Undressing Loki was interesting.
He was pale and lean as a birch sapling, and when Angrboða undid the thin leather thongs that held up Loki's leggings, she took a moment to brush his flat stomach with her knuckles. To his credit he didn't flinch, although she sensed he was skittish about her proximity, as well he should be. Angrboða moved slowly, and pushed the leggings down past the princeling's knees so he could step out of them.
Bare, Loki carried himself with the same arrogance as when dressed, and tried to look indifferent to her gaze. She could tell that he still seethed, but it added to his charm and Angrboða enjoyed the way Loki glared at her like an angry cat. His hate was no deterrent to his lust, however; his cock stood high, thick, and ready. She stepped closer and caressed it, her touch warm along his length. Angrboða looked into his eyes as she did so, the pads of her fingers sliding over the thickly veined column.
"Impressive," she murmured.
"I'm sure you've seen enough to know," Loki replied thickly. He seemed torn between reluctantly enjoying her touch and wanting to pull away from it. She held his shaft a moment longer than he wanted, then smiled.
"I have, son of stone," Angrboða replied, neither boastful nor embarrassed. "The pillars of the Jötnar are known to me and my sisters; our children howl at the moon because of them." It was true and always had been; those of Iron Wood bore the wolves that ran through the worlds.
She felt his fingers grip her bodice, yanking at the laces impatiently. Loki shifted closer, crowding in to intimidate her as he tugged them loose. Angrboða made no attempt to stop or admonish him, merely letting the prince of Asgard pull her clothing open. She stepped out of her dress, moving to pick it up, but he caught her arm, stopping her.
"Leave it and attend to me," Loki ordered, and although his command was firm, his voice was not; Angrboða heard the hint of fear in it. She looked down at his fingers wrapped around her, and bared her teeth.
"Do you need a moment to rethink your words, my prince?" Angrboða whispered. "You are under my roof with my food in your belly and about to lie with me in my bed."
She saw him consider; his eyes wary as he loosened his grip and let his hand slide up her arm in a caress. "Ah, but all of them are freely given, my lady, is that not so? Even your quim?"
Angrboða lifted a hand to cup his jaw. "Do not mistake destiny for desire, nor churlishness for charm, father of my brood. Handsome you are, and yes I hunger to have you buried deep within me, but I am no-one you should try to command."
"Why not?" he breathed, this time his voice deeper with lust as his other hand reached to cup her breast. "The female must always give in to the male; despite your magic and reputation you are the smaller and less powerful of the two of us, my lady."
His youthful arrogance, his self-assured misassumption nearly made her laugh aloud. Angrboða stared into his face, willing herself not to let her lips turn upwards, since even a puppy may bite. "Truly. Perhaps you would be good enough to show me this, silver-tongued one."
Loki smiled, his dimples deep, his gaze bright, and Angrboða realized that he had not heard her tone of amusement at all. Clearly his carnal appetite blocked his common sense, and it was time to let him find out his mistake the hard way.
The way so many of her previous lovers had.
Angrboða permitted him to nuzzle her, to push her onto the mattress stuffed with owl-down. The chamber's brazier gave enough glow to see by, and she let herself be roughly shifted onto her back. Loki pulled her knees apart impatiently, and his hands were cool as they slid to brush her curls. He watched her face, but Angrboða neither frowned nor smiled as he touched and toyed with her cleft. She had not lied; her body was more than ready to receive him, given the slick glaze sliding along her thighs and his fingers.
He gave a pleased chuckle and shifted, sliding his body on hers, pinning her with his weight. She felt the thrust of his shaft into her, a hard plunge meant to show control of her, and that was when Angrboða finally smiled.
And squeezed. Loki grunted in shock, his entire body shuddering as his orgasm wracked him, the rings of muscle deep between Angrboða thighs milking him with swift relentlessness, pulling his seed forth even as he gasped and struggled to push himself up, his expression caught between astonishment and fear. Angrboða lay back, gazing up at him, feeling the last of his surges spill within her. This coupling was not as pleasing as it should have been, but she hoped this would be the only time she would need to demonstrate her power. Given the look on the shadow son's face however . . .
"W-what are you doing!?" came his roar as he stared down where their bodies were joined. Angrboða drew a breath and relaxed, her muscles now fluttering gently to caress as Loki rocked his hips back, sliding free of her with no little relief on his face as he did so. Gone was the arrogance, replaced with fearful rage and reassurance once he saw that his shaft was still attached to him. Loki scrambled up and off her, backing away, his eyes flinty now.
"Showing you the error of your ways, Princeling," she told him quietly. "I am perfectly capable of taking your seed without allowing for much pleasure. I would prefer not to do it this way, but I will if necessary."
Once again Loki hissed profanity, his accusations, curses and threats weaving in a thick cascade of dark hatred. Angrboða propped herself up on one elbow to watch him, thinking that even in his naked fury he still was a beautiful sight, long and pale in the glow of the brazier. When he wound down and tried to fish for his clothing, Angrboða lay back and stretched, unconcerned about displaying her charms. He hesitated and glared at her, clearly bothered by her nonchalant attitude, finally spitting out, "You will never force me to lie with you again, witch."
"I won't have to," Angrboða murmured. "You are free to leave, dark prince, but equally free to stay. The night is cold, the Iron Wood dangerous in the dark."
