The Claiming of Beauty

by AislingSiobhan

Summary:

[Tony/Loki] Sold into marriage as punishment for his crimes against Jötunheimr, Loki escapes with a little help from an enchantress who is in love with his husband. Pregnant, and desperate, Loki runs to Tony Stark to claim the drink (and everything else) the mortal once offered him. Unfortunately, Tony’s home is now Thor’s home, but Loki figures if he can convince enough people the child is Tony’s, Thor might even believe it too.

Notes:

• For Runic.

Chapter 1: The Claiming of Loki

I have some rather big, flashing neon, fucking issues. Please excuse the crazy and enjoy the fiction.

Look, look, Runic, it only took me a year to get half way with it. Yay?

* * *

“The Claiming of Beauty”

Disclaimer: The Avengers, Tony, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.
Summary: [Tony/Loki] Sold into marriage as punishment for his crimes against Jötunheimr, Loki escapes with a little help from an enchantress who is in love with his husband. Pregnant, and desperate, Loki runs to Tony Stark to claim the drink (and everything else) the mortal once offered him. Unfortunately, Tony’s home is now Thor’s home, but Loki figures if he can convince enough people the child is Tony’s, Thor might even believe it too.
Warnings: Slash. Loki/Tony. Post-Avengers. Brief flashbacks. Language. Angst. AU. Creepiness. FrostIron. Thor/Loki (dubious consent/non-con). Missing Scene. Virgin Asgardians. First time. Odin is doing it all wrong. Mpreg. Rape Culture. Triggers: rape; crying during sex; forced marriage; slavery; punishment. Anything else you can think of, just to be safe?
Rating: NC-17. Is there a higher rating by any chance?
A/N: Ok, we all know I have issues, and Loki feels, so there is nothing else to say.
Title: Or, “The Story of L”. Read Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty trilogy, it gave me a little bit of inspiration for this fiction. The rest of the inspiration comes from my fucked up thoughts.

XXX

Words: 15,625
Chapter 1
Loki glowered at the crowd that had gathered in Odin’s throne room. He had been silent, gagged by the metal creation of Tony’s, and passive as Thor led him from Heimdallr’s observatory towards the palace, but the more people that had appeared, whispering and pointing at him, revelling in his shame, the stiffer Loki’s posture became. Now, it was all Thor could do to hold his brother still without hurting him, for Loki kept jerking in his grip, jumping at one or another of his watchers, snarling beneath the muzzle. His eyes were narrowed, spitting fire at those who watched him, smirking at his misfortune. Whispers of ‘he had it coming’, spread quickly around the room, and Loki’s fists clenched and unclenched with every repetition or remark that were similar. Words spread like wildfire, diffusing as fast as the wind could carry it through the room, and through Asgard, and Loki’s humiliation and anger burned brightly in its wake.

All fell silent though, and still, as the All Father rose from his throne.

“Loki Odinson,” he spoke, his voice loud and strong.

At the base of his throne, Thor bent to one knee, and dragged his brother down with him. Loki glowered at Odin’s feet, unable to bring himself to meet the one remaining eye of who had long ago been his father. There would be anger there, hate and disappointment; regret, perhaps for having saved Loki’s life in the first place; there might even be pleasure, for the chance at last to tie up loose ends. Loki had no more purpose, no use could he be for Asgard, for Laufey was dead and he would never take the Jötun throne. He would not have the Asgardian throne either, and Tony Stark had successfully side tracked him from his attempt at taking Midgard for his own. So what was left for him but death?

“You are accused,” Odin spoke again, his voice ringing clearly through the silent hall. Loki glanced up then, but not at Odin. He watched the woman who stood by the King’s side, the woman he had once called mother; she watched him now, pale faced with tears on her cheeks and her hands were bunched in the skirts of her dress, wrinkling the fabric and turning her knuckles white. Her hair, usually arranged so carefully, was tied up in the most careless bun Loki had ever seen, and he cringed as he met her eyes, for she stared at him so desperately, so hopefully. She had come to him in a hurry, Loki realised, rushed here to save him from his death perhaps?

Loki turned his head to face Odin’s knees this time as the King began to speak again. “You are accused of the attempted genocide of the Jotnar, the siege and attempted subjugation of Midgard, and of prohibiting the return of the rightful future King of Asgard.” There was no mention by Odin of Loki’s having taken the throne for himself, nor of Frigga giving it to him, but those murmurs began again in the crowd the second Odin fell silent. Loki tensed, cringing at the use of “rightful”, because of course Thor was the rightful King of Asgard, for what about Loki could ever be right. “In your absence, while Thor and his Midgardian comrades fought heroically to protect the people of that planet from your schemes, it has been decided that your punishment will consist of reparations to the people you have harmed.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. It seemed too easy, too lenient. Even if Odin still thought of Loki as his son (foolish, foolish man who was not his father, could not be his father, could never be), the punishment would not be harsh enough to appease the court or the council. Rumours (later proven untrue) of his siring a child had once been cause enough to have him lashed, so surely attempting to destroy a world and over throw another would merit something much stronger in return?

Reparations?

What money did he have, Loki thought, that was not given to him by the All Father, what possessions could he donate that were not Odin’s possessions first and foremost, what could he give or do that Odin could not do himself? He met the King’s lone eye at last, and the blue of the iris was darker than Loki ever remembered it being. Sadder, in a way, but he snorted at the thought that Odin felt any regret at his actions, any shame. No, Loki was the monster that had been stolen away and kept for later use, to be released as a berserker and allowed to ravage as he pleased until called back and locked up again until further use could be found for him. He was not a son, not a brother; not an Æsir. The only sadness, the only shame, Odin could possibly feel would be at the knowledge that Loki had lived by the stillness of his hand, Loki’s actions had come about from Odin’s mercy, and so now there could be no mercy found. Never again. And Loki readied himself for that, because that couldn’t be all they had in store for him, this couldn’t be his punishment. There would always be more and worse and crueller for that was his fate.

“We have negotiated with Jötunheimr in your absence, once we became aware of your continued existence.” Odin paused, turning to nod slowly at Thor. Thor in turn gripped tightly to Loki’s bicep, still kneeling on the ground beside his shamed sibling, keeping them both still. “King Blysteir of Jötunheimr has asked for your hand in marriage.” Odin’s words caused chaos in the hall. Loki jerked back as if he had been slapped, and by his side Thor’s eyes widened with shock and horror, and around the room people began to laugh and jeer and Loki heard each word as if they had been whispered directly into his ear.

“Monster,” they whispered. He would wed a monster. “Jötun,” they shouted, but they did not know that he was one too. “Brother,” Thor breathed against his hair, and Loki flinched a little more at that because it was true, was it not. Whether Thor called him brother or Blysteir, the Frost Giant, the current King of Jötunheimr was his brother.

Odin kept talking, uncaring it seemed that Loki’s world was crumbling beneath his feet. “It is I’m sure, obvious to you that you have nothing to give financially or materialistically that I could not provide in your place, as both would come straight from the treasury regardless of who would bestow it upon them. You are not stupid, my son. And it causes me no pleasure to do this, but you brought it upon yourself and so must face the consequences with your head held high.” Odin took a deep breath, glancing away from the pale face of his youngest son, and the tears on his face. “It is my decree that you will be married to King Blysteir this night. Reparations will begin with the conception of his child upon you and end with the successful birth of a worthy heir.”

Worthy, Loki thought as he tried not to scream through the gag. Worthy, so, not like him then? He wanted to ask. It was a loophole to ensure that any child smaller than average, weaker than average, should be cast aside and Loki’s punishment should continue on.

“Have you anything to say?” Odin asked, glancing around the court.

Loki had many things to say, but the muzzle across his mouth prevented words from escaping him. In his mind, he screamed for salvation, in desperation, for promises to make reparations to Midgard. I will marry a Midgardian!, his mind screamed, unheard because his mouth would not move under his command. There is a Midgardian I would happily have, one who would have me! One who has had me! Telling of his activities with Tony would be enough to guarantee they would marry. Pre-marital sex wasn’t unheard of upon Asgard, but only among the lower classes and those that took to such a profession. Lords, like Fandral, were notorious for paying for such affections, but Princes were expected to uphold higher standards. Neither Loki nor Thor had been to bed with another, which was why Odin had reacted so badly to the idea that Loki might have had a child somewhere, but it would also save him from marriage to a Jötun that was sure to make him suffer. I have lain with Tony Stark! I am ruined, tainted! I am impure! No one else will want to marry me! Loki continued to scream to himself, as tears began to fall. He thought of what Blysteir might do to him, in bed and out of it, and he cringed at the thought that he would have to live with that for every day of his life. He wouldn’t survive, he wouldn’t be able to live like that, and surely he would be afforded no opportunity to escape, living or dead.

