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The murky glass pillar of a poorly lit bar is not the best surface upon which to appraise one’s appearance. But a fallen god whose patronage of such bars grows with each passing moon is surely ill-advised to look into less forgiving mirrors.

Loki absently rubbed his jawline, telling himself that he should take better care to preserve his now-finite amount of beauty. With mortality comes age. (And his sentence to bear until he can convince the powers that be to reverse it.) His face, pretty in a pointed, impish sort of way, would not stay pretty for long under the wear of cheap whiskey and second-hand smoke.

Besides, he had other, more potent pleasures to pursue. Pleasures that left him with glazed eyes and rainbow dreams and marked him with pinpricks and bruises he hid beneath long sleeves in places with judging eyes.

This was not one of those places.

The bartender pushed him another filled glass. It came with a wink, which meant it was on the house. A liberty that came with owning the place. She was a sultry greying redhead with a raspy voice, and old enough to be his mom, or so she said. It was part of the fun. His flirtations were genuine: he liked her well enough to slide into her bed if she ever but said the word.

The moon was high and bright. The legends of old said all manner of things about such moons. When the air sang with merriment and eyes shone with want. Something in the air between him and his red-haired lady suggested this might be the night she extended the invitation that had been hanging heavy between them.

But then something – someone – else got in the way.

Loki smelt him before seeing him: the base, heady scent of beast and sex and mindless want. Without meaning to, his nails dug into the cheap wood of the bartop. The pace of his heartbeat had changed. It was a war drum, urging him to meet the conquest presenting itself in the unstoppable force of stomping hooves and musky mane hot breath on naked skin. More than that, it urged him to submit. The harder he pushed his animal instinct away, the more it resurfaced.

But what was he doing here?

A powerful hand reached out to stop him from downing his glass. “You’re too good for this cheap stuff,” the deep voice rumbled

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Loki replied. His voice sounded distant, weak. Perhaps it was merely soft in comparison to his hammering heart. 

That breath was as hot as ever on his neck. “I don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.”

Holding his own breath so as not to let in that dizzying scent only made him more light-headed from trying. He barely noticed when his cheap whiskey was replaced with something richer. He wanted to laugh. A horse walks into a bar…It sounded like the start of a bad joke.

“A toast to old flames?” Another glass, filled with the same amber liquid, clinked his teasingly. 

“Old flame? You flatter yourself. I was –” Merely using you. He never completed the sentence. When he dared face the man at last, he wanted only to drown in the deep gold of those hypnotic eyes, set deep beneath bushy brows that arched with a maddening boldness. The dark hair, touched with shades of russet, fell long and wild beyond his shoulders, marking him as one from the world of the old gods. Loki, once a god himself, felt dwarfed. 

“You were saying?” Svadilfari all but towered over him. Loki could not help thinking of how those hands could break him without breaking a sweat. He thought of them encircling his waist, his neck. Trying to steady his nerves, he took a swig of the single malt, letting its gentle flame warm his insides.

“Is this what you do now? Buying your way into a fuck with expensive drinks?”

“Only when it’s worth the trouble.” 

Loki let his eyes wander down the impressively built body, barely restrained by a worn cotton shirt. “You looked better as a horse.” 

“And you used to be a better liar.”

That cocky smile incensed him. The truth behind it incensed him even more. He finished the remaining whiskey in one swallow and turned to leave. “Thanks for the drink.”

He made it all the way outside the door, ignoring the lingering heat in his cheeks (and in other places) resisting the crisp cool air. Then he felt the man’s voice tickle his earlobe.

“You’ll thank me for more than that when the night’s over.”

Before he could respond, he was thrown over a massive shoulder, a strangled yelp catching in his throat. Shock and outrage overtook him – along with a definite tightening in his snug leather pants that was hard to ignore when it rubbed against the firm bicep. “Let me go!” he yelled…no, more like squeaked. How undignified. Especially when the hand holding him in place kneaded the curve of his backside in response, teased the opening all too exposed beneath the tight fabric. 

