of his shirt, but he cuts her off with more kisses, wet and deep, hungry.
He feels control slipping now as the wolf within him rises. Star squirms and tries to wrap herself around him but he carries her in a few quick steps to the bed dropping her there and leaning over her, smirking. He strips out of his shirt, not missing the admiring gaze she runs down his chest and lean arms. "I should say you are wearing too many clothes as well," he purrs down at her.
He reaches fingers to the top edges of the now-loose corset and tugs; it slides down and stops mid-thigh, exposing the delicate nest of curls neatly framed between her hips. Loki laughs at her slightly stunned expression, and purses his lips. "Caught like the little hare you are."
She moves to push the corset down even further, but Loki catches her wrists and presses them to the mattress pinning them next to her hips. He leans further down and runs his nose along her pubic curls breathing in deeply. The perfume of her lust makes him painfully hard now, and when he looks up the planes of her body he can see the flushed peaks of her nipples pebbled and stiff.
She struggles, wanting him, wanting more, but she's well and truly caught.
Carefully Loki presses a kiss, letting his tongue flick along the wet seam under that fur, and even as his pet gives a quick, pleasured cry, he flips her over. Her hands fly to brace herself, but he catches the corset and pulls up, arching her with her lovely ass in the air, the posture familiar from mere moments ago.
She tries to protest, but before she can do more than begin a threat, Loki nips one red cheek and then the other, quick light bites that aren't meant to hurt, only to make her shudder.
When she does, he hooks his hands under her thighs and begins to lick the backs of them, letting his tongue move along that tender skin just at the crease of buttock and thigh.
Delicious. The taste of salt and musk, a hint of perfume and the ripe scent of arousal drive him on, and Loki lets his kisses push deeper, reaching the same wet seam. He sucks, licks, nibbles, as she tries frantically to open her legs against the bind of the corset.
She arches desperately, needing to expose herself more fully, but he's intent on tormenting her, it seems. She pants and whimpers, heat and pressure swirling from where his tongue and teeth are tantalizing her.
Wetter and wetter now, and the urge to take her from behind is making him throb, but instead-
Panting now, he pulls the corset off and gives a tender nudge. His pet rolls on one hip, her eyes huge and full of fire. She reaches for his fly, scrabbling to free his cock, and then pushing his trousers down from his hips. It takes a moment, and when her small hands caress him Loki hisses, fighting hard against the pleasure of seeing his thick prick filling her grip, of feeling her reverent strokes along his length.
That doesn't last long though-she pulls impatiently at his hips, her legs slithering around his thighs as her hissed curses fill the air. Loki runs one big hand up her stomach to cup the underside of one breast and leans down, letting her guide him to the cleft between her legs.
"Loki," she says by way of warning and reminder. But even he can see the battle within her, lust about to declare victory over logic and apprehension.
"My seed will not find purchase within you," he whispers hoarsely and thrusts.
The mad, luscious heat of her cunt forces a growl from him, makes him shake even as he thrusts again, driving deep with a lovely squelch. She is ready, SO ready and Loki lets his lust free, hips rocking hard to hers, his hands cupping the hot globes of her ass. No thoughts, just fevered kisses and the perfect primitive rhythm of their bodies grinding together wetly. The crest rises, and he feels himself moving harder and faster, feels his pet begin to shudder.
She can't catch her breath, head thrown back on the pillows, her backside aching sweetly from the pressure of his fingers. Waves of sensation tear through her each time he buries himself inside her to the hilt, robbing her of any ability to think. She can only hold on and let him break her apart.
Her hands clutch his ribs, and all along his aching shaft her tight quim squeezes in powerful, sensual pulses that . . . oh gods . . . that . . .Loki feels himself roar as thick surges pump out of him, each splash lost in the slick depths that are milking him.
It takes the last of his control not to collapse on top of Star, but he manages to brace himself on his forearms in wobbly fashion, breathless, bowed and empty. Loki lifts his head, seeking her face, wanting something he cannot name.
