fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

There were some moments that Steven felt so proud of Anthony, this was one of them. Despite what inappropriateness he could have been up to, and how unprofessional he could still be, that he loved his prince and felt such fierce loyalty was amazing. He wished that he could go back and tell the disenfranchised Anthony of the village that he would be chosen and it would be wonderful.

He hesitated long enough to tug Anthony into a tight hug, his always ridiculous muscles even larger now after fifty years of apples and training with his master and James, and then a year of serving so personally.

"I trust you, I'm not disappointed, I'm just-- I was trying to figure it out, Anthony. The princes need fed, and you're going to look incompetent in front of both of them for it taking this long."

"Only the one that doesn't matter," Anthony chirped, battling off a hug. "To me at least. Will you stop trying to suffocate me? I'll take the cold meats, you wait for the rest. I need to see my Prince." He'd only been dismissed for half a day but his world had ended for those hours and now he wanted to run back into arms that would not be waiting open. Not yet. Maybe not at all this evening. And that was all right. Bruce cautioned him about how it might go with Loki and Anthony understood. He would have to be punished in front of Thor if Thor looked like he was skeptical at how long it took to get somethings g to eat and he was all right with that too.

No other slave would be so willing to suffer for Loki to save face. Not like Anthony.

Pushing a cart laden with appetizers, Anthony actually hummed the entire way until he backed into Loki's chambers. His eyes were still red from tears and he still looked a mess, but he was here and that was enough to make him smile sunshine.

"Apologies. Steven is on his way with the main course."

Loki examined the way that Anthony looked when he came in. Red eyes, but posture erect and smile genuine. It drove a thin tendril of satisfaction through him to know that Anthony had suffered for his words, but also that he understood he had been right to be punished and was simply glad to return. Not that he showed this, a quick glance at his brother drawing a frown to his face.

"Such delay is unheard of, is this the fault of the kitchen staff? Tell me why we have now waited so long for a meal?"

He knew why.

Of course he did, and he gave Anthony the opportunity to divert punishment from himself in order to see how selfish his slave was and how much he believed he needed to be punished for what had happened.

Anthony was not going to make the life of those that slaved in the kitchens any worse. They had necessary but thankless tasks and barely any ability to move up in this world. If anyone was sick at a feast, they were held accountable. If food was prepared slowly or served cold or warm inappropriately, they were punished. Anthony was not going to make their lives harder. “I was distracted, my Prince,” Anthony said. “The fault it all mind for the lateness.”

He placed a hand over his heart and bowed low, knowing he would be punished for this. His words had been wrong, he accepted his punishment and he would take anything he needed to rather than be sent away again.

He couldn’t survive it. He was not a fighter like Steven. Or well respected like Bruce. If he didn’t have Loki, he had no one. And Loki knew it.

A well made and honourable decision, and one that pleased Loki. Not for the nameless kitchen slaves, for he cared little for their plight, but for Anthony understanding that punishment must still be meted.

"You have risen too far above yourself in the position of personal slave, it seems, that you no longer care if even your master has been fed. You have shamed me in front of my brother. You will return to the kitchens and instruct them to take you on in the most menial of labours for the rest of the day. You may return to me and your duties tomorrow at dawn, when I trust you will have learned not to repeat these mistakes."

It would not be a kind day, but it was better than being flogged. He would likely be set to assisting the spit dog, a hot position where he would get many small burns and ache with the labour of it for hours.

"Forgive me, brother, for this disgrace in our first meal together for many long months."

As far as Anthony was concerned, this was an easy task. He'd be in pain come dawn but he would serve happily. Or if not happily, at least only partially half-assed and with very low comments under his breath. He did, however, hear Thor's snort as he left.

And his words: "this is why you need more than one slave, brother. I understand this one pleases you and has been an exemplar with his loyalty, but you need to take on more, if only to keep that one in line and to remind him that all are replaceable."

Even his James. Even if that thought still hurt him. Even if sometimes he pretended that Steven was James (at least until he opened his mouth with none of the glib jokes James had offered.

"We could select a few from the household. Or peruse the village. After father returns of course for I am chained to the throne once more. Oh! Vanaheim! I heard they have been breeding them pretty there."

"I do not want more than one slave, Anthony is the first that I have found able to keep up with the demands made of him. I do not just need a slave with muscle or obedience, they must be quick and intelligent."

Not that James and Steven were fools, he had seen intelligence in both. But it had been the wrong sort of intelligence. He needed ones like him, quicksilver and individual, willing to go against the grain when needed without being overly ridiculous about it. Anthony was his, he did not need another.