He clenched his jaw, steeling himself, refusing to show further weakness. This was to be his future it seemed, and he would hold his head high and welcome it like the stubborn, spiteful creature he was. He had the memory of Tony as his first time, and nothing could take that from him, not even rape at his brother’s hands.

When Loki turned back to the conversation, silencing the voice in his mind which wished to continue to scream and rage and cry, Odin and Thor had moved off to the side of the hall, out of range of the ears of those leaning forward curiously to hear what would befall Loki Liesmith. They whispered back and forth, hands waving and heads shaking frantically, emphasising certain words that Loki could not hear. But he waited, with bated breath, until Odin turned back to face him at last, and the older man let out a sigh so weary it rattled Loki’s very core. He fought the urge to close his eyes in defeat, bit his tongue hard to keep the tears from forming, and for once was glad of the contraption Tony had forced on his face because it kept him from pleading for mercy that would never be offered him regardless.

“After a brief discussion with my son, Thor, I have come to realise that Jötunheimr was not the only realm affected by your wrong doings, Loki.” For half a second Loki felt hope, that Thor knew of his and Tony’s relations, that Odin might cast him down to Midgard, to Tony, as punishment instead, but then the All Father spoke again, and Thor’s arm was winding around his waist, and Loki felt what little resolve he had left crumbling. Odin’s words echoed in his mind, following him into unconsciousness as he slumped, helpless, against his brother- his fiancé.

“You will begin reparations with your home, my son,” Odin had murmured, glancing at both of his sons with his hands clenched around the arms of his throne. “This night you will be wed to Thor, future King of Asgard.” Loki had fainted at this point, but Thor remained kneeling beside his brother, an arm wrapped around his waist and his face stony as he met his father’s one-eyed state. “May your relations be a fruitful one,” Odin whispered, unheard by the rest of the court, whose exclamations were loud enough to wake the dead.

Thor nodded once. To marry a monster, his true brother, or to marry me, Thor thought, his brother in heart but not blood; which was worse? Loki would rail against both fates, Thor knew, but this was better in the long run. He would not torture Loki, nor harm him, or deprive him. Blysteir could not be held to the same standards, and perhaps he would have proved to be a good husband, but Loki would never have to suffer if he turned out not to be. And maybe Loki would despise him, but could Thor be hated any more than he already was? Would it even be possible, and if it would be, it would all be worthwhile. In a year, perhaps two, they would have an heir and Loki would be free, having served his punishment. He would be safe, and he would be loved, though not the way a lover should be, and he could hate Thor as much as he wished, as long as he lived. Thor scooped Loki into his arms, carrying him bridal style from the room after bowing to the All Father. Frigga followed them, remaining with Loki to prepare him for the ceremony. Thor left them after a moment of silence, in which he and his mother had watched Loki sleep, chest hurting at the sight of his brother so small and helpless spread out upon a bed that he would no long lie in from this night forward.

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispered as he shut the door behind himself. Loki didn’t hear him, but his words made Frigga cry.

XXX

It was a Sunday, and yet Loki found himself locked in his bedroom with his mother and four female attendants. He had tried to protest, once his gag was finally removed, that he couldn’t get married that night because it wasn’t a Friday; weddings only took place on Friday’s in Asgard, because it was Frigga’s day and she was the goddess of marriage. But his protests had been ignored, as his sobs were ignored, and he sat by his mother’s side with his shoulders shaking as his gyðja brushed out his hair, entwining vines from his ears to the base of his skull to keep it out of his face.

“I’m not a woman,” Loki whispered, as they led him to the bath house. His legs were shaking and they felt heavy, and his heart beat a mile a minute within his chest every time he tried to breathe and found he couldn’t. Shock, he realised dimly. He was in shock. It would pass soon, and then the anger would return, the hatred and denial and spite, but for now he felt like he was trapped in his own body, forced to undress so that the servants could wash him while his mother watched, forced to listen as they whispered and giggled and told him all of the tricks for pleasing his husband in bed. He had tried to protest that he wouldn’t, had no intention of letting Thor lay him, to tell them had he had already been used and had appeared to please his lover well enough without their help, but his tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. So, instead, he turned to his mother, frowning, and opened his mouth wide when she bid him to take a drink from the same flask she had first offered him when he woke.

He thought nothing of drinking from her flask when she offered; no suspicions arose in his mind, though even if they had he probably would have welcomed the numbness over the overwhelming terror that clawed to the forefront of his mind as the ceremony was about to begin.

Thor waited for him at the altar, smiling widely (as if he were marrying for love, as if he had wanted this, because he wanted Loki to be happy with him) and his mother and the All Father waited with him. Thor held a sword, and Loki couldn’t help the smile that tugged up the corners of his lips when he recognized it. It was the sword Thor had wielded for most of his adolescence, while training against the guard, before he had won Mjölnir from Loki’s own hands. Ahead of him, already halfway to Thor while Loki remained hovering in the doorway, his gyðja carried another sword, Loki’s sword. With a frown the second prince reached down to his waist, but there was no weapon hanging there, nothing for him to offer Thor as a gift. Upon his head, someone was placing a crown made from branches and twine, decorated with moss and golden figurines. They pushed him forward, after offering him another sip from Frigga’s flask.

His gyðja carried his sword, and Loki wore a bridal crown, but he was not a woman. He should have met Thor at the alter as an equal, armed himself, ready to exchange swords and vows, but instead he was undermined, humiliated, and he turned up his nose as laughter rang through the room. There were whispers of his crown, of his obligation, and Loki flinched at the reminder that he was sworn to bare Thor a child. He was mocked when he took upon his female form, but here they all were now, forcing him to be female, with the added humiliation of knowing it was not chosen or welcomed, and that he was still very much male.

It passed in a blur. Loki would have protested at the sight of the goat, because its horns were the symbol of his helm and because he had no wish to offer a gift to Thor. If they had to sacrifice any animal, to pray to anyone for fertility, it should have been a sow to Freyja for she had once been once of his magic instructors. But no protests left his mouth. His tongue was heavy and still and Loki squinted his eyes as a branch dripping blood was flicked in his direction. Some of it splattered across his face, and he turned to see Thor smiling and dotted with red; his mother likewise, and Odin lowered the hlaut-teinn, and pushed the fir-twigs out of sight.

They exchanged swords next: Thor offered his to Loki, and Loki took it after being elbowed by his gyðja. His gyðja offered Loki’s sword next, and Thor raised it in a toast before clasping it tightly in front of him, pummel up and the tip just touching the ground. They balanced the rings upon them, sliding one after the other onto their fingers, and Loki glanced down at his and felt tears well up in his eyes. It was beautiful, crafted out of gold and embedded with jewels, but it was bulky and heavy and nothing like he would have chosen for himself. Too gaudy (Tony would have chosen all rubies instead of a mix of different coloured gems), too arrogant, and it had Mjölnir engraved top and centre. Loki twirled it around, so that the hammer was hidden from view, and he clenched his hand tight around it until the gems cut into his palm as Thor admired his matching ring.

There were to be vows, Loki remembered only as Thor began to speak.

The words seemed to pass right over his head, and when his turn came, Loki could only blink in silence, silver tongue still glued to the roof of his mouth. Odin frowned, glancing at his wife in exasperation and asked, “Did you give him too much?”

“You told me to get him to sip every time he voiced complaint, husband.”

“I did not think he would complain too often. Surely he would prefer this than to marry a Jötun?”

Frigga sighed. She glanced at Loki, whose vows had still not been said, but who eventually was prompted to nod and who was kissed softly by Thor before the elder held their clasped hands together over their heads. Cheers sounded through the room, and Frigga clapped politely along with them, but she was not happy. Her Loki looked lost and confused, as he had done the day he found out the truth of his birth and the day she had offered him sovereignty over Asgard. Her heart ached to take him into her arms and hold him until everything was alright again. But she couldn’t, because he was Thor’s burden now, which was unfortunate for both of her sons. Though he meant well, Thor was not always able to do as Loki needed instead of what he wanted.

“He dreamt of a man named Tony.” Frigga whispered, refusing to take her eyes off of Loki, who had finally begun to cry softly, as Thor let go of his hand and hugged as many well-wishers as he could at once. “I think Loki would have preferred to marry him.”

“His preference is unimportant, wife. You forget this is to be his punishment.”

“And Thor’s too?” Odin glanced sideways at his wife, eyebrows furrowed. Frigga watched her sons; one who appeared to be happy, though he kept shooting Loki worried looks complete with furrowed brows like his father; the other who stood still, staring numbly at the ring on his finger put there by the wrong man. There was something off about Loki, something different, and though Frigga tried as hard as she could to sense the difference the potion she had been feeding Loki interfered too much, blurred what was his magic and what was Odin’s together until her head felt heavy and she gave up. But there was something wrong, something other about Loki now, and it would be Thor’s problem, to solve or remove, or if it was what she thought it was (based on the sounds Loki made in his sleep, the way he writhed beneath his sheets, primal and wild and restricted to those who were married or whores) Thor’s to defend. Loki’s honour could not be called into question, without it the marriage could be annulled, and Odin would be forced to resort to crueller methods to punish their second son; Blysteir would demand Loki regardless, perhaps not as a husband but a slave or a concubine, the council would demand he be tortured, and the court would want him executed. Though marriage was unwelcome and Thor would be difficult to bear for the first few months, it was better to be in a loveless marriage than chained to a rock and tortured.

