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Pins and Needles

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If Loki was a tad sullen on entering Jotunheim's dining hall for the first time, he did not feel like he should be blamed for it. Marriage and slavery were not precisely the same thing, but they felt close enough under the circumstances; Thrym of the Jotun had stolen Mjolnir, and agreed to give it back on one condition - for Loki to be given to him as a consort.

Loki had spoken out against the idea at length, shouting down Thor repeatedly, until Odin had pointed out Mjolnir could be as deadly against Asgardians as Thor had rendered it against the Jotun. There had also been threats of sewing Loki's mouth shut again, which had factored into his reluctant acquiescence.

He supposed there were worse fates - he would rather be sacrificed to a Jotun cock than a Jotun blade, despite Thor's jokes about both being big enough to cleave a man in twain - but he reserved the right to be upset. Thrym was close to two foot taller than him, and at that height a handsome face for a Jotun did little good unless Loki planned to strain his neck or stand several feet away from his husband at all times.

"Makes you grateful to be a Jotun, doesn't it?" Thrym said, guiding Loki to his seat before taking the chair at his side. Loki reddened and glared, embarrassed beyond measure by how his feet could not touch the floor while he sat. The meal, at least, was a pleasant surprise; Loki had expected the worst, raw meat and goblets of blood, but the fantasies of his childhood were far from the truth. Jotun dining appeared more practical than horrific, their food simple fare that made use of animal and plant parts Asgardians would have discarded.

"Hm," Loki replied without commitment, picking the crackled skin off a duck leg and tossing it aside before deigning to eat a strip of the flesh.

"You are grateful to be a Jotun, are you not?"

Loki rolled his eyes; he knew the score after a thousand similar incidents. He simply had to go through the motions, biding his time, until Mjolnir was recovered and his husband divorced him - or, more likely, wound up crushed by the very hammer he had just returned to the rightful owner. "Yes," Loki replied. "I feel so honoured my brother persuaded my father to sell me in exchange for a hammer. I am lucky to have married a man who makes a dwarf of me," Loki watched already stern features take on an angry taint, cut his planned rant short. "Yes, husband. Lucky."

Thrym reached a hand over and Loki braced himself for the smack he had earned, frowned when Thrym instead chose to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Very few Jotun grow hair," Thrym said before returning his attention to the dining table. "Eat. You will need your strength tonight."

Loki almost wished Thrym had smacked him. It would have been less unsettling.


After the dining room cleared, Loki found himself alone save for Thrym and two guards. At first he felt outright offended, before he realised that even if he killed all three, the journey back to the Bifrost was long. The guards were likely no more than a token reminder of his kept status.

Mjolnir lay at the middle of the table, the ugliest of decorative centrepieces, and Loki smirked to himself at the proof his brother was capable of failure. The truer puzzle was how it had been taken in the first place - the more he thought about it, the more he wondered how 'stolen' Mjolnir truly was. The hammer could only be carried by those who deserved to bear it, or so the story went.

The analytical part of him wanted to stay and study the Jotun furnishings and architecture, the simple designs reinforced by rules of strength and temperature control, but the sooner he had done his duty as a spouse, the sooner this farce would all be over with. Thrym had not given Loki a title yet, but Loki could guess exactly what role for him had been bought by their marriage and would not pretend otherwise.

"Well then," Loki said, stroking Mjolnir's handle and smirking at its flaws, knowing full well how they had happened, before catching Thrym's eye. "Lets get this over with. Where are your bedchambers?"

The Jotun guards had the good grace to look mortified, while Thrym was careful not to rise to the bait. "You seem eager."

Loki honestly could not tell if that was sarcasm or utter obliviousness, but regardless, Thrym took him by the hand and led the way.


Loki unpinned his cloak and started on the buckles of his robes as soon as the bedroom door was locked and bolted, looked up sharply when Thrym caught his wrists.

"I married you," Thrym pointed out. "This privilege is mine."

Loki had hoped to rush through the experience, to get it over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible, but if Thrym wished to take time degrading him he would not fight that with no one to call on for help. The Jotun were known for having slow but immutable tempers, and he had done much to frustrate his husband already. "As you wish."

Loki allowed Thrym to help him climb onto the bed, loathed the feeling of being small enough in comparison with Thrym as to feel almost child-like when his husband knelt over him. In the privacy of their room it was dark enough for Loki to read Thrym's face in a way he could not do in the light, and it was strange to see something like affection on Thrym's otherwise stern features.

No words, though, and Loki watched Thrym's fingers find the buckles and catches of his robes, felt a nervous excitement as his layers were opened up and spread apart. Jotunheim's chill ought to have pierced him as his skin was exposed, but there was no icy sting; the shiver as Thrym's thumb grazed over a nipple came from a different place than cold entirely.

