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On The Nature of Truces

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The Mad Titan.

The Destroyer.

Thanos.

These were the names that by themselves were more than enough to spin images of planets, entire solar systems left inert, desolate, their people scattered to the intergalactic wind.

A legacy quite like his was doomed to end in blood from the beginning and yet, for having been beheaded by his most favorite daughter, it wound up derided as too quiet and peaceful for him the formerly omniscient, him formerly the ruler of All That There Is. But despite the petty squabbles over the nature of Thanos’s grisly reign undone, one fact remained clear: he was dead forever, rejoined with his ultimate mistress in Death.

At least, that’s what should have happened. Not that Loki was ever known for keeping his stories concise.

Being of the enterprising variety, the God of Mischief had heard through the grapevine—of the long, universe-spanning sort—that the Mad Titan had finally kicked the bucket, sure, but wasn’t without a contingency plan of his own. Out in Knowhere, a hologram summoned from his headless corpse announced to his brother and a menagerie of witnesses from manifold corners of the galaxy that upon biting it a perfect copy of himself had been psychically uploaded into some random candidate in their slice of the Multiverse, essentially becoming a Trojan horse as a new Thanos like some horrific psychic tapeworm. Reserving the pleasure of saying who, that hologram gave his regards and vanished, leaving them to the bloodbath that immediately ensued.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

Unfortunately business called, as it so often did lately, what with saying hello to his recently not-so-dead father Laufey and mucking about with the Dark Celestials, the typical vices. But you best believe he cleared out a timeslot for this particular mess the moment he inevitably caught wind of it. Of course he himself made the short list for beings that were a prime target for a Thanos-flavored infestation, him and his god’s body and proclivity a little… well, shall we say, biased towards chaos. He reports to you all that he was delightfully Mad Titan free. Gods be damned for whomever had to be unluckier than him, though. That had to have smart.

Anyway, he was on the search, too.

(Loki, Guardian of the Galaxy? Good ring to it, but Beta Ray Bill would have never let him on. Shame. Lone wolfing it, just as he was used to.)

Such was why he was here and poking about the smoking remains of what was once a comet on an already dead planet. The specific grapevine Loki’d chosen whispered also that someone wanted to bring the Mad Titan back—in original body, mint condition—and was using Thanos’s former gaggle of minions in the Black Order to see to it. Evidence of this was out there in the wild already. Mostly that Knowhere had since become really Nowhere after the Black Order ripped it in two stealing Thanos’s corpse out from under it.

To be clear, Loki never liked the Order. The feeling was mutual, as it usually was. But if the God of Mischief be good at anything, it’s getting his foot in the door no matter for what anyone thought of the content of his character or the want for his pretty head lavished on equally pretty pike.

Now, bowing to them like he’s some vassal, though? Out of the question.

“Good evening,” Loki greeting, tipping his horns. “Or morning, be that your preference. I do believe this planet’s axial spin stopped centuries ago. How’s my favorite Mad Titan fanclub?”

“Stay your tongue before I rip it out for you, trickster,” hissed Corvus Glaive.

“Nothing short of sunshine and roses, then, I understand,” said Loki with a smile, his hands clasped behind his back and in no way with any condescension, using Corvus being pleasant as always to snag a cursory look around the place, having figured already that he’d be the first to break the ice.

Proxima Midnight was in attendance, leaning on a boulder halfway through with crumbling into dust and lance at her behest, the Black Swan beside, and curiously, no sign of Ebony Maw or the Black Dwarf. This frankly worried him. Out of any in this gaggle long since pledged lifelong fealty to the Mad Titan that would undo half the universe Infinity Gauntlet permitting, Ebony Maw was who Loki respected—maybe even feared—the most. The rest he’d count as muscle or unthinking power, as was the case for the Black Swan. On the other hand, Ebony Maw actually knew what he was doing. Staying on guard, Loki continued his front for the usual in his devil-may-care, lackadaisical attitude.

“You’ve come to offer your services, Lord of Lies,” prompted Proxima, Corvus speaking after.

“He has, wife. And so we are, forced to listen as he strikes out the stall and peddles us his illusions.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Not much in the way of a call to council. No round table, not a chair in chair in sight, just yourselves and I. Where’s Dwarf? Better yet, Ebony Maw?”

“Busy.” Corvus spat it out. “It tires me enough to entertain the likes of you with the three of us. Go on, speak your line about how we should trust you with what you offer yet so sumptuous.”

Loki held the urge to fire a barb back as he took in the surroundings. Too empty of an arena for a fight. Even the Black Order in all their misplaced pride had to have known that Loki could transport them all to another dimension at the snap of a finger. He would have almost preferred ready aggression on their part than a standstill like this—since when was Corvus Glaive head negotiator?

