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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"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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