Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, yada yada.
Author's Note: After some poking and prodding by my best friend this little PWP one-shot was born. It's sat on my hard drive for a while, so I figured I might as well share it.
In her mind's eye she saw him so clearly. The clips of the New York battle and leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. footage had planted so distinctly in her mind the seamless athleticism of his movements, the hard glint in his eye, the conspiratorial smirk pulling at his lips, the effortless strength of the violence done at his hand. She wondered what those long fingers and all that power would feel like.
The sheer destruction he caused should have made her stop dead in her tracks – she liked to think of herself as a good person, and good people didn't fantasize about being fucked into the mattress by murderers.
But there was a little voice at the back of her mind that came unbidden, which sounded so unlike herself growling louder and louder the more she tried to ignore it: But he is a god.
She shuddered, fingers wrapping around her necklace: a bright green jewel she found tucked away in a vintage store under the marketing ploy of "Treasures of Asgard!". It had been a year since the Avengers made their mark, and things had never been the same.
Like for example, she had never been so horny, for so long, so badly in her life.
Hours spent pouring over mythological volumes, news coverage, and the dirty minded ramblings of the like-minded on the internet the past few months only made her more and more enamored, more and more obsessed and willing in her fantasy. She had lost count of the number of nights she laid in an empty bed, tossing and turning, until finally giving in and snaking a hand down between her own legs to find a moment's release so that she could fall asleep for work the next morning.
And tonight was definitely going to be one of those nights.
She closed her eyes and sighed, anticipation and shame heightening her already building excitement. She imagined him, dark hair, bright eyes, all sharp angles and lean muscle. She could feel the cold chill of his skin and the layers of leather against his chest. Hands gripped her, one brutally fisted in her hair and another at her hip, hard enough to bruise and the phantom pain made her wriggle against her sheets. Her fingers ghosted across her belly, down her thighs, teasing herself before she put them where she really wanted them, working in slow circles against hot flesh that was already impossibly wet. In her mind he was already inside of her, pushing and pulling and hurting in all the ways she liked but never knew how to ask for.
She felt the coil tightening low in her abdomen and fought the impulse to speed up her fingers, breath hitching in her throat as she tried to muffle little moans; a single word - a name - escaped and she inched that much closer to that white light …
It was blinding – literally. Her eyes whipped open, stinging in the face of a hot, bright flash that dissipated as quickly as it came, a gust of wind knocking the disheveled coverings off the bed.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," said a voice, a laughing lilt underneath. That voice.
She felt adrenaline and fear flood her system, paralyzing her at the sight before her eyes. The God of Mischief, in all his terrible glory, watched her intently; a cat with his mouse. He dwarfed her room with all his height, black hair slicked back, the column of his pale neck framed by the high collar of his dark tunic. She all but shouted, "Oh my God!"
"Hmm," he stepped more fully out of the shadows, a little smile pulling, mischief and something darker gleaming in his eyes, "- yes. Although perhaps not the one you were expecting?" His voice was low and husky, like velvet pulled across sandpaper. He looked at the girl almost expectantly, ready to gauge her reaction. Her hesitation prompted him to continue. "Odd, since you were just mewling my name so pathetically." He spat out the word, all condemnation on the turn of a dime.
She could hear the blood pounding in her ears against the silence. This is ridiculous!
"Reading about me, were you?" Loki skimmed one long elegant finger down the page of the open book on her desk, feeling her eyes hot on him, unable to look away as his presence towered filling every ounce of room to spare; tapping a single word, he looked up to lock eyes with her and broke into a smile, eyes crinkling. "'Breaker of Worlds' according to legend," he boasts, savoring the words, one hand coming to rest over his heart. "Sounds messy. And yet still you call to me."
"I didn't-"
"Oh but you did. You're wearing something of mine around your pretty little neck." He flicked his wrist in her direction before starting to walk a slow circle from the desk and around the bed. She felt the stone at her chest pulse and jumped in surprise. "Norns know why you ended up with one." He sounded exasperated. "I intended them to find their way into the hands of the prominent – not the insignificant".
She felt herself continue to gape at him, mentally going over the events of the day and wondering if maybe she went on a drinking bender without remembering it.
Realization only hit her then that she was stark nude in her bed, hair every which way. Loki watched the gravity (absurdity) of the situation wash over her face, a pink blush, and decided that perhaps she wasn't a complete waste. Her eyes darted across the bed quickly, looking for something, anything, to cover up with before she looked up at him through her eyelashes, more than helpless.