No time quite the present, anyway.

“It’s come to my attention that there is a new Thanos lurking about somewhere, but if I take your showing at Knowhere to be any indication, that’s not what you people want, is it? Yours is having the original lord and master back, stitched together as one would a modern Frankenstein. In fact, someone’s already put you to it, you wonderful little worker ants. Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask who. But I hazard a guess that none of you have so much as a clue as to where that troubling clone is. W-e-e-e-ll…” Loki flashed them a trademark toothy grin. “…I am notorious for knowing what I shouldn’t. And happen to lack the moral quandary to care for what you do with the information. All I ask in return is a favor, postmarked for the future and dropped at the Mad Titan’s heels whenever I like to.”

Proxima and the Swan said nothing. Corvus, meanwhile, clung to his spear for succor and laughed, laughed, laughed. Loki’s head hit just about forty-five degrees.

“Something I said…?”

Ha! Gods and their hubris. Don’t you think that you’re here because Lord Thanos himself has willed you to be, Loki?”

His eyes were narrow. “I would find the notion sincerely flattering, Corvus. But he is rather dead, is he not? I doubt he would have involved yours truly in a gambit from beyong the grave when he already has Starfox and crew scrambling to search Hel and high water for that clone.”

Tch. It’s only by his living word I haven’t skewered you yet.”

What?

Green seidr-smoke spun around Loki’s lacquered fingertips, gaze ablaze. “He can’t be already alive—!”

“Oh, but he is, trickster. And unfortunately, warm to you.”

Loki was too slow—which was to say, not being able to react on an instant—to the sudden rip in space-time his instincts informed him was a rift opening on his broadside, flipping around just to the open arms of the Black Dwarf rushing to catch him by the coat, absorbing his strikes though he would a mild breeze just long enough for there to be a flash of Ebony Maw next to his head, then darkness.

Not what we would have called his finest hour.

However not waking up chained, that was about it as far as the good news. As for the rest, Loki opened his eyes and realized he was no longer on that planet but a ship the likes of which he’d never seen, not Kree or Skrull or anyone he knew; worse, when that vision fully cleared up, this was not a bedroom, not even a cell.

These were the steps to a throne.

Shit.

So much for winking them out of existence at the slightest wrinkle in the plan, eh, Loki? He quickly sat up and stood, brushing away comet-dust from creases in his coat. This… isn’t the worst setup that’s ever happened to me, I think.

Just the top ten.

Heel spun to face the throne itself, it was upholstered with sheets of metal in absence of silver or gold, occupied by a monolithic shadow of which Loki wouldn’t be scarce to identify the second he saw it even here in this low light; now, the eyes staring at him, impassive yet glowing, had to have helped.

“Trickster.”

And here was the voice that shook him to his core.

Steel yourself, Loki. Don’t show a hint of hesitation. Focus. You can leave whenever you wish to. There’s no dampeners on your persons. Just yourself and him.

Him.

As though that somehow made this any easier. “Oh, Thanos…” Loki did his best to sound at least a little pleasantly surprised. “…you’re alive. You know, everyone including myself had believed your daughter did you in. Beheading. Seems as though you’ve gotten better since, though.”

It was a bad habit, making light of it, even if it was the Titan himself. A habit Loki would never quite kick, albeit tempered by the urge to pull at his own collar for nerves he hadn’t felt since… gods, the last he stared down the blunt end of Mjolnir. Thanos, for his part, did not acknowledge what Loki had said any further than a exhale.

“Yes, Gamora killed me. But I must be forever, it would seem. Death has spurned me as she has always.” Then he raised an arm—bare, scaldingly so without the hint of a particular gauntlet—and beckoned Loki forth. “Come.”

Loki, for his part, sought no reason to turn down the request. He approached Thanos with some necessary apprehension, already going back on what he had told himself earlier, uncertain with which the nature of the Titan’s designs were. Thanos was notorious for being difficult to draw a bead on, now more than ever—he’d just been apparently tossed from Death’s embrace and sought the, what, advice of this God of Mischief? Yet were that the case, would Loki not have been able to give such advice from where he’d been standing. Instead, to ask him to come closer like this… but Thanos was watching, and if he was watching, the choice to deny him simply did not exist. The Titan’s presence alone was suffocating such to inspire acts of uncharacteristic obedience from even the most maligned among us, after all, and this included the court of Loki. For better or worse.

Loki, standing in front of him; Thanos, staring, impossible.

“Kneel.”

“I beg yo—”

Kneel.” It was not a suggestion.

He knelt.

