jewelsofasgard | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Loki and Max
Where: The Keep in Asgard
When: A long time ago (in a territory far far away...)
What: A gift from Hayll. A meeting. An alliance.
Warnings: Possible mentions of torture and sexual content

He'd thought... he'd hoped, that perhaps Asgard would be better. That maybe the corruption of Hayll had not extended this far and the Queen of the Territory would offer some measure of protection, playing along with the High Priestess to avoid Hayll's grasp.

A few hours in the Court had cured him of any such misconceptions. The Queen here was as much of a bitch as any in Hayll. The Court was full of sycophants and those who were cowed or broken. And here he was, being passed around like a sweet treat, a pretty gift from Dorothea to help buy loyalty.

By the time their party finally ends he is exhausted and sick feeling and sullen. Too many of them. Too many hands on him, too many eyes and he's left to find his way through the hallways to his assigned quarters alone.

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"It only gets worse," Loki says, bitterly amused. He'd used the chance to make good his own escape a few minutes before and had been pacing the hall; his room wasn't that comforting to him. They knew how to get into his room. There was really only one safe place in the territory for him, and he had to be careful.

Max was on guard immediately when the other male spoke, turning to face him and cursing himself for being too preoccupied to notice immediately. He'd seen this Prince in the room alongside the Court. That didn't mean anything. He could be in the same position as Max himself, or he could be trying to catch him out. It was always a possibility in court games.

But he's already a slave. His limit for caring about himself is dangerously close to the edge.

"Oh good," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'd hate to think that this is all they've got in store for me."

"Amora and Lorelei tend to like the same pretty faces," he drawls. Really, he's trying to gain the measure of this male. Is he hopelessly corrupt like so many others? Hard to tell, when they all swim in the same bitter sea. "A clever cock can play them off each other for years."

And then end up running about without its head.

"I'll bear that in mind," Max says. "I'm more hoping that they'll just get bored with me and..." He waves his hand airily. He doubts that he needs to explain what he hopes for. Menial jobs would be better than this.

"Best hope they not get too bored," he drawls. "They tend to break their toys before discarding them. Wouldn't do to let anyone else play."

He grimaces at that, lets out a frustrated breath. "It's just the same as Hayll." Just the same as almost everywhere.

"Oh, just a shadow that longs to reach that height of horror." Loki steps a bit closer, body tilted at a habitually seductive angle. "Do you think there's anywhere to run, now? I'd no idea optimists survived in this realm."

He watches as the other male steps closer. There's a familiarity to the movement. Seen it in too many males in the Courts, and too many Witches abused. "I have to believe there's something better, otherwise I'd have gone insane or killed myself a long time ago." Or perhaps he was just too stubborn to lie down and die until he got some sort of revenge.

"I hear death ought to be kinder," he says, amused. "Really, that brought you here, of all places? You haven't run nearly so far as that. But if you play the game well enough, you can keep the sisters squabbling for decades."

"I didn't come here willingly," Max says sharply. "If it was willing I wouldn't feel so sick." He's showing too much, he knows it, but that has always been his problem hasn't it? If it had been willing he would have run to Dhemlan at least, or somewhere much further west that Hayll hadn't completely sunk its claws into yet. He bares his teeth in a smile. "No, I'm a gift of goodwill between Hayll and Asgard."

"And yet I wager this is a less debauched place than Hayll," he observes. "Having seen enough broken toys pass through these doors. The sisters are but students at the feet of their bitch mistress. What instruction shall you provide them?"

"That isn't exactly difficult," Max replies, not managing to hide the shudder that works its way through him. He has seen too much in Hayll. His look is positively savage. "I'm not one of that bitch's pets, if that's what you mean. Not here to give any kind of instruction, or feed information back to her. Slit my own throat and burn out my jewels before I did that."

Words are cheap, and selling someone out is a quick way to earn favor or turn a profit. He has no reason to trust this new make; he's been betrayed by others far too often.

"Is that so," he drawls. "I'd say we shall see, but then one of us would likely not be alive on the other side to confirm it. That's the problem with such gestures. You're not around to see what kind of splash you've made."

It's a slight and he knows it. He'd be angrier but it's not as though he hasn't been betrayed before, everyone so desperate to save their own hides and climb the ranks.

"So I'll just have to make sure I take as many of them with me as I can when they eventually grow tired of me."

