So Aesthesia had exams, I wrote her a thing, and months later I finally remember I should toss it up here.
This is one of several little things I wrote in If and Only If-verse to get myself back into the swing of things while I was trying to work out the last few details for Cycles and get enthusiasm for that again.
Context: Loki and Baldr were adventuring~ Loki got pretty badly hurt. Baldr is less than pleased (also worried). This naturally manifests in an appropriately Baldr and Loki/Loki and Baldr way.
This is pre-series by a fair shot, but same cycle as the one the series takes place in. No, you don't need to have read the series to enjoy this. I hope.
Warnings: graphic sex, blood, s&m, beating, dub con, violence, bondage/restraints, breathplay, really really really unhealthy relationship
"Loki," he breathes across the pile of sharp angles and tight-drawn skin next to him, black hair brushing against his lips.
(He knows he is meant to hate, meant to take joy (because there are thousands of memories twisting in is head yet), but holding Loki like this, tangled in his arms, with him so helpless, he cannot stop how his heart is thudding in his chest.)
There is heat and wet and blood on his hands as he presses his torn cloak to Loki's wounds.
(He cannot lose him, not Loki, not his other half, he cannot, not yet, no no no, it is Loki meant to lose him, this is wrong.)
Loki's lashes flutter, then green eyes slip open and Loki chuckles dryly, as if he is used to waking like this.
"Idiot," Baldr scolds, and his fingertips dig into the edges of Loki's wounds and Loki hisses.
XXXXXX
"Idiot," Baldr hisses, fury and hate and love.
(This is something that has happened before, he thinks, but he does not think it happened this life.)
Loki writhes beneath him, heat and sweat, brilliant green eyes sly and familiar and laughing, laughing at him, and Baldr snarls. Loki's half-broken cry is tinged with laughter yet, and Baldr brings the crop down against bare skin again, until it cracks the skin of newly scarred wounds and Loki can only gasp, blinking back tears. He grabs a fistful of Loki's hair, yanking his head back
(can see the laughter that still hasn't vanished, that never vanishes, and the edges of Baldr's vision are near red, because as much as he loves this he hates it too)
and listening to the ragged gasp of Loki's breath.
"Please," Loki chokes out on what little air he has, "do explain."
Baldr bites deep into the flesh and muscle where neck meets shoulder, deeper, until blood fills his mouth (rich and sweet and life), until Loki whines, pathetic and pleading whine, wordless, hips rolling beneath Baldr into the bed, arms straining to pull wrists free from where they are tied.
He lets go of Loki's hair, a few strands catching in his signet ring, and Loki's head drops back to the pillows, muscles shifting beneath the skin. Loki grunts as Baldr tears his pants down over his hips and drags him to his knees, and it is not Baldr's magic that coats Baldr's fingers in lube.
Baldr beats him for it, because if Loki can think then Baldr hasn't made his point yet, and that is infuriating. Anyone else would have broken by now.
(And he loves, because Loki is his, his other half, and Loki hasn't broken yet and Lokiunderstands even if Baldr has to beat and carve it into Loki's flesh to remind him from time to time.)
"Baldr," Loki cries, legs shaking as Baldr fucks him, and Baldr curls around him, wrapping a blood and oil soaked hand to stroke Loki in time to his thrusts.
"Mine," Baldr growls into Loki's ear, and Loki sobs at the word, orgasming to it as if commanded. Baldr fucks him through it, until Loki is limp and wrung out, and then pulls away.
(He might be close, maddeningly so, but this wasn't for him.)
(It is reminder, physical and mental and spirtual, that Loki is his, his to hurt, to bleed, to wound, and no one else's, just as Baldr is Loki's to hurt, to bleed, to wound, and if it were he that had been harmed it would be him tied to the bed and beaten instead of Loki.)
Baldr undoes the ties binding Loki and Loki kicks his pants the rest of the way off, and they twist and settle until Loki has Baldr pinned against the pillows and the bedframe, mouth wrapped around his cock and a deep hum to make Baldr hiss. Loki's fingers tighten around Baldr's throat and the edges of Baldr's vision go grey, barely able to draw breath; his fingers tighten in Loki's hair, rutting into the heat and wet and Loki, and when he orgasms he can barely breath, everything fire and ice and distant sensation of Loki swallowing and drinking him down.
"Mine," Loki hisses in Baldr's ear as they twine around each other, and Baldr sighs, content.
(Because mine is I love you and he loves.)
(Because mine is I hate you and he hates.)
"Idiot," Baldr murmurs as they drift to sleep and Loki chuckles against his skin while Baldr traces scars freshly opened.
"Yours," Loki says, purrs, wildfire tamed for a moment.
"Yours," Baldr agrees.