“Thor has always suffered when his brother did,” Frigga told her husband, recalling softly the times Thor had come to her in tears as a child because Loki had a nightmare and he didn’t know what to do to make things better. “And now, he will suffer as his brother does. This is punishment for Thor too, whether or not you and Loki understand this.”

She left him then, standing alone on the dais with only his thoughts for company, and she took Loki from Thor, along with his gyðja and left the room. There was a bride to prepare for his wedding night, and all customs would be adhered to, all traditions kept strong, because no one needed to know that this would not be Loki’s first time, no one needed to know Loki’s shame. She would not allow it, nor would she allow Loki to ruin himself, mistakenly or otherwise, so she held the flask to his lips again and tipped it. “Drink, my son, drink up,” she whispered to him, “you must hold your tongue for one more night.”

Loki glanced at her, green eyes wet and red rimmed, but he parted his lips obediently and drank from the flask. It tasted of honey and wine, sweet and strong at the same time, and it tingled as it went down his throat; its magic heady and sharp. He swallowed, licking his lips as his eyebrows drew down in confusion, and anything he might have wanted to say, to ask, vanished from the tip of his tongue as the potion did its job. Loki followed silently, with his mother’s hand on his arm and his gyðja at his back and the bridal crown still upon his head.

He ran towards the feasting hall, dragged along behind Frigga who ran ahead of the others. The servants, who had bathed him before the ceremony ran behind him, laughing amongst themselves excited and amused, and most had gone through this before, experienced the bride-running, though only a handful had won. The unmarried woman were the louder of the bunch, giggling and wondering what it must be like for Loki, for Thor, how exciting. Loki’s feet moved without conscious thought, and he barely registered the sudden silence of the hall followed by cautious clapping as he beat Thor to the table, arriving first, winning for once.

Frigga allowed his gyðja to pull out his chair before she moved around the table to sit beside her husband. The seat between Odin and Loki remained empty for another few moments, until Thor and his kinsmen appeared in the doorway. Thor bowed at the attention, his grin not faltering even after he noticed that Loki was already in attendance, cleaned up and face powdered and hair braided upon his head in place of the old crown. Tyr and Baldur smiled softly at their parents, though Frigga was neither of their mother, but nor was she Loki’s. They sat on Frigga’s other side, and Loki’s gyðja, who was one of his old instructors, stood behind the second Prince’s seat, waiting until he was needed.

The goat they had slain during the ceremony was brought out, cooked and skinned, and offered first to the wedded couple and then to the King. Servants carried out barrels of ale next, and Thor stood from his seat to wave them forward.

“The drinks are on me, my friends!” Thor shouted, as was custom after losing the bride-running. Not that it mattered, for the treasury would have boasted the cost of the feast one way or another.

Loki was prodded into standing up by his gyðja. Bor, who had once taught Loki to read, cajoled the younger man to his feet and placed a kåsa into his hands. He held it towards Thor without prompting; knowing from watching others marry what was expected of him. He thought, for a moment, about not doing it, not offering the drink, for the ceremonial drinking was a legality the marriage could not exist without. But Thor had his hands closed over Loki’s before Loki could finish thinking of pulling back, and his mouth was on the cup, his hands guiding Loki’s so that they tilted the cup so Thor could drink more easily. When he was done, Thor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded at his husband, guiding him back into his seat with one hand on his shoulder.

Mjölnir was placed in his lap for the course of the meal, and the words Frigga spoke turned Loki’s stomach. He was pinned to the chair, until the meal neared its end and Thor took back his hammer. Its weight against him, too much like the time he was pinned to the bifrost, took away any hunger Loki might have felt. There was no desire for wine or mead, and the smell of ale made him heave so he pushed it away.

His mother continued to pray for grandchildren.

“Bring the Hammer the bride to bless: On the maiden's lap lay ye Mjölnir. In Vor's name, Loki then our wedlock hallow!” Frigga smiled towards Loki, leaning forward so she could see him from behind Odin. The All Father watched, a soft smile on his face, because punishment or otherwise weddings were a joyous occasion and even Loki must see that this was a better future for him than punishment on Jötunheimr. Once the potion wore off, Loki would see, and it would be too late for him to protest or lie and claim he was used or with child to avoid the ceremony, because undoubtedly Loki would try anything to escape punishment.

Loki did not eat, but his brothers ate more than enough between them, from their plates and from Loki’s own, that it slipped beneath the queen’s notice while she dined herself. And though he was hungry, Loki made no move to neither claim food for himself nor voice his protests when Thor took food from him, and Frigga led him from the room still hungry when the meal was ended. There would be more feasting the next morning, and for five nights after, and Thor and his kinsmen would be allowed a day to go hunting, to bring back enough food to keep the festivities going, for the more they hunted the longer they ate, and the more prosperous the marriage would be. But that would be tomorrow, and Loki would have the day to himself to come to terms with married life, and in any other situation acquaint himself with his husband’s family.

But for now, there was one final necessity that had to be met, one more trial for Loki to be forced through, with a little more potion from Frigga to help him bear.

Before the morning could come upon them, they had to get through the wedding night.

XXX

Thor followed his elder brothers towards Loki’s rooms. Loki slept where he had always slept, from the time they were deemed too old to sleep in one room together, in a suit of rooms that consisted of a bedchamber, library and receiving room. Thor’s own rooms were similar, but his had a small pantry as well; Loki was rumoured to hoard food in his library since he used to eat so little at the evening meal.

Tyr and Baldur, though sons of Odin, did not live near them. They stayed in the palace, but bastard sons of the King were not permitted in the family wing permanently, for no matter how much Frigga claimed to love them as her own they weren’t hers. Baldur was too kind to feel bitter or petty, but Tyr, from the moment he had learned Loki to be adopted, had hated with such a dark, consuming blackness that it made him feel sick to look upon the other. It didn’t help that the child once rumoured to be Loki’s had been borne by Tyr’s own wife. He had forgiven that slight, after Loki had been suitably punished, for Loki had not started those rumours. But to be a child not even of the King, never mind not of Frigga, but to live as Thor did, to be held in esteem as Thor was, while he and Baldur were considered dirt under the boot of some for most of their childhood was unforgivable. And though this was not Loki’s fault either, it was easier to blame him than to blame the King for marrying Frigga instead of Tyr’s own mother.

Baldur held a candle above his head, and Thor followed the light, hands shaking at his sides as his kinsmen led him on. He did not expect Loki would be particularly pleased by this last part of their ceremony, but it was one that could not be skipped. Legally, there needed to be six witnesses of the consummation of marriage, and though traditionally most turned their backs on the couple, Thor had already overheard his brother’s talking about watching. Loki had been surprisingly compliant all day, and Thor prayed to all deities that had ever looked favourably upon him that Loki’s calmness continued for the rest of the night. He had no wish to hurt his brother, nor to force him; but consummate the marriage he would have to whether Loki wished it or not. Especially since the others would be watching.

They found Loki spread out upon his bed, the bridal crown sitting snuggly on his head with his hair spread around it like a halo. Thor swallowed heavily, for that was all Loki was wearing, and while brothers, Thor could not deny that Loki was a sight to behold. He was long and lean, and though there were bruises around his ankle from the Hulk’s grip and his ribs and chest from Thor’s punches, it didn’t distract from the paleness of his skin. Loki looked like a nymph, frail and supple and solely existing to tempt men into damnation, or a Selkie, to lure lustful sailors out to sea never to be heard from again, and Thor found himself drawn towards his brother with wide eyes and shaking hands that had already begun to unbutton his own tunic.

“Ah,” Thor murmured, spotting the burning oils Frigga had left dotted around the room in cups and burners and wherever else she could pour them. “Aphrodisiacs,” he whispered as he crawled onto the bed. Spices and sage, honeysuckle, jasmine and sandalwood, filling the room with its scent, almost stronger than the desire that Loki reeked of once Thor was close enough to smell him. He plucked the crown from his brother’s head, twisting around to hand it back to Baldur who waited to take it from him, to hold it and protect it, until their daughter had need of it, just as Bor, Loki’s gyðja, would keep Thor’s sword in trust for their son. The aphrodisiac would make it easier, quicker. And now that Thor thought about it, Loki’s calmness was likely a result of a potion or spell as well. In the morning, he would rage, but, hopefully, not too soon as to interrupt the Morning Gift.

