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Marvel Cinematic, "What We Speak Not Of" (Odin/Loki) - NSFW
It began as a necessity, but it isn't anymore. Now Loki is old enough to find his own partners, to sate his own needs. Now they still do it because they can, because they like it, and perhaps, because they don't know what else to do. Odin does not have the strength to stop it.
Contains explicit porn, incest, underage, characters in heat, questionable consent, sequential intersexuality, and extremely unhealthy relationships. Written for a prompt on norsekink. I apologize to everyone who reads this for its content.
.what we speak not of.
The first time, he hadn't even known to expect it.
Loki had seemed an ordinary enough child -- sluggish in the heat, perhaps; pragmatic and clinical, perhaps; with different strengths than the children around him, perhaps -- but he had seemed otherwise like any boy. His Aesir facade never wavered, and he played with his brother in the carefree manner of a child, and he had to be pried from his mother's skirts when he felt shy. There was no telltale sign that he was anything other than what he seemed to be.
And in spite of his own intentions, Odin had begun to think of him as a son over the years that he was with them, more than a decade of peaceful family life together.
Perhaps the night that Loki came to him was punishment for that hypocrisy.
Odin was out on the balcony with a candle, reading over a document, when he heard Loki's trembling voice lift, calling, "Father?"
He looked up to find his young son, dressed in a white nightshirt, an arm wrapped around himself. Loki's face was flushed, his eyes gleaming oddly; his fingers tangled in the cloth at his side.
"Loki?" Odin straightened, worry coiling inside him. Loki looked ill, but he had never come to Odin over a fever or a cold. He was very much aware of his failings: he knew that he was not an approachable father. So it could be no ordinary illness that drove Loki to seek him out.
"You are-- You are a shapeshifter, aren't you?" Loki let his voice drop, hushing. "I meant to tell you... I was going to, honestly."
There was confusion, for a moment, but only a moment. "You have been teaching yourself to shapeshift?" Odin scowled, getting to his feet. "I have told you, it is a dangerous art, and you are too young to--"
"I know!" Loki said, urgently. "I know, and I am sorry. But I need your help -- please." There were tears in his eyes now. "Something has gone... wrong."
The possibilities raced through his mind. A shape only half-taken, an animal shape with instincts taken over... He had not tried to steer this thoughtful child away from shapeshifting on a whim. Odin stepped forward, tempering his irritation to have been disobeyed, reaching out to put hands on Loki's shoulders. "Tell me what it is," he said instead, gruffly. "And we will fix it."
Loki shivered under his hands, and then nodded. "I... My body is -- different. I tried to shift back, but if I -- if I try to make it normal, it only lasts as long as I concentrate, and I can't... I can't concentrate."
Odin frowned, casting another glance over the dark-haired youth. "Different how?" he asked, lifting a hand to rest on Loki's forehead: hot, much hotter than was usual for his ordinarily cool skin.
Loki's eyes slipped shut, swaying a little, into his touch. "My..." And then he flushed deeper. "Between my legs..."
An unpleasant suspicion began twisting in Odin's gut. Shapeshifting only what was 'between his legs' was a very specific problem, one he had never encountered, and combined with Loki's illness... His thoughts went first to the frost giants, and how little he truly knew about them. He murmured, "I need to know the nature of your problem, Loki."
There was another beat, long and labored, before Loki found his hand and then slowly drew it down his body, over his belly, to curve between his legs over the thin fabric of his nightshirt.
Odin was not shocked to find that what should have lain between Loki's thighs was not there, his skin smooth, without so much as hair to impede his touch; he was not as surprised as he should have been to feel his flesh part and form a neat seam like a woman's, the folds of his body delicate and familiar. But he was very surprised to find him aroused, a wetness welling from inside him, enough that the cloth became quickly damp with his want. And he was even more surprised when Loki instantly responded to that contact with a moan, his hips bucking against Odin's hand, shamelessly trying to grind himself into the older man's touch.
