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Loki sits on the bench outside the convention center for three straight days, only visible to those looking for him – and it is simply amazing how many people are looking for him. He hasn't had this much fun on Midgard since the crusades.
He prepared for this by studying his supposed doppelganger -- the actor -- unnoticed from the shadows. Loki perfected his shape, his mannerisms, his wide, enigmatic smile, and now he sits in the heart of the city in full armor, waiting patiently for his target to come to him. He's heard about this sudden influx of devotees, and he intends to test their devotion tonight.
His perfect follower is a woman – yes, men confront him as well, but they are slightly more polite, less inclined to worship the very ground beneath his feet. The girls come to him in groups, their shrill cries reminding him of the All Father's ravins, Hugin and Munin, and many of them are adorned in lavish costumes. Some wear skin-tight clothing, show just enough skin to interest a common man – Loki is not interested in these girls. He finds his follower on the third day.
She is alone, dressed in street clothes. Relatively attractive for a human, though Loki does not particularly care. What's important is the way her breath stops when she sees him, the delicious mixture of terror and adoration in her eyes. She freezes in her tracks.
Loki beckons her with a predatory glint of teeth.
“Hello,” he says in the actor's voice.
“H-hey,” she says.
He smiles in earnest this time and pats the bench beside him. “Come here, I don't bite.”
She appears to get over her shock as she rushes to his side, eyes wide with adulation. She squirms on the bench, torn between keeping a respectful distance and plastering herself to his side, quite obviously terrified she'll scare him off. “Tom, oh my God,” she breathes, “You – you weren't –? Are you hosting a panel? I didn't see you on the roster,” she says. Her eyes say, 'I looked.'
He laughs. “No, no. Simply taking in the sights. I'm really quite interested in comics and the like – not just mine, I mean.”
She tries to hide her excitement. “Really? What do you read?” And before he can answer: “Your performance is what got me into Thor. Have you read Simonson's run? When you were researching for your role? I love Simonson, but his Loki is really evil. Yours was much more sympathetic.”
“Thank you,” Loki says smoothly. He lets her talk for a few minutes before deciding that she is the one. It's not her words; it's her demeanor. She is desperate to please him.
He cuts her off mid-sentence. “Would you like to accompany me to my room for drinks?”
She pauses, stunned.
He cracks a sly smile. “You are old enough to drink, aren't you?”
“Yes, of course, it's not that!” She says, practically frantic. “I just – why me? You really want me to--? Why?”
He leans in close and lets his breath play across her cheek. “Because you're part of my army, aren't you?” He asks in a low voice, almost a whisper. “Because you want to worship me.”
She doesn't speak, eyes impossibly wide. She remains completely still for a moment before jerkily nodding her head. That's all the confirmation Loki needs to rise and bring her along with a gentle hand on the small of her back. She is silent on the way to the hotel, staring at him unabashedly now, to the point that he has to steer her away from obstacles. He extends his shroud to encompass her, hiding them both from prying eyes. No need to give poor Mr. Hiddleston a bad reputation.
“You have permission to speak,” he jokes in the elevator. She shudders visibly every time he smiles.
“S-sorry,” she says. Then, after a moment, “Aren't you married?”
“No,” he says, inflectionless.
She doesn't say another word until they reach the master suite. It's massive, occupying most of the top floor, but she barely glances around the room before focusing on him once more. Loki is pleased. He pours two glasses of finely aged scotch and watches as she tries not to grimace at the taste. He must admit, it is bitter compared to Asgard's sweet honeywine.
Loki makes no motion to sit down, instead standing next to her alongside the bar. She's much shorter than him, especially taking his helmet into account, and he enjoys towering over her. He sets his drink on the counter. “Tell me,” he asks casually, sure to use the actor's normal voice – the cadence is subtly different when he is imitating Loki, and Loki doesn't want to be intimidating just yet. “Why do you think I've brought you here?”
She looks away, as if searching for help. “I don't know,” she says quietly.
Loki laughs sharply. “No need to be coy. Why did I bring you to my room?” He revels in the undercurrent of fear in her eyes. It's subtle, but it's there. “I want you to say it.”
She sets her shoulders defiantly, and he is briefly reminded of his brother. He quickly banishes the thought. “To--” she begins, “To--” she glances away, can't say this to his face, “To t-take me.”
He laughs again, perhaps a bit maniac, and her face flushes. Before she can apologize for her perceived wrong, he says: “So, that's what you want? You want me to fuck you?” The word drips with venom.
“I'm sorry,” she chokes. “Is that not what you--?”
“Don't worry, I will,” he says, “But that's not why you're here.” He bends down to cup her jaw in one slender hand and feels her pulse flutter. Midgardians are so fragile. He lowers his voice now, intentionally speaking as the actor portrays him, as he knows she wants to hear. It's dark and sultry and she shivers under his touch. “You're here to prove your devotion.”