Heat crept up his cheeks as he heard the giggling of passers-by. Svad slapped his ass, and his cock actually twitched – the traitorous thing! – each struggle only worsening its keenness. “He likes it!” the brute announced, and the titters gave way to raucous laughter.

“Put me down!”

“As you wish, your highness.” His backside met the leather seat of a motorcycle. A huge, chromed-out Harley Davidson affair. Because of course it was.

“Not in a hurry to leave? You’ve more fight in you than that.” A wolfish smile stacked the flippant words with layers of innuendo, memories of a wild mare who kicked and bucked and ultimately gave in to the same musky male persistence pervading his senses. It made him stupid and slow – save for the rush of blood in his veins that screamed to be claimed, to be filled with his seed if not his brood. 

Before he could regain his wits and leap off that cursed bike, the engine roared to life and he was being swept away into the abyss of night, wind whipping his hair as he clung to his captor as he would a lover.

 

~

 

His voice was soft as thunder

and the beat of hooves 

filled the dark sultry summer

As his searching scent

bade my wild mare-blood

run hot with helpless need

longing to bear

the fruit of his seed.


~

 

When he closed his eyes, the engine growl turned to relentless hoofbeats, dragging him back through the millennia. Through memories he had all but forgotten, left behind in another lifetime. Such untamed forces as had no place in this ordered, civilized world were being unleashed tonight, and he felt helpless to resist their coming.

There was no traffic where they travelled. One clear road gave way to another as if by magic. Svadilfari brought his chopper to a halt in front of an incongruous neon-lit row of doors in various pastel hues.

“A motel?” Loki scoffed.

Svadilfari merely grinned and swept Loki into his arms, walking towards a door painted in what was, in Loki’s view, a rather offensive shade of lilac-purple. He would have struggled to escape those huge arms. But then, he had nowhere to go. Without his godhood, he was only a pretty face with a persuasive tongue. And they both knew it. 

The unlocked door gave way easily to a touch of Svad’s broad shoulders. He threw Loki on the bed before sliding the latch into place. Loki glared at him as he kicked off his boots and took off his shirt, trying not to steal a glance at those inhuman abs.

“Is this the part where you say, ‘We can do this the easy way or the hard way’?”

Svad unbuckled his belt, the act sending a shiver through Loki. “You know me. I always prefer the easy way. You,on the other hand…”

“So you’d like it if I just lay back right now and let you do what you want?” He fell back with legs and arms splayed mockingly. “Do it, then. Get it over with.” 

“I’d love to. But it’s a bit hard with all those clothes on.” A hand tugged at his pants, another pushing up his t-shirt.

Loki told himself not to fight, not to give the brute the satisfaction of a struggle he would enjoy winning. But at the touch of that rough, warm palm, his cock twitched and his whole body was aflame. He was afraid as much as he was aroused. The fight or flight instinct hit; he aimed a foot at Svadilfari’s head. 

“Now that’s the Loki I know,” said Svad with a wild laugh. He let Loki try to slip away only to pull him back, relishing the fight before finally pinning him down, the tight leather pants peeled off and underwear pulled halfway down the lithe, coltish thighs. Loki’s narrow chest heaved from the exertion, mouth panting and parted ever so invitingly in surrender. 

“You made a pretty mare. But you’re even prettier now.” He pushed the t-shirt high enough to expose Loki’s nipples, although he seemed to take little interest in them, going right for the hidden slit beneath his cock. The part that Loki had surprisingly retained in this otherwise ordinary incarnation, and that gave him an extra source of pleasure even though he hid it from the lovers he took. 

“Ahh, there’s the sweet spot,” Svad growled with a chuckle and a small shiver of anticipation. Without meaning to, Loki echoed that quiver as he felt an immediate wet warmth in his cunt. He gasped with electric pleasure when two thick fingers slid in and out. So terribly eager, aren’t we, said a taunting little voice in his head. One would think you’d not been fucked in a century, even though you were on your back two nights ago. Good money it was, too.