She looks up at him, hair tangled and damp around her face, cheeks flushed, but her eyes! Oh her eyes are deep and dark, drinking him in, filled with . . . wonder.
Oh God, that was...was... 'amazing' doesn't even begin to cover it. She doesn't even want to move, ever again, if she can help it. Blanketed in sweat, heavy-limbed, she looks up at him and smiles.
He drops a kiss on her mouth-not the heavy possessive kiss, but instead a quiet, almost shy kiss because he cannot take much of what she holds in that gaze.
He shifts down and curls up around her, laying his head on her stomach, enveloped in her warmth as he wraps her tightly in his arms. Her fingers curl through his hair again, stroking his scalp as if he is her pet, and he'll allow it for now, he decides. He'll permit her to rest, but then-
She blushes as a loud, angry rumble emanates from her belly. Right under Loki's ear. "Thank you, digestive system, for ruining the moment," she retorts sarcastically, though she also smiles.
Loki looks up at her and smirks. She even speaks defiantly to herself. Such an amusing little pet he has acquired. With care he strokes her stomach in a slow and meandering way.
"The care and feeding of a pet," he murmurs. "Stay here."
He closes his eyes, letting the magic force solidify into ghostly hands, and soon the scent of a savory stew begins to grow from the heavy iron pot in the fireplace. Loki rises from the bed, absently tucking himself back into his trousers and concentrates again. This is difficult, since the sight of his lovely toy sprawled across it is both charming and arousing. The temptation to simply take her once again rises, but he senses care over lust is what the moment calls for.
More magic, and this time four pairs of ghostly hands are shifting stones along the floor, opening a portal that reveals itself to be a steaming pool at the bottom of circling stone steps. Loki holds his arms out to his sides and the hands shift, finally undressing him fully, taking each item away and carrying it off to a large wooden chest beyond the bed. It's self-indulgent of course; Loki knows he could just as easily undress himself and do it quicker, but he senses eyes upon him, and his vanity is piqued.
He hopes she likes what she is seeing. He is no Asgardian of brawn and rounded muscle, no massive mountain hewn like a glacier. No, Loki knows his lines are long and sinewy, length favored over bulk. He has muscle, yes, but it's hidden at times, and kept from view, all the better to fool his foes. Fortunately legends of the Jotunn are accurate when it comes to stories of pricks, and Loki knows his own endowment is more than enough to draw envy from those who sit in the Allfather's hall. Even Thor has admitted some envy; a minor point but one that Loki remembers with masculine pride.
She rolls slowly up into a sitting position, watching the unusual proceedings. Christ, he's gorgeous, though she's not sure whether telling him so would be a good idea. He'll probably either turn insufferably smug, or mock her for thinking a God's body could be anything other than sheer perfection. Best to comment on more neutral things: "Boy, it sure would be nice to have that ability when I got home from the office!" she notes enviously, motioning at the stewpot.
Loki sees the blush on her cheeks though, and knows a distraction when he hears one. Settling for a robe of pale green linen, he returns to the bed and holds out a hand to her. "Leave those matters back on your world," he orders, gently. "This is a time for us, not the realms we belong to."
She looks slightly rebellious and slightly embarrassed; Loki tugs her up from the mattress admiring her sleek nudity. A fine-featured thing is she; delicate and yet no child, with hips to cradle him and legs to ride him. Those thoughts stir Loki again, and he makes no attempt to hide it.
And his pet notices, yes she does. Even as she gives a little gasp, he slides an arm around her waist and steers her towards the spiraling steps. "Care first, then feeding; is this not how one tames a kitten?"
There's a glint in her eyes that makes Loki think he will pay for that remark, but she follows him down the steps until they reach the bottom, where the rocky pool steams enticingly. As a creature of rock and ice, Loki is sensitive to both setting and temperature, so while the water is hot, it's bearable, and he helps Star in, watching her pale skin turn rosy in the steam. The ends of her hair drift in the water as she lowers herself and luxuriates in the sensations. As for himself, Loki finds the water soothing and refreshing-after all, what is water but ice with heat?