"Better the danger there than the danger here," Loki sneered. "Even your magic will not bring me back to your bed, troll-bitch."
"So you say," She told him politely. "Do you need a cloak for the cold?"
He gnashed his teeth and looked as if he would like to strike her but Angrboða knew the shadow son would not do it, not while his fear was greater than his anger. She reached for the heavy bear fur pelt and pulled it over herself, settling down into the featherbed, giving Loki no further thought as she closed her eyes.
The badgers would show him out, Angrboða knew, and even a prince of Asgard would think twice about angering them.
-oo00oo-
The morning found her alone once more, and Angrboða went about the business of her day, not allowing herself to think of the princeling. There was spinning and then weaving to be done, and a complicated casting of bones to read for a coughing visitor hiding himself in thick furs. By the time the pale sun was high in the sky, she had fed her ravens, directed the badgers to gather wood and bartered with the black dwarves at the mouth of their distant cave—goats and honey for various mushrooms, roots and grubs she would need before long.
On the walk home through the snowy dark trees, Angrboða heard soft pad-falls of paws behind her and smiled. Some of the Children remembered, but some needed to be reminded. She sped up, listening for the chase to begin. It came soon enough, and as the snow crunched underfoot Angrboða raced ahead, weaving through the towering pines and laughing. When at last the chase ended near the frozen gray of the creek she turned, watching the swift grey ones reach her and pause mid-snarl, their green eyes glowing like eerie embers.
Those who remembered sat, curling their bushy tails around their feet, but those who did not began their stalk, veering around each side in an attempt to divide her attention. Angrboða let them circle her, their ears flattened and their teeth bared as she caught her breath, the puffs of white floating around her.
She raised her hands out, waiting for the first rush. When it came, and the lead wolf dashed forward, Angrboða shifted, letting her bones and sinew re-arrange themselves in the blink of an eye. Fur grew. Her nails lengthened into claws. She growled, making the ice in the creek crack.
The rushing wolf twisted mid-charge as Angrboða's hot breath drifted out between her huge yellowed fangs. Those sharp teeth sank into his hip, slashing it and hot carmine gouts splashed onto the snow, steaming with life-heat. As the wounded wolf whined and rolled onto the ground, the other stalkers scuttled off into the trees, disappearing. The sitting ones merely waited.
Angrboða stepped over to the wounded child and thrust her muzzle against his exposed belly, fangs nipping the thinly furred skin for a moment before she let go and moved to brush her muzzle against his. He obediently showed his neck, fear and remembrance in his gesture and for a long moment she considered letting him live.
-oo00oo-
The stone tub had been polished by decades, centuries of use, and yet Angrboða still stared at it, caught up in the dance of carvings cut deeply into the smoke-colored granite. Hers were not the first claw-marks along the edges, but she'd added a few in her time. The badgers had filled and heated it before she'd arrived home, and now she lay in the water, breathing in the steam.
When she climbed out, the rose-tinted water had grown cold.
The badgers knew not to set any food on the table, and the corner of the hall the boar piglet cowered in his basket. Angrboða ignored him and moved to her bower, combing out her damp hair and gazing past her reflection deep in the diamond mirror into Vanaheimr, watching Loki and waiting. He looked tired; strain bracketed the corners of his mouth and even in the distant depths of the glass she could see he'd pushed the limits of his magic simply to reach the realm. A pity then, that his trip would be in vain, Angrboða thought, working on a particularly stubborn tangle.
She nearly missed the moment, but caught it from the corner of her eye; the green glow flared out around Loki, enveloping him with an aura of energy even as he protested. He faded from view in the glass, and Angrboða turned, setting down her bone comb and rising as the very walls of the hall vibrated with a keen note that made the piglet squeal and the spiders overhead scurry up their draglines to hide in the dark corners.
A glow flared up in a column rising from the floor, coalescing into a familiar shape, and Angrboða watched him solidify from the doorway of her bower, waiting to see what the princeling would do.
He looked up, catching her gaze, and in that stare she felt the prickle of something rich, dark, and dangerous flow between them, as charged as lightning but wilder. Loki squared his shoulders and shifted his weight, madness tinting his smile. His fists clenched.
"How?" he demanded, not moving. "HOW?"
Angrboða licked her bottom lip, tasting a faint hint of copper still there in one corner.
"Dark child of the gods, our blood is one. This I have told you, warned you. No being in any of the Nine Realms, be they Ice Giant, God, beast, or demon can break what fate has cast for us, Loki, son of Laufey, prince of Asgard. Wherever you roam, you will return to me each night."
He moved like a snake, drawing the dagger and lunging at her, sinking the blade deep between her breasts, and even as he did so, Loki staggered, letting go of the handle, his hands grasping his chest. Red bubbled up at his collar, spilling over his tunic.
Angrboða let him fall to the floor. She pulled out the dagger and let it drop, then bent down to roll Loki to his back, looking down into his pale face. It took a moment to pull his tunic open and another to press a kiss to the leaking wound, but as her mouth touched it, the blood flowed backwards, moving towards its origin, slipping once more into his body.
Loki looked up at her and the strange gaze flared between them again; hate and lust twisted around each other like tangles of briar. Angrboða drew a breath and kissed him, leaving a wet crimson imprint on his ashen mouth.
"To bed," she whispered.