"Loki," he gasped, but Loki was already whimpering, "Yes, just like that, please, Father--"
Odin immediately withdrew his hand, and Loki let out a little cry of loss, starting to move forward, to come closer, and Odin's fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder, holding him at a distance.
"No, Loki," he said, firmly. "This is not -- appropriate."
"I felt better," Loki complained, and Odin could see the fevered look in his eyes, and he knew that he was not wrong: that this was no shapeshifting gone awry. This was something in Loki's biology, triggered as his body matured. That he had assumed a woman's form, and that he craved to be taken like a woman.
The dread and the horror that he felt weighed him down, slowed him; Odin commanded raggedly, his voice harsh, "Stand down! Let me think," and turned away.
He could not ask someone to tend to Loki's need on his behalf. He had to keep the boy's secret, and he did not want his reputation to be compromised in other ways, either. Frigga would be destroyed by this, and she would believe only more strongly that Odin had been wrong to keep his heritage a secret. Perhaps she was right, and the only way to proceed after this would be to tell him. But for tonight... When Loki was trembling and feverish, his small cunt overflowing with a need he was barely old enough to have, Odin knew he could not walk away and hope things would work themselves out.
He would have to do it himself, Odin realized.
He cleared his throat, and lifted his hand, looking at the fingers that had touched his son so intimately. Surely just a little pleasure, to sate the edge of Loki's urgency, would be enough.
Odin wet his lips, and he said, "This will be our secret." He risked a glance back at the boy.
Loki's face was red, not with embarrassment, and his lips were parted, thighs pressed tightly together, with gaze fixed on Odin with rapt attention. If there was any thought in him other than his arousal, it did not show on him, nor in the way he lit up at Odin's words. "Yes!" he said eagerly.
"You must not tell anyone, Loki," he said, his voice thick. "Even your mother, or your brother."
"No one," Loki promised. Odin had the sick feeling that he would have said anything, in that moment, to have Odin touch him again.
"Come, Loki," Odin said finally, gruffly.
A little pleasure had not been enough.
In the late afternoon, when Loki woke from his long night, he behaved as if nothing had happened: perhaps he was somewhat uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat and moving only as much as he had to, and perhaps he avoided looking at his father over dinner, but he did not seem afraid and he did not seem inclined to speak to anyone about what had happened between them. Odin knew his herbs and his magics well enough that nothing more came of it.
Except that six months later, it happened again. And then again, six months after that.
Odin knew the signs, now. It was regular, like clockwork: always heralded by Loki's flushed skin, his lingering glances at the warriors that strode proudly through Asgard's great halls. Glances that always, in the end, found Odin.
He knew enough to feel a sick thrill pulse through him each time those glossy eyes found him. He told himself that he was helping. That it was the responsible thing to do. He was protecting his son's reputation, keeping others from asking questions that must not be answered. And if he knew well that Loki's shapeshifting was advanced enough that he could take a full woman's form and find whoever he liked to satisfy his need -- then he also told himself that surely after doing it for him all these years, Odin should not be the one to cast Loki out and tell him to find someone else to help him.
And if he was haunted by the thought that maybe, after all this time, Loki's desire was centered around his father's bed instead of around other, more eligible companions -- then he did not allow himself to pursue that train of thought.
The night the signs showed up, Loki would slip silently into Odin's chambers, clad in a white nightshirt that fell to his knees, and then ease onto the bed, one knee at a time, pushing the covers away.
Loki straddled Odin's hips, saying thickly, "It's time again, Father." His hand found Odin's cock, already mostly hard. He pumped slowly, and tugged up his nightshirt, revealing his dripping cunt, thighs stained with glistening wet. "I need you now."
Odin felt blood racing through him, filling his too-eager cock until he throbbed with need of his own. He would be lying to say that he did not eagerly anticipate this, that right now he did not ache to be buried between his son's legs; he knew that Loki ached the same way. He gathered Loki's thighs, drawing him higher up so that the dark youth was positioned over his cock, and Loki sank down without a moment's delay more, groaning as Odin split his body open, burying deep into his tight channel.