“Brother,” Thor whispered, running the back of his hand softly down Loki’s left cheek. Loki turned into the touch, murmuring a name that was not Thor’s but that was acceptable because Thor would have been with Jane if he could so it was only fair that Loki had another to think of as well.

“I will lay you now,” he murmured, trying to block out the sounds of others talking softly behind him. Tyr and Baldur were side by side, Baldur holding the crown and Tyr with the hustrulinet that Loki would wear in the morning. Both were murmuring, though only Tyr found amusement in the situation. Bor was standing at the door, along with Frigga, acting as Loki’s family, along with two of the female servants that had helped Loki bathe. Odin, not wanting to take sides and incur Frigga’s anger if he chose wrongly, chose to remain outside of the room, standing with his arms folded and one foot pressed back against the wall.

Loki’s brows furrowed, and his mouth moved again, but it was slurred and incoherent and Thor flinched as arms came up to shove him away. “No, please no,” was what Loki had tried to say, what he wanted to scream, but Thor’s hand had moved down his body regardless of his indistinguishable pleas, and fingers that were slicked with oils offered by a servant were already probing at his entrance and Loki cried again because this wasn’t what he wanted, and this wasn’t who he wanted, and he could do nothing but lie there and take it because his family had stripped him of his right to refuse, to defend himself. If he could fight back, if Thor was forced to force him, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, because at least he would have struggled, but lying there, consenting? It was the worst feeling in the world, and Loki found that breath was harder and harder to draw in the closer Thor came to penetration.

When Thor deemed him prepared enough, he moved up along Loki’s body and pressed a kiss to his brother’s lips. His cock nudged against Loki’s entrance, and the younger God tensed at the hint of pressure that started at the base of his spine and worked itself upwards as Thor began to push in. Green eyes, still wet, squeezed closed unable to look at Thor, and he thought instead of the only other who had been inside of him, and of their lips when Thor was finally seated and his mouth was pressed hard to Loki’s. He tried not to feel the drag of Thor’s cock against his insides, and even drugged as he was Loki could feel bile climbing up his throat, desperately trying to claw its way to freedom along with his voice, but the potion silenced one and Loki swallowed the other back because this was humiliating enough without him getting sick on himself in front of an audience.

Thor panted above him, blue eyes fixed on Loki’s face, and one hand wiped away the tears as the other clutched Loki to his own body, crushing him. And Loki hated it, hated how trapped he felt, how he couldn’t breathe properly, how he couldn’t push hard enough to get Thor off of him. Tony had never pinned him like this, Tony had kept one hand beside Loki’s head the entire time to keep his weight off of him, kept Loki bent so his cock could touch something inside of him that made him see stars and so there was room between them for Tony’s spare hands to explore all of that pale flesh. There was no room between him and Thor; Loki kept his legs up around Thor’s waist because that’s where Thor had guided them, and their chests were flush together and their mouths kept meeting even though Loki kept trying to turn his head and Thor’s left hand stayed on his face to wipe away the tears and fuck! Wasn’t it obvious he didn’t want to do this, wasn’t it apparent? He kept crying, and Thor kept cleaning his face instead of just stopping and Loki didn’t care that people were watching, Loki didn’t care that they were judging him, enjoying his suffering, he cried harder because even as Thor hurt him and even though Loki hated him, he knew that Thor was trying to take care of him at the same time.

But he wouldn’t stop until it was done, so Loki lay back and kept his eyes closed and prayed that Thor would hurry up and finish and climb off of him so Loki could suffer in peace. He thought of Tony, Tony above him, Tony against him, and he moaned for the first time that night as he remembered the feel of Tony against his back, pressing him down across the counter in the man’s kitchen, bourbon discarded beside them and clothes pooled around them on the floor. Encouraged by Loki’s moan, Thor thrust harder; pleased to have finally begun to please his husband (for of course Thor had never done this before and did not know what he was doing and Loki’s lack of encouragement wasn’t helping him either).

“Anthony!” Loki hissed; a garbled mess of a word that couldn’t quite escape his lips. But he was lying on his belly instead of on his back now, legs dangling over the edge of the counter, feet firm against the floor. The mortal was behind him, fingers playing with his hole and Loki hissed again, seconds away from begging.

The alcohol had been knocked sideways, dripping a little at a time onto the floor but neither man cared. Their clothes had been hastily discarded and Loki’s under-shirt remained on, though it didn’t stop him from hissing at the cold metal of the counter every time it brushed his nipples through the cloth. Hands were firm against his arse, kneading the cheeks as Loki moaned for more; fingers one after the other disappearing inside of his body as Loki screamed, half sobs and choked pleas of “fuck me, fuck me now” escaping him with every touch Anthony offered; finally his cock was lined up to take him, and Loki arched his back more, displaying himself and ignoring any hesitation he felt, any insecurity, because so far Tony had been pleased by his body and his inexperience had yet to be commented on. And he was made for Tony, so he felt no hesitation whatsoever.

He reached back, parting his cheeks himself, and he turned to glance at the human over his shoulder. “I would have you now, please?”

“Please?” Tony repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I could get used to that.”

Loki’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest because Tony’s words implied that they would be doing this again, that the mortal might keep him, and that pleased him. He moaned, long and low, as Tony pushed into him. There was no pain and hardly any resistance, because a hand rubbing his lower back and whispered words of encouragement and plenty of lubricant had him relaxing.

“You feel incredible, fuck Loki. So tight!” Anthony praised him, after he had bottomed out.

“Move! Move!” Loki demanded. The newness of the sensations had reduced him to near incoherency, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how to express himself, how to demand what he wanted and needed, but Tony seemed to know, because he pulled out almost all of the way, until Loki was sobbing at him not to stop because he thought Tony was going to leave him like that. Then he pushed back in; one sure thrust that had Loki’s toes curling down into the floor, knees buckling, only kept up by both of Tony’s hands on his hips, pinning him against the counter. His own hands scrabbled at the metal, trying to find purchase and he ended up stretched out as far as possible, fingers curling over the other edge of the counter and nails making horrible scraping noises every time Tony’s thrusts rocked his body.

Tony stayed standing straight, resisting the urge to lie down over Loki and feel every inch of him, because this way he could thrust upwards as well as forwards and it made Loki feel fuller (not that there was anything wrong with the size of Tony’s equipment, but, well, only the best for Tony Stark’s lovers). His hands were holding Loki’s hips hard enough to bruise, and they would Loki knew, perhaps not on the skin unless he was very lucky, but he could feel the touch searing him down to the bone and every time he walked from now on he’d feel the ghost of Tony Stark holding him tightly.

Loki could feel his stomach tightening and knew from however often he had touched himself that he was very close to release. Before he came he reached back with one hand, lacing his fingers with Tony’s and both hands moved under Loki to grip his cock, stroking together until he came across them and he slumped bonelessly down onto the counter with a soft moan, but Tony didn’t follow him.

“Anthony?” Loki sounded close to tears. He glanced over his shoulder, refusing to let go of the hand he held as the other man pulled out of him, still hard. “Do you not wish to…?”

“I’m not done with you yet, gorgeous.” Loki found himself on his back, face to face with his lover and then pulled forward into Tony’s arms. Instinct had him jumping up, wrapping his legs around Tony’s waist, though they still trembled from his orgasm and Tony had to hold him with both hands under his ass and Loki clinging to his neck as Tony walked them to the couch. He dropped Loki down, and the God landed with his legs akimbo and his arms above his head, and he kept them there because the heat that sparked in Tony’s eyes at the sight of him made something burn hot and low in his stomach and Loki liked being looked at like that. Tony lay down over him; pressing him into the sofa at first, long enough to guide Loki’s legs up and around his waist, before he pulled back a little. He kept one hand on the arm of the sofa, beside Loki’s head and moved until he was almost on his knees, with Loki balanced in his lap and bent backwards and Loki screamed as Tony pushed back inside of him. It felt different to having been taken from behind, there was more pressure, a little more pain, but he was still relaxed enough from his first orgasm to enjoy both.

His arms didn’t stay over his head for very long; they wrapped back around Tony’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair and occasionally ghosting down his back, nails raking their way back up as Tony hissed into his mouth or against his neck. Anthony’s other hand was under his back, holding him up and pressing Loki’s cock hard against Tony’s stomach.

He could come just from that, Loki thought, from the head of his cock rubbing furiously against the muscles of Tony’s abdomen with every brutal thrust the mortal offered him of his own cock. He tried to fight it off, tried to push it back, because it was too soon from the last time, too early because if he came now it would be over because Tony was close too. But his eyes squeezed closed and when they opened again brown eyes were staring down at him, blown wide with lust, and pink lips were slack as Tony came. Loki felt it inside of him, sticky like his own release, spilt between their stomachs a moment later, but different because it belonged to another, because it was inside of him instead of in his hand, and he wriggled a little clenching his muscles to keep it inside of his body even as Tony pulled out.

