Brooding 56, Interlude 2: Loki Meets Gamora

Just because Loki had been dismissed from Thanos’ presence did not mean that he could leave on his own. His body was still suffering the aftereffects of being in the Void for so long and the Titan’s abuse had left him weak and sore, unable to even contemplate standing up, let alone walking. The owner of the wheedling voice came into view and ordered several soldiers to move him onto a hovering gurney, tossing his clothes haphazardly over his naked form. Loki closed his eyes and focused on gathering enough seiðr with which to clean himself as he was transported to another asteroid in the archipelago that constituted the seat of Thanos’ reign. The sheer volume of semen that the Titan had released into his body made his stomach churn; if there had been anything in it, he would have vomited. As it was, he managed to swallow down the sick feeling – not wanting to show any more signs of weakness to his captors – and siphoned out his rapist’s come, banishing it into the ether. It took him several tries and the entire trip to his assigned room to clean out his passage.

The hooded figure commanding the soldiers had followed them into the room and, after they had filed out, leaned close to whisper lecherously in Loki’s ear.

“You have pleased Lord Thanos well, Pretty One… We shall see how long you can keep his attention. But when he tires of you, I will remind him that I had brought you to him. Perhaps then he will allow me to taste of your charms as well…”

Loki flinched when a many-fingered hand touched his cheek and stroked down to his shoulder.

“You cannot hope to satisfy me after I have been sated by your master’s cock,” he hissed in reply, twisting to break contact with the unwelcome hand. As he rolled onto his back, his ass was pressed into the cold slime of semen that had dripped out of his gaping hole and pooled on the gurney. Loki was tempted to throw up what little bile there was in his stomach, aiming it at the bare chest of his captor. He only refrained because he did not have the strength to sit up.

“You are too proud, weakling! But you will soon learn the value of humility as Lord Thanos bends you to his will. And you will beg me soon enough to fuck you – if only to escape being fed to the space serpent like so many of your predecessors were!”

“That would be a waste of my considerable talents,” Loki retorted, unabashed. His tormentor snorted.

“You are lucky that Lord Thanos has made you his fuck-toy… for now. Once he discards you, we shall see how haughty you remain!”

Loki watched as the hooded figure stalked out of his room. He guessed the door was locked; even if it were not, he could not cross the short distance to escape. Not yet, anyway. He sighed before drawing on seiðr to clean his ass and the surface of the gurney, then collapsed to let exhaustion claim him. Maddeningly, however, he could not sleep.

Against his will he began to remember the Void where he had drifted, cold in mind and body, angry with a fury which was so frigid as to burn. He saw now that he had been in a type of stasis, his thoughts in a never-ending cycle bordering on unconsciousness. It was Thor’s fault. It was Odin’s fault. It was the fault of the Warriors Three and Sif who became traitors rather than uphold my regal, lawful decree… in spite of all their previous claims to be my friends. He knew better now; they had proven their malice towards him. Even Heimdall, sworn to be loyal to the throne, had turned against him. It was painfully clear to Loki that he had never had any friends, not even allies. His father – or rather, the man who had masqueraded as his father – had never loved him. Thor had chosen a Midgardian woman, a mere mortal, over him. Even being trapped in the Void was better than the pain of watching his former lover making cow eyes at an equally imbecilic woman.

But of course Loki had not been granted the luxury of remaining in the Void. From what he had overheard, he must have been flung to the far reaches of the universe by the rift created in space-time by the Bifröst, then deposited like so much detritus along with the broken fragments of the machine.

And then he had been brought to Thanos.

Reliving the atrocity done to him, at last his tears began to fall. Thor had sometimes been demanding of his attentions, driven by youthful need, but he had never forced himself upon Loki. None other would have dared touch him (as long as he had been considered a prince of Asgard) without his voiced consent. However, the recent violation of his person had been absolute: body, mind, and spirit. Thanos had made certain of that – had ensured that his captive would have neither the will nor the ability to resist. Loki knew this had been the Titan’s objective, and he also knew the monster had succeeded.

His own pitiful cries echoed in his ears. He had called upon those whom he had once trusted, begging for help, desperate to escape the nightmare of being raped by Thanos, but none had answered. Removed from the trauma, albeit by very little, Loki was appalled by his own lack of reason during the fucking. Of course none had come to his rescue, for the Bifröst had been destroyed. Even if they wanted to, they could not have. Odin might be able to gather enough dark energy to send one warrior, but of course he would not – not for Loki, the Jötun failure. He had merely been an experiment gone bad, a flawed specimen to be discarded. And Thor, also, would not care to spare his life – especially at such great expense and risk – upon calm consideration. He might have been persuaded, in the heat of the moment and with Loki tugging at his good nature, to spare him once; a second time, weighed in the dispassionate light of day, would not be worth the trouble.

His mother, Frigga, might be a different matter. Loki clung to the thought that she would plead for him, that she would never condone abandoning him to such a fate, regardless of his former crimes. But if Odin did not inform her what her erstwhile son was enduring, how could she even know to intercede on his behalf? And then there was the issue of Heimdall: even where the All-Father, with the aid of Gungnir, could not see, the Gatekeeper possessed a clear view. But after Loki had tried to freeze him (only immobilizing him, Loki self-righteously noted), Heimdall might not feel inclined to tell the Queen what was happening to her wayward son. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more convinced Loki became that the only two men who could see him now were the least likely to help him.