He regarded her for a moment - the rapid hammer of her heartbeat, her long limbs and all that unmarked skin, the way his stone hung in the valley between her breasts - before he whispered, "World breaker. I wonder what else I could break."
His voice sent a visible shiver through her body. A promise and a threat all at once. A moan escaped before she could help herself.
He was at her side in an instant, hand grabbing hard at her jaw and yanking her face closer to his own. "I'm going to ruin you," he murmured, dark green eyes churning like the sea during a storm. His thumb brushed delicately across her lips before he continued, "and perhaps if you're lucky, I'll take the time to rebuild you."
Her lips trembled, searching for a reply. "Please," she whined, fear and excitement lacing in her veins. She honestly had no idea what she was asking for. He was a god – an unstable one at that. He could kill her if he wanted to.
Why did that make her want him so much?
"Please what?" Loki demanded, breath hot on her face as he pulled at her throat, making her neck strain to meet his grip. "Please don't?" he asked with a growl, mocking, nose mere inches from her own. He shoved her back onto the bed, her body bouncing against the springs and burning at the loss of contact. "I've seen every thought that has passed across your mind when you lie here, night after night, trying in vain to sate your lust. You crave subjugation, you're practically begging for it. Lucky for you, your god has come to answer your prayers. Come here."
His tone left no room for argument and she scooted across the bed, closer to him. She could feel herself trembling, wanting and fearing his touch.
"Kneel," he said, a little smirk hiding beneath his snarl. She felt something low inside her contract in pleasure at the word, thighs brushing together and creating a delicious friction as she changed her position, resting her weight on her knees and the bottoms of her feet.
Her breath was shaky. From her new spot in such close proximity she allowed herself to really look at him for the first time, gaze wandering from his boots up to his eyes and everywhere in between, admiring the expanse of his shoulders, the way his torso tapered into a narrow waist, the graceful strength poised in his hands. This was very real.
"Enjoying the view?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes … sir?" She admitted, unsure of just how to address him. She'd be lying if she hadn't called him 'Master' in her head more than once, but she didn't want to look like a complete puddle at his feet right off the bat, no matter if its what she felt like.
"Usually when I've got a whore on her back its 'my lord'," he gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if it was the most natural topic of conversation in the world, "but perhaps 'sir' fits the modern woman … Now, tell me what you want." She felt his hand rake through her hair, fingers brushing her scalp and sending ripples of goosebumps down her arms. His grip tightened, pulling her closer.
"You know," she whispered, unable to look him in the eye. Her arousal was becoming painful, a great yawning ache at her center. Being the sole object of his attention was almost too much to bear. She wriggled in his grasp.
A cold slap from his free hand sparked pain up the side of her cheek, the sting of it making heat pool between her legs. Slender fingers wrapped around her thin neck, the chill of his skin on one of her favorite places to be touched caused pleasure to shoot through her. He stepped closer and the unyielding leather of his coat brushed against her hardened nipples; she whimpered against his hand and he smiled despite himself. "Of course I do you silly girl," Loki cooed, squeezing the fingers around her neck gently. "I want to hear you say it."
"I want you," she said, straining against him as much she could.
"How?" he asked, leaning in close.
"However you want me." He squeezed tighter around her neck. "I want you to use to me. I want to touch you." She felt like she was babbling but she couldn't stop it. "I want – I want to feel all that – that power." The tug against her hair made her scalp burn and she moaned.
"Oh, but I do like this," he grinned, bending his long frame to look her in the eye. "Show me," he whispered, voice coarse against her, issuing a challenge.
She brought greedy hands up to his waist, fear only heightening her excitement. She might only have one chance to get fucked by a god and she wasn't going to waste it by cowering. If he wanted to kill her, he would have done so by now with nothing more than the bat of an eyelash.
He was frustratingly covered in layers – aesthetically pleasing yes, but finding the quickest way to his cock was proving difficult. She tucked her hands under the overlay of his tunic, seeking out the clasp to his trousers.
She felt his eyes roaming over her as she worked and felt a surge of confidence. She was conscious of how her body must have looked from his vantage point, so she leaned into him, pushing her ass out, bringing her arms closer together to make her breasts appear fuller. The hand at the back of her head tensed and she counted that as one point for her.
Her hand brushed against his hardness straining against the laces of his trousers and she felt herself contract in excitement. She palmed him through the leather, looking up into his face, searching for permission or approval. He eyed her with a cool expression, jaw set and his face all sharp, impassive angles.
She kept her eyes locked on his as she began to undo the ties, anticipation making her breath hitch here and there. If someone didn't touch her clit soon, she swore she was going to die.
