Birds of Passage – Chapter 1: Cold
A/N: I will be doing significantly shorter author's notes from now on because you totally don't care, right? Okay, I have not written for this fandom, pairing or 'verse before, so I should introduce myself – yo, I am QA, and I will be your author for the next however many minutes/hours it takes to read my stuff. Me...I am presently an English teacher living in China (if you know my epic-length KakaIru fic you will possibly laugh at the irony) and I have shipped Thorki since seeing Thor ages ago. Frustrated at the lack of the exact fic that I wanted to read (not mpreg, not intersex, not really AU, not...bad), and with the quality I wanted to read (I have a mortal hatred of poorly written things like you wouldn't even believe. When I come to power if you want to write stuff, you will pass a test and if you fail your pens will be confiscated because OH MY GOD. I may overreact to bad writing a little.), I wrote it myself. This is my first large(r than one chapter) foray into writing in the third person, so it may feel a little clunky. It feels clunky to me writing it, so if you have any particular criticisms of it I might just say fuck it and switch to first. It might be quite interesting to get into Loki's head. Being the total loser I am, I tend to do a song-of-the-chapter type thing, so the song of the chapter is 'Frozen' by Within Temptation. I will post the playlist for this fic on my tumblr (find the link on my profile).
Warnings for the fic: Sex will happen on-screen, so do not adjust your set. As of yet, I don't exactly know where I am taking this, but I can tell you that this is set post-Avengers. My loose idea of where this is going includes the following warnings: rape, assault (sexual and otherwise), depression, self-harm, and pseudo-incest and British English. These things will all occur on-screen. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: As per usual, I own fucking nothing, all characters belong to their respective owners, and my soul belongs to Satan so I will see y'all in hell when we get there.
I can feel your sorrow
You won't forgive me
But I know you'll be all right
It tears me apart that you will never know
But I have to let go
Loki sighed and rolled over.
The cell was neither dark nor damp. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable, at least not by dungeon standards, but it wasn't precisely comfortable either. A bed was pushed against the far wall, secured in place with heavy bands of dull, grey metal over the otherwise pleasantly warm brown of the wooden frame. No blankets were permitted; supposedly strips of blanket could be used to form a noose or a garotte. A writing desk and chair had been offered as a reward for good behaviour after the first three months, but a small disagreement with one of the guards had seen them quickly removed. It didn't matter. He had no use for it, anyway.
What he really missed were his books. Naturally, these had been denied without consideration; books on magic of any kind were out of the question, but volumes on the history of Asgard and botany and customs of the denizens of other realms and even children's stories had also been forbidden. Books were considered too dangerous, even though he could not have woven a spell had he had the necessary books – the heavy, deceptively ornate cuffs around his wrists prevented even the smallest stream of magic flowing into or from his body. They did not match the gag placed on him months ago, which irrationally irritated him. The knowledge that he was locked in a dungeon in the same palace as both the great library, with its uncountable ancient tomes on every subject imaginable, and even some totally unimaginable, was incredibly frustrating.
As a result, Loki was intensely bored.
At first, he had schemed. There had to be some way to entice a guard into allowing him just a moment to glimpse the golden sunlight reflected off the turrets of the palace, or to set his eyes upon the orchard of apple trees he had enchanted as a small child to bear fruit in the winter, or to see the shimmer of the river just one more time before his indefinite imprisonment truly commenced. Of course, every request had been denied. Only the most cold-blooded of guards were allowed to interact with him. They delivered meals and removed the gag to allow him to eat. They would not speak to him and showed no indication that they heard him when he spoke, so he gave up on attempting to speak to them rather quickly.
The second plan had been to implore a visitor to help him to escape. Perhaps begging Frigga, Mother dearest, to beg Odin to allow the cuffs to be removed just once, just enough to restore that instinctive glamour-
Loki internally shuddered and kept his eyes pressed shut. The thought of escape was enough to remind himself exactly why it would not be possible; the hideous blue skin and demonic red eyes he had been cursed with made remaining inconspicuous anywhere outside of Jotunheim impossible, and even there his frail stature still rendered hiding nigh on impossible.