One pair of the ghostly hands carefully lifts her hair and piles it up, securing it with a sleek wooden pin carved like a serpent. The hands drift away, and in the light of the oil lamps Loki leans back to watch his pet play.
This is new, this sensation. Seeing someone enjoying something he has made. Seeing someone happy to be with him. Loki feels an odd twist in his chest; fear and longing and over it, a sense of rare delight. He doesn't understand, and he's afraid to lose it.
She can understand why Loki might want her to leave her home on the other side of the portal, but then what exactly are they supposed to talk about? His choice of home furnishings? The workings of the spell required to conjure ghostly disembodied hands (useful but rather odd, in her considered opinion)? How To Train Your Disembodied Hands?
Instead, she only says: "Thank you," gives him a warm smile, and leans back against the rock wall of the pool, closing her eyes and relaxing as much as she can; her backside still aches faintly, and there's also the matter of Loki's penetrating gaze fixed on her - she is well aware of it, even if she can't see it.
His earlier 'kitten' comment comes back to her, and she begins humming Whitesnake's 'Kitten's Got Claws' softly to herself, stretching out her arms and legs in the hot water, smirking.
Loki watches her. He admires the curve of her throat, the gleam of water along her shoulders. A sense of possessiveness threads through his thoughts and he smiles to himself as he lets one foot hook around her leg under the water. He wants her closer; within his touch, and will let his gaze tell her so. Will his pet understand without having to verbalize it?
So much to learn, he thinks. She is a proud thing, intelligent in her own right, full of opinions and ready to challenge him not only in matters sensual, but on nearly every other topic as well. Loki wonders if she knows what she truly wants in this . . . arrangement of theirs.
He wonders himself. There have been others-not Midgardian-who have caught his fancy and helped him learn the sensual pleasure of command. It's a natural instinct, a basic drive for a Jotunn male such as he. Those in Asgard are stirred only by war and battle; in rutting there is an equality to their pairings that while enjoyable lacks the sweet edge that comes with taking control.
In all his years growing up under Odin Loki thought he was the twisted one, the strange one as he hid his erotic desires and sensual dreams. Only now does he know his true nature, and the freedom to embrace it is gratifying, particularly with such a fetching pet.
She smirks a little more at Loki's touch. She has a saucy reply lined up, in case it is her humming he's taken issue with: 'What, there's a rule against Midgardian earworms, too? Be grateful it's not 'Gangnam Style', my Lord.'
But when she opens her eyes and looks at him, his expression is...many things. Possessiveness, perhaps a touch of unease, but also full of desire...
She wades the short distance over to him, placing both hands lightly on his chest and smiling up at him - he's tall, especially compared to her - "Did you want something?" A brief pause, then she smirks and adds: "My Prince?"
She can't resist touching him as she waits for his answer. There's no rule against touching him that she's aware of. She moves close enough that her body brushes against his, and allows her palms to drift up his shoulders and the sides of his neck, before tracing her fingers along the planes of his cheeks. His eyes close as she does so, and she smirks again. He doesn't hold all the power here, his lofty pronouncements to the contrary. Gotcha!
Loki savors this moment. All on her own, without direct instruction she has come to him, caressed him. It's clear that his pet truly does care in the gentle way her fingers stroke his skin, and he is well-pleased. Perhaps she will not be adverse to some affection on his part either, so he splays his hands across the small of her back, long palms and fingers easily spanning the back half of her torso. Lightly Loki strokes downward, letting his touch glide over a part of her anatomy recently tormented, but he keeps the pressure soft.
"I hope the pain has faded," he murmurs softly. "You took it very well, especially for a first time. It has been . . . a while and I am not as adept in this dance as I have been." As he speaks Loki finds his cock thickening again, surging hopefully against the sleek feminine thigh insinuating itself between his.
"It's...tolerable," she agrees, leaning into him more, relishing the hot length of him against her. "The, um, discipline, wasn't quite what I had fantasized about, but I'm not complaining." She lets her hands fall back to his shoulders, stroking along flexing muscle, then down his arms as far as she can comfortably reach, given his arms are around her. She raises an eyebrow at him. "Shall I tell you what I had thought you might do?" Her thigh rubs against him, just a little.