Would they have told Frigga that he had died? Perhaps deceived Thor also to put an end to their questions? None other would bother to pursue the whereabouts of the disgraced prince. Loki concluded that there was no help to be had for him at all – at least not from Asgard. He was utterly and hopelessly alone.

He started when the door opened. The involuntary jerking movement made him aware of all the ways in which his body had been abused, but the pain served to clear his mind. Warily he stared at the green female who had entered the room. He only wished he could wipe the tears from his face without her noticing.

“Good, you are still alive,” the woman said, approaching him in a businesslike manner. “Father told me to see to it that you are fed and cared for. Here is a nutrition bar – eat it slowly in case it does not agree with you. Here is water also.”

After probing the contents of the containers with seiðr and confirming that they were not poisoned, Loki attempted to sit up. He groaned as his muscles protested.

“Do you require assistance?” the woman asked, though not bothering to draw any closer.

“No… I do not,” Loki replied through gritted teeth as he pushed himself up from the bed and swung his legs over its edge, then bit back a cry of pain as his ass was forced to take the brunt of his weight. Leaning his back against the wall to alleviate some of the discomfort, he accepted the nutrition bar and water but did not ingest them yet, choosing instead to stare at the woman as she observed him in return. Although he was still naked, his clothes having fallen to the floor, he was beyond caring about modesty. “You said your father sent you…”

“Thanos,” she clarified. Loki did not miss the slight, unconscious grimace her features made. “He wishes for you to be treated well… at least, as long as you are his fuck-toy.”

“How generous of him,” he said with the barest hint of sarcasm. He made a show of studying her from head to foot. “You look nothing like him.”

“No, I… I am not his daughter by birth.”

“Ah. I did not think him capable of producing an offspring so beautiful.”

He said it without any intention of flattery, merely a statement of fact.

“You should be more careful of what you say and to whom. Thanos will not tolerate insubordination.”

“Ha,” Loki laughed mirthlessly. “He has captured, humiliated, and raped me – what more can he do besides kill me? And that is not a fate I fear.”

The woman tilted her head as though incredulous of his claim.

“I chose death before I came here… it was preferable to being supplanted by a fool whose only merit is his bloodline.” Loki took a sip of the water while the woman waited for him to continue. “I was the rightful king of Asgard – by all accounts the more clever son of Odin – and I would have led our people into glory and prosperity unmatched in the countless eons of our history. But alas… Odin chose my brother, a witless oaf, to rule instead of me. All because I was not his son by birth.”

The woman seemed startled at that. Loki took another drink, grateful for the relief to his parched throat.

“I had not known my true origins until recently… my ‘father’ had kept the truth from me, perhaps hoping to engender unwavering loyalty to him through my ignorance. But I forced the facts from him. When he had slaughtered my people, the Jötnar, he found a babe in the aftermath of the battle… and took it as a spoil of war. A relic like the other trophies he and his ancestors had stolen from their conquests.”

Despite his involvement in telling the bitter tale, Loki could see that the woman was shaken.

“Your father,” she murmured, “sounds much like mine…”

“Oh?” Loki prompted, arching his brows.

“Thanos murdered all of my people, the Zehoberei… I watched him kill my parents. Then he brought me here to be his ‘daughter.’ I longed for death… but… I survived. He trained me to be a warrior, at which I excelled. For now, I am his slave and his weapon.” Her green eyes locked with Loki’s in a challenge, a test. “Someday I hope to be free of him… though I do not know how. His reach spans the galaxies – he has spies everywhere. And yet I yearn for the day when we will all be free of his menace.”

They were dangerous words, but Loki realized that she had sensed in him the insubordination she herself had warned him against – she knew he would never truly submit to Thanos, any more than she would. They were kindred rebellious spirits.

Then another realization struck him.

“He did this… to you, also?”

The look of horror on Loki’s face was unfeigned. The woman cast her eyes down for a moment, then defiantly raised her chin and met his gaze.

“I do not need your pity,” she stated. “But if you can survive the first few weeks – if you do not die of injuries or go mad from the pain – perhaps we may help each other… devise a plan of escape.”

Loki considered her offer and agreed to it immediately with a nod.

“I have no intention of being that monster’s fuck-toy forever,” he said with feeling. “I will bide my time and watch for any opportunities… study his weaknesses, learn his habits. Together we will have a better chance of success.”

The woman looked relieved, though still cautious.

“If he should force from you our plans, he will kill me, I know – but I also do not fear death. It is far better than living in fear of him.”

The strength of her resolve reminded Loki of Sif, filling him with a hollow, nameless ache. Simultaneously it reminded him of his manners, despite the barbaric circumstances in which he now found himself.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Gamora.”

“A lovely name… Does it mean something in your native tongue?”

“It means ‘shining star,’” she told him. “What is yours?”

“Loki,” he replied. With a sardonic grin, he added, “It means ‘brilliant one.’”

“Loki,” she repeated. “I will leave you to rest now. If that food does not suit you, I will bring you a different kind next time.”

When he had acknowledged this, Gamora left the room. Loki chewed off small bits of the nutrition bar, grimacing at the taste but willing his stomach to keep it down. He now had a reason to survive, and in order to escape, he would need his body to recover fully.

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