A peek, just a tiny glimpse, out of sick curiosity down at his body was enough to make his stomach turn.
Shut in a cell with no one but himself for company, it was hard not to constantly notice his own failures and imperfections. The rough clothes he had been left with, thankfully his own, did little to conceal his body from his own eyes. The hours when the cell was lit by a sconce out of reach opposite the bars were spent with self-inflicted blindness, eyes fixed shut so that he didn't have to see. When he couldn't see, he could pretend that nothing had ever happened and that he was lying on his bed in his own chambers, without bars on the door and omnipresent guards lurking outside. With an internal grimace, Loki realised he couldn't remember what his own bed felt like.
When he tried, he could pretend that he could wake up in the mornings at his leisure, without being awakened by guards dragging the metal of their weapons across the bars, the implicit threat permeating his sleeping mind. He could pretend that he could wander between rooms, explore the grounds he had memorised before he could walk, or spend all day in the library flanked with stacks of books half his height. He could pretend his hands and tongue were not constrained with enchanted metal so he could construct the most complex of spells at will. He could pretend that stupid, bumbling oaf would throw a drunken arm around his shoulders and slop mead down his front, laughing about something that happened on a hunt that afternoon, pulling their bodies together a little too close for comfort-
That final fantasy was the hardest to imagine. Thor had not visited him once.
Regardless, Loki told himself that he did not miss Thor. He did not miss anyone, because he didn't need them. He didn't need a single other person in the entire universe.
Thor was probably off having silly little adventures with his Midgardian friends. They were no doubt battling whatever mortal criminals with creative, dramatic flairs which set them above regular criminals, enough to warrant intervention by a god. Loki's lip curled. Playing heroes with Fury's troupe of freaks was clearly more important to Thor than visiting his imprisoned brother.
Bitterness wrestled with shame in Loki's stomach. Those puny, fragile humans had defeated him, after all. They were the reason he was locked away with no hope of release, and it was humiliating. It proved everything that had ever been whispered about him as child. He would never be a good leader, never amount to anything, and never be more than a liar. Even with an army at his disposal, he had failed. Over and over in his head, he had analysed his every tactic and strategy, unwillingly picking them to pieces to realise that he was defeated because of his own weaknesses and he relived being smashed into concrete by that hideous creature in his dreams.
It was no wonder Thor would want nothing to do with him, and Loki absolutely did not want to be seen by Thor in his present condition. He had no desire to be seen for what he was – a weak, feeble, blue-skinned monster, liar and failure. Self-loathing buried a little deeper into his chest, pulling and prying at the spaces between his ribs in a phantom pain that felt a little too real. He balled his hands into fists, delicate fingers pushing nails into soft flesh.
And he had his own woman now.
No, Thor had not once visited, and he probably never would, but Loki couldn't help but hope. The sheer loneliness was terrifying, though he would never admit to being actually scared.
A set of sharp, harsh footsteps echoing along the stone hall outside announced an approaching guard. During the first few months of his imprisonment he had sat up and glared as they entered, but now he remained curled up on the bed. It didn't matter if they saw him in such a weak, submissive position. It was fitting.
The cell door swung open. Despite is closed eyes, he could tell the light changed in the room as the bulk of the guard momentarily obscured the light coming from the hall. The thundering footsteps grew louder as the guard drew closer, the door clanging shut behind him. They did not bother to lock the cell door any more. They could see what Loki had become – always was. Rough hands gripped his shoulders and turned him forcefully to access the lock at the back of the gag, before yanking it off, the metal striking sharply against teeth as it came away. When he did not open his eyes, a sharp strike collided with his cheek. A low gasp caught in his throat. That had never happened before.
A bubble of irrational, stupid petulance bloomed in his chest, hot and frothing against the usual cold apathy that permeated his mind. Ignoring the pain, he kept his eyes closed. It was bizarre and sudden but the impulsiveness was almost addictive.