"You may," Loki agrees, a little guardedly. He's comfortable in the water and his pet feels lovely in his arms, but he isn't sure he wants to hear a critique . . . but how better to learn? How better to do better, he thinks, and draws a deep breath. "Only a fool would turn away from your words, little pet. Proceed."
She shakes her head at the faint uncertainty in his voice. Insecurity? From him? "I don't mean it as a critique. I didn't exactly tell you what I wanted, and you're not a mind-reader." She furrows her brow. "Are you?"
He smirks. "Had I the talent, Asgard would have been mine long ago. Alas, no; the reading of thoughts is not among my magic skills." As he speaks, he keeps stroking, enjoying the soft skin and firm muscle of her ass.
Good, because the last thing she needs is the God of Mischief in her head. "Good. A woman's got to have some secrets. But there's a few I'm willing to share with you." She stretches up on tiptoes, leaning to his ear as much as possible. "Like, for example, I expected the spanking to start a lot more...gradually. And I really hoped you would, well, touch me more. I mean, I was pretty much 'all hanging out there', right? You think it was an accident I showed up naked from the waist up?" She presses her chest against him harder by way of illustration.
Talking dirty is NOT one of her strong suits. Why is she doing this, again? "I mean, do you have something against nipples?" She's blushing, hard, but what the heck - might as well go for broke. She dares to take his arms and place his hands right on her breasts. If that isn't an obvious cue, she doesn't know what is!
He caresses them; his hands warm now from the water, thumbs moving lightly over the nipples. "And is that all, my pet?" Loki smiles. "There is always room for improvement, and on a matter this important I can certainly make the effort to find the happy medium for us." As he speaks he begins to circle his thumbs around her nipples. "I too, have certain hopes as well, certain thoughts and expectations on our interludes, but they can wait . . . ."
"Of course," she answers, kissing the side of his neck. "That would be only fair." She leans back, smiling. "I'll bet I can guess, though." Her expression becomes arch as she wraps a hand around his throbbing shaft and strokes it firmly a few times.
His hips hitch against hers, and his breath catches in his throat. Still smiling, she leans into him again and adds: "But we should probably eat something first, shouldn't we, my Lord?"
As quickly as she can, she releases him and backs away, scrabbling up the stone steps leading out of the pool. She makes a grab for the green robe as she hurries by, giggling as she goes. Probably foolish to tease the Mischief God, but...maybe what he's got is catching.
He laughs too as he follows her up the stairs. Back in the chamber, he allows the ghostly hands to dry him off, as he leers openly at his pet in her damp green robe. It clings fetchingly to all of her curves, so he chooses not to offer her any help with drying.
He doesn't bother to dress himself either, enjoying her slight discomfort at his nudity as they eat their stew. For what he has planned, they won't need clothing much longer. The very thought of what he will do stiffens him again, and he smirks as his pet pretends to be fascinated instead by her bowl of stew.
She fidgets nervously as she finishes the last few bites. He's been done for awhile - he wolfed the stew down like he hasn't seen a meal in millennia - and she's uncomfortably aware of his gaze, intense, dark, and dangerous on her the whole time. It's almost like the person (god) she bathed with in the pool was totally different one from the entity sitting across from her now.
As soon as she finishes, Loki rises lazily and crosses to her, plucking the bowl from her hands and pulling her to her feet.
Wordlessly, he tugs at the bow holding her robe closed, releasing the knot. But he continues, pulling until her robe hangs open, the sash collected in his large hands.
He flashes a feral grin at her that makes her quiver in all the right places, even as anxiety starts to curl itself around her spine. "Turn around," he orders, low and smooth.
She's had enough discipline for one day. Taking a deep breath, she obeys, trying not to jump as he slips the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall and pool around her feet. He releases her hair from the pin next, helping it fall in a soft curtain around her face and neck. It's hard not to bolt as he gently wraps the wide linen sash of the robe around her eyes. She can't see, and she's at the mercy of a God of Chaos; it's enough to make her knees shake ever so slightly.