Every time it felt fresh -- every time Loki was tight as a virgin, gripping Odin's length with such strength, as if fighting to hold him inside. Every time it felt like pure debauchery -- Loki's flesh soaked with his arousal, his wanton moans filling the air. Odin looked up at him, watching heatedly as Loki rode him, his features so pale and refined, his lips parted and his expression contorted with pleasure.
"Loki," he breathed, his fingers tightening on Loki's flawless skin.
And Loki laughed, breathless. "You were -- waiting for me to come tonight, weren't you?" he asked, his voice low and drawling; he never stopped moving, drawing himself up on Odin's cock and impaling himself, again and again. "Filthy old man."
Odin felt his heartbeat quicken. Loki, his vicious, sharp-edged Loki, silver and dark, wild and longing, always so beautiful...
"Were you watching me? At dinner?" Loki's voice, ringing rich and full, was strained with his pleasure. "Imagining that I was growing hot -- wanton? Seeing how I was -- watching our big, strong warriors -- and daydreaming about how it would feel to have one of them pin me down and mount me like a mewling animal?"
The wicked pictures they stirred in his mind should not have given him pleasure: images of Loki pressed flat against the floor, crying out in delirious ecstasy as some anonymous man, identity unimportant, rutted into him from behind... He should not have found them maddening. But the same was true of Loki's body, the sight and sounds of him finding ecstasy.
Odin groaned, his fingers digging deep enough to bruise, and shoved up into Loki's slick heat. "Why -- not go to one of them?" he gritted.
Loki was quiet for a beat, the only sounds in the air the panting sound of his breaths and the lewd noises of their bodies coming together in a way that should never have been. Thinking about Frigga or Thor discovering what they did on these nights never seemed to dim Odin's ardor, only guiltily stirring him further. Like this, with Loki so urgently riding him (he liked to feel in control of this moment when he was anything but), his scattered thoughts only ever served to enflame him.
But Loki -- could Loki banish those thoughts so easily? Odin had never asked him -- had never wanted to ask him.
"I needed it to be you," said Loki, under his breath.
And then he was moving quicker, more demanding, as if to erase those words. Loki rolled his hips, grinding down purposefully, and Odin groaned, the words he wanted to compose in response to that hushed confession slipping away from him. How could he have anything to apologize for when he was surely the one seduced and used, when Loki's cunt embraced and stroked his cock with such determination, the tight wet grip of his body milking him of his seed?
Many hours later, when all of Odin's strength was finally sapped and Loki was curled on his side in the bed next to him, facing away, he heard those words again and he felt cold come over him. Odin turned to the side to look at Loki's back, his neck and bent shoulders still covered with a sheen of sweat, and he saw Loki shiver, the lean cords of muscle working under his skin.
For a heartbeat, he was a father again, and he reached out to settle one hand on Loki's arm, to rub lightly and warm him. "Are you all right?" he asked, thinking of nothing more than how his son might catch a chill.
The sound of his own voice woke him a little from his daze -- thin and wavering, choked with the strain of exhaustion from sating Loki's need. Loki was a young man, and it took all of Odin's stamina to outlast the heat madness that overtook him. But Loki only rolled onto his back, looking at Odin for a long moment, searching his face, expression tight and unreadable.
Loki smiled, and it all passed, like an ominous shadow lifted. "Fine," he said. "Much improved. I feel almost like myself again."
He had missed something, Odin suspected. Loki's agile mind was darting in a thousand directions, to a million conclusions that Odin could not imagine, not being privy to the thoughts that went on inside his head. Loki had never responded in quite the way he expected, not to anything.
"Next time--" he began, awkwardly; not sure how to address what he had spent so long pretending was not wrong.
As had Loki. "I'll be sure to seek you out then," the darker god said, rising up on one elbow, and leaning in to press a chaste, familial kiss to his forehead.