Thanos, against everything, smiled at this, smiled at Loki from the dark, shadows peeking to show a mouth cracked and besotted and large enough that he might have been able to swallow him whole. “Good. Stand up.” Not a moment later and Loki was back on his feet.

“But you may beg me, as well.”

The snap realization hit Loki like a brick. There was a reason for why the shadows, why the mystery. Thanos wore nothing; not even his helmet. And when Loki’s eyes, naturally, fell between his legs…

His head shied away. “I…” Loki cleared his throat. “It would appear you’ve put your cards on the table.”

“And what does this trickster make of it?”

“With… with requisite intrigue.”

Here, a dull rumble emanated from Thanos’s throat, dull and with rust as if this was the first he’d laughed since coming back to life, perhaps before even that. Loki wouldn’t doubt it. Were the circumstances any different—by different, presumably less humiliating—he might have even felt a surge of pride for having brought at least some humor to the dour Mad Titan. As it was, hearing him only made the chill that raced down Loki’s spine the more damning. He felt the same as would a jester, a jester with which he had nothing to question the king that sat afore him, only to entertain.

And yet.

And yet, there was a stir at Loki’s own lower parts, a stirring for which he knew too well. Thanos might have been unknowable and horrible, but Loki would do nothing if it was only because he was ordered to.

He wanted to.

“Go on,” commanded Thanos. “Do your work.”

Were there ever a time to ask for what he meant, now was not then. Loki stepped forward with a touch of finality, hands coming unwound from behind his back, reaching to touch the Titan as he had so demonstrated by lack of clothing.

Thanos felt… perfect, in his own, terrible way. The skin underneath Loki’s fingers was rough, but not absolutely; a mutate, should have been half the size, instead was giant, purple, tough and most of all, warm. That warmth permeated every touch, every stroke, and it did not care so much a whit for how cold Loki himself was. He started slow, flush fast finding his cheeks. This wasn’t the first the God of Mischief and the Mad Titan had come together—far from it—but never before with this spontaneity, this casual air, and certainly not so soon after an apparent departure from this mortal coil.

It was thrilling.

How couldn’t it be? Thanos was the Destroyer and yet even he could be brought low enough to accept some exaltation by Loki. Thanos World-Ender. But behind that about-face for lusting after only Death, only Death, he would be brought low. He wanted Loki. To call it a high honor after a twisted fashion would’ve been undercutting it. And undercutting how massive he was just for feeling him with his hands.

“Throbbing,” Loki whispered. His eyes would not meet Thanos’s.

“Waiting for you,” the Titan replied, dryly. And then the demand he was anticipating since it had started: “Suck.”

Loki was adventurous and daring. He always was. Even in, shall we say, delicate, intimate situations as one might have servicing the Mad Titan. But he was still not nearly adventurous and daring enough to think for a second that he could have fit all the Titan’s nubbed, hulking cock down his throat in one go. He wasn’t entirely without his senses. But in reminding himself for whom was asking, he was equally aware you had to start somewhere. So, still grasping Thanos’s massive shaft under his fingers, he picked up his head and lavished the tip with a long, sloppy kiss, resisting the urge to peel away and cough as precum had already slobbered down his mouth.

“Hrm.” Loki, never feeling as vulnerable as he did just then, felt a giant finger slip along his cheek, tracing his all-too-tight jaw. “This new body of yours… tempting.”

“It’s not new,” Loki countered reflexively. “It’s merely… been a while.”

“So it is. And who do we have to blame for that?”

A shard of him, the still lucid part, wanted to say that Thanos had been, well, rather dead and before that rather irrelevant since the rebirth of the Multiverse. But as a hand reached to push against the small of his back, urging him ever further, wordlessly submitting another demand that he kiss that lovingly dreadful cock more, that want disintegrated as did any last vestige of Loki’s dignity. Farewell; we hardly knew ye.

Loki parted his lips, having to stand just to reach the top of the thing, and tried with all necessary might to let slip the first part of Thanos into his gullet. Calling it a Herculean task would’ve been overly flattering. And yet Loki still heard himself whimper a moan, muffled by the sheer effort, and the tingle in his nethers sharpened to a need electric. It was only now that he gained the bravery to look at the Mad Titan as if in wonder for what the latter thought of this.

Again, that smile.

“This is what I remember of you, trickster.” The hand on Loki’s back graduated to stroking his head, stroking through that inky mane he knew for hair. “Wanton for power. Want and want, willing to do short of anything to have it. Swearing momentary fealty to those that might give it, with intent of putting them to the knife just as you receive. And so I must ask…”

“…do you not still have that knife?” Then it pushed Loki down to the hilt.