Thrym nodded to himself before one of his hands tangled in Loki's hair, gripping it tight. "Beautiful," was all he said before crushing his lips against Loki's, no finesse in the movement, but an honesty Loki found himself responding to almost involuntarily. He had intended to be passive if he could not at least be quick, but he had always been interested in testing others, and parting his lips was just such a test. An invitation, really, and Thrym's tongue was not so different from his own.

Thrym pulled back and glared for a moment, Loki wondering briefly if he had perhaps done something wrong. "How dare Odin hide you?"

Not anger at him then, and Loki felt something in his chest squeeze tight enough to make breathing a struggle. "He thought it best," Loki said, copying his mother's own words of comfort, and Thrym's glare turned snarling, vicious.

"By lying about who you were? By calling your true form monstrous?"

That wound was still too fresh, and the knot in Loki's chest tightened further. "Quiet," Loki ordered, concentrating on the anger alongside the wound, anger he could use more than his ache for acceptance.

"If you wish it," Thrym said, lowering his eyes to Loki's chest and pushing his robes down and off his arms roughly. Loki knew the anger wasn't aimed at him and wouldn't let it be indirectly either, grabbed Thrym's face to bring his husband's attention back to him.

"I don't ask for quiet because I disagree," Loki said, and kissed Thrym again before any more truths could escape his lips.

Thrym's hands were still rough as he turned his attention to tugging off Loki's boots, but his intentions seemed to have softened. Loki watched his ankles turn ashen where Thrym held them, bit his lips and shut his eyes when Thrym's fingertips stroked the soles of his feet. He had known Odin's glamour affected what his skin felt, but he had not known just how insensitive it rendered him. He had started to avoid contact through his command of speed and illusions on the battlefield many years ago because his numb flesh let him bleed without knowing how grave an injury was; Thrym's touch melted away the glamour and made him aware of his skin in a way he had never thought he could experience.

When Thrym lifted his hips and peeled his leggings down, the brush of Thrym's fingers across the back of his knees made him gasp involuntarily, drawing a smile from his husband he had not expected.

"Were your previous encounters too hurried to enjoy?"

Loki laughed, covered his mouth to try and disguise the sound, then gave in and laughed again. "My brothers are quick in more than temper."

Thrym laughed in turn, a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate on the air, and Loki would have felt guilty about giving the Jotun something more to hold against Asgard if that same laugh had not made his cock stir. Thrym took notice, but made no move to touch him yet, seeming content to stare over Loki's bared skin for now while removing what little he wore himself. It was a relief to find Thrym proportional beneath his clothes, though he should have known better than to expect any truth in Thor's claims that a Jotun cock could split a man in two.

When Thrym did touch him, it wasn't where he expected, and his own reaction to the touch was equally unexpected. Loki had rarely let others near the folds behind his cock on account of how often those who touched him had treated them like a curiosity, rough in their explorations with too-dry fingers, forgetting that they belonged to a person, not a toy.

Thrym's touch was gentle, and though at first his fingers were dry, soon there was a slickness easing their path; when Thrym pressed the same fingers inside of him, Loki quickly understood where that slickness came from.

Shapeshifting had always allowed him to form childbearing organs with ease, but he had not known his true form's own were functional.

Loki had rarely let another touch his cunt and he had never let another finger-fuck it, but he found himself pushing back against Thrym's hand, clenching up as if to force Thrym's fingers to stay where they were.

"Were you so starved in Asgard?" Thrym asked, and Loki knew then he was tired of hesitating, reached for Thrym's cock and stroked it to full hardness, wanting more than fingers inside him; when his touch strayed further between Thrym's legs and he felt similar folds to his own, he let out a sob of relief. Of course. Of course he wasn't alone. Of course he wasn't deformed or monstrous. Thrym's cunt was as wet as his own.

"Yes," Loki replied, parting his legs wide and willingly, kissing Thrym once more before letting his husband shift up the bed enough to push into him. Pressure, the dull pain of being spread open, and then the thrill of knowing Thrym was buried to the hilt inside him.

Thrym was gentle with him, too gentle at first, hands fisted in the sheets either side of Loki's chest and strain showing in his muscles. Loki knew full well why; while Loki had the strength to take whatever Thrym had to offer, the size difference between them had his husband holding back.

Loki stroked down Thrym's arms, felt the tension in them and figured now was as good a time to take a risk as any. "If you lie on your back, I can ride you," he suggested, and soon had his answer in the form of Thrym shifting his hands to Loki's waist and rolling over, reversing their positions and bracing him in the new one. It was something of a relief to have the extra assistance; Thrym's hips were slim for his size, but Loki's thighs still had to spread a little wider than was comfortable to accommodate them.