Anthony sank down on top of him then, smiling widely as he pressed soft kisses to Loki’s neck and chin and the God found him didn’t mind the weight of the other pinning him in place (like he so terribly hated how Thor would pin him when they sparred or how Mjölnir had pinned him on the bifrost) because they were naked and sticky and Tony was whispering how brilliant he had been into his skin.

“It was better than I had ever dared to hope for,” Loki told him softly, preening at the praise he was receiving.

“What?” Tony glanced up, shifting around until he was on his knees with Loki’s legs in between his and he looked down at the dark haired man with a frown. “This was your first time?” He chuckled as Loki flushed, not quite believing it until the God turned his face away embarrassed. “Hey, hey, really? Shit why didn’t you say something?”

“It is not unusual in Asgard for one to remain pure until they are wedded. Except for the lower class and those who, well, you know, sell the profession and those who buy, though we do not talk of keeping such company in respectable circles. Though Fandral always does, and as a friend of Thor’s no one will reprimand him,” Loki muttered, suddenly looking annoyed and Tony kissed his face softly, first his forehead then each cheek until the frown had slipped from his mouth completely. “I have followed the rules, until now, where I find myself beneath you and completely unable to regret it. Surely you felt it too? When we first touched?”

“I did. There’s something about you, Rudolph, and I intend to find out what.” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the invasion, or about the Tesseract that had powered itself on without Loki’s instruction as he swept the God into his arms. They entered the bedroom, mouths fused together and one of Tony’s fingers buried to the second knuckle inside of Loki’s hole. “First times are meant to be had in a bed. So let’s start over, hmm, gorgeous?”

“Yes,” Loki breathed, arching his back to get more of Tony’s finger, bending his head to better reach Tony’s mouth. “I am yours, wherever you will have me.”

When they were finished, Loki tensed, waiting with a thundering heart for Tony to throw him out. But the mortal didn’t: he pulled Loki closer instead, one arm winding around Loki’s waist to keep him close and Loki allowed his head to rest against Tony’s chest breath fanning over the strange piece of metal in his chest. It smelt like magic, and Loki breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of it and of Tony and sex. The bed was soft, even though he was half lying in an uncomfortable wet patch, so he shifted closer to Tony and away from it, and reached down for the blankets that had been kicked down to the bottom of the bed.

Loki’s skin tingled lightly as Tony ran curious fingers across his chest and along his shoulders. Invisible sparks jumped between them, just like the first time they had met when Loki had just taken Barton, sneaking around to gather supplies while his minions set up their new base. They had bumped into each other on the street, and Loki hadn’t been told enough yet by Barton to recognize him, but his skin had tingled and his hair had stood on end, and he had watched wide eyed with his heart beating frantically in his chest as his One kept walking down the street. But then Tony had turned his head, rubbing lightly at the hand that had brushed against Loki’s and when their eyes met Stark had winked at him. It was only the presence of one of his stolen soldiers at his side that had kept Loki from chasing after the mortal, which had kept his mind on Thanos’ task. Again, his goal had slipped his mind, and he lay entwined with one of his enemies in their bed as war raged outside of the blacked-out windows.

“Shit!” Tony hissed, jerking upright in the bed and nearly elbowing Loki in the face. “Shit!” He was out of the bed before Loki could question him, grabbing his pants and pulling them on quickly. There was a roaring over their heads, the Tesseract inviting the Earth’s would-be conquerors over to play and the Hulk roared back in return, beating his chest with his oversized hands. “Jarvis deploy,” Tony ordered, running out of the bedroom. The suit shot towards him, moulding around him even as he moved, and Loki watched with wide eyes at Midgard’s magic, similar to his own conjuring of amour, but tasteless, scentless. The arc reactor tasted of coconuts and Loki’s magic of pine, but the suit smelt like a forge and not magic, but it had built itself, flown itself and Loki was in awe of Stark’s achievements.

“You are leaving?” He pulled the blankets against his chest, trying not to show how vulnerable he felt. His lover had invited him into his bed, fucked him in his bed like a partner or a wife, when whores were strictly kept outside of the bedrooms. If they had remained in the living room, on the sofa or across the kitchen counter Loki would not have been surprised; but here, in their room, he was being abandoned? It would never have been heard of on Asgard.

“I’ll be right back,” Tony promised.

“Sir,” a voice that was spoken by nobody that Loki could see called out insistently, “the Director is calling for you.”

“I know Jarvis,” Tony said, pressing one finger against his ear and the little black wire that was wrapped around it. The faceplate of the suit closed down and his voice was muffled, becoming strange and rough but no less Tony’s. “Tell him I’m on my way.” He left without saying goodbye and without being able to see his face Loki couldn’t tell if Tony had even looked twice at him before flying away, but he waited in the bed for as long as he dared. But when the Tesseract turned off and the portal in the sky exploded and then closed and Thanos’ hold on his mind trembled and broke away, Loki was already back in the kitchen, sprawled across the ground where the Hulk had left him. Humourlessly, he thought that he should have stayed in the bedroom, the risk of dishonour could never be as painful as this, he mused as he tried to pick himself out of the crater the Hulk had made with his body and failed. But he was glad he had dressed and emerged, found by the beast with a drink in one hand and the other (not at all sentimentally) running across the kitchen counter top, because when Tony came back for him it was with his colleagues and none of them looked happy to see Loki.

He turned his head, rolling over on the ground so that he could sit up and face them. Loki allowed his eyes to flutter open, waiting to see Tony’s half smile, the one he had tried to hide from the Avengers but the one Loki had seen nonetheless, but instead he saw Thor. His brother’s mouth was slack, breath hot on Loki’s face and that one hand still insistently wiping the tears from his flushed face. Blue eyes were wide, and along with the pain of doing this, of forcing this, there was happiness and pride because Loki’s stomach was sticky with his own seed and his chest was heaving from the force of his orgasm. He wished he could speak, but his tongue was still too large for his mouth; wished he could tell Thor he thought of Tony, never of him, but he couldn’t. Instead, feeling Thor’s release inside of him, Loki finally found the will power to resist his mother’s sedative. He screamed, a horrible broken sound that was unable to completely escape his mouth, slack and useless as his tongue was right then, but it was loud and desperate. Hands pushed at Thor’s shoulders, and Loki threw his head from side to side, trying to escape the sight of Thor still basking in his orgasm.

“Brother?” Thor asked, sounding as concerned as he suddenly felt. “Did I hurt you?”

Loki screamed again, hating the concern, hating the kindness; because rapists had no right to feel bad after the fact, had no right to try and catch his face and calm him down to make themselves feel better. Loki wanted to scream ‘I hate you’ but his silver tongue had turned to lead and instead he cried, uncaring that the others were watching him still, uncaring that Tyr was laughing loudly in the background because Thor was still trying to make things better, and nothing ever could.

“That is enough,” Frigga announced loudly. She began herding people towards the door, pushing them out when they didn’t move fast enough. “The consummation is completed. Tomorrow we will gather again for the Morning Gift, but for tonight it is done. Please, make your way home.”

Loki’s gyðja, Bor, moved towards the bed, and touched a hand lightly to Thor’s shoulder, encouraging him to move away from his husband. Loki tried to scramble away, but his legs shook and his back and hips ached and Bor grabbed hold of him with both arms, bands of steel around his shoulders, while Thor made him drink again from Frigga’s flask. “Sleep now, my son,” his mother whispered as his vision began to dim, “it is over now.”

XXX

It must have been a dream, because Loki could not remember leaving Asgard after his wedding to Thor. He could not be on Midgard, and yet he was. But it was not a dream, rather a memory, and Loki smiled as he watched Anthony Stark hurrying down the street towards him, eyes focused on a handheld device that he was reading, not watching where he was going. Consequentially, he walked into Loki. Their free hands brushed, the one not holding the StarkPad and the one Loki had held out purposely, knowing what came next. Sparks danced between them, and Loki watched stunned, failing to notice that none of the other people that had been on the streets with him were there, not even the man under his sceptre’s influence. It was just Tony and him, but the mortal kept walking, rubbing furiously at his hand, StarkPad tucked between his ear and shoulder so he could focus on the hand that felt like it had been electrocuted.

He turned then, brown eyes meeting Loki’s for a moment before one winked closed and pink lips grinned, and Loki felt his legs give out. They trembled—

–and someone caught him, arms around his waist as kisses were pressed to his forehead, and Loki struggled to force air into his lungs.

“Hush, my son, hush,” Frigga whispered into the top of his dark hair. Her hands drew circles on his back, stopping occasionally to squeeze him closer before they resumed their attempt at comforting him again. “All will be well. You’ll see.”

“Why doesn’t she love me anymore, mother?” He cried, hands pressed against his eyes to stop the useless spill of tears that were escaping him. “We are to be married next week and she… she says she doesn’t love me any longer. I don’t understand what I did wrong?”

