#lokula

...

Light shines through the wrecked walls of the throne room. Trails of dust and smoke waft through the hall, and warriors cough as they are chained and led in lines towards the dungeons. In every corner, Chitauri stalk around to search tight corners and crevices for any signs of life. They’re not gentle. They herd civilians and frightened children out of the hall to unknown destinations. Cries and screams reverberate endlessly.

Loki breathes in unexpected guilt as he passes some of them. Enraged eyes target his. Some Asgardians chant curses, throw threats.

Little do they know that he, like them, had little choice in the matter. If only they could understand how lucky they have it, how he would sacrifice his very soul to trade places. The fools can become prized lapdog of the most fearsome being in the galaxy, and he can fade into a sea of faces—fall into the sweet embrace of death, unnoticed and forgotten.

Sadly, even death has been stolen from him.

Loki approaches the steps to the throne and finds Lady Sif and two of the Warriors Three chained to the side. The sight is reminiscent of Thor’s failed coronation—the way they stand as if waiting to greet him, and Loki indulges in the false feeling of worth. When he catches Sif boring holes into his face, it ruins the fantasy. The others stare as if he’s a stranger, as if they don’t recognize him, as if they never even knew him to begin with.

They deserve this, he thinks, but quickly shakes his head of the needlessly malicious thought.

No one deserves this.

His eyes travel to Thanos, leaning on the armrest of the throne at the very top of the steps. The throne is too small for him to sit properly, but he looks no less intimidating. Full battle armor adorns his stature, and the golden infinity gauntlet of Asgard rests on his hand. His height towers over all in the room.

Loki kneels.

“You have done well,” Thanos says, “this time.” All background noises in the room—the weeping, the cries—go silent at the weight of his voice, uncomfortably loud.

“I have the Tesseract, My Lord,” Loki says.

Immediately three Chitauri rob him of both the container holding the Tesseract and Gungnir to present the weapons for inspection. Thanos takes Gungnir in his hand and tilts it under the light. Gold glistens brightly, reminding Loki to stop staring. He bows his head and stares at the floor. Now is not the time to remind Thanos of the promises he made before Loki opened the portal—that can be done later.

Thanos drives Gungnir into the floor, the impact sending a groan through the room. “What of your doorway of worlds?”

“It is closed,” Loki quickly assures. “The Bi-Frost requires Heimdall’s weapon or Gungnir to work, and both are now within your possession.”

“Good. Nebula,” Thanos calls. The volume of his voice rings uncomfortably in Loki’s ears.

Without warning, Nebula strides past his side and up the steps towards the Mad Titan. Loki tries to remember if he’d noticed her when he entered. Her footsteps fall so lithe and soundless that he wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t.

“Secure this in the weapons’ vault immediately. I will be down to meet you.” A pause lasts. Loki resists the urge to look and strains to hear Nebula leaving, but then Thanos rises from the throne. Loki’s blood turns cold. “Also,” Thanos says. A smile twists into his voice. “Bring the Jotun with you.”

Shoulders tensing, Loki heaves a breath and rises to his feet. He doesn’t know whether the whole of Asgard knew his heritage beforehand, but they certainly do now. A quick scan across the room reveals the gaping stares and wide eyes of many. He feels naked, exposed, and he shoots his gaze elsewhere, to Nebula, who approaches him with Thanos’s prize without a word.

“Them,” Thanos says suddenly. He gestures to Lady Sif and two of the Warriors Three. “Do they mean anything to you?”

Loki eyes them and finds that they don’t seem much surprised to learn the truth about his birth. Sif’s glare hasn’t grown any sharper. Loki swallows. The courage to lie for them flutters unreliably in his chest, but he braves his tongue. “No more than any of the other warriors,” he says. His chest tightens. “Kill them. I couldn’t care.”

All three of them look affronted, angry now, but Loki knows this is the only chance to spare their lives.

Thoughtfully Thanos nods at his answer. “Leave,” he commands, and then Nebula grabs his forearm and sends him stumbling in the direction of the exit. Loki doesn’t fight her. He straightens himself after she lets go and follows with his head held high.

There’s no going back.

...

Though Loki has no intention of escaping (where would he go, after all), Nebula never lets Loki stray from her sight. Not until both of them are sealed in the weapons’ vault awaiting Thanos’s return. Even then, she keeps careful attention on every movement he makes, everywhere he looks. Loki courteously ignores this—she’s only doing her job.

After hearing the sobbing and screaming, the bombs and gunfire, the deathly quiet in the weapons’ vault unsettles him. If Nebula feels the same, she makes no move to speak. The weight of the silence fuels Loki’s anxieties, and his hands twitch with uncertainty. “It’s been a while,” he says, just to hear something.

Shifting, Nebula’s calculating eyes study him, his mouth, his body, but not his words.

“You healed well since last I saw you,” he continues anyway. “I remember them dragging you, your face cut to shreds and the stump of your shoulder leaving a trail of blood.” He nods towards the gleaming metal of Nebula’s right arm. “Nice prosthetic.”

