A little background: I've always wondered why no one ever touched on this subject. I mean, no one ever asks, "What are Jotuns like?" or "How come you never see a female Jotun?" The way I see it, Jotuns are closely related to trolls - whom are known in myth to abduct their lovers and hide them away. I thought it would be fun to have Loki go a bit more unhinged and throw in some Lokane. So here it is. My theory on Jotun mating/society and a nice splash of Lokane smut.
Loki Odinson, whether he liked it or not, was a Jotun.
For the most part, he could ignore it. He didn't look the part, most days, and generally didn't go around freezing people to death, so it really wasn't that surprising that he could go damn near his whole life without knowing it.
Unfortunately for the adopted prince, when his true heritage did come to light, it set in motion a chain of chemical and metaphysical reactions within his body. The Jotuns, being a physiologically very unique and secretive by nature, were a mystery to the Asgardians. Besides their war and scary bedtime stories, they really didn't know much about them at all.
Unbeknownst to Frigg and Odin, Jotuns are very unique indeed. Though it was noted that not a single female Jotun was seen when the armies of Asgard stormed their realm, it was falsely attributed to war and mass evacuation. This of course led to many jokes and jests about the Jotun's origins amongst the Asgardian soldiers.
What no one knew, besides the Jotuns themselves, of course, was that male Jotuns, due to the very low female population and mortality rate, guard their mates jealously. Driven solely by instinct, an of-age male is compelled to find his perfect match via a string of physiological pressures. Jotun males can tell by smell alone whether or not a female is acceptable and will stop at nothing to find her, hide her away, and impregnate her. They become intensely protective and jealous, a precaution to ward off males who would try to steal her when no other females are available. The custom on Jotunheim is to abduct the female from the family and hide her in a painstakingly prepared den and hide her away until, and most times after, she is well and truly pregnant.
The male is driven by an intense and overwhelming physical need to find a suitable female and can be extremely dangerous if separated or kept from his chosen mate. The search and abduction of their female is considered one of the most important rites of passage to the Jotuns. An unavoidable and physiological imperative turned cultural milestone.
Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, brother to the mighty Thor, attempted King of Midgard, was a Jotun. And he had no idea how different he really was.
It wasn't until roughly a year after his attack on Midgard and his subsequent banishment to the very realm he had tried to bring to it's knees, when his body finally caught up to what would have been it's normal rhythm, if he had been raised on Jotunheim.
He had been casually strolling through a gala - some sort of Midgardian summit for peace - going unseen and enjoying listening to the ridiculousness the leaders of Midgard spouted, when he got the first sign that not all was right.
Without any warning, it seemed his senses had tripled in sensitivity. Every woman in the room, dressed in their Midgardian finery and dangling off of mens' arms, suddenly smelled foul.
Loki stumbled, nearly bowled over by the smell. His senses had always been acute, but no where near the sensitivity he experienced. With a look of utter repulsion, Loki spelled himself out of the gala with a flash of blue light. The guests remained unaware he had ever been there.
If Loki had been raised by a Jotun, he would have known that heightened senses were just the beginning of his ordeal.
The Prince quickly learned that this wasn't a one time experience. Everywhere he went, he was repulsed by the smell clinging to the mortal women. Even the most beautiful of them smelled foul, their perfumes making his eyes water.
He took to hiding himself in his rented penthouse, avoiding any and all human contact, hoping his body would fix whatever was wrong with it without his active intervention.
However, within days of the gala, Loki's ability to get adequate rest became less and less. It seemed he could not turn off his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind raced, he felt feverish, he began to sweat, his magic bursting around him erratically. It was like his body refused any rest, even when exhaustion tried to pull him into unconsciousness.
To fix this problem, Loki stopped sleeping. He did not need much, not really, not compared to mortal standards. But after a month of no rest, he was feeling the effects.
With the exhaustion came a wave of urgency. He became short-tempered and jittery, the smallest things setting him off. To take some of the edge off, he took to flying at night, from one underpopulated region to the next. It relieved the smallest fraction of his tension, but not much at all.
As the days dragged on, Loki became worse and worse. He could not eat and could not sleep, his stomach refusing any sustenance. He considered his options. He could could continue to wait it out and slowly waste away on Midgard or he could contact Thor and the Asgardian healers.
Clearly, the latter was not an option.
Luckily for the traitorous prince, relief was close at hand.
On one of his regular flights over the empty spaces in the center of the United States, Loki touched down onto the hard, packed earth of the New Mexico Desert.
After two months of no sleep and no answers, Loki was on his tipping point. He felt utterly unhinged, exhausted and filled with the instinctual urgency to find something. He was so distraught that he did not pay attention to his landing spot. Without realizing it, he had landed on the outer edge of a little town.
Behind him, it's silver shell gleaming the moonlight, shrouded in scraggly desert shrubbery, sat a small motor home.