They pulled apart so that Frigga could look at Loki’s face while they spoke, and he trembled, remembering Sigyn’s words to him: I have found him, Loki, I have found my One and he is not you.

She was sorry, he remembered, for leaving him, for breaking his heart.

“I thought I was her One.” He sounded so sad, like the small child he used to be who couldn’t understand why Thor’s friends didn’t like him. Again Frigga didn’t know what to do to make things better for him, but she knew what to say to help him feel better for a moment or two.

“You were not her One, my love, so she could not have been yours. But I promise you, there is someone out there for you, for everyone, and when you meet them you will know it. That it took you time to love her, to want her, even weeks after your first meeting with her only proves you were not meant to be, but you were happy so I did not protest. Now I tell you, now I am free to say that I did not want you to marry her, not because I didn’t like her, but because she is not yours, Loki. He or she is still out there.” She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, like she used to do before he had learned to pretend he did not hurt all of the time.

“How will I know?” He sniffled, rubbing at his nose with the edge of one sleeve.

“When I met your father, he was betrothed to Tyr’s mother. Their wedding was the very next day, but he had been called away to Alfheimr and as the new King he had no choice but to do as his duty commanded him. He met my brother and me, children of a dying King, and an agreement was reached and then broken moments later when Odin kissed my hand goodbye and I refused to let him go. There was no need for a peace agreement then, Loki, for we were married then and there and I swear to you, the first second his hand was upon mind I felt the ground move and the stars came out from wherever they hide during the day and set the sky on fire. I could not have breathed right then even if I were forced to, even after he had let my hand go, because his hands were not upon me. You loved Sigyn, I know that and it hurts to lose her, but when you find your One they will have no thoughts of leaving you, and that my child will have to console you for now.”

Loki snorted. “Well,” he said after a pause, trying to appear nonchalant despite the tear stains on his face and his red eyes, “at least you tried, mother. Thor just brought a tankard of ale and left it at the door for me.” He rolled his eyes fondly.

“Your brother wishes to take care of you, forgive him for not understanding how.” She stood up, brushing down her skirts and turned once more to smile upon her youngest child. “You will just know,” she promised again before she left.

And he was on the streets of New York again, hand held out in front of him and Anthony Stark walking away from him. Loki swallowed back the cry that threatened to escape him, because didn’t the mortal realise that he wasn’t supposed to be leaving Loki now? His mother had promised him that, and yet…

Then Tony glanced back again, eyes searching through the crowd, looking for the dark haired man from moments ago. But Loki’s minion had already dragged him away.

XXX

Loki woke slowly.

Like struggling to swim to the surface after almost drowning in an ocean, he felt groggy and heavy and weak, but he struggled on until his eyelids were fluttering and a croaked, “wha” managed to spill from his lips. He gasped, pain shooting up his spine, worse than the morning after he had slept with Tony, and Loki squeezed his eyes closed again, fighting to breathe through the pain. Tony had been rough with him last night then, he thought, mind still unfocused. Loki assumed it had been in punishment for his failed attempt on the earth, but that wouldn’t explain why both Bor and Frigga were waiting at the side of his bed.

“Drink this,” his mother whispered, as she handed him a chalice. He hesitated and she added, “It’s for the pain.”

That sold it to him, and he grabbed it out of her hand, swallowing the lot of it in one go before he remembered that she had drugged him already, and why. Loki gagged, trying to spit out what little remained in his mouth, but it was too late. Spittle covered his bottom lip and chin, and Bor reached out slowly to wipe it away. He held the hustrulinet in his other hand, the cloth straight and white and Loki retched again at the sight of it. A basin was pushed under his chin, and Loki grabbed it from them while he still could, coughing and sputtering over it though nothing actually came up. He glanced up at his mother, green eyes wide and watery and she flinched at the hurt that shone from them, like knives to her stomach and she shook her head sadly as she said, “I only want to help you, Loki. It’s almost over with, I promise you.”

“I found him. My One.” His words were starting to slur again, and his head suddenly felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. Loki dug his nails into the palms of his hands, trying to fight off the potion, using the pain to ground himself because he needed to say this, needed them to know this. “You took him from me!”

“Oh, Loki!” Frigga sighed, pressing one hand over her mouth and the other against her heart. Now drugged and, so, compliant, Loki allowed Bor to help him stand and clean himself up. They dressed the Prince in silence, and Bor attached the hustrulinet over his head, worn like a veil, once Frigga was finished braiding his hair up on top of his head. “Just for a year, my love, just one child and you can find Him again. He will be waiting for you, I know he will.”

Perhaps he would, Loki thought: because though Tony had left him on the streets of New York he had found Loki again later in his tower, and though he had left him there too Tony had come for him during his second detainment with SHIELD, while Thor negotiated for control of the Tesseract and his brother, and they had fucked again and they had stayed together this time, wrapped around one another while Loki slept, the cameras turned off and Jarvis keeping watch through the corridors. Loki had woken alone, but Tony had been the one to collect him from his cell, to bring him to the others and to let him go again, though his time he had not been smiling when Thor took Loki away.

Perhaps Tony would wait for him, they were made for each other after all and even the mortal had been able to feel it when they touched, but he would not be waiting for the gestation period of one child, but two. Because this child was Tony’s, not Thor’s, and it would not fulfil Odin’s requirements. And Loki would not allow anyone to hurt this child, to kill it or take it from him or abort it. It was for fear of that alone that he allowed his mother to lead him to the dining hall, Bor following along behind him. If no one knew about Tony then they would never know the child was not Thor’s, and when the child was born Loki would be free and he could take his child and run and perhaps Tony would grant him sanctuary. Stark had offered to help him once already and Loki would choose to believe the man had been sincere.

Frigga knew about Tony, Loki realised with a sudden jolt of fear. It turned the blood in his veins to ice for a moment, but then she held out the flask again, and he frowned, still angry, still hurt, but now he understood. He shook his head, trying to explain without the ability to speak or move his hands around that he did not need the potion to hold his tongue for him, that he would not tell anyone about Tony. It was too late to tell; he was married, he had been bedded unwillingly already, telling everyone about Tony would not spare him from his fate, instead, it would invalidate his marriage to Thor and undoubtedly Blysteir would demand him then as compensation, being honourless, pregnant and unmarried there would be nothing to keep Loki in Asgard if Blysteir asked for him.

Then he heard Thor laughing from inside of the hall. The hallway seemed to echo with the sound, unbearably loud even through the thick doors, and Loki felt himself shudder at the sound. He didn’t hurt anymore, but there had been bruises on his skin that he had noticed while dressing, adding to the scant few left by Tony (those ones welcomed but fortunately over looked by Thor and the others, thought to be remainders from his failed invasion). His stomach twisted at the reminder of his brother – his husband – and the sound of his enjoyment, while Loki was out here trembling in fear and shame, angry with everyone and himself, and pathetic for wishing that his mortal was there to save him. He opened his mouth, eyes on his mother’s face.

“Oh sweetheart,” she murmured, obediently tilting the flask to pour some of the potion into his mouth. “Just a little longer,” she repeated, before urging him forward. Bor opened the doors and led them inside, Frigga behind him and Loki last.

He followed, his feet unsteady and his legs uncooperative, but the potion was working faster now, in a larger quantity, and before he had reached his seat Loki felt calmer. His head hurt, and the smile on his face was more like a grimace but he was able to greet Thor with a calm nod of his head, instead of clawing his eyes out like he really wanted to.

“Good morrow, brother!” Thor stood as Loki took his seat, side by side at the table with Frigga and Odin to Thor’s left. Loki’s old seat, from before his sentencing, the one beside Frigga had been taken by Tyr (who had never been invited to sit with the royal family before). Tyr looked altogether too pleased with himself, and the majority of the others eating looked amused too at the sight of Thor handing over the keys to the royal quarters to Loki, someone who already had his own keys. But that was part of the ceremony, so Loki reached up for Thor’s keys, taking them with the tips of his fingers so he would not have to touch Thor’s hands and leaving them on his empty breakfast plate.

A rolled sheet of parchment was handed to Loki then, and he glanced around the hall once more, taking in the amused faces, the indifferent ones, the handful of horrified glances he was thrown, and the one blond woman who looked hell bent on revenge, before taking the scroll and unrolling it. Bor read it out loud for him, moving away from the wall he was resting against to stand right behind Loki’s chair and lean over his shoulder uncomfortably close.

Loki didn’t listen, knowing that the scroll would be his to keep and he could read it over later; react to it in private if it were nothing but bad news. But whatever he did now didn’t matter. The morning-gift had been drawn up with him in mind but without his consideration or consent. It was his dowry, and the sum of all the things he would bring into the marriage and keep should the marriage end in divorce, and a list of conditions that set out his marriage, duties to fulfil and reasons for the unions. Those that married for love did not have to worry about the last portion of the morning-gift, but Loki did, and worry about it he would. But not where people could see his humiliation (again) and study his reactions (again); he would wait. Thor and the warriors would be gone soon, to spend the day hunting and it would take some time because the more they brought back the longer the festivities would last and Thor and Loki had been told time and again how Odin’s wedding feast had been seven days long. Thor would want to match that at least, if he could not beat it.