Nebula frowns. “I remember you weren’t doing so well yourself.”

A laugh falls from his lips before she finishes. “Tell me, does anyone do particularly well in the proximity of your father?”

“Some do.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “Who? Gamora? I spoke with her during your absences, you know. Your envy blinds you if you believe she suffers any less than you.”

With a low hiss, Nebula bars her teeth at him. “And you suffered more? While you pitied yourself alone, I fought to survive, to live. I earned his trust. Can you claim as much as that?”

Loki smiles. “No. No, I suppose I cannot.”

The door swings open, and both of them snap to attention, silent.

Thanos descends the steps and marches towards the case of the Tesseract where Nebula left it. At the door Loki catches sight of two Chitauri sealing the entrance behind their master. Silence falls over them again. Loki hushes the sound of his breathing—now is the time.

“My Lord,” Loki begins.

Nebula’s eyes flicker towards him and then away. Thanos doesn’t turn.

“The people of Asgard,” he says, “will be hard-pressed to make any rise against you without a leader. I have hidden the All-Father somewhere they will not search. I will give you the location.” He pauses, and his stomach tingles with apprehension when Thanos still doesn’t move. “That is, I will, once you have assured me of what you promised—my freedom and my brother’s life.”

Thanos continues to stare at the Tesseract for moments too long, and Loki forces himself to stand still and strong under the deliberate indifference. “Nebula,” Thanos finally says without turning. “Check him for weapons.”

Nebula approaches and scopes down his sides. Her hands harshly squeeze at his abdomen, hips, and sleeves and steal concealed knives and other weapons as she goes. She misses nothing that Loki has kept hidden, and weaponless, he feels more vulnerable than he has in a long time. When he looks up, Thanos has turned, and Loki unveils the fury he’s been masking in his gaze.

“Our deal,” Loki says impatiently. “Asgard and the Tesseract for mine and my brother’s freedom.”

Once Nebula backs away, Thanos takes an intimidating first step forward. Loki stands his ground.

“Is it your belief that you can demand anything from me? I should have held my promise to you for your failure the first time, but I’ve been patient with you.” Thanos takes another step, and this time, Loki shifts back. “And yet—you expect me to let you walk away?”

Loki’s jaw clenches against a violent shudder. “I won’t tell you where the All-Father is unless you do. These people won’t obey you without proof of his life.”

Thanos shakes his head. “So naive. So helpless.” He reaches out and grasps Loki’s shoulder, not hard, but Loki flinches all the same. “You will tell me where the All-Father is, and you will help me find your brother. Or I will show you no mercy whatsoever and you will find yourself doing both, regardless.”

The large chiseled hand moves to his neck, thumb on the line of his jaw—the way Thor touches him—and Loki can’t speak, can’t move.

“Well?”

Loki’s chest constricts painfully. “No.”

The violet thumb lowers to his throat and presses hard against his windpipe. “No?”

Loki’s hands twitch upwards. The coward in him can’t repeat himself a second time, but neither will he change his mind. Loki breathes deeply once, then twice, before Thanos lifts his other hand to shove Loki against the wall. Fingers squeeze his neck, and Loki gasps for air. His hands tug in earnest now, but Thanos dwarves him by size and strength—he would be more than a match for Thor himself.

“Stop,” he chokes, but there’s nothing he can say that will get him out of this. Other than—

Thanos removes one massive hand and lowers it to Loki’s thighs.

The contact sends a jolt through his spine, and he keens out of fear more than anything else. No. He can’t do this again, he can’t—tears pool in his eyes, and he twists his body away until there’s nowhere to go, nowhere, he’s trapped—

Thanos gets closer. Hot breath puffs against Loki’s ear, while hips press Loki hard against the wall. Loki chokes back a sob.

“I won’t kill Thor,” Thanos promises. The breath tickles Loki’s skin, freezing him in place. “He has more purpose to me alive and unharmed—for now. Tell me where the All-Father is, and I may also find an agreeable purpose for you. Perhaps even a small amount of autonomy.”

Tears fall. The pressure on his throat subsides, and Loki finds his lungs overwhelmed with air. He strains to cough for a moment, and Thanos lets him catch his breath patiently. With the precious time, he searches the room for any escapes. Nebula watches him impassively from the rear. Even if he could slip away from Thanos who has him cornered against the wall, she would be on him in the next second.

Out of options, he looks back to Thanos. His lips press into a thin line. “The All-Father is in one of the outer sorcerers’ towers, farthest away from the city. I had one of the rooms sealed shut for all but me. An illusion conceals any sound or noise within. Your—your power should be able to break my magic so that you can enter.”

Thanos nods. “Good. And the Aether? Where is that?”

Loki swallows tightly. “Asgard never found—”

The grip on his neck tightens a second time.

Through stinging eyes, Loki gasps— “Collector. I had it delivered to the Collector. In Knowhere.”