He had a feeling that Thor was not listening, and Loki may end up with a gift of a slave once Thor had the throne in his past once more.

"Now tell me how it has been to be the All-Father, where have you stumbled?"

Thor had the usual, assumed issues with being All-Father…namely, he could not do anything he pleased whenever he felt like it. Being a king, and ruling, was a lot more difficult than pleasurable. In fact, Thor found no pleasure in it at all and said, secretly, to Loki only though Steven had also been privy to it while it had been ongoing the last year, that he wished he was not first born, or that he could swap himself for another brother from time to time.

It was only his closeness and love for Loki that allowed him to admit that.

By the evening, as the stars came out in force and Steven was left to clear away dishes and bring drinks (something he hadn’t done in over twenty years), while Anthony turned spits of meat for tomorrow’s morning meal and came up with an idea on how to mechanize the process, Thor again mentioned that Loki ought to not rely on just one servant.

“His punishment is yours since you’re now bereft of him,” he pointed out, grabbing Steven by the wrist as he passed to pull him close.

Steven grinned and allowed himself to be pulled into Thor, even boldly addressing Prince Loki as part of the conversation to back up his master's point.

"My master has other slaves and this only makes me happy. I want to see him served as best he can, and that means many to see to his needs."

Loki raised an eyebrow at being given advice by Thor's slave, but he didn't refute the idea. It was a commonly held one, but one he did not subscribe to. He was a jealous man, and he had seen that same spark of jealousy within Anthony, his slave would not enjoy having to share his affections.

"I will be bereft of him for tonight only, do you think the palace slaves so incompetent as to serve me for one night?"

“You will never convince him. He did not find one he liked until he was nearing his millennial. He might take on a second by the time he reaches his second.” Anthony should still be alive by then. The apple would have only just started to fail and he would start to age. Perhaps slowly, perhaps all at once. Midgardians weren’t meant for the fruit. At least it made the worthy ones able to serve longer. For that, Thor had always been grateful.

He tilted his head back to watch Steven with more affection than he ought to have. Thor was always one to fall a bit too quickly for those he should not.

“I see no palace issue here, though,” he said, mostly speaking to Steven, though his words of course were for his brother. “Do you think we ought to offer one from our stables? Unfortunately, I do not think I have one of his taste. Dark haired, short…”

To be looked at with such devotion and affection by someone with the status that Thor had, it was intoxicating. Steven felt a flush in his cheeks, embarrassing him with their pinkness. He could not fall for his master, not truly, for that would be ridiculous. He was there for bed sport and, if he were lucky, companionship. He was not about to be a consort.

"Perhaps if there are no bred slaves on Asgard or Vanaheim, then Midgard may have some."

It had been a long time since the last culling, after all. Steven understood how it went, all the slaves did. They knew that their home realm was an embarrassment where the mortals thought themselves free and strong, and because their lives were so short they forgot so swiftly about their masters. They killed one another, they had no unified leader, they were truly disgusting.

But to fetch unbroken Midgardians every few millennia was necessary, or the stock became inbred.

"A culling-- the last one was before I was born-- Ha! Well thought, Steven. When the All-Father returns, we shall have ourselves a time bringing fresh slaves to the Realm! You'll find another to be fond of." Thor didn't stop to think what it was like the first few generations of slaves. They were impossible to train, impossible to work with, and many were just used for a genetic infusion. It was their grandchildren, raised without knowing of the lives of their ancestors in freedom, that were truly viable.

Sure, some took to slavery well. But those were far and few between.

Thor's hand lingered on the small of Steven's back as he stood at the ready beside him, a place he often kept it with him when they were in private. He was touchier with Steven than he had been with James. Less careful. More obvious.

That was James' loss' doing. Plain and simple.

"I have yet to step foot upon Midgard. I wish to see it. And our parents owe us." And that seemed to settle it. "So then, Loki. Do you wish use of one of slaves for this evening as yours is occupied?"

Steven looked proud that his suggestion had been taken.

He was ready to see Midgard, where his ancestors had come from. He knew it would be primitive, he knew that the mortals there would never live beyond a single century and would have no concept of strength or magic or other realms. What must it be like to be so insular and believe that your world and race are the only ones? What must it be like to live such a tiny life and be a part of a world that wasn't even ruled over properly? He felt excited for all the mortals who would now be getting a better life.

