NC17 (slash, somewhat AU, sexual content, violence, non-con/dub-con, pseudo-incest, no beta) Pairings: Thor/Loki, Thanos/Loki
Additional warnings: There is a scene where Loki shapeshifts briefly into a female.
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PT. 1:
Loki wakes to himself rapidly descending from a great altitude; there is nothing to break his fall. All he sees are the vestiges of a dark, barren wasteland greeting him below.
It's inevitable, his beaten body is haplessly deposited onto a floor of dirt and rocks. The crushing impact forces any trace of air to vacate his lungs and as he attempts to cry out in pain, only silence persists. The cursed gag remains fastened to his mouth.
A mist of fine dust rises over the ground, followed by his fall. Throbbing pain saturates every muscle, ligament and bone in his body, making his eyes brim with tears. He tries hacking granules of dust that he inhaled, to no avail. The muzzle, strapped viciously to his mouth, proves to be a greater burden than he had ever imagined. And with his wrists fettered, his movements are minimal and constrained. The manacles, secured to him, are relentless in their power, preventing him from conjuring any form of magic. Even if he only means to heal himself.
Eventually, Loki comes to rest on his back, limbs outstretched. He breathes profusely from his nose, gasping desperately despite the gag. Ravished by physical agony and incapacitated, he blinks up at the sky to see a vortex of swirling grey clouds quickly dissipating above him. The journey to Asgard, by the looks of it, has abruptly come to an end. For it is not Asgard he finds himself in; it is a world that is frighteningly familiar.
Without warning, a bone-chilling wind appears, sweeping through the landscape, blowing heaps of dust with it. How ironic, he thinks, it may be his Jotunn heritage that will prolong his life on this miserable planet. Prolong his suffering.
"Welcome back." A disembodied voice perturbs the air, gravely and undeniably masculine.
Loki perks his head up, distraught by what he believes to have heard. Was it Thor? He frantically looks around him, seeing nothing and no-one in his vicinity. Silence ensues afterwards and he concludes it may as well been a trick of the mind.
Just a gust of wind…He assures himself, content in that thought. No reason to question his sanity over something so trivial. His eyes lazily wander about his surroundings.
Still, why has there been no sign of Thor?
He remembers last taking hold of the Tesseract shortly before a column of energy seized them both from the Midgardian world. Their destiny was Asgard, but he was no where near Asgard and Thor was no where to be seen or heard.
Thor must have made it there. He determines, lying motionless on the ground, still in disbelief. This particular destination was likely meant only for him.
Loki wonders what Thor would think when he sees that his prisoner had not arrived by his side. Rumor would be that the Silver-tongue had escaped on his own volition. Or had Thor agreed to have him sent here as punishment? It suddenly occurs to him, fearing it may be true. To leave him here, withering away, alone.
It isn't long before the stench of Midgard permeating his filthy, tattered ensemble reaches him; he crinkles his nose with disgust. It is the stench of defeat. Sighing in dismay, he stares upward, transfixed on the fading clouds, suggesting the closure of the portal that had transported him to this world. It leaves behind a sunless sky, pitch black, interspersed by distant stars and galaxies.
"You have returned sooner than I would have liked." The same voice bellows.
Realization finally stirs him and he can feel a stab of terror deep within him. It hadn't been an illusion, after all.
Then, it dawns on him. This empty world had been the location where he unwittingly wagered his life on a promise and one with unspeakable torture should he fail to make good on it.
Dreading what lies ahead, he notices a sharp change in his breathing. He is not alone.
The voice he heard is not one he recognizes, but he believes it to be a principal commander of the Chitauri. Albeit, it lacks that shallow rasp that seems inherent to their specie. Loki rolls on his stomach and props himself up on his elbows, oblivious to pain as he struggles on shaking knees to make himself stand. The armor plating he wears is scratched and worn, hanging loosely against his body. The rest of his garb fairs no better, his leather surcoat and breeches are tarnished, beyond repair. He mindlessly pats his hands over the length of his attire, in a futile effort to rid himself of dirt that had clung to him.
"Let's have a look at you, shall we?"
The ominous words resonate on his back. Loki turns his head, peering over his shoulder. Unable to see much of anything, he listlessly staggers on his feet, turning to get a glimpse of the one addressing him.
Panning into view is the silhouette of a gargantuan being, seated over a solid mass of slabbing stone at the base of a terrace, too close for comfort. He appears to rest his arms over his knees, his body slouching forward as he surveys his company.
The alien figure is not comparable to that of any Chitauri anatomy known to him. It is significantly larger and distinctive.
Adjacent from there is a stationary pod in the distance. Evidently crafted for space travel. There are two Chitauri soldiers that stand guard on each side of the pod, but seem indifferent to his presence.
His eyes drift back to the body perched nearby him, but he cannot distinguish the being's features due to the obscurity of this desolate world. This is coupled by the shadow of the terrace, casting over them. Loki stands in place, his shackled hands falling limply at his sides.
The rattle of the chain draws the stranger's attention, inviting his degrading remarks. "Not only have you returned without the tesseract, but they have mocked, bound and gagged you. A self-proclaimed god, but a travesty is all you are."
Loki willfully suppresses a rush of anger. Does this alien imbecile think it was to be so easy and predictable? He wonders, incredulously.
The being mocks him further, knowing his captive has no means to answer him, "What more could I have expected from a simple bastard?"