He partially expects her to back away, but she only keens high in her throat, apparently incapable of human speech. He scoffs. Mortals.
“I intend for you to give yourself to me completely,” he says. “This is your last chance to leave. I suggest you take it.”
She remains still and silent. With a word and a gesture, Loki seals the room.
“Kneel,” he commands.
She hesitates for the barest second, but that is too much for him. He fists a hand in her hair and forces her to her knees. She seems to awaken once more, eyes alight. “Tom,” she chokes.
Loki smiles. “Is that who you think I am?” He fluidly shifts forms, majestic light erupting all around him: casual clothing, scruffy face and curly blonde hair. “Tom Hiddleston?”
She is not breathing. At this rate, she's going to pass out before he has his fun. Her mouth is open in a silent scream.
He shifts back, armor returning in a blaze of light. “But I think you prefer me in this form. After all, you call yourselves Loki's Army, don't you?” He smiles, but there is no humor in his words. “Tell me, did you truly believe in me?”
She nods enthusiastically, but she barely comprehends. “Tom--” she tries again. He groans in frustration.
“Never before have I seen such unrepentant stupidity, not even on Midgard,” he spits. Once again he grabs a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back to ensure comprehension. He spits his next words like a curse. “I am not Tom.”
Her eyes brim over but she does not cry out, and suddenly Loki is overwhelmed with anger. Hiddleston, the simpering mortal, has ruined this for him. He slaps the girl hard across her face. Crouching to her level, close enough for his words to cut her, he demands: “Say my name.”
She gasps, in pleasure or pain, he does not know. “Loki,” she breathes. Her voice is wrecked from the tears.
He groans and strokes her hair gently, like a lover. “That's right,” he purrs. The warmth in her eyes at having pleased him is simply intoxicating. “Such a good girl,” he coos, mapping her face with his hands. He absently slips a thumb in her mouth, and she obediently latches on and sucks. He laughs and withdraws it with an obscene pop.
Loki stands abruptly. “Kiss my feet,” he orders. “Worship me.”
She immediately obeys this time. Loki watches as she laves her tongue across the soft leather of his boots, kisses each and thanks him for the privilege. Loki can't help it, he palms himself through his pants.
“That's right,” he breathes. “You'd do anything for me. For your god.”
He's missed this.
But the prostrating, the groveling; this is not a true test of devotion. He still has a trick up his sleeve. He gently kicks her off, and she stares up at him expectantly.
“I could keep you,” he says, all too casual. “You could stay at my right hand, serving me. We could travel the stars. You would be eternally content, indulging my every whim.” He smiles, and for her benefit, adds, “You were made to be ruled.”
She makes this delicious noise, a soft sigh of adoration. “Please,” she begs.
“First,” he says, “You must prove yourself worthy, for I do not think you understand the extent of service I ask of you – you must live and die for my pleasure.”
She watches in awe as he conjures a long silver dagger from thin air, shaping the blade with his hands. When he is satisfied, he places it in her hands and curls her fingers around the shaft, watching her face contort with the horror of realization. He rests his hands lightly over hers and presses the tip of the blade against the soft flesh just below her ribcage.
“Cut,” he orders. “I will not let you die. Cut, and you will live eternally at my side.”
She just stares, eyes bulging and red from silent tears. Her mouth is open, half-formed words trapped in her throat. She is beautiful like this, but Loki can't help but think she'll be much more lovely with her organs spilled at his feet.
Her hands shake uncontrollably. When she finally gets her useless tongue working, she chokes out a desperate cry:
“Tom.”
“No!” Loki screams. He lashes out but only succeeds in knocking her onto her back, his aim blinded by rage. No matter; he is on her in a flash, holding the dagger himself, poised over her soft belly. “You worthless, half-witted cunt!” He savors the flash of realization in her eyes just before he plunges the blade into her.
He cuts all the way from her breastbone to her pelvis, rending her open and oh , how she screams, the sound torn from throat as he tears the knife from her body. She screams and screams and doesn't stop screaming, and he leans in and whispers, “ No one can hear you; no one will save you --” and he squeezes and the blood is simply everywhere, on everything, streaking his face and pooling beneath her –
The next spell requires a little concentration, but with a muttered incantation, she is whole again. The blood is gone.
It takes so long for her to notice and stop screaming that it's almost comical. Loki laughs at the absurdity.
“I told you I wouldn't let you die.”
He lied, of course. Had she actually stabbed herself, Loki would have let her bleed out while he watched the light leave her eyes, for he has no need of a servant. Perhaps he would have ordered room service and let them find her body. But no, she had to go and doubt his divinity.