The one thing Loki did take note of was the promise to release him once the conditions were met, and he clung to that promise, ignoring the cries of outrage that echoed through the hall because one child was not a punishment, marriage was not a punishment and rape was not a concern on Asgard where everyone could defend themselves against a potential assailant (except Loki, who had always been weaker, who had already suffered through it once with Svadilfari and been laughed at for it then too, who had been drugged this time, to keep him from talking about Tony, about the child he knew he carried for Tony, and who was being laughed at yet again). Voices demanded more of a sentence, but Odin silenced them with a tap of his fork against his plate.

His sentence had been passed. His sentence would stand uncontested. Loki would have to live with it, not the others, so they had no right to complain that it wasn’t harsh enough. Thor’s arm around his shoulder made him cringe, the fear that made his heart stop beating and made his stomach heave and his throat tighten was harsh enough and the ants that crawled beneath his skin (the shame, the weakness, the vulnerability) were worse this time because it was Thor, who had defended him from the taunts the last time. Thor, who had killed Svadilfari for assaulting him, though the horse had not known any better, and who had killed the giant then too. Thor, who had wiped the tears off of Loki’s face as he raped him, unable to understand why he was crying because Loki would have stopped him if he really hadn’t want to, surely? And that made Loki flinch too, because of course he hadn’t wanted to, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to believe him. What was it they were saying? “Better Thor’s husband than a Jötun’s whore”, but at least with Blysteir Loki would have known, would have struggled and not felt as if he had allowed it to happen, trusting his mother every time she gave him a drink, consenting to drink, to being weakened and raped. Blysteir would have hurt him, probably killed him at some point, but at least Loki wouldn’t have felt like an accomplice to his own assault.

“Come,” Frigga whispered. She was standing over Loki now, pulling him out of his seat. Thor clapped him once more on the shoulder; flinching at the flinch Loki gave, before moving to join the Warriors Three. Sif was with them, and she frowned at the sight of Loki pale faced and waxen, eyes still red from crying and the way he limped after his mother.

“Did you hurt him?” She asked. She had not heard details of the wedding night yet, though half of the servants were happily telling everyone who would listen how beautiful Loki looked when they had left him spread naked on his marriage bed.

“I did not think so,” Thor answered her, his eyebrows drawing together. “I will make it up to him if I have done so!” He exclaimed, smile wide and bright as usual, and his friends nodded in agreement, because now Loki was his husband, future King of Asgard and not just Thor’s horrid little brother they did not like. Now they had to be civil, if they couldn’t be nice, because it would benefit them to be.

XXX

Loki waited alone in his rooms until the potion wore off. They had tried to guide him back to Thor’s rooms, where the married couple should be together but Loki’s legs had locked outside of his old bedroom door and he had found himself unable to walk any longer. Bor had picked him up off of the ground and brought him inside, ignoring the servants who waited outside of Thor’s door further down the hallway with food for Loki (who had not eaten at all during breakfast). Frigga had waited at the door until Bor returned, having left Loki lying on his childhood bed, curled pathetically around a pillow with his knees drawn up to his chest.

When the potions effects had lessened, Loki sat up slowly, trying to ignore the ache at the base of his spine. The first thing he did was to call for a servant and demand a bath. He watched them bring in the water, bucket after bucket, and pour it into the large copper tub that took up most of the space in Loki’s bath chambers. There was a fountain and a urinal, two cabinets and a large mirror that Loki avoided looking at because judging by the looks the servants were unsubtly sending him, it would be best to avoid his reflection for a time. They carried in an unused chamber pot as well and left it on the ground beside the tub.

Loki dismissed their offer of help. Frigga had cleaned him before his wedding, removing the seed Tony had left behind (because SHEILD certainly had not let him freshen up before shipping him back to Asgard with Thor) and had allowed the servants to help her. But he would not, not again. He had been unable to protest then, unable to care for himself, and he had sunk low enough already without willing spreading his legs for the first person to offer to clean him out. Loki was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and his first priority, before he could think of doing anything else, was to get anything of Thor’s out of him. Two dirtied cloths later, left abandoned in the chamber pot, and Loki was ready to get into the bath.

The water was barely warm, but a quick spark of magic had it heating up. Loki lay in it, his chin underwater right up to his bottom lip and every movement he made sent water sloshing up over his nose and he thought of opening his mouth wide and letting it all spill inside. But he didn’t. And when the water turned cold, Loki stayed right where he was, feet poking out over the edge of the tub, face as close as he could get without drowning and one hand pressed over his stomach. When his skin began to turn blue from the cold, and then turn blue Loki didn’t fight it. It was his Jötun heritage that had enabled him to get pregnant by Tony, before Thor and his mother’s fertility spells could interfere with him, and if this was to be the only child he would have by his One then Loki was glad for the chance, even if he still couldn’t bear to look at himself in this form.

A knock sounded at the door and Frigga walked inside without waiting to be invited.

Loki stood in the bath, feet sliding a little on the wet copper, all of his muscles tensing up at the look on his mother’s face. His skin had turned pale again, the grooves that marked him disappearing from sight as the azure faded away, but a flush had taken up on his cheeks and anger burned in the green of his eyes turning them back to red.

“What now? What more do you want from me?” He demanded as he strode towards the cabinet that he kept his towels in. He wrapped one around his waist tightly like a sarong and took around to drape around his shoulders, hiding as much of his body from view as possible.

“No one can ever know, Loki,” Frigga told him, sounding determined and worried all at once. “Not until this punishment is done and you and the child are gone from here.” Loki’s mouth dropped open, his face displaying every bit of the horror he felt churning inside of him. There was bile climbing up his throat, but the heart that had lodged itself there and kept him from breathing evenly prevented him from getting sick. Frigga smiled sadly at him, shaking her head softly. “Did you think you could hide it from me? I am the Goddess of Fertility, sweetheart, did you think I would not know of the child you carry?”

“Mother, I-” Loki started; pausing because he did not know what else to say, had no excuse to give.

“The spells took very well, did they not? Such a fruitful union,” she whispered with a smile. “And it will spare you from another unfortunate coupling. Thor will be pleased when he is told, as will your father.”

Loki’s eyes were narrowed as he met hers. How, he wondered, could she know he was pregnant but not know that he had been since he returned? He had spent a full day on Asgard before the wedding and it had been mere hours since the consummation, any pregnancy that could have resulted from his union with Thor would still be unnoticeable, the embryo not yet implanted, even to the Goddess of Fertility. His mouth formed a circle, dropping open as Frigga smiled again at him, blue eyes as sad as Loki had ever seen them. She knew, he realised, and yet she was willing to lie for him; for them, Loki corrected himself as he pressed a hand to his stomach again.

“As am I,” Loki finally managed to say, as tears burned the corneas of his eyes. “Pleased, I mean.”

“I know, my love.” Frigga smiled softly again, looking a little less sad, and Loki managed to offer her a smile back. “Your father is on his way.”

Suddenly all of the anger was back. It crashed over him like a tsunami, beating him down and under and Loki thought he was drowning again, head heavy and limbs unresponsive as he was dragged away with the retreating tide. All that was left was anger, pain and fear. There were no more smiles for his mother, no longer did his hand press against his belly, and any forgiveness that might have been stirring in his heart sputtered out and died like fire once the water reached it. Loki could practically feel the steam curling out of his ears, so angry was he, and he grabbed the closest thing to hand, hurling it at the door just as Odin stepped through it.

“I despise you!” Loki screamed, red bleeding over his eyes again, cheeks flushing darkly. His lips were pale when he pressed them together and he needed to keep two hands on the cabinet beside him to stop his legs from collapsing under him when the All Father finally spoke.

“If you default on this union, if you try to leave or harm Thor in any way to avoid this union, automatically ownership passes to Blysteir in place of Thor. Would you rather be in Jötunheimr, my son?” Loki flinched at the word, turning his face away as he clenched his teeth. “At least here you are home, amongst friends, and secure in the knowledge that Thor would never purposely hurt you or any children you bare him.”

Loki snorted loudly. “What friends?” He cried, throwing his arms in the air, because he knew where this was going, he knew how this conversation ended, as it had always ended, with Loki remaining unheard no matter how loud he screamed. But he continued to talk as Odin took a seat on the bed beside Frigga, allowing for once Loki to remain taller than his King. “I have no friends here. I have no home! I had hi-” He cut himself off, a fist pressed to his lips to keep his secrets from spilling out. He would not speak of Tony; he would not endanger Tony or their child.

