fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

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.

In a way, Thor used Steven similarly. Their approach to their chosen slaves were much the same, using them for release. Thor's position as a young All-Father was stressful, more than anything else had ever been. James was never exclusive in his bed, though Thor let no other have use of being inside of his body. Steven had often joined bedsport to pleasure James with his mouth or to pleasure Sif when she stayed with Thor for the evening. James had been solely his but Thor had gifted himself to others as well.

Over this last year, though, Thor had rutted into no other. No other slave had joined him and Steven in his bed. Steven never slept in the slave stable in the courtyard with the others. A year was not so long, in many ways, but Thor's constant doting on Steven, even outside of bed, was becoming noticeable. Almost illicit.

No one that did not know Loki would ever see the affection he had for his poor, used slave. But Thor was less careful, less caring of how others thought of him.

As the sun came up slowly over the castle wall, Thor held Steven tightly as they stood in an alcove, the prince buried deeply inside of the slave with Steven's muscular legs around his waist. Thor was just enjoying his sheath, enjoying kissing the moans from his slave. It was unseemly.

And Thor's friends were making a plan to let him know. He could not treat Steven as a lover.

It was Lady Sif that was chosen to approach their friend.

She had been his friend the longest, she was less likely to incite rage, and she did not fear angering someone who currently sat as All-Father. She frowned when she went in search of him and found him buried within his slave in public, when there were duties always to be attended to.

"Thor, I would speak with you. Leave your slave and walk with me."

She did not even consider that he might refuse. To put his slave above a free Aesir would be unthinkable and a true insult to Sif herself.

Thor groaned, groaned against Steven's mouth before he pulled back and lightly hit his legs until he felt feet against the floor. He rocked back then, pulling himself unsatisfied from his slave. "This had better be important," Thor said as he tucked himself away. "Steven, run a bath. I'll return before too long."

Thor was not falling into reverie here. He wasn't addicted to sexual encounters like some his age were when they could not expend energy through battle. Yes, that he could cause Steven to orgasm simply through ploughing deeply into him was a pleasurable thing, but Thor feel much more deeply for the slave that pulled him from the ashes