“You've failed,” he says casually. “I'm very disappointed in you, but worshipers aren't what they used to be, I suppose. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
She writhes feebly, trying to get him off of her, so he simply pins her hands above her head. Though his strength is nothing compared to his brother's, it's massive by human standards. It's easy to overpower her. “You – you're--” she groans. “You're real; oh god--”
“That's right, little cunt. Beg for forgiveness.”
All she can say is “please,” over and over again. She cries and screams and squirms in his grip – this really is his favorite part. He hasn't broken her will to live just yet.
Loki wastes no time removing her clothes. She fights him tooth and nail every step of the way, and that is enjoyable, but Loki is disappointed when she's finally naked. She's quite thin, ribs visible under her pale skin, flat-chested. She reminds Loki too much of himself. Angrily, he lifts her up by the neck and tosses her onto the couch. He binds her hands behind her back with magic. Before she can regain her balance, Loki presses her down with a hand on her shoulder. He forces her ankles up to her ears and she screams in pain, but when he releases her legs, they stay charmed in position.
“You wanted me to fuck you,” he mutters, undoing his belt with trembling hands. “Consider yourself lucky. I don't usually keep my promises.”
She gets herself under control long enough for a response, which has Loki absolutely beaming. “I'm sorry,” she whimpers. “I shouldn't have doubted you. I – I'll obey from now on--”
“Shut up,” he says. He takes himself in hand and drags the head of his cock down her slit. She's still wet from earlier, when his mere presence aroused her. That ability disappeared with the knife in her gut, he thinks.
“Loki,” she begs, his name obscene on her lips, “P-please don't kill me; please--”
He scoffs. “You use my name, now that you no longer deserve the right. I should cut out your tongue.” She squeals and shies away from his hand against her lips. Loki smiles. “Or something more fitting,” he says. With a wave of his hand, he conjures a thick sewing needle threaded with spun gold. “I'm sure you recognize this. It's a trademark of sorts.”
Her breathing quickens but she dares not scream. Instead, she makes pathetic, helpless noises in the back of her throat. Loki clucks his tongue and caresses her face in mock comfort. “Don't worry, little cunt, it won't hurt for long.”
Suddenly, Loki has a brilliant idea.
She watches in horror as he shifts his form again. His long hair brightens and curls. His armor dissolves into light. He adopts that saccharine voice. “Is this any better?” He asks conversationally once the transformation is complete. “Tom would never hurt you. Tom will keep you safe.”
Truly, he's grown sick of her whining, so he wastes no time straddling her lap and knotting the thread. Their eyes meet as he shoves the needle through her bottom lip. She tries to scream but he won't let her open her mouth. He vaguely hopes she won't choke to death on her own blood, at least not too early in the game.
She breathes through her nose, harsh and frantic. “That's right,” he soothes. “No more talking. This will all be over soon.”
He draws the stitches tight and close together. There are twenty or so when he is finished binding her mouth shut. He neatly ties the thread. “That wasn't so bad, was it?” As expected, she offers no coherent response.
There's no need to stroke himself to hardness, the blood on his hands enough in its own right. He deftly aligns himself. Before shoving in, he pauses. “Say 'no' if you don't want this,” he smiles, and buries himself in one hard thrust.
His illusion falters, flickers in the deafening pleasure, and then he is Loki again. She groans in agony and fear. He fucks her until she gives up, head listing to the side, eyes empty. She doesn't last nearly as long as he'd like, but it's no matter – Loki has planned for this.
The charm offers him no additional pleasure, but it serves its purpose. He increases his girth to two, three times its original size, tearing her apart from the inside and she tries , she really tries to scream. She tries so hard that Loki fears she's in danger of ripping the stitches. Then again, he doesn't really mind if she does.
Her pain excites him, and he fucks her with renewed vigor. Loki leans closer to whisper in her ear. “You asked me not to kill you,” he says. “I'm feeling generous, so perhaps I could let you go. Of course, you're ruined now – no other man will ever want you.” She sobs. Loki's cock twitches. “I'll leave the stitches for you to remove. Or better yet, I could enchant them, let you slowly die of starvation. I've heard it's incredibly painful.”
It elicits the desired reaction: she struggles against him with the last of her strength, and she's so beautiful like this, so incredibly tight around him-
Loki looks into her eyes as he spills inside her.
They stay like that for a moment, both completely still, and then he pulls out and watches his come leak from her. He's suddenly completely disinterested. Loki sighs heavily. Afterglow aside, he still doesn't feel any better.
He kills her with steak knife he finds in the kitchen. There is no finesse.
Loki removes the silencing spells. There are no other enchantments on the room. The door wasn't even locked. It is with regret that he unstitches her mouth – the stitches do look quite good on her, but will be an immediate giveaway if Thor ever comes across them.
He is still disappointed when he leaves. This so-called army is nothing he hoped it would be.