He pushes lightly at her shoulder until she steps forward, towards the bed. She can feel his breath on her shoulder; he must be nearly on top of her, closely shadowing her every step, ravenous predator tracking his prey.
Her knees impact the mattress sooner than she expects and she jolts to a stop, her hands scrabbling to keep her from tumbling onto the bed, and Loki chuckles, the sound a little cruel.
"Lay down, my lovely pet," he says, and again, despite her tension, she obeys. He moves almost soundlessly, her ears straining to track his movements as he circles the bed. Hands grasp her wrists, raising them above her head and hold them down on the pillows...and then her eyes open wide in shock as another pair of hands does the same thing to her ankles, spreading them wide and pinning them in place.
Then Loki climbs up onto the bed, his body sliding against hers like a caress, but the hands still have a firm grip, and she realizes - it's not him holding her down. It's his ghostly servants.
She can feel fur under her back and tender ass, and she can't help wiggling just a bit, enjoying the softness, sandwiched between it and his warmth.
His lips move against her ear. "I have taken to heart what you spoke of to me in the pool," he says, "and I hope you will grant similar attention when I tell you my expectations as well, at a later time. However, it does seem to me that if you are going to demand certain acts, you will need to earn them."
Star bites her lip nervously. "And how might I do that while I am bound like this, my Prince?"
His laugh is soft. "A game, little kitten mine. I will touch your skin with some item or texture, and all you must do is to tell me what it is. Guess correctly, and you will be rewarded with what you crave. Guess incorrectly, and I will have something I crave from you."
Her throat is suddenly dry, her body trembles. With need or fear, or both, she can no longer tell where one bleeds into the other.
But she can tell that she doesn't have a choice. "Yes, Loki," she says.
A pleased chuckle in her ear, and then he rolls off her and off the bed. Silence falls, during which she can hear nothing but the faint crackle and pop of the fireplace. She tugs at the hands holding her, twisting her head from side to side as she tries to hear him, but there is nothing.
He makes her wait.
When he does touch her, she jerks as if struck by lightning, gasping. She can feel something against her inner left thigh, something very soft. She wiggles as he brushes it against her skin, slowly moving it closer to the heated junction between her legs, and then she realizes it's the same texture she's lying on - fur.
"Fur, my Lord?" she asks hopefully.
He chuckles. "Very good, clever pet. Hence, your reward." He lets the fur brush over her fur, the sensation soft and tickling, and she moans when his hands move higher, stroking her stomach and then her stiff nipples with it.
Then the feeling vanishes and he's leaning over her, hard chest pressed down on hers, and his fingers trap her chin as he kisses her urgently. His tongue invades her mouth, taking no prisoners, and she moans again.
His hand pushes on her chin, forcing her head to tilt back, as he presses soft bites along her throat. She fists her hands, panting, feeling her body temperature rising in response. It only increases as he makes his leisurely way to a nipple, though he doesn't release his grip on her chin.
He nips hard, and she cries out, but it's the same tactic as before - pain and then pleasure as he soothes away the ache with lips and tongue. He suckles hard too, then licks around her nipple, then long tongue strokes glide wetly up and down the rest of her breast, and then he starts all over on the other side. Her hips try to rock, to press into him seeking relief, but he doesn't stop working her tender flesh until she is sheened in sweat and begging noises spill from her taut throat. "Such delicious sounds you make, little pet," he croons.
He stops then, removing himself from the bed once more. She tries to catch her breath, to focus on his 'game'.
When he returns to her, she can feel him leaning over her, but there's no contact between them. She feels something against her throat, a fluttering - what is it? Feathers? Leaves? A bird he's conjured?
"Well, pet?" he asks after she takes too long to answer. His voice is nearby, his face is close to hers, is that a clue?
"Are you- tickling me with your hair?" she finally stutters.