She worked her hand against his pants, pulling them open and far enough down on his hips to free his erection. She broke eye contact so that she could look at the object of her desire all these long months. The empty ache inside of her intensified as she slid her hand reverently down the generous length, fingers squeezing at the girth she would give anything to feel inside of her. She pressed her thighs together, the indirect pressure taking some of the edge off and making her moan. She could feel how wet she was, how wetter still she was growing while she pumped her hand over Loki's manhood, her grip firm but slow.
"Please," she whispered up at him.
He ran his hands through her hair, brushing it out of her face before knotting his fingers against her scalp once again. "Please, what?" he demanded, voice low and silky, completey in control despite her best efforts. He sounded like what chocolate felt like.
"May I, sir?" she pleaded, inching forward on the bed.
He grasped his cock at the base of it with his free hand in reply, and urged her head forward.
She didn't waste any time, sucking the head into her mouth and working it for a moment before slowly letting his cock sink down her throat inch by inch, as much as she could. She felt the ever present touch of his hand at the back of her head, pushing and pulling, guiding her movements firmly but gently, only allowing her to have as much as he wanted. She would push forward and he would tug her back, forcing her to focus her attentions where he wanted. Her hands grabbed at his length, willing him to move, to thrust, to let her push him into the back of her throat. She sucked, bobbing her head when he allowed it, and then held frustratingly still when it suited him.
She moaned against him and she heard him breath in sharply above her, the first sign he'd graced her with of the pleasure he surely must have been feeling.
Loki's free hand joined the other fisted in her hair; she felt him finally begin to move, thrusting into her mouth, slowly at first and then with increasing force. She moved her hands onto the bed, kneeling on all fours to brace herself. She felt her hips begin to move, grinding against the air in a desperate attempt to dull the building ache. She looked up into his eyes as he fucked her mouth, saw the set lines of his mouth smirking down at her. His once bright eyes were dark with pleasure and dark hair was falling into his face with every thrust. She closed her eyes and tightened the seal of her mouth around him and was rewarded with a moan of his own.
"Is that what you wanted," he asked, breathy but deep. "To be used by your god?" He was growling now, voice like gravel raking across her spine. She moaned again against him and he laughed.
He pulled her head back sharply, and his cock left her mouth with an audible pop. She gasped, finally able to draw full breaths into her lungs. He grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her to look at him. She was covered in a thin beading of sweat, pretty face wet and red, ample chest heaving. "So eager to please."
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"Turn around, on your knees, and I'll give you what you need," Loki commanded, a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She really did have promise, he mused. He liked looking at her, especially when she was all but pleading for his touch. Aesir were usually so willowy and sturdy; this one had curves and valleys and fragility. She was so willing for his touch, so willing to be broken and bent. The promise of complete and total control handed to him without reservation was too tempting to pass up. He felt his pride and arousal swell in equal measure.
She flipped over as quick as she could, lowering herself onto her forearms, raising her hips and giving him an inviting view. She felt the bed dip as his knees pushed her legs together and framed them. The brush of his jacket and the hem of his tunic tickled the backs of her thighs and she sighed, pushing back into him as much as she dared.
She felt his hand slide over her ass, giving it a little appreciative squeeze before place his palm against the small of her back. It was cold, causing gooseflesh to ripple out up her spine and around her sides, making her breasts feel heavy as they brushed against the sheets.
Loki gripped himself and steadied at her entrance. Heat was radiating off her from every angle, tingling against his naturally cooler Jotun blood. He wondered what it would feel like when he was buried in it.
She mewled when she felt the tip of him press against her, teasing. She was slick all over; if it was possible to literally be dripping, she was sure she was. His slow and measured movements as he dominated her were driving her crazy in every way. "Yes," she pleaded, writhing against him. "Yes, please."
She felt the long line of his back press against her own, his voice hot and insistent against the shell of her ear as she shivered. "Hush," he admonished, both hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Make a sound and I stop, understood?" She caught herself as she was about to say yes, instead simply nodding her head.
Loki watched her face, a mischievous and curious gleam in his eye as he pushed forward, the head of his cock sinking inside. She shut her eyes, mouth opening in a silent moan as her fingers fisted into the sheets. He pushed in further, slowly, again only allowing her as much of himself as he deemed her worthy. He bit his lip with the effort of it, the unyielding hot warmth of her burning into his skin, gripping him. He felt her tighten around him, her walls trying to coax him to move further, to give her the friction they both so desperately desired.
