by Critical Strike

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/91388.html)

Smoke curled in a lazy haze, tendrils slowly tripping over themselves and forming shapes like sleepy thoughts in the wee hours of the morning. It was actually early afternoon, and the smoker in question was feeling as lazy as the smoke itself. It might have been the lack of sleep the night before. It might have been the massive amounts of alcohol and drugs. They swirled together in a chemical mess that would be well more than enough to kill a normal person.

But Loki Laufeyson wasn’t a normal person, and was, in point of fact, practically unkillable. Practically unkillable, because, well, he had already been killed once. But that didn’t count, right? They had all died that time, all of them: he and Heimdall, Odin and Fenris, Thor and Jörmungandr, Tyr and Garmr…

Loki sat up slowly, confusion making dark red eyebrows meet. The smoke circled his head, coiling around him like a serpent’s tail. They had all died, hadn’t they? He had seen his son, Fenrisúlfr, swallow Odin whole, but then saw the great wolf felled himself by one of the old man’s sons. He had watched as his son, Jörmungandr, fell beneath Thor’s powerful hammer, but not before fangs, dripping in poison one hundred times deadlier than a basilisk’s, pierced the skin of the Thunder God. Mighty Thor took nine steps before he fell; Loki had counted. He hadn’t really expected more than ten.

But that was all Loki remembered seeing before Heimdall swooped down up on him and he was forced to fight. He didn’t fight fairly, of course. Slight and wiry despite his giant’s blood, Loki wasn’t exactly a warrior. He was the Trickster, the Lie-Smith, the Sly One, a rabble-rouser, and an agitator. He did not fight hand to hand. He was also the Shapechanger, and so he shifted, shape to shape to shape, confusing his foe and prolonging the fight that would have been an unfair one if he hadn’t cheated.

Still, he’d been struck down like all the rest.

Loki didn’t remember much after that. He drifted in a haze for years, alone. He didn’t mind being alone – it meant that he didn’t have to contend with any miserable Norse gods. Unfortunately, it meant that none of his kids had survived either, and thought it would take a hell of a lot for him to ever admit it, he missed them.

Loki grunted and reached up, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. It left a black smear in the midst of at least ten others. Loki never gave a shit about the hotel rooms he stayed in. He was the consummate rockstar: a true believer in sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, and a frequent trasher of hotel rooms. They had the money to pay for it, and he had Andon, the band’s manager. Andon took care of Loki’s messes. It was one of the things he did best. Well, that and fuck Loki into oblivion, though he didn’t exactly have the monopoly on that.

Loki shifted, green eyes darting from left to right. On his left, blond Andon, golden and gorgeous like the sun, his body perfectly tanned, perfectly muscled, perfectly built. Mischievous eyes drifted down to the flaming tattoos on Andon’s hips, painted handlebars that Loki could rarely ever keep hands or lips or tongue off of.

On Loki’s right was Dion, swarthy, dark, and stunning, with a pile of dark curls Loki loved to bury his fingers in and tug on. Loki’s eyes drifted again, down Dion’s well-shaped torso to focus on the dark trail of hair that widened into a patch between his legs.

Loki practically had to wipe his mouth to stop salivating.

A movement stirred the bed and a lazy sound issued from the form to Loki’s right. A tanned arm moved, slinging itself over Loki’s stomach as Dion rolled over. His mass of curls was always gravity defying, especially after nights like the past one. It made Loki smile, his lips pulling into that too-wide smile that was just this side of disturbing.

Dion wasn’t the only one stirring. Andon moved, and the sound he made was somehow a complaint, likely because the sun was streaming in through the shades Loki had forgotten to close. The full force of the afternoon sun assailed them all, and Andon’s eyebrows drew together. Considering who he was, the fact that he seemed irritated by the sun so rudely insisting they wake up was sheer amusement.

Had he not been oddly plagued by thoughts of his past, Loki wouldn’t have been awake yet himself. He was too used to his current life: parties until all hours, sleeping until the same, copious amounts of alcohol, drugs, sex, cigarettes… It was a far cry from who he had once been, hated by all the gods with the exception of one he’d accidentally married, and loved only by his children and their giantess mother, whom he hadn’t married.

Loki snorted. Marriage had been another mistake, but damned if he was going to dwell on that now.

Dion stirred fully then, opening rich gold eyes to gaze up at Loki. “Time’s it?” he asked, voice slurred by sleep.

The question dragged Loki from his strange reverie and he shrugged. “After noon. ‘S all I know.”