As cold as this world is, a dormant flame begins to seethe in Loki. It's infuriating and shocking all the same. How is it possible? Does this alien truly know of his origins? He exhales audibly through his nostrils in retort, but he knows better than to hint at defiance. He must concede now and bide his time carefully. Yes, he would do better to play along with this creature than to compromise himself.
Without being asked, the trickster gracefully drops to one knee, bowing his neck subserviently to this being. Stray locks of dark hair fall out of order and shroud his pallid face as he adjusts himself over the uneven surface. He will put on an act if he must, but it will be for his own benefit. He faces the ground with eyes closed, simulating an act of submission to his utmost ability.
"Learning your place in the universe with such gratuitous urgency?" The being derides him. "Or perhaps, you have a talent at deceiving others by your actions, as well?"
His heart skips a beat, and his verdant eyes snap open in astoundment. He cringes at the prospect of just how much this being knows about him. Does his reputation as the alleged God of Mischief precede him this far?
"You may be asking yourself, how you got here. Well, don't let that occupy your mind." The being says, rising to his full height atop the slant rock. "Just a detour, if you will." He glances across the solemn horizon, appearing to admire the view from his vantage point. Stooping, he hurdles to the ground, mere steps from his quarry, landing with a resounding thud. Loki flinches, squinting his eyes while a cloud of dust fills the air.
As it settles, he spots a shadow moving steadily to his right. "There are far greater concerns for you, fallen prince." The large being announces, stepping out from the shadow of the terrace into the dim light of the stars. "Hereon, you will refer to me as your lord; Thanos. I am of the world known as Titan, as you may know." He pauses, head turned in Loki's direction. "Not that it has any pertinence to that of an Asgardian outcast."
It is him… Loki realizes.
It was he, who had commanded the Chitauri follow Loki's lead. He, who had bequeathed the scepter to Loki, so that he may deliver the tesseract in return. It was he, who Loki had failed. The trickster contains a primal fear goading him to flee. Instead, he forces deep, measured breaths as another drop of sweat streams down his forehead, pooling across the fringe of his gag.
Finally, the opportunity to see this tyrant with his own eyes presents itself. On bent knee, it only exaggerates the lord's height, but there is no doubt that he is large. Larger than Thor. He is of such stature, he resembles the bulk of that ferocious green monster that had bested him back on Earth. The former prince can only peer up at this creature, captivated by what he sees.
Thanos wears a cerulean body-suit that is matched to the bulging contours of his muscular physique and what appears to be a helm fitted over his head. There are trims on his helm lined in a gold chrome, that mold to his face. His skin is a stale, shade of purple and his broad, chiseled face is accented with a sinister grin. It is further pronounced by the jut of his rectangular jaw. What is most alarming are his eyes. They are as dark and empty as the void, showing nothing, no emotion, no life. Loki shudders and his gaze resigns to the ground again.
"Don't like what you see?" Thanos asks with a subtle cadence.
Loki strives to comprehend the gravity of his situation. He knows the heinous entity standing over him is one riddled with mystery and ambivalence. The only thing that is certain, is that he is an all-powerful demigod of sorts. Loki recalls the prattling and affairs of dignitaries from other worlds that would stop into Asgard by occasion. He knew only from stories told by them that Thanos, otherwise known as a god of death, stopped at nothing. He was ruthless in his endeavors and he would cut down anything or any foe standing in his way. His subordinates were equally fair game. The Aesir were quick to dismiss these tales; to acknowledge that such individual power existed beyond the realm would translate as a threat. And threats against the might of Asgard's kingdom were typically unheard of.
Nevertheless, this rumor, true or not, is not the only concern to him. He is accustomed to subordination and he has played the role well. What troubles him more is the potential that Thanos is as able to circumvent the schemes that Loki is so fond of contriving. Indeed, Thanos may be as formidable in mind as he is in body. He could not let his guard down, not for an instant.
Loki makes no gesture to answer him, he keeps his eyes down, focusing on a rock that lies conveniently in sight. It is dark as coal, with bright cross-hatches scarring its exterior. He would count them each, if that is all he could do to distract himself from this predicament and the likelihood that this mad lord would have him executed on a whim. For the trickster, this is also a test. Although, he has no means to convey his thoughts through words, he can still exhibit subservience to him. Perhaps this could generate the leniency that would spare him from death. At least, for now.
Thanos cocks his head down at Loki and scratches his chin thoughtfully. "I see…You and I both know where this is going, so I'll cut to the chase."
The Titan begins pacing slowly, circling the captive, as if in contemplation. Each pounding step rippling the ground beneath him. Loki holds his posture, unmoving and disciplined in spite of the nervousness plaguing him.
"Your incompetence will not go unnoticed. I've yet to decide on what punishment would be most appropriate." Thanos comes to a stop behind Loki's knelt form. Loki may not see him directly, but he perceives his presence. The tyrant emanates an aura of irrefutable power, raw and foreboding.
At the moment, he lives only because Thanos allows it. There is nothing to prevent him from doing away with the one who had promised him the tesseract and failed to retrieve it.
The chances that he will die at the hands of the Titan seem ever more likely. He wonders if betting his life on the assumed generosity of this alien despot had in fact been a good idea. This, however, is not the first time Loki has starred death in the face. And as before, he is given little choice; it's a chance he's forced to take.