Just as if nothing were wrong.
"As you like it," Odin said gruffly, because it would be too much to say, I'll look forward to it.
Contains explicit porn, incest, underage, characters in heat, questionable consent, sequential intersexuality, and extremely unhealthy relationships. Written for a prompt on norsekink. I apologize to everyone who reads this for its content.
.what we speak not of.
The first time, he hadn't even known to expect it.
Loki had seemed an ordinary enough child -- sluggish in the heat, perhaps; pragmatic and clinical, perhaps; with different strengths than the children around him, perhaps -- but he had seemed otherwise like any boy. His Aesir facade never wavered, and he played with his brother in the carefree manner of a child, and he had to be pried from his mother's skirts when he felt shy. There was no telltale sign that he was anything other than what he seemed to be.
And in spite of his own intentions, Odin had begun to think of him as a son over the years that he was with them, more than a decade of peaceful family life together.
Perhaps the night that Loki came to him was punishment for that hypocrisy.
Odin was out on the balcony with a candle, reading over a document, when he heard Loki's trembling voice lift, calling, "Father?"
He looked up to find his young son, dressed in a white nightshirt, an arm wrapped around himself. Loki's face was flushed, his eyes gleaming oddly; his fingers tangled in the cloth at his side.
"Loki?" Odin straightened, worry coiling inside him. Loki looked ill, but he had never come to Odin over a fever or a cold. He was very much aware of his failings: he knew that he was not an approachable father. So it could be no ordinary illness that drove Loki to seek him out.
"You are-- You are a shapeshifter, aren't you?" Loki let his voice drop, hushing. "I meant to tell you... I was going to, honestly."
There was confusion, for a moment, but only a moment. "You have been teaching yourself to shapeshift?" Odin scowled, getting to his feet. "I have told you, it is a dangerous art, and you are too young to--"
"I know!" Loki said, urgently. "I know, and I am sorry. But I need your help -- please." There were tears in his eyes now. "Something has gone... wrong."
The possibilities raced through his mind. A shape only half-taken, an animal shape with instincts taken over... He had not tried to steer this thoughtful child away from shapeshifting on a whim. Odin stepped forward, tempering his irritation to have been disobeyed, reaching out to put hands on Loki's shoulders. "Tell me what it is," he said instead, gruffly. "And we will fix it."
Loki shivered under his hands, and then nodded. "I... My body is -- different. I tried to shift back, but if I -- if I try to make it normal, it only lasts as long as I concentrate, and I can't... I can't concentrate."
Odin frowned, casting another glance over the dark-haired youth. "Different how?" he asked, lifting a hand to rest on Loki's forehead: hot, much hotter than was usual for his ordinarily cool skin.
Loki's eyes slipped shut, swaying a little, into his touch. "My..." And then he flushed deeper. "Between my legs..."
An unpleasant suspicion began twisting in Odin's gut. Shapeshifting only what was 'between his legs' was a very specific problem, one he had never encountered, and combined with Loki's illness... His thoughts went first to the frost giants, and how little he truly knew about them. He murmured, "I need to know the nature of your problem, Loki."
There was another beat, long and labored, before Loki found his hand and then slowly drew it down his body, over his belly, to curve between his legs over the thin fabric of his nightshirt.
Odin was not shocked to find that what should have lain between Loki's thighs was not there, his skin smooth, without so much as hair to impede his touch; he was not as surprised as he should have been to feel his flesh part and form a neat seam like a woman's, the folds of his body delicate and familiar. But he was very surprised to find him aroused, a wetness welling from inside him, enough that the cloth became quickly damp with his want. And he was even more surprised when Loki instantly responded to that contact with a moan, his hips bucking against Odin's hand, shamelessly trying to grind himself into the older man's touch.
"Loki," he gasped, but Loki was already whimpering, "Yes, just like that, please, Father--"
Odin immediately withdrew his hand, and Loki let out a little cry of loss, starting to move forward, to come closer, and Odin's fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder, holding him at a distance.