He laughs darkly and she knows she's wrong. "No, but a worthy guess. Those were my eyelashes, dear pet. And now, as you have lost-"
His hand slips under her head, supporting it, and she feels him shift up onto the bed. Then his length is against her mouth, rigid and throbbing, and she doesn't need any direction to open her lips and kiss it, stroke her tongue along it.
He groans, his fingers tightening slightly on her scalp, and she wishes she could see his expression. She can only focus on feeling, taste, scent and sound - velvet over stone, salty and hot, musk, low growls...he strokes himself along her tongue, and she can feel him watching everything she does to him.
After a short time he stiffens under her teeth, but then he draws himself out of her, fingers stroking down her hair. "One more round, little kitten?"
She licks his salt from her lips and nods. "Yes, my Lord."
There's the expected pause and silence, and then he's back. This time he touches her arm, drawing a smooth, slick material down the sensitive inside, trailing towards her breasts. Soft, cool...but the scent gives it away. "Leather," she says with certainty.
"You've done well," he compliments her. "I shan't make you wait any longer-"
She feels him settle between her spread thighs. The ghostly hands shift, sliding up her legs and pressing her knees wider apart, then holding her immobile, and Star tries to stop a groan of anticipation.
She gasps, hips trying to buck when his hot tongue delves deep inside her. It's impossible to stay still or silent as he teases unmercifully, tracing his tongue along each edge, sweeping around and against her tenderest spot, fingers sinking inside her to discover just which places will win the greatest reaction from her.
He's too skilled at this, dragging her close to completion almost before she wants him to, but just as her muscles tighten, just as the pleasure starts to dance over the edge into excruciating, he...stops.
She bites her lip. Oh God, he can't- Please- "Loki," she chokes, "Please, don't stop-"
He doesn't answer her, at least not with words. The hands release their grip just long enough for Loki to roll her over and pull her to her hands and knees, then they pin her in place again.
She lets out a loud cry and arches back into him as he pushes himself slowly into her. She can practically feel every vein on his shaft rubbing along her walls at each slow retreat and advance. Every time he fills her, he hits just the right spots inside and out.
But even he becomes impatient before long, his fingers almost bruising her hips when he finally decides to abandon this sweet torture and take her. He slams into her over and over, so hard she'll wonder afterwards how her bones are still whole, and she can somehow feel it when he's about to spill himself, he's so hard and heated inside her-
Her climax is there, waiting to engulf her- just another thrust, and now there is his hand, reaching around her hip to press her clit in just the right way-
White light fills her mind, her body convulsing around him, and distantly she can hear his loud cry of satisfaction as he spends himself inside her, their bodies seeming to fuse into one being, shuddering, collapsing, entwining...
-oo00oo-
Later, much later, Loki opens his eyes to find his pet curled to his side, one slender leg wrapped over his in unconscious possession. Moved, he smiles in the dark, feeling quiet pride in her. She is a spirited female, complicated and strong, feminine to the core and worthy of his interest. This night has been sweetly fiery, (and Loki hopes) a lovely beginning to something . . . special.
But now . . . Now it is time to return her to her Midgardian surroundings, back to her world. It sends a pang of loneliness through him, and Loki waits a while, watching her sleep so innocently and deeply before speaking in a low whisper.
"When you awake you shall be returned, with only a few moments of time missing, little kitten. You shall keep your memories of tonight, as shall I."
She stirs restlessly, a small frown flickering across her face, and Loki blows a soft breath across her cheek. Instantly she settles down as he speaks again. "The next time I shall come to you, and we shall see to it that you are bedecked as a pet should be, hmmm? In the interim, rest, and await me, little hell-cat."
Loki ever so lightly runs his tongue along her lips, closing his eyes and allowing the slow press of old magic flare around them and encompass Star. She shimmers like her namesake and fades away, leaving behind warmth and perfume lingering on the bed.
Loki breathes in deeply and rises, his expression bleak; there will be no rest or comfort now that she is gone, and he has enemies to deal with.
Still . . . he permits himself a smirk as he picks up the linen belt to the robe. There is the next time to look forward to-