Satsified, Thanos releases him, and Loki’s knees buckle. He collapses to the floor in a humiliating heap and focuses merely on drawing breath. He just lost everything protecting him—but it matters little. Thanos will always win. There’s no use fighting it.

“Nebula. Go at once to Knowhere and find me the Aether. Do not return to me empty-handed.”

“Yes, Father,” she says. Without a passing glance, she slips out of the weapons’ vault and leaves Thanos and Loki in silence.

Loki doesn’t bother rising to his feet when the door seals shut. He keeps as still as can be, fighting against the fear overtaking him. He is vulnerable and helpless and Thanos can do anything to him, anything, without even much of a fight.

“You will not lie to me,” Thanos says finally. “Faithfully obey my commands, and you will be rewarded. I’ll generously leave you free to move about the palace as you please, excepting my summons, and you can carry out any orders I give in the way you see best fit. You will rule Asgard as my puppet.” He lets the tantalizing option sit between them before bending down to clench Loki’s chin between calloused fingers. “But betray my will, and you will be punished. Do you understand?”

Loki nods sharply into Thanos’s palm.

“Good. On your feet and turn around.”

Loki does as he’s told.

Only when Thanos pushes him against the cold marble wall does he realize what’s happening.

“No.” His cheek hits the wall—it’s sure to leave a bruise—and he flails wildly to scramble away. “N-no, stop—” Thanos’s fist slams into his shoulder blades, and Loki stills, too winded and dizzy to do anything but keep his feet. That’s when Thanos’s other hand—Norns, Loki bites his tongue to stifle a cry when fingers dip under the leather of his clothes and into the waistband of his pants.

He struggles hard then, harder than before. Magic surges through his chest, and he reaches to unleash it.

Then, the iron fist of Thanos’s power dominates the air, choking the magic from him. Loki hears a distant wail coming from his throat, and it burns. It burns to his very core. His magic lies snuffed out and abandoned in a pile of smoking ashes. When he tries to reach it again, he yelps with pain. Tears sting all the way through his throat.

“You said—you said—” Loki murmurs, unable to form the thought, but knowing this isn’t what he bargained for.

Thanos rips down Loki’s pants and undergarments in one swift motion. A moment later, Loki’s legs are kicked apart and—he chokes on the air when he feels it pressed there, when he realizes this is reality, this is happening, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.

His hands weakly push at the wall, but it only serves to push his hips closer to Thanos and—Loki shudders. "You said—” he tries again.

“I said if you betrayed me, you would be punished.” Thanos leans forward until his breath is hot on the back of Loki’s head. His chest is crushed by Thanos’s weight against the wall, and he feels Thanos’s length poking hard between his legs. It hurts. It’s barely started, and it already hurts. “Do not lie to me again,” Thanos says.

Then the titan shoves against him.

With the size difference and the utter lack of preparation, Thanos can’t penetrate him. Loki chokes and yelps each time he tries. Large, ruthless fingers slick with spit scrape at his entrance and stretch, stretch, stretch until he moans with pain. “I—can’t, I can’t,” Loki cries helplessly, “I can’t.”

Thanos ignores him and thrusts again.

Loki’s mind shatters. He focuses on his lungs, on his lungs, but that’s all he can do as Thanos takes ages trying to pull him open and force himself inside. Loki’s own length brushes against the wall repeatedly. Pain blends with pleasure. He sobs without reprieve as his bruised cheek slams again and again into the cold marblel, as his heels hit the floor, as his back rages with protest.

After forever passes, Thanos finally manages to get himself in—less than an inch, but Loki feels his hole tearing all the same. Still, the worst is hearing Thanos beginning to grunt—knowing that he, Loki, is indulging this monster’s pleasure.

Another inch, and Loki screams with every thrust. When he closes his eyes, stars scatter across the burning blackness. When he opens them, he sees the Tesseract shining blue, the rhythm of its light throbbing out of time with the pain between his legs. He sees Gungnir resting unused against the wall. He sees the scar marks on the floor from when the Jotuns ventured here.

Desperate for any kind of relief, he trains his mind on those details.

Something blinds him with white hot agony—something tears—and Loki howls helplessly.

Hot liquid squirts into him, and it fills him with shame he had hoped he’d never feel again.

He stops fighting. When Thanos releases him, he lets himself rest against the wall. The evidence of the act drips down his inner thighs and onto his trampled pants on the floor. He doesn’t move from the position Thanos left him in and he doesn’t speak.

The sound of Thanos’s armor clicking back into place hardly even startles him. “Go clean yourself. I expect you to return to hear my commands in no later than an hour.

Feeling a cold void sweep over his heart, Loki pushes himself from the wall and draws his spoiled pants to his waist in mechanical movements. “Yes, My Lord,” he murmurs. Still incredibly tender, Loki somehow manages to hobble up the steps and out the door. The Chitauri don’t react as he passes, but they’ve heard his screams. They know.

Loki can’t pity himself. He can’t cry.