“Thor never means to hurt me,” Loki continued, his voice now little more than a whisper, “and for that I have forgiven him time and time again. Yet, he always seems to hurt me, over and over, and this? This I cannot forgive. That you would drug me! That he would pin me down and take me unwilling! Had you even considered explaining your plan to me, did the logical course not plot itself out in your mind, All Father?” He was snarling now, teeth sharp and white and lips curled back to bare them. “Or did you think I was so far gone from reason that I would not so much as consider lying with Thor willingly to avoid slavery upon Jötunheimr? Or,” he added, voice softening, and he moved now to kneel before his never-parents, towel miraculously continuing to cover him up, to take one of each of their hands into his own, holding them tight like a lifeline as the anger inside of him continued to surge like stormy waves, “do you hate me so much that you think I deserve that, to suffer through that again?”

They looked at him blankly; unable to comprehend what he meant because rape was something that just didn’t happen upon Asgard. There were those who would sleep with you for money, and those that would pay you to sleep with them, there were travellers from other planets who did not stay virginal and would willingly spread their legs for a few sweet words and some cups of liquor (or so Fandral had told them), and the rest of them stayed pure until they married and then they stayed faithful. Travellers who might have thought to attack an Asgardian in such a way were dealt with easily, as all the Àss were competent fighters, strong and battle ready, more than capable of fighting off one lone attacker. Even the servants were capable of fighting off drunken advances, giggling even as they dodged wandering hands and insistent tongues.

Only Loki had ever been compromised in such a way, only Loki had ever suffered such a fate upon Asgard, but fortunately for his honour he was a mare at the time and the union bore a foal, not a child, so he could still consider himself pure. Unsullied. Untouched. As if he had never been raped, as if his attack had not counted, because only Loki could be so weak as to have deserved it, or perhaps even he could not be so weak and he must have wanted it: a trick, perhaps, to avoid losing his virginity completely while still managing to have sex? There were those that thought so, their words making Loki feel sick even now after all of these years since he heard them spoken, and there were those who genuinely understood he had been attacked, but even then it had been an attack, not a rape. Because rape just didn’t happen on Asgard. Rape wasn’t something the Æsir had ever had to acknowledge and it hurt so very much to know that no matter how much he suffered as a result of it no one would understand or even care because it had only been Loki affected, only Loki hurt. Most people were of the opinion that Loki always got what Loki deserved.

“I was raped,” Loki told them through clenched teeth, “again.” Saying it out loud somehow made it all the more real and Loki cringed at the words, at the echo of them ricocheting around his brain along with the memories, and he squeezed his eyes closed to try and block them out, missing the look his parents shared.

“Sweetheart?” Frigga asked, using her other hand to close over Loki’s, squeezing it between the two. “I never meant to hurt you. I was trying to protect you from being hurt.” Loki knew she spoke the truth; he had, after all, come to the same conclusion. She had drugged him to keep his tongue still, to prevent him from digging his own grave by speaking of Tony and the child they had both known he was carrying; to still his hands so that they would not hurt Thor, because to hurt Thor would make him Blysteir’s husband instead. But Odin continued to stare at him with that familiar furrow between his eyebrows, the one that was always present whenever he and Loki argued and the All Father could never seem to figure out his youngest son, could not understand him, or comfort him. It hurt more, Loki thought, because Odin continued to try, even though they both knew he never would understand.

It was a word Loki had used only once before, after returning from Midgard where he had secluded himself shortly after guardianship of Sleipnir had been transferred from him to the stable hands. He had been raped, he had claimed, using the Midgardian word as a defence, claiming he could not be blamed, that Sleipnir could not be blamed, for the actions and the consequences were not Loki’s fault. He had been the victim and so could not be victimised. But the strange, new word had not helped Loki then, for the Asgardians had only rolled their eyes or laughed, or worse, congratulated Loki for successfully distracting Svaðilfari from his task. It did not seem to be helping Loki now either.

The God sighed. “You never mean to hurt me either,” Loki conceded quietly. “I am tired,” he added, moving to open the door for them. “Please leave.”

“We shall walk you to your rooms,” Odin offered, standing to walk to Loki. The younger God shrank away from Odin’s hand, not wanting his touch. No matter how well meant it would be the thought of Odin’s hand upon him made Loki’s skin crawl.

“These are my rooms, All Father, and I will be remaining here.”

When Odin opened his mouth to protest, Frigga laid her hand upon his arm, fingers curling around the wrist as she began to tug him towards the door. Loki closed his eyes, not wanting to watch them walk away from him, even though he had told them to leave. They should stay, he thought angrily, stay and comfort him, tell him it’d be alright like they used to when he was young. But instead they picked now to start listening to him, to walk away when he needed them most because he had said they should. Didn’t they know by now that he was a liar? Didn’t they know him at all, he mentally screamed at their backs. But he bit his tongue to keep it silent and he kept his eyes closed until he heard the door clicking shut.

When they were gone, Loki ran to the door. He didn’t care enough to keep hold of his towels and they both fell off of him as he ran. The one around his shoulders lasted the longest, half over one should and half down his back as he lay against the door, his back flush with the wood, as if trying to barricade it closed with his body. He cast a locking spell, and then another, and another, everyone he could think of.

When he was done, he sank to the floor, knees coming up so he could curl his arms around them, bury his face between them as his shoulder shook. Loki cried quietly, knowing that his servants were probably waiting right outside of his door but he didn’t have it in him to tell them to go away, to have to talk to any more people today. So he cried, and he hid his face against one thigh, his arms shaking as he held him, naked on the cold floor with his back against the locked door that he expected to be beaten down by Mjölnir any minute now. But Thor was gone hunting, and he had at least a day to cry until he was out of tears. So he picked himself up, half stumbling to his bed where he collapsed again, face still wet and limbs still trembling. One hand covered his stomach and the other curled around his pillow so it was half over his face, and he sobbed, louder now that he could muffle it properly and since he was further from the door and from nosy ears.

He didn’t stop crying until he was asleep. When he woke up, he cried some more.

Thor didn’t come to see him for two days, by which point the celebrations were well underway and people had finally begun to notice that the bride was missing. When Thor knocked quiet insistently at the door, Loki managed to hide himself feeling as if he were a small child running scared from shadows again as he shuffled under his bed and tugged the sheets down enough so that they hid him. Thor wouldn’t see him unless he crouched down and actively started looking, which he never did, despite under the bed being Loki’s favourite place to hide (after checking that no monsters hid under there first). A clone answered the door, and Thor noticed no difference between this magical copy and the real Loki whose face was still wet with tears.

The celebrations went on for a full eight days, one more than Odin’s wedding feast had lasted, and Thor was enormously proud of the fact. Prouder still when he came to Loki’s rooms on the eight day and insisted that they lay together, only to be told that Loki was already pregnant, and from their first attempt too! Loki threw his brother magically back out of the room. Sif, who had come with Thor, realising that Loki probably needed someone to talk to and magnanimously volunteering to be that person, because a loveless marriage was cruel on anyone, even those black of heart she figured. She had her own son, long grown up and moved away from her home after his father had died years ago in a war that she could barely remember the cause of. Better than any of Thor’s friends she remembered the feelings that came with pregnancy.

As Thor picked himself up off the ground, shaking off the plaster and dust that had rained down on him as he cracked the wall upon impact, Sif shooed away the gaping servants. “Hormones,” she told the Prince with a smile. “Get used to it, my friend, you have many more months of Loki’s temperaments to go.” She took hold of Loki’s arms and began to drag him from the room. “Come on, let’s get you to a healer and have your babe checked over. Thor,” she narrowed her eyes at her friend as she spoke, “your presence is no longer needed here.”

Though there was no doubt that Thor loved his brother and would love this babe too, Loki did not look like someone who wanted the father to take an active part in his pregnancy. What was best for the babe was what was best for its mother, after all; Sif could remember every healer she attended telling her as much during her pregnancy, forcing her to put away her sword and take up weaving (which had been far more taxing for her than swordplay had been in honesty, but she had done what was best for the child). Loki would too, undoubtedly, judging by the way he kept his hands pressed protectively against his stomach and his eyes narrowed on Thor’s hammer as if waiting for an attack.

But Thor merely raised his hands helplessly, backing away down the hall with a wide grin splitting his face. He would leave Loki be until he calmed down, as was always the best way to deal with his brother, and in the meantime he would tell his parents of the child, and tell his friends, and shout it from the rooftop too if no one stopped him in time.

Loki watched him leave, pride and pleasure equally on his face, chest puffed out like a peacock at his illusory potency, and Loki almost felt bad for lying to him because Thor seemed so genuinely pleased at the idea of a child. But lying was something he did well, and often, and lying was for the best for his child: so lie, Loki would.

XXX

TBC

***

I left it up to Runic whether I should post it now or wait until it was all done (this is part 1 of 2 and 2 is only part done) but she left it up to me, and I figured it took me this long to get this far… It would be cruel to make her wait any longer.