The urge to moan, to cry out her frustration and pleasure, was torture in and of itself. She lowered her head further, resting it on the mattress and pushed her hips back into him, silently pleading.
Loki straightened himself upright, moving his hands further up along her hips, skimming her sides as he began to make more frequent, shallow thrusts. He saw how rapidly she was breathing, felt her squirm against him deliciously and he had to admit he was impressed with her restraint. Perhaps I'll have to try harder, he thought.
He pulled out, almost completely, and lingered there for a moment. He gripped her hips before thrusting in to the hilt, mercilessly and without warning. She let out a wail beneath him, a sound caught somewhere between surprise, pleasure and pain. He grinned in satisfaction before bringing his hand down sharply against her behind, the crack of palm against flesh ringing against the walls. "And you were being so good," he tsked and she felt the rumble of his chuckle against her. He stilled, and she fisted her hands in frustration.
Fucking bastard, she thought. Really though, what did you expect?, her subconscious spat at her through a haze of lust.
She raised herself up onto her palms, on all fours, swaying back against him, urging him to move again. She squeezed around him, felt him pressed deep inside her. He was stretching her deliciously, the sweet stinging pain of it sending shocks to her throbbing clit.
She looked over her shoulder at him, hair falling every which way, eyes pleading. He pressed inside her again, gently, rocking against her slowly in a maddening pace for what felt like moments, fingers needing at her hips, dipping around and coming so close to where she wanted but never quite reaching it.
She ground her teeth and held back a sob. The slide of him, in and out, in and out, the sweet pull when he would leave her only to push back in. She pressed her legs more firmly together between his own, increasing the friction of his movements. Loki slid one hand up her back to grasp her shoulder, stilling her against his thrusts, the rhythmic slap his body riding her own the only sound in the room besides her desperate panting.
This was so much better, he thought. He could feel all that delicious tension, the way it drew her back taut, how her insides fluttered against him, so close and yet so far; the pretty little bauble around her neck let him touch her mind and he felt the exquisite torment he was forcing her to endure. It nearly doubled his pleasure and he felt himself begin to thrust into her, harder, faster.
The hand on her shoulder reached out for the long hair trailing over her back, wrapping around his fist and pulling, sending shocks of pleasure and pain through her scalp. "Let me hear you," he said between gritted teeth, his free hand giving her ass another hard smack.
She moaned immediately, a desperate and low sound as she pushed back into him, back arching painfully against his brutal thrusts and the relentless hold on her hair.
He was pounding against her mercilessly, hitting a new spot every time inside, making her ache. "Yes, yes, yes", she whispered, pleasure coiling despite the pain. He was in complete and utter control; he could literally fuck her into the floor, break her neck, ride her hard and put her away wet. She was in bed with a god. She started to cry his name. Please, Loki, please, please, Loki …
In an instant she was on her back, legs hooked around his waist, hands held tight in his own at her sides, spread and bare before him. He adjusted the angle, pushing into her deeper, watching her face.
"Fuck me," she moaned, pushing her hips up and into him, grinding against him in time.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, voice hoarse with his own pleasure as he watched her breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, a lovely blush making her sweat slicked skin glow pink. She nodded, unable to speak.
He let go of her hands then, bending over her, completely enveloping her, the rough metal of his coat and tunic brushing harshly over her nipples, his body pushing her into the mattress. She felt fingers wrap around her neck and squeeze, hard enough to make her gasp. Her hand flew up to grab at it, not to remove it but simply to hold it there, to feel his fingers dig into her flesh. "You're mine," he rasped into her ear as he fucked her deeper, letting the hard length of his cock punctuate his words. "You're for my pleasure, and mine alone. You were made for this."
She closed her eyes, vision blurring at the corners, letting the sound of his voice run through her head, feeling every hard thrust shake her, the hard press of his pelvis against her clit melding pleasure with the pain of his brutal thrusts. She moaned through his grip on her throat, hitching her legs up higher on his waist.
"Say my name," he growled hot against her cheek. "Scream it, and maybe I'll let you have your release."
"Loki," she choked out, tears at her eyes. She was close – to blacking out or coming or dying, she couldn't tell which.
"Again" he demanded, this time loosening the grip of his fingers to let them seek out her clit, rubbing in quick and firm circles. He was, after all, a benevolent god.
"Loki!" she cried, bucking against his hand. She felt his release inside her, cool and pulsing. He pushed in again, once, twice, more and she felt that familiar coil tighten and spring within her, gushing waves making her shudder and writhe and pant. "Oh," she moaned, low and long. "Oh, my god."
"Yes," he murmured, face buried in her neck. "Exactly."