Loki, however, suddenly felt a wave of mischief overcome him. He no longer had to go to Jotunheim, he had been accepted home where his wounds could heal, and any further punishment from the All-Father could be dealt with. He had a sudden urge to cause some chaos.

"I have a plan for my evening, my brother, but I thank you for the offer. You should go and enjoy your Steven, for I am certain that tomorrow our parents will return."

"They had better. I am through with the throne for another few thousand years!" Thor laughed as he stood and more or less threw Steven over his shoulder. He lightly patted him across the backs of his thighs and hauled him out of the room. If they made it back to Thor's chambers across the wing, it would be a miracle.

At least Thor was a simple thing in his youth. He wanted to hunt and conquest. And he had come to really enjoy bedding Steven, moreso than the others slaves. Or James. Or even other Aesir. Steven was an elixir to him. A comfort. He'd been his only comfort over the year that Loki was gone.

There was something to say for that. And it came in the form of making Steven sweat and moan and writhe beneath him.

Whatever Loki had planned, no one would be there to stop him. Not Thor and not Anthony, currently turning the spit with a device he had concocted from kitchen piping and iron used to keep wooden buckets from splitting in the fires.

So much for his punishment.

Steven didn't mind if they didn't make it back to his master's chambers. While it could be inappropriate to be caught rutting in a public place, especially for a slave, if his master willed it then he would never say no. He longed to spend each night in ecstasy, each day serving his master, until the day that he hopefully took his rightful place in Valhalla beside James to serve Thor until Ragnarok came.

Loki had similar plans, but ones of a much less direct nature.

He slipped down to the kitchens in the guise of a sparrow, small and fleet on the wing, and settled himself up in the rafters where he could see his Anthony. Such a clever slave to have already come up with a way to make his punishment less arduous and save the kitchen staff in the future. He truly was one of a kind.

Having been a slave of Loki's for half a century now, Anthony would surely be familiar with the sensation of ghostly hands, invisible hands, caressing him all over. One of the more frivolous uses of seidr. He would feel it now while he should be working, the sensation of fingers touching him all over, teasing between his legs, pinching at his nipples, even beginning to slide into him.

Loki watched with amusement to see how his Anthony would deal with this.

This ws not a new game and Anthony had always been attuned to his master's presence. He hadn't needed to feel those ghostly hands upon him to know that Loki had come to see him, and the smile on his face from that was bright for a moment before it broke apart into a gasp. Anthony leaned against the wall with one hand, eyes closed, as the simple machine he built rotated the morning meal.

No one was paying much attention to him at the moment. They had until about half an hour before, whispering at loss of position, at less slaves that may be needed to staff the palace. Who ever heard of a slave with down time after all? He'd ignored the talk. The other slaves didn't have to like him. They didn't have as long a life as he would. Their infusion of apples was minuscule compared to his usual breakfast, just enough to make them stronger and healthier so that they could work without pain.

In twenty years, the influx of slaves that replaced these would never know a time before the rotating spit.

But even if anyone was paying attention to him, Anthony only had one audience. He let his head fall back as he felt himself be entered fully clothed and ground back on the invisible shaft.

Loki laughed to himself as he sat on the beams above the kitchens, completely out of sight, and saw how Anthony lost himself with abandon. His slave was so perfect when taken, so lost in the sensation of it, it truly made it worth pleasuring him. He gradually began to increase the size of the invisible shaft inside him, and added the sensation of a mouth sucking on his own arousal.

Except Anthony was not as unobserved as he might hope.

One of the other kitchen slaves darted over to check on the meat, since the spit dog had come wandering over to her with nothing to do now that something else was turning the meat in its place.

"What are you doing? You can't be standing idle!"

Idle? There was nothing idle about what Anthony was doing right now. Sweat had broken on his upper lip, as much from the heat of the room as from the heat of the sensation, and he felt his nails dig into the grout around the clammy tiles mounted on the wall. He couldn't quite keep from swaying, and he shifted his weight with s swallowed hiss.

"I'm monitoring the spit," Anthony said, his black and green tunic stuck to his body, erection highlighted in damp fabric. "If it goes... If it goes off the wheel... I'll need... To replace.. The belt..." He was going to come undone right here, talking to one of the middle management kitchen slaves. He curled his toes in his boots in an attempt to hold on, but his abdominal muscles were already tightening. "Let me concentrate--!"

The slave frowned. "You sick? You can't be near the food if-- Odin's beard!"

Anthony groaned low and gasped before he growled out his orgasm against lips that were nonexistent, muscles clenching around the massive phallas filling him.