"No, Loki," he said, firmly. "This is not -- appropriate."
"I felt better," Loki complained, and Odin could see the fevered look in his eyes, and he knew that he was not wrong: that this was no shapeshifting gone awry. This was something in Loki's biology, triggered as his body matured. That he had assumed a woman's form, and that he craved to be taken like a woman.
The dread and the horror that he felt weighed him down, slowed him; Odin commanded raggedly, his voice harsh, "Stand down! Let me think," and turned away.
He could not ask someone to tend to Loki's need on his behalf. He had to keep the boy's secret, and he did not want his reputation to be compromised in other ways, either. Frigga would be destroyed by this, and she would believe only more strongly that Odin had been wrong to keep his heritage a secret. Perhaps she was right, and the only way to proceed after this would be to tell him. But for tonight... When Loki was trembling and feverish, his small cunt overflowing with a need he was barely old enough to have, Odin knew he could not walk away and hope things would work themselves out.
He would have to do it himself, Odin realized.
He cleared his throat, and lifted his hand, looking at the fingers that had touched his son so intimately. Surely just a little pleasure, to sate the edge of Loki's urgency, would be enough.
Odin wet his lips, and he said, "This will be our secret." He risked a glance back at the boy.
Loki's face was red, not with embarrassment, and his lips were parted, thighs pressed tightly together, with gaze fixed on Odin with rapt attention. If there was any thought in him other than his arousal, it did not show on him, nor in the way he lit up at Odin's words. "Yes!" he said eagerly.
"You must not tell anyone, Loki," he said, his voice thick. "Even your mother, or your brother."
"No one," Loki promised. Odin had the sick feeling that he would have said anything, in that moment, to have Odin touch him again.
"Come, Loki," Odin said finally, gruffly.
A little pleasure had not been enough.
In the late afternoon, when Loki woke from his long night, he behaved as if nothing had happened: perhaps he was somewhat uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat and moving only as much as he had to, and perhaps he avoided looking at his father over dinner, but he did not seem afraid and he did not seem inclined to speak to anyone about what had happened between them. Odin knew his herbs and his magics well enough that nothing more came of it.
Except that six months later, it happened again. And then again, six months after that.
Odin knew the signs, now. It was regular, like clockwork: always heralded by Loki's flushed skin, his lingering glances at the warriors that strode proudly through Asgard's great halls. Glances that always, in the end, found Odin.
He knew enough to feel a sick thrill pulse through him each time those glossy eyes found him. He told himself that he was helping. That it was the responsible thing to do. He was protecting his son's reputation, keeping others from asking questions that must not be answered. And if he knew well that Loki's shapeshifting was advanced enough that he could take a full woman's form and find whoever he liked to satisfy his need -- then he also told himself that surely after doing it for him all these years, Odin should not be the one to cast Loki out and tell him to find someone else to help him.
And if he was haunted by the thought that maybe, after all this time, Loki's desire was centered around his father's bed instead of around other, more eligible companions -- then he did not allow himself to pursue that train of thought.
The night the signs showed up, Loki would slip silently into Odin's chambers, clad in a white nightshirt that fell to his knees, and then ease onto the bed, one knee at a time, pushing the covers away.
Loki straddled Odin's hips, saying thickly, "It's time again, Father." His hand found Odin's cock, already mostly hard. He pumped slowly, and tugged up his nightshirt, revealing his dripping cunt, thighs stained with glistening wet. "I need you now."
Odin felt blood racing through him, filling his too-eager cock until he throbbed with need of his own. He would be lying to say that he did not eagerly anticipate this, that right now he did not ache to be buried between his son's legs; he knew that Loki ached the same way. He gathered Loki's thighs, drawing him higher up so that the dark youth was positioned over his cock, and Loki sank down without a moment's delay more, groaning as Odin split his body open, burying deep into his tight channel.