He barely had the presence of mind to resist when his clingy top was pulled off, the same that had made the proprietor of the bar wink extra saucily tonight. Svad took his time in stripping him bare. Ruthless yet deliberate. Knowing it was his party tonight, and Loki the highlight of the evening’s entertainment.

Loki struggled one last time just for the base pleasure of having those large hands encircle his wrists and pin him down, before going straight for the kill and fucking him like a beast in heat. Svadilfari was huge. He felt as if he would be split apart, eyes rolling back in uncontrollable pleasure as that relentless might rammed into him again and again, and somehow he took it all in. As if his fragile mortal body had been made expressly for this. 

“Look at me.” A dark, primordial voice that seemed to come from somewhere else. The whites of Svadilfari’s eyes had disappeared, the subtle golden flecks becoming embers glowing with the heat of lust. The wild mane of hair was alight with the blaze of a sacrificial pyre.

He cried out to the gods that had abandoned him. He cried on and on until a hand clamped down over his lips. The smell of that flesh infiltrated his mouth and nose and made him giddy to be so overpowered like that. To be reduced to a wordless vessel for this beast-man’s pleasure – it was terrifying, and terrifyingly good. At this very moment, it was precisely what he needed. The massive body pressing into him, threatening to crush him, the huge hand silencing him and drowning out the world he knew, the smell of animal musk penetrating him as much the thrust of that ruthless male sex, all made his blood roar as he poured forth his climax again and again until everything melted into senseless white.

 

~

 

When he carried me away

to the dark grove of his kinsmen

he stripped me of my sins and

tore from me the remnants 

of my brittle disguise,

Laying me bare to bury his lust 

in the body I wore 

to take the brunt of his force

Though it left me sore

for a fortnight.

 

~

 

Loki expected to wake to an empty bed. The wild god having vanished back into the primordial grove he came from, having had his fill.

But the claim of such a creature is not a fleeting thing. And his taming had only begun.

He fought the bridle and bit, and the hood that walled him from sight and reduced all sound to stifled rustles and the murmur of his master’s voice. “Be calm, my skittish little mare. We’ll break you in yet.” His wrists were pinned behind his back, his ass lifted and ankles locked in place with a slim wooden bar. Spread out, ready to be mounted.

The shackles made his purpose clear: to be properly fucked and bred.

“You’ll be docile enough once you are heavy with child,” said Svad as he kneaded the tense muscles running down Loki’s slender back. “In the meantime, I will fill you up, little brood-mare, as your body was made to be filled.”

He teased Loki’s opening with the head of his cock. It did not take long at all before the folds blossomed for want of his sex, before Loki was moaning and salivating between his bit gag as his body swung right back into heat – only for Svad to withdraw.

“Mnngghhrr,” he gasped. The tip of Svad’s cock slid in and out, and in again, and withdrew again. The man, it seemed, was intent on making him beg. Do you give? Once, twice, he thrashed his head and shoulders:No.The torment continued. His rage turned to hot tears; he sobbed through the steel and leather stilling his tongue. The third time all but killed him. Maddened by the intensity of his own need, he bucked beneath the weight of his captor until his body screamed to give in and the fight drained from his last shuddering breath.

“Do you give?”

What other choice had he?

"Mngghh."

His defeated nod was rewarded with the removal of the hood. He blinked, disorientated for a second. Svadilfari clasped his chin, unfastened the bit. Strong fingers held his mouth open. Svad hummed with pleasure as he slid his cock onto Loki’s tongue and let it run over the velvet surface, thrusting further down and delighting in how well Loki took it nearly all in. 

He rocked his hips and fucked that hot, welcoming mouth in a steady rhythm, just enough to slick the insides of his mouth with that bitter spend before returning to that slick female opening. Loki let loose a whimper as if he longed to suckle it dry. 