Andon shifted, but didn’t sit up; he just opened his eyes and stared at them both. He could barely see Dion over Loki, but if he stretched just a little he could see them both without having to move further. “Mmm,” he mumbled.

Loki grinned, his vaguely melancholic thoughts dismissed completely. “Rise and shine, boyo.” He lit another cigarette, blowing one of his exquisitely crafted smoke rings at Andon. His smoke rings were the pinnacle of perfection. He’d spent plenty of time making sure they were. Stretching and shoving the blanket off his naked body, Loki climbed out of bed, shamelessly parading around the hotel room. He knew they were both watching – he liked when they did, when anyone did. He was an exhibitionist, really.

“Why?” Andon asked finally, the question posed to Loki’s statement a bit late, as if he’d been too distracted by Loki’s naked body to answer before. The fact that his eyes hadn’t yet climbed above Loki’s waist sort of reinforced that assumption.

Dion didn’t say anything at all to that. He merely sat up, a bottle of wine appearing at his fingertips the way most people could produce spare change. Except he wasn’t wearing anything to pull it from. He took a swig of wine, the calm expression on his face a preemptive ‘What? It’s after five somewhere in the world.’ His dark curls still stuck out at angles, the tousled bed-head look something that people paid ridiculous amounts of money for. Dion had it naturally; his curls were perfectly messy and somehow just made him even more heart-stopping.

“Why?” Loki repeated the question, turning to gaze out the widow. It presented both men with a well-appreciated view of his ass. “Because I’m bored.”

Dion and Andon exchanged glances. Those were some dangerous words. Bored Loki meant more trouble than usual, and ‘usual’ often had Andon up to his ears in damage control.

Usual was Loki flashing the crowd at a concert, lifting his traditionally-worn kilt up to his waist and giving the thousand-fan crowd a good look at what kept Dion and Andon coming back for more. Usual was flirting with, and taking home, dangerously-close-to-underage fans two and three at a time, getting them drunk, fucking them senseless, and sending them on their merry way come the next afternoon. Usual was calling a giant biker ‘Sally Mae’ and then ducking behind Andon’s larger form, leaving him to wrap the guy around his own bike. Which Andon could do, of course. In fact, that was a show Loki and Dion both liked watch while passing drinks and popcorn back and forth.

But that was usual. Bored was far worse. Bored was sweet-talking an officer’s wife, then stealing his police car while he was out. Bored was trashing the hotel room, ballroom, pool, and entertainment lounge all in one night, leaving Andon to drop enough money to cover the whole deal. Bored was seducing the wives – and daughters – of some of the biggest music producers in town, smacking their asses, and giving it to them hard while their husbands signed contracts to make their band, Sans Pants, millions of dollars.

Bored was a hell of a lot of trouble, and a hell of a lot of fun.

Question was how to quell Loki’s boredom. Andon and Dion could just let it – and Loki – run rampant, causing as much trouble as possible in the few hours before their next show. They exchanged glances behind Loki’s back once more, and if Loki had been looking, he’d have seen the oddly identical smiles that spread across their faces.

One bronzed hand, pressed itself against Loki’s chest from behind, tugging him back and away from the window. Loki half-turned to see Andon, the light from sun streaming in the window and lighting him up like the sun god he truly was. Loki never called him Apollo, not even after he’d found out who he was. The same held for Dion, who came around Loki’s other side, turning him back and catching him in a kiss that tasted of the wine he was famous for.

They liked having him like that, like the first time a few years ago. They liked laying him face up on a flat surface – any surface would do so long as his head hung off the side. In this case they pushed him down onto the bed, stretching him spread-eagle on expensive sheets, while his pale hands traced two bodies at once. They liked how eager he always was, how he’d have Andon’s dick in his mouth before he could fully situate himself. They liked how he would twist and push and wind against the finger Dion had playing at the pucker of muscle between his cheeks.

Loki didn’t need prep, not after the night they’d just had, and Dion’s slow intrusion with a slickened finger was nothing but a tease. They liked teasing him. It got Loki frustrated, and when he got frustrated, he bucked and writhed like a fucking bronco, demanding the attention he wanted.

Dion’s honey-gold eyes met Andon’s hazel ones. The blond’s eyes were ever-shifting, like his mood. Light brown, green, flashing in anger, or darkened in lust. Dion’s were much the same: the warm honey color could deepen to pure amber. Their eyes were locked now above Loki, closed as their lips met in the kind of kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips. At the same time, Loki forced Dion’s finger deeper and took Andon’s dick in his throat.