Another slap, and Loki felt the inside of his cheek cut open against his teeth. When he still refused to open his eyes, the open palm changed to a fist. He could taste blood. A cocktail of adrenaline and pain flowed through his veins, mixing together and twisting through his whole body. Yes, this was good. It hurt and that was good. It was physical contact with another living being, combined with punishment for everything, it was well-deserved-
The guard growled something unintelligible, nearly prompting Loki to open his eyes. A guard, another person, had spoken to him for the first time. Pride glowed in his chest at his first successful manipulation for the first time in months, maybe years, it had been so long-
A meaty fist gripped the front of his shirt and shook him roughly, making his head throb at the sudden movement. He could hear the delicate stitching strain and complain before tearing, exposing his chest to the air. Quickly, his hands shot to his chest to blindly pull the fabric closed to hide his skin, futilely trying to cover up the physical evidence of his grotesqueness. Another pair of hands gripped his wrists, tight enough to make his bones creak, dragging them away and pinning his hands above his head. Still he refused to open his eyes. The full weight of the guard pressed down onto is body and for the first time, fear flashed through his mind.
Time seemed to race forward, stopping and starting again in jarring motions. One moment he was pinned to the bed as two fingers were shoved roughly between lips parted in a shuddering inhale, and the next his nose was making a hideous cracking noise as a fist beat down from above in retaliation for biting down. A smirk played at the corner of his bleeding mouth. He could still get the reactions he wanted if he tried. The smirk garnered an angry growl and a hand clasped around his throat. Panic shot through his veins and he kicked out, sending something – the plate of food, in all likelihood – clattering to the floor. The more he struggled, the harder the guard pressed until he was rendered almost immobile from lack of air and the guard's weight.
It was unclear whether he lost consciousness or his mind refused to remember it, but the next thing he was aware of was his loose trousers being dragged down his thighs, and the panic increased fifty-fold. He tried to struggle, but the guard merely laughed and punched him in the head again. Dazed, he contemplated what was about to happen. It was fairly clear there was no way to fight, and there was no point – what would he gain by further angering this guard? More bruises and probably some broken bones? And what else was his useless, weak body good for?
A voice at the back of his head urged him to keep his eyes shut.
The guard finally ripped the trousers from him completely and pushed apart his thighs. He wasted no time in spitting on his free hand and shoving two rough fingers inside Loki's shaking body. Nothing but the barest whimper escaped his lips, despite the ache and discomfort of the intrusion. Though he tried to move his legs to kick out or his hips to move away, his body seemed to refuse to respond. The foreign fingers pumped roughly three times before withdrawing sharply.
Though he braced himself, Loki was not prepared for the pain. The ripping, aching burn as the guard shoved his cock inside him finally drew a scream from his lips, voice hoarse from lack of use.
"Heh, looks like you didn't forget how to speak after all, Liesmith," a rough voice taunted from above him. He flinched at the name. Liesmith. Was that what they were calling him in Asgard these days? It wasn't untrue.
The solid, heavy presence inside his body as the guard remained still for a second throbbed, hot breath stinging Loki's perpetually cool skin. He was aware of every millimetre of intrusive flesh and every square inch of hot hands pinning him down. Someone had to have heard the clatter of the falling dish or his scream.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard drew back. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, only for it to be forced out as a sob as the guard slammed in, their hips connecting with a sick slap. Moisture welled in his eyes, but he refused to let it fall. This brutal routine happened over and over again, with each thrust drawing louder and louder sobs from between cold, blue lips. He wondered if it would ever end, or if at the very least it would stop hurting so much. It wasn't the kind of pain he wanted any more, it was just pain.
He couldn't help but think of what Thor would think if he saw him right now. Pathetic. Useless. Weak. Perverted. A bead of warmth ran down his face.
The guard stilled, then withdrew. Two fingers prodded inside him again, but with little resistance. They swept across his lips for dipping inside, forcibly coating his tongue in salty, coppery fluid, before pulling back out. Before he had the chance to retch, the gag was forced back on and secured quickly and his trousers were shoved back into place.
The cell door clanged shut, and Loki was left alone again.
A/N: Welp. That hurt to write. Next chapter...when I write it, I am not making promises as to updates because they'll only be broken as I am a busy lady. And it will have Thor in!