Without any knowledge as to how this simple act would alter her life forever, Jane Foster slid open the last of her tiny windows, trying to let in the summer cool summer breeze that swept through the desert at night.
The gentle, cool breeze drifted through her open windows, pushing her wavy hair over her delicate shoulders playfully. She sighed with relief as the hot air in her trailer was replaced, the coolness feeling wonderful against the skin of her legs that her sleep shorts exposed. She turned to go to bed, determined to get too sleep at a decent time for once.
Outside, Loki was savoring the same cool wind, letting it relax his tired muscles and ruffle his raven hair. He was just about to sigh with contentment when he caught it.
Something on the wind smelled extremely, deliciously good.
Without any warning, all his energy came rushing back to him. He felt strong, like the mightiest warrior. It felt like the months of exhaustion had vanished completely. Though he did not know why, he knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that the cure to his mysterious illness was exactly one hundred and twenty-two feet behind him.
He was quite suddenly frenzied, the urgency of the situation pressing in on him from all sides, driving logical thought from his brilliant mind and propelling him towards the odd little structure at his back.
Jane was just drifting off, just on the cusp of some much needed sleep, when her trailer exploded.
No, she thought, stunned, as she stared at what used to be her far wall, not exploded. Torn in half.
And standing amongst the debris that used to be the other half of her trailer was one very stressed out Prince of Mischief.
Tossing a crumpled piece of what used to be the metal outside of her home to the ground, Loki stalked toward her, his long legs hardly breaking stride as he hopped into the open shell that was her home.
Now very much awake, Jane scrambled out of bed, groping her nightstand for the gun Phil had forced her to carry. She barely knew how to hold the infernal thing, but a weapon was a weapon. If all else failed, she could throw it at him. She had only just brushed her fingertips against the cool metal of the barrel when she felt his fingers twist in her hair.
With a firm grip, he twisted the silky brown tresses around his fingers and brought them to his nose. Jane jerked backward against him to avoid losing a good chunk of her scalp. Trying to stay calm, she eyed the dark outline of her gun on her nightstand, nary a foot away, but definitely out of reach.
Loki was in euphoria. Not in all his long life had he ever smelled something as delicious or as perfect as this little mortal. Like magic.
It was mouthwatering.
With a pleased rumbling sound he had never before made, he brought her further against him, pressing her firmly against the leather and metal of his armor, wrapping his unoccupied arm around her belly like a steel band.
He brought his hand down, but didn't untangle his fingers form her hair. Loki bent down so as to press his nose to the crown of her head. The woman in his arms shivered and went stiff against him. Even through the layers of fabric and armor, he felt her take in a shuddering, halting breath.
"Loki." Her voice was high with distress and extremely familiar.
Jane felt his arm contract against her middle, bringing her impossibly closer to her captor and farther from her only means of protection.
"Jane Foster." His freezing breath stirred her hair and caused goosebumps to ripple across her exposed skin. The skin below her nightshirt and under his arm was quickly becoming very cold. Only then did she bother to look away from her gun to the limb restraining her.
The midnight blue shade of the hand eclipsing her hip blended perfectly with the heavy darkness around them, but stood out starkly against the white of her tank top.
She swallowed compulsively against the rising panic. He is going to freeze me to death, she thought near-hysterically.
"Loki..." Jane was proud her voice didn't shake. "What..." She didn't get to finish, as he turned her around with such speed her head swam. She found herself staring at Loki's breastplate, her breath coming out in a fog. "Loki," she gasped.
He felt too exposed, like everyone was watching them, watching her. He growled, pushing her into a corner, boxing her in with his looming frame, blocking anyone's view of her. He pressed against her, wanting her heat desperately, feeling his sharp Jotun teeth poking into his lower lip with the effort it took to keep himself from...Valhalla, he thought desperately, I've never felt this kind of desire. His whole body ached, like one great, raw nerve.
"Jane Foster," he groaned. "I don't know what you've done to me, but this can only end one way for you." He gripped her tighter, simultaneously bringing her closer and pushing her further into the wall.
I'm going to die, Jane thought, dazed. "I didn't do anything, Loki. I swear."
"Doesn't matter," his voice came out impossibly dark, a deep rumble from his chest. Loki grabbed her with both arms, transporting them, with no warning whatsoever, across the country, into his penthouse. He blocked her view of the window, hating the thought of anyone seeing her through it with an illogical fierceness. He half-pulled, half-dragged her into his the guest room, the only room in the penthouse with no windows.
He waved his hand behind him, magically sealing the door to keep out intruders.
"Loki, what the hell -" she finally burst out, before being effectively silenced by Loki sealing his thin blue lips over hers.
He was desperate. He needed her. He knew with a sudden sharp clarity that she was what his body had been craving, she was what his instincts were clamoring for. He needed her like he needed to breathe, and his body knew it.