"Such talk makes me surprised you've made it here at all," Loki observes.

And why not--he steps toward the other male, purposefully invading his space, and stops trying to control his psychic scent for a moment; there's a subtle hint of seduction to it. There always is, these days. It's self defense, an offensive weapon that he wields deftly.

"It isn't that uncommon a sentiment." Not in Hayll. He can imagine that it wouldn't be so uncommon here either. There wasn't a lot of hope to go around.

He goes tense when the other male steps closer to him, too close. His scent is heady, powerful. Definitely stronger than him, and it makes his heart quicken a little to be so close to him. Max gives him a searching look, loosens his own control a little. It's respectful and he doesn't exactly have much option right now.

"We aren't just the bitch's playthings, you know," Loki says, voice dropping low. A taste of the other male's power is interesting, informative. He'd like to have a better handle on the man for the purposes of control, at least.

The time for having friends stopped so long ago he can barely remember it any more.

Edited 2015-09-03 05:55 (UTC)

For all his assertions to the contrary, Max has survived this long, and without succumbing to the same taint as has infected the rest of the blood. He won't play by their rules or indulge in their petty cruelties. But he's still alive. Loki's voice rakes across his skin, almost a caress. He wants to step back, or move further away, but stays there, feet planted firmly. "Is that right?"

"There is what use we might make of ourselves," he says. Close enough now, he feels the heat radiating from Max, the slight press of power. "And I hear some go haring off to hide in the mountains and live like wolves." Like Thor had. But his brother's existence, he'll keep safe.

"And sometimes the toys do play with each other." He leans in to brush his lips over Max's, testing for the reaction.

"I'm not really one for running like that." He understands why people would, but he's not a fighter, not like that. Maybe it would make more sense, but for him, it would feel like he was abandoning some duty.

The words bring colour to his cheeks, and it is impossibly foolish of him to be falling for this. He knows better. But it has been a long time. He kisses back briefly, an almost chaste press of his lips. "The problem," he murmurs, "is working out if the toy is simply seeking a toy of his own."

Loki laughs softly. "It's charming that you think it could ever be other than that. But toys do excel at playing pretend."

He goes in for another kiss, domineering and heated, amused by the reaction so far.

"I think it must have been other than that once. I think it should be other than that." The old ways. Things had been ruined before he'd even been born, but there were some people who held out still, who remembered how things should be.

The kiss makes him groan, and after a moment he kisses back, more forceful this time, not willing to back down.

That grown he takes as a victory; there's one button this new male has that he can push. The retaliatory kiss amuses and sharpens him; he's certainly not of a mind to give up the advantage. So he silently returns in kind, clever tongue coming to bear, one hand finding Max's hair. An experiment, always, testing to see what will yield results he likes.

He likes it, Darkness he does. And he can't deny that this male is attractive, alluring. Far more than Hayll and Asgard's bitch queens and simpering power-hungry males. He likes the bite of it. The hand curled into his hair makes his breath catch. He doesn't fight it, but gives as good as he gets, sliding a hand against Loki's shoulder and around towards the back of his neck.

He's not entirely happy about the positioning of that hand, and bites Max's lip sharply in rebuke--but he also doesn't move away or otherwise protest. That would be an admission of weakness he'll not make; he's always ready to defend himself besides. He tugs Max's head back to a sharper angle for one more despoiling kiss, then breaks away to drag his teeth over the pulse in the man's throat.

That's something to remember. Even with the bite which brings with it the sting and copper of blood brought to the surface, he doesn't stop. He tightens his grip against the back of Loki's neck. He's always been a stubborn brat. It's why he's still alive, and why he hadn't bowed to any Queen who'd had him.

The tug is sharp, tilting his head back at an almost painful angle, holding him there while he kisses him. It's not a shared thing, not really. He twists a hand into Loki's hair when the man drags lips and teeth against his neck.

He's gratified that Max doesn't fight the grip in his hair. That's the hand of control, there, let the other male grasp where he will. Another move of domination, he presses his knee between Max's, the tendrils of seduction around him intensifying subtly.

He'll end this round of the game soon, but he might as well enjoy it while he can.

He hisses when Loki presses a leg between his, and he can feel the air between them warming, the sweet press of his Craft against Max's. He groans a little at the contact. Feels good despite everything.

Finally he pulls back, glares at the other male. "What exactly are you hoping to achieve with this?"

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