The act of sex wasn't taboo on Asgard, but it was still sex. Just as riding a horse would be frowned on in the kitchens, so too was spilling seed near things that people were going to eat. She looked disgusted, especially at how he had apparently orgasmed so hard from nothing.

"What is wrong with you?"

Anthony might hear the quietest laugh from above his head, before those invisible hands started up again. He was not going to allow this to be easy for his slave, the awkwardness of the situation was a better entertainment than many a feastday performer could be.

"Turning meat turns me on," Anthony said, though he was completely into the way Loki touched him, hands felt but unseen. He closed his eyes against it and found himself biting his lip before the slave slapped him on the back of the head with a ladle.

"Out! Out! Disgusting!"

Trying to run from a ladle feeling as if he had a horse's cock ramming into his ass wasn't exactly easy and he found himself stumbling twice before he made it out to the courtyard. On his knees on the brick by the outdoor oven, Anthony arched his back and stretched forward on his hands. Two male slaves, who had been baking bread, paused to look at him and snickered.

Anthony had no shame. He didn't care. He just wanted his master in this moment, but if he couldn't have him, he'd accept his magic instead.

Ah, but this was mischief, and Loki enjoyed making others frustrated.

Just before Anthony reached his second climax, everything would stop. The magic withdrew, the sensation of being touched dimmed, and left him only with his own erection and the watching bakers.

And Loki.

He had transformed back into his usual form and had taken a seat on one of the low walls around the courtyard, bright green eyes fixed on his Anthony with intense amusement. He even waved, laughing to himself.

Shivering and left wanting, Anthony sat back on his heels and turned dark eyes towards his master, mouth open and breathing hard. "The real thing is better," he murmured under his breath, not watching the other slaves immediately turn away from him to begin forming dough into braided loaves with incredible abandon. They didn't care to be noticed by the prince, not under this circumstance.

Not that Anthony cared. Let them look. Let them see. Let them be jealous.

He crawled across the landscaped terrace, still on all fours, towards his master only to sit back again on his heels just within touching distance of him. His eyes lifted, gaze almost defiant for Loki to reprimand him again. It was true. He took too many liberties. But all personal slaves did too, to a degree. That was why their masters came to love them.

And I. Poor Tony's case, a signifier of how deeply in love with his master he was.

Loki ignored all others as well, he cared nothing for what they saw or thought. They had no right to judge him as Prince, and he knew that all would be sensible enough to vacate the area so that he may take his slave should he wish.

"You are no longer in the kitchens, Anthony, did I not say that you were to serve there until the dawn tomorrow?"

Of course he knew that his slave had been thrown out. He had seen it, he had been there, it had been his fault. But he said it anyway, a clear tease in the smile at his lips and in the lilt of his voice.

"Must you disobey me so much? I will have to think of more creative punishments."

"Technically, this is part of the kitchen," he said, knowing he was being cheeky, but Looi had forgiven his trespass and taken him back and Anthony would accept whatever came to him. That didn't mean he would have the best handle on his tongue however. Even now. "But you're right, my prince. I'm not in the kitchen. So I suppose I haven't learned my lesson at all. I want, desperately, to be taught to behave..."

The way Anthony spoke was almost unthinkable to slaves thst had never been taken for bedsport outside of a feast or gathering... When there generally was less of a bed in play and more of an orgy to satiate Aesir lust. They didn't understand that personal slaves were often coy to provoke interest in their masters and mistresses.

And they didn't know that this was all part of a very important game to play with Loki, to stoke his ego, to reconnect after a hurt had been done.

Anthony rolled his shoulders forward, eager for this punishment. If it hurt, fine, so long as Loki enjoyed it.

How could Thor think that Loki would ever accept a second slave?

No other could ever compare to Anthony and the perfection of his response. Quick, intelligent, loyal, eager... he was all that Loki could ever want and more. Despite that, he truly would not hesitate to dismiss or kill him if the situation truly required it. He was a selfish creature at heart, and likely only Frigga stood high enough in his esteem to truly escape that.

Loki pulled Anthony up onto his lap and ground against him, his arousal fairly evident even beneath his clothes. Not that either had clothes for long, for he vanished his own and used a dagger to slice Anthony's off him - a slight cruelty, for Anthony would have to stitch and mend those before morning. He barely hesitated before thrusting into him right there in the courtyard, fingernails raking harsh lines down his back to mingle pleasure and pain.

He needed to use Anthony, to release the tension and fear of the past few months, and he would do it until long after his poor slave was exhausted and spent many times over.

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