He hummed, a talent few people could reproduce. At least, no one Loki knew of could hum quite that well when he had a cock down his throat and his head hanging off a bed at a definitively unnatural angle. But Loki did it, and it was one of the reasons Andon couldn’t get enough of that mouth of his. The hum suddenly doubled, trebled in intensity as Dion’s finger crooked and twisted, finding and pressing ruthlessly against the cluster of nerves he knew drove Loki completely wild. Just as expected, the redhead bucked, hips lifting high off the bed and the hum turning into a whine of pleasure.

Dion broke the kiss to grin and look down at his handiwork. One hand slid across Loki’s chest, stopping to tug at one of his nipple rings while Andon copied the action with the other. Andon’s hips started pumping slow and steady, his dick sliding smoothly into Loki’s throat. His breath caught on a little gasp every time the head of his dick was thoroughly massaged by the back of Loki’s mouth.

Dion promptly slid in another finger and Loki braced one foot on the bed, rocking his up with sheer determination. One hand slipped back over his head and traced the flesh around Andon’s cock, raking nails in the hollow of his hip, massaging his balls, completing a thorough investigation of him.

Dion had had enough. He watched Andon, his head thrown back and barely able to keep his thrusts slow enough to not lose it before Dion fucked Loki good and hard. Dion watched Loki, straining beneath them, begging not quite silently, but surely wordlessly, for more, more, more, now. The clench of muscles around his fingers cemented it.

Dion pulled free, lining up his dick with Loki’s ass, and pressed in with a slow, strong slide that had Loki making a sound that would have been a scream of pleasure had Andon not thrust into his throat at the same time. The sound was muffled into a mass of vibrations, vibrations Andon felt incredibly well.

As much as Loki twisted and begged and pleaded for it, he could barely move now. Dion’s free hand closed around Loki’s hip, holding him steady while he drove in a slow, steadily building pace. Andon’s hands both curved around Loki’s ears, stroking them first before gripping them and pumping his hips forward.

Gods, they were so perfectly in synch, plunging into him and pulling out at the exact same time. It was perfect, and Loki loved every minute of it. He loved feeling like they were going to tear him apart. More Dion than Andon, really. Loki had heard of what Dion’s sexual exploits had led his followers to do in the past. He didn’t really blame the women gone mad with drink and lust, tearing others apart with bare hands. He would’ve done it himself if he didn’t have this, have them.

Loki’s thoughts derailed when Dion’s hand moved again, this time wrapping itself around his dick. Loki tried to whine in pleasure, but the sound was lost again. Nothing he could do but just take it and damn if that didn’t make him burn hotter. They were driving in and out of him faster and faster, and Loki was climbing a spiral that drew him ever upward, drawing him to the highest peak and holding, before something shattered. He broke and crashed, waves of pleasure racing through him as he came, shuddering and straining. He couldn’t see Dion and Andon’s lips meet in another bruising kiss, but he could feel when they came within seconds of each other, filling him nearly at the same time.

He heard them come, heard Dion’s long moan tapering down from a near-shout. He heard Andon’s signature growl that sounded so feral it tingled the ends of Loki’s nerves. He felt them come, and the idle thoughts of his previous boredom were swept completely away as he came down, bliss settling through every fiber of his being.

Loki lay there, still as they both pulled out slowly after what seemed like ages. They settled down beside him again, the three of them wrapped lazily in each other with no desire to move.

And then Andon’s phone rang. It was Howie’s normal ring tone but it seemed somehow louder, more insistent, more irritating. Andon groaned as he reached for it, not at all surprised to hear the tone in their publicist’s voice on the other end.

“Where the fuck are you guys? Why the fuck aren’t you here yet? You go onstage in a half-a-fucking-hour! I know this has gotta be Loki’s fault, so haul his ass up and just get the fuck over here. Now. ” The phone clicked off before Andon could even respond. Howie’s voice had been loud enough for all three of them to hear.

Andon chuckled. “And I thought I was high-strung.”

Dion grinned. “Can’t really blame Howie for that. He knows us too well.”

Howie. Hermes. Whatever. Loki wasn’t sure he could move just yet. He was tempted to tell Howie-Hermes to go fuck himself, and leave them alone, but they had a huge venue for the show that night and Loki could already feel the thrill of rock-god worship stirring. He sat up, bruises blooming all over pale skin and smiled again. “Well then, motherfuckers, let’s go bring the fuckin’ house down.”

It was a different world these days. No Aesir, no Vanir, none of his kids… No one he knew before Ragnarök was around. He missed his kids, and hoped they had somehow survived, been reborn as he had. But the world hadn’t ended, not forever anyway. And Loki was going to rule it now, one way or another.