Rocking back against Thrym's thrusts should have left him feeling vulnerable, even used, but Loki had never known his cunt to feel needy before and Thrym's cock satisfied that need. Digging the nails of one hand into Thrym's chest while he stroked his erection with the other was a familiar pleasure, but did not compare to how Thrym was taking him in a way he had long craved and never before thought himself capable of enjoying.

He felt like the star of one of Fandral's bawdier stories as he started to find a rhythm they could both appreciate, alternating between gasps, moans and demands - harder, gentler, slower, faster - not yet knowing what he could take but willing to experiment until he found out. With the glamour still active, everywhere Thrym touched felt new and raw, and combined with being fucked by the first person who knew what to do with his Jotun body, he felt as if he were losing his virginity all over again. The moments leading up to his orgasm left him feeling broken open in a way he had never known, release not just something he desired but something he needed, and drawing blood where his nails scratched Thrym's chest only fired him further.

When he came, thighs trembling around Thrym's hips and come spurting in white streaks that marked Thrym's stomach up to his neck, Loki was left almost senseless. Not so senseless he missed the importance of that marking, however, and not so senseless he could ignore the flood of heat inside him when Thrym finished. He dripped with both come and his own slickness when Thrym pulled out, and for all that Thrym's expression was affectionate, Loki knew there was an underlying smugness to it.

He knew in normal circumstances he would have felt anger at that, but couldn't find any reason why or energy for it when he gave the thought consideration. Thrym had drained him utterly, stolen any lies he would have had time for with another lover, and he collapsed on Thrym's chest with a peculiar satisfaction of his own.

Resting on Thrym's chest was lazy, the exhaustion in his limbs leaving him dangerously weak, but he trusted the look on Thrym's face as he closed his eyes more than he trusted the fragile truce between their races.

"Beautiful," Thrym repeated, brushing his fingers through Loki's hair and down his neck.

Loki believed him.


It was safe to say Thor looked a little shell-shocked when he turned up to collect Mjolnir and found himself without a good excuse for smiting giants. Truth be told, given the look on his face, he probably would have gone on a killing spree anyway to reclaim Loki's unwanted honour if Odin hadn't been there to keep him in check.

Rendered physically harmless, Thor turned to insults instead - nothing Loki hadn't heard the last time he emasculated his brother in public - and Loki let them roll off in a way he never would have allowed in Asgard. In Asgard he would not have had Thrym's hand warm at his waist, and the seed of potential resting in his belly would have been something shameful to grow and birth in the dark.

"We are finished here," Odin said, and Loki knew his father was referring to more than the Mjolnir business. A brief nod to Odin was enough of a goodbye for his father, though Frigga threw an arm around his free side and kissed him on the cheek, Thor following suit with a too hard thump on the shoulder to accompany the gesture of affection. Thor followed their parents with some reluctance, casting Thrym a glare fit to kill a lesser man as he left, and Loki let out a deep breath to make up for the shallower ones his anxiety had forced.

"You did not tell me you were fertile," Thrym said once the others had left, sliding his hand from Loki's waist to his stomach, fingers splayed though there would be nothing to feel for some weeks yet. Loki did not ask how Thrym knew; he had yet to learn how many of his own abilities were gifted by magic and how many by his Jotun nature.

"I can choose not to be," Loki replied, tensing a moment before Thrym bent over to nuzzle his ear.

"Don't. If they have half your beauty or half my strength they're worth keeping."

It was more acceptance than any of his pregnancies had ever been granted, and if kissing in public was as frowned upon in Jotunheim as much as it was in Asgard, no one opted to tell him. Loki doubted anyone would have dared interfere, given the look on Thrym's face when their lips parted; he had been sold and married to Thrym, not to any other Jotun, and his husband's demeanour made that clear for all to see. "Or a fraction of our wisdom," Loki added, allowing Thrym to lead him to the dining hall. He didn't need to eat for two yet, wouldn't until he chose to develop the pregnancy further, but after years of fighting for his place at meals in Asgard, he fully intended to indulge in Jotun hospitality.


Half-way through a boar whose skin and bones did not go to waste, Thrym inquired as to how Asgardian insults originated, curious about Thor's attempts to emasculate Loki. Gender did not carry the same weight in Jotun society, though they were aware of its concept courtesy of other races and species, and Loki gave as simple an explanation as he could. Men believed they had once been the sole providers for women, and women the comforters of men so that they might continue providing.

He opted against complicating measures with reference to Sif or the Valkyries, or the simple fact that many such insults were going out of fashion.

Thrym contemplated the idea for a moment, a frown making his distaste at the concept fairly clear, before he asked if Loki's provision of Mjolnir rendered Thor a woman.

Without entirely knowing why, Loki laughed and laughed.


The End