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Published June 10, 2025
"Come now, wouldn’t you like to prove the gods wrong about mortals deserving the class they’re born into? Wouldn’t you like to be more than a slave? Be a savior, a sage, a courtesan like no other, who is so wanted, you bring even the gods to their knees?"
It was all the same! It was always the same. I was something to be used, and nothing more. But no. No. I would not lie down and take this anymore, just to be tossed aside when I was no longer wanted or needed or worth a damn to anyone.
“Why, why do I want you?” he roared. “Because I’m a delight!” I roared back
“Wouldn’t you like to be more than a slave? Be a savior, a sage, a courtesan like no other, who is so wanted, you bring even the gods to their knees?”
“Sick of hearing stories yet?”
“Every god before you, Loki, was but a prelude.”
All his life before now had been at the mercy of another. But with me, in our bed, our home, he was truly, finally, free. And so was I.
■ When he licked his lips of his next gulp of ale, I followed the trail of pink with a sense of pining to taste him too.
“You’re staring,” Loki said.
“You stared first.”
“Just looking for faults.”
“Faults?”
“There must be something wrong with you.”
“Fuck you too!” I spat.
...
There was that softness again, a little less grin in his smile, but just when I thought I was seeing it, it was gone.
■ The quiet couldn’t last. The stillness. The peace. But looking up at the stars with Oli’s head in my lap, I could pretend and almost believe.
And then he stirred.
... Oli:
I could feel the soft thighs I had been missing. Feel the scratch of long nails through my hair. I was coming out of my slumber, revitalized once more, and as I woke, I reached for the waist of the one who held me.
...
“Sick of hearing stories yet?” Loki’s voice came through the closed door.
I smiled. I knew the imp couldn’t stay away.
Or hoped he couldn’t.
“Aren’t you going to ask if I’m sick of cock?” I teased.
“Are you?”
I settled into this new, smaller hot spring pool. Loki wanted to play games. Maybe he couldn’t resist or didn’t know how to be direct. I could work with that. “Not even a little, truth be told. And I’m not sick of stories.