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He checks your pulse, breathing…aside from not being conscious you seem fine. Perhaps it’s a Midgardian thing? No…Loki’s lovers do not to fade out in the same manner. Maybe it’s simply you? Midgardians are such strange and complicated creatures, the more he becomes acquainted with them the more they seem so terribly different. But he’s not killed you, he can fix the wounds and dissolve the marks, and he does each time he enjoys you.

You feel him throughout the night, slipping in and out of you as you sleep on and off. There’s little point in struggling - he’d win - or in even protesting - you imagine he won’t even understand your complaints. It should enrage that any man takes such liberties with your body, with you, but - unlike Loki - you genuinely doubt Ulfr comprehends why what he’s doing is wrong. For now you’re merely grateful he’s still warm, his aggression’s lessened, and he heals you after each time.

The feel of body, mind, and Seiðr thinning, fading - like an elastic band repeatedly pulled to its limits - takes over Ulfr by daybreak. He grows cold, hovers between human and Jotun as red eyes return and blue skin pales without fading. He senses someone pressing in, into his mind, his very being, until it chokes, threatens to overtake. The Frost Giant jolts upright, too warm, too drained, and too aware.


It’s fire. Pure fire rushing, screaming, through his veins. Even reverting to his Jotun form gives Ulfr no relief. His shriek pulls you from deep slumber.

“Ulfr?” You don’t think to hesitate in touching, grabbing, shaking, eventually straddling him as body arches in a fit you don’t understand. He’s not freezing even as he turns blue and ice forms over his body; he’s feverishly hot, the sheen of ice-sweat crackling and melting over and over. “Ulfr?!” Red eyes roll, unable to connect, as his jaw clenches.

You curse your disorientation as the room explodes with blinding light. You’re wretched from Ulfr, flail in the air and then in Loki’s hold, throwing legs and pounding fists in all directions. It’s fear, yes, but also rage and determination. You’ll not be the toy they pull between them, you’ll not be a toy at all.

“What do you think, my pet?” An ungodly rumble of a laugh curls in your ear. “What shall we do to the traitorous beast?”

Ulfr can feel his throat going raw, his skin starting to split, but cannot move to stop it. Power from the stones faded to nothing, Seiðr already depleted, his strength goes to keep alive, in one piece, as the flames seize his heart and brain.


“Not yet…” Loki moans darkly. “I’m keeping him on the edge, like I did you…but that’s not true anymore is it?” He inhales you, licks across the side of your neck. “You fell over for him, didn’t you?”

It should be panic, but rage is what leads you to turn head and clamp teeth onto leather and flesh. Loki hisses, then growls as you bare down all the harder. Every time he pulls away he feels you tear layers of skin apart until, finally, he frees himself from you in a vicious yank that nearly pulls flesh clear from body. You stumble into the dresser, hit the floor as the back of Loki’s hand strikes your face. The sting spreads across cheek and jaw; there’s a flash where you expect him to do more, but instead he turns.

Loki seizes and drags a lukewarm Ulfr to floor, sets a boot to his back and point of scepter to his neck. “Did you truly think I’d not discover your treachery? Do you think me a fool?! Please don’t tell me it was all about her…” a slight rage runs through his sneer. What was it with Midgardian women? How could they so bewitch those such as his brother, his general…other, even greater, men…

Ulfr only groans, too drained of everything to do anything. He can feel Loki continually pulling, leeching, what little Seiðr he has remaining. He knows what that means. Loki’s lost a significant portion of his own powers and cannot replenish so easily at the moment. He might be alive, but he is not well. He’s not as powerful as he once was, as he wishes to seem.

“No matter, she is not yours, she’ll never be yours again because she never was to start, just as everything else you feel yourself so entitled to.” He bends knee, leans upper half to close in on his captive. “Including you…you are mine as much as she now…perhaps more so.”

You scurry up and the god turns back to you. You don’t speak, but you don’t look away either. You look him straight in the eyes…still blue. But underneath blue rage you see pain. Physical as his body shakes nearly as much as Ulfr’s, emotional as you catch the watering of eyes when he questions. “You want him to live?”

“I want everyone to live.”

His eyes narrow, as if sniffing out the truth. “Even me?”

“Of course.”

The god expects lies, but finds none. The rage in his heart for you diminishes, but you can’t be sure it doesn’t surge for Ulfr. “You are still mine…” Not even he’s certain if it’s in boast or relief as he finally steps off the other. “Give me a reason to spare him and perhaps I will…for you, my bold one.”

“I…I-I don’t…” Know what he wants that he cannot already take and have. “W-What do you want?” You immediately regret opening a door you’re sure you can never close.

“Stones,” Ulfr huffs out, causing you and Loki both to snap attention over. He’s pulling himself up, resting against the bed, with cracked and bleeding skin. “I…can get you…another.”

Your confusion is as clear as Loki’s interest…his grin spreading wicked as the light in the crescent of his staff gleams. He turns from you to Ulfr. “How can I possibly believe a weaselly, usurping, shit such as you? You’ve lied to me for months now.” And successfully.

“You doubt your…” he winces his attempt to laugh, throat and lungs equally raw. “abilities?” He knows he’ll pay, and does in the crescent swinging out to slice up his ribs, shoulder, head, just missing his ear. He ignores the rush of blood down his face. “Test me, read me…I’m not strong enough to hide anything at the moment.” Almost the truth; he could still freeze the god out from those details he didn’t want him to know…make it appear foggy rather than frosted.

Loki nearly shoves the tip of his scepter into the open head-wound as he uses its Mind Stone to boost his reading of Ulfr. His motives. His honesty. He sees enough to satisfy…but only just enough, causing him continued wariness. “Tell me where it is.”

“That won’t work.”

“TELL ME!!” He kicks ribs hard enough even you hear the crack.

“Loki stop!”

“IT WON’T WORK!!” Ulfr roars back before he coughs up, then swallows back down, a metallic taste. “You think I’ve gotten this close to…to its current…owner by using…my connection to you?”

“Ulfr…” you warn, but both men seem to dismiss with a wave of a hand.

“I got close promising to help lure you into a trap with it.” The absolute truth. “You go for it, you’re done. I go for it…I’ve got it.”

Loki smirks. “You mean I’ve got it.”

“Yes…my king.”

There’s a near overwhelming urge to fix his traitorous servant up and send him for the stone immediately, but Loki holds back. For fear it’s a trick, yes, but also because he is not yet satisfied. The punishment has yet to fit the crime and, if he cannot have death, Loki will have pain and suffering until Ulfr’s begging on knees before his lord and master where he rightfully belongs.