Gods, it was overwhelming. Whatever noise Loki must have made had nowhere to go, trapped by the massive tool that now claimed every crevice of his throat imaginable. Should there’d been the need to breathe, he wouldn’t have had it. Loki braced against either side of Thanos’s legs for purchase, his eyes wide like marbles, and struggled to set himself in a way where his neck wouldn’t be bulging comically to the point of threatening expulsion. (This he did not find, but Thanos continued.)

“I know whatever you offered to my Order was a lie. At most you would have pointed them in the direction closest to a collision course with the Guardians. A distraction, as you so often are. But I recognize your uses… Loki. And you much as myself have an offer to spare.”

He would have liked to reply, say something, anything at all. But all Loki was able to do was suck. He moved his head up and then down, trying not to cringe with how deeply and totally filled his mouth was down to the end of his throat. And Thanos was coaxing him. Encouraging him to suck harder, lick even more fiercely, tease him as much as he could.

So hot. So warm. And eventually, and finally, that same hand lifted him, Loki instantly coughing and gasping for air.

“You help me.” Thanos put him in his lap, braced against his swollen cock. “And I help you. Do not betray me, and you will find a world of taking.”

Panting, the smile Loki gave him was crooked and loose. “And what… what would you like for me to do?”

“For the moment…” Thanos, then peeling away Loki’s pants as he would the skin of an apple. “…this will be enough. We will discuss the rest later.”

Hah… it wasn’t as if he’d have to go very far to catch the meaning. Loki scrambled to get up and, in a merry display of total eagerness and none whatsoever self preservation, pressed himself along the ridges of Thanos’s gruesome length. The latter, having decided to spare him some oh-so needed help, picked Loki up by the waist and, much as he had with his head, speared him without anymore ceremony.

Loki was, evidently, a god. But even the gods could break and right now Loki felt as though he was about to be split in two. Memories of the last they’d done this came flooding back; Thanos always at his throne, Loki always bargaining with honeyed words and later honeyed body. The cry he let loose was one as intertwined with pleasure insomuch pain.

“By the Norns,” he swore. “It’s as if you’ve grown.”

“Or that you’ve gotten smaller, trickster,” rumbled a bemused Mad Titan. “Which you have.”

Not the time to extol any regrets, Loki didn’t spare any attempt for suppressing the loud, heavy moan, victim of getting used to the sheer girth now uproaring inside him. Thanos was by and away the largest he’d ever taken in this shape, and now that the pain succumbed more and more to waves of pleasure, it was driving him mad to say nothing of the ridges and nubs that were also mixing in to pure, unadulterated enjoyment.

And as his eyes streamed elsewhere with mounting lust, Thanos cupped him by the cheek. “Out of all creatures in the Multiverse able to take me, they send a feathered deceiver. Now then, little magpie, show me your dance.”

Little magpie.

Hearing that name made Loki quiver. Thanos didn’t style himself as the type for such trivialities, yet bestowed it to him all the same. This, combined with the fact that he was taking him, milking that Titan bastard for all he was worth, emboldened him. Strengthened his smile to that a bit more reminiscent of a conceited god even if also conceited god in the process of being reamed halfway to Saturn.

“Dearest Thanos,” giggled Loki, I do believe you’re underestimating me.”

Fingers aglitter with familiar seidr, Loki touched him back. “After all… no dampeners, remember?”

Then they were not on that blasted ship, not having sex on that blasted throne. They were elsewhere, in a place of Loki’s own design. Equal footing, as though it would ever make much difference in the company of the Destroyer himself. Thanos was on his back now, Loki on top, still within the throws of their union as the latter had his eyes stir with mirth.

“Hnh.” Thanos was almost impressed. “The Order will know I have gone.”

“Good,” said Loki. Then, at last, they kissed.

The embrace did not last long; Thanos, never being far from the uptake, took Loki again by the waist and began to pump him down to the hilt with every successive thrust. However Loki was not helpless and actually kept up with him, and soon they were both moaning and groaning, using each other for everything left they had to give.

“Hah!” Loki grinned. “Did you expect the tide to turn?”

Thanos did not reply. Their outraged coupling lasted for longer, wet and careless and powerful, and Loki at last began to feel that white-hot fire of Thanos’s warmth sizzle into his natural cold and overwhelm him with an orgasm that left them both breathless and twitching.

Loki was full. Completely full. Come trickled out of him in waves, and he didn’t care. He lied there against Thanos’s chest for a few more precious minutes until his bearings had returned enough for him to slip free, their surroundings returning to that of the ship.

“As for the latter half of our agreement…”

Loki was back in Jotunheim the next day, just in time to face down the barrel of another sin against his people by turning a giant’s son into a frog.

But, at least, he got that favor.