Her lips had been parted when he swooped in on her, making it easy for him to snake his cool tongue into her warmth. He buried his fingers in her sweet-smelling hair, backing her towards the bed.
Jane felt like she'd been swept up in a tide. All her senses were over taken by him, like a storm. All she smelled was mint, leather, and the distinctly male smell all men carried. All she could see was the blue of his skin and the black of his armor. All she could feel was his cool skin against hers, his lips sliding against hers expertly. All she could hear was their ragged breathing and the low rumble that vibrated through his chest.
She had no idea what was wrong with him, but he seemed desperate. Not dangerous. His skin had turned to it's natural dark blue hue, showing how little control he had over himself. The astrophysicist wondered what could have possibly driven him to seek her out like he had, let alone drive him to want her.
She tried to pull away and ask, maybe try to speak some sense into him, but his assault was relentless. It wasn't until he bent her backwards onto the bed that she began to panic. The scientist made a high keening sound in the back of her throat, the only sound of protest she could manage with his mouth fused to hers.
Loki froze, one hand snaking up her creamy thigh, torso bent over her and one hand bracing his weight beside her head. He slowly, as if in pain, pulled his mouth off of hers. "I won't hurt you, Jane. I can't."
"Why?" She gasped as his cold hand left her thigh, bringing it in front of her eyes, showing her his dark blue skin and the markings that decorated it.
"This," he said harshly. "The Jotun won't let me. I can't. I need to do this, Jane." The thought of her hurting, of not being able to protect her, made his skin crawl and his stomach knot painfully. That wasn't an option. She'd stay where he could keep an eye on her. He clenched a hand into the fabric of her shirt above her hip, trying to keep her from moving away from him.
"So," she swallowed. "You aren't going to kill me?"
His whole body jerked, like she'd shocked him. He barred his teeth at her, the snarl that ripped from his chest seeping into her bones. "No."
Stunned, Jane nodded. "And if I..." Her face flushed. "If we...Would that, um, help you?" God, she thought, please don't be lying in some screwed up attempt to get back at Thor. He's with Sif, I swear!
Yes, he said desperately in his mind. On the outside, he nodded.
"I...okay, then." she whispered, her face flushed. She could do this. If anything it would be good for her; Darcy had said she needed to get laid.
For a moment, Loki was very still. But only for a moment. When her words registered, he swooped down upon her. Jane's clothes were gone before she could blink, his gone the next second. He pressed himself against her, his cool blue skin against hers making goosebumps pebble her warm skin. She gasped as his hands moved over her.
He had great hands.
He didn't waste any time, either. Instead choosing to get right to the main event, impaling her with her with one quick movement of his hips.
Jane cried out, half in pain - it had been a while - and half in pleasure. His coolness felt...odd, to say the least, but not bad. Not at all. As he moved his hips against hers, he bent down and latched his teeth onto the juncture that connected her neck to her shoulder. His sharp teeth splitting her delicate skin lightly, the tiny beads of blood wetting his icy tongue.
Desperate, he picked a faster, more erratic pace, pushing in and out of her faster and faster. Jane tried to hang on, wrapping her legs around his lean hips and locking her ankles, her nails biting into the skin of his back. "Loki!" she gasped, her neck beginning to ache from the cold of his teeth and white lights starting to dance in front of her eyes as his pace quickened.
He felt her tense, her silken walls contracting around him, just as he came undone. She went limp beneath him, even as he continued to thrust weakly into her, making sure every last drop of his seed had left him before relaxing against her. Loki didn't pull out, though, simply rolled them both onto their sides, wrapping his arms around her like a vice.
Jane slowly regained the ability to think, her breathing taking a little longer to even out. What, she mentally groaned, did I just do?
Loki's thoughts were in a similar vein, but he knew exactly what he had just done. He didn't need to be raised a Jotun to recognize an archaic mating rite. Valhalla, he thought, I think I've just been married.
"Did that...help?" Jane said, her usually confident voice quiet. She tried to lightly squirm out of hold, but his midnight blue arms refused to budge.
"...In a way, yes." He said, his tone resigned. Now that he could think properly, he recognized what he had done. "Jane. Stop squirming."
She stilled at the sound of him gritting his teeth. Then realized that, yes, he was still very much inside of her, and, no, he was not unaffected by her movements. Her face burned. "Maybe if you -"
"No," he cut her off sharply. "Jane, you have to understand what's happened." He inhaled deeply, her delicious scent filling his lungs. "It appears we have been Mated."
Jane's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Mated? We had sex, yeah."
"No." He pushed her hair aside, revealing the circle of black marks on her shoulder, where his sharp teeth had pierced her skin and left the barest hint of frostbite. "We have been Mated. An ancient and archaic bonding ceremony." At her blank look, he sighed. "Married, Miss Foster. We've been married."