When Svadilfari gently pushed him back into position, his body acquiesced as if it had been trained for nothing else. His cunt dripped swollen with need. When the bridle tightened and the bit gag returned to remind him of his place, he found he had no need for reminding. Svadilfari wrapped him in arms like oaken boughs and drugged him senseless with the heady smell of hazy summers. 

Time moved languidly in the days that followed, if it moved at all. They moved as mindless animals moved, his cage of mere bone and sinew and skin becoming once more the sinuous, shifting thing it had once been. This mortal world was too ordered, too brittle in its illusion of order. Only with fear and lust making his blood run hot was he alive. That raw, nameless something with its claws firmly sunk into the edge of darkness, ready at a wrong turn to pull you in. His fate was to dance at that edge and flirt with the dark. So the Norns had made him.

You will bear my child,” said Svadilfari tenderly. “And with the turn of the next century, I will return to fill you with another.”

“Who’s to say I will still be here?” Loki replied hazily. 

Calloused fingers traced the soft curve of his lips. “Wherever you are, little one, I will find you.”

The beast could be as tender as he was rough. When he was at long last sated, he became a languorous leonine mountain of a man, as sensuous a lover as any god or human could ever want. He took his time in drawing shudders of pleasure until the last mewling cry was drawn and both of them were milked dry.

Surely they had ate and drank in between their spates of orgiastic madness, although Loki could remember nothing. He knew only that he was suddenly and utterly exhausted. As his eyes fell shut, he saw the ceiling above split into a great chasm where distant stars danced in the endless dark.

 

~

 

Eight moons I wandered

growing heavy and rendered near blind

in a mindless hunt for the pleasures 

of the kind he had sowed 

so deeply within me, 

With near as much haste

as he forsook me

after but a taste of 

the charms wild beasts can offer.

He left me filled; and yet,

once unburdened of his child

he left me empty

and wanting, and wild.

 

~

 

He awoke in the arms of another. Two – no, three nameless thugs had found him unconscious in bed, wearing nothing but the stains of mingled fluids.The door was unlocked, and there he was lying before them like an abandoned feast. One of them had apparently found delight in his pliant, unresisting flesh. He stirred to a painful pinch of his nipple and hands snaking between his thighs.

In his meagre mortal cage, he was no match for the gleeful trio. He swallowed what fight was left in him and allowed them to use him thoroughly, letting the lanky one push his legs apart, taking a cock into his mouth and gagging at its unwashed tang. His discomfort made them laugh, as he knew they would. He forced himself to stay pliant. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of struggle.

This body was, after all, more resilient than it seemed. He would be their “good little slut.” He could take it. 

(He did not, however, give them the pleasure of his cunt. They were not worthy of it.)

When it was over, he wiped the tears from his face and stood on shaky legs to face the empty, grubby motel room and the harsh reality that lay beyond. The tiny window opened to a glaringly banal strip of shophouses opposite the dusty, pitted road. A road that bore no resemblance to the thrilling terror of the asphalt-black ocean that Svadilfari’s wheels had sliced through. 

His heart raced at the memory of that wild night. The wild hunt. In which the prey had survived, if only to be hunted again when the moon was high.

By the time he had cleaned himself up and dressed and stepped outside, the ache of his rape was already fading. The day stretched long and comfortless ahead. In the stallion-god’s grip he had felt properly alive – old magic coursing through his veins, even if it was not his to summon. Mead and poetry and bloodshed and other ancient forces from a lifetime he could not even fully recall. If he could do it all over again and not suffer the consequences – why, he would in a heartbeat.

Loki Silvertongue, former agent of Asgard, future mother of monsters, gazed into the flat grey sky as he pressed a palm to his belly. The place where perhaps, even now, a faint stirring of life was taking seed. The wind stirred his freshly washed hair. The humans who now prayed under the sway of men who claimed divinity would come to worship at new altars, their false prophets washed away by the blinding new age of gods and miracles.