Every time it felt fresh -- every time Loki was tight as a virgin, gripping Odin's length with such strength, as if fighting to hold him inside. Every time it felt like pure debauchery -- Loki's flesh soaked with his arousal, his wanton moans filling the air. Odin looked up at him, watching heatedly as Loki rode him, his features so pale and refined, his lips parted and his expression contorted with pleasure.
"Loki," he breathed, his fingers tightening on Loki's flawless skin.
And Loki laughed, breathless. "You were -- waiting for me to come tonight, weren't you?" he asked, his voice low and drawling; he never stopped moving, drawing himself up on Odin's cock and impaling himself, again and again. "Filthy old man."
Odin felt his heartbeat quicken. Loki, his vicious, sharp-edged Loki, silver and dark, wild and longing, always so beautiful...
"Were you watching me? At dinner?" Loki's voice, ringing rich and full, was strained with his pleasure. "Imagining that I was growing hot -- wanton? Seeing how I was -- watching our big, strong warriors -- and daydreaming about how it would feel to have one of them pin me down and mount me like a mewling animal?"
The wicked pictures they stirred in his mind should not have given him pleasure: images of Loki pressed flat against the floor, crying out in delirious ecstasy as some anonymous man, identity unimportant, rutted into him from behind... He should not have found them maddening. But the same was true of Loki's body, the sight and sounds of him finding ecstasy.
Odin groaned, his fingers digging deep enough to bruise, and shoved up into Loki's slick heat. "Why -- not go to one of them?" he gritted.
Loki was quiet for a beat, the only sounds in the air the panting sound of his breaths and the lewd noises of their bodies coming together in a way that should never have been. Thinking about Frigga or Thor discovering what they did on these nights never seemed to dim Odin's ardor, only guiltily stirring him further. Like this, with Loki so urgently riding him (he liked to feel in control of this moment when he was anything but), his scattered thoughts only ever served to enflame him.
But Loki -- could Loki banish those thoughts so easily? Odin had never asked him -- had never wanted to ask him.
"I needed it to be you," said Loki, under his breath.
And then he was moving quicker, more demanding, as if to erase those words. Loki rolled his hips, grinding down purposefully, and Odin groaned, the words he wanted to compose in response to that hushed confession slipping away from him. How could he have anything to apologize for when he was surely the one seduced and used, when Loki's cunt embraced and stroked his cock with such determination, the tight wet grip of his body milking him of his seed?
Many hours later, when all of Odin's strength was finally sapped and Loki was curled on his side in the bed next to him, facing away, he heard those words again and he felt cold come over him. Odin turned to the side to look at Loki's back, his neck and bent shoulders still covered with a sheen of sweat, and he saw Loki shiver, the lean cords of muscle working under his skin.
For a heartbeat, he was a father again, and he reached out to settle one hand on Loki's arm, to rub lightly and warm him. "Are you all right?" he asked, thinking of nothing more than how his son might catch a chill.
The sound of his own voice woke him a little from his daze -- thin and wavering, choked with the strain of exhaustion from sating Loki's need. Loki was a young man, and it took all of Odin's stamina to outlast the heat madness that overtook him. But Loki only rolled onto his back, looking at Odin for a long moment, searching his face, expression tight and unreadable.
Loki smiled, and it all passed, like an ominous shadow lifted. "Fine," he said. "Much improved. I feel almost like myself again."
He had missed something, Odin suspected. Loki's agile mind was darting in a thousand directions, to a million conclusions that Odin could not imagine, not being privy to the thoughts that went on inside his head. Loki had never responded in quite the way he expected, not to anything.
"Next time--" he began, awkwardly; not sure how to address what he had spent so long pretending was not wrong.
As had Loki. "I'll be sure to seek you out then," the darker god said, rising up on one elbow, and leaning in to press a chaste, familial kiss to his forehead.
Just as if nothing were wrong.
"As you like it," Odin said gruffly, because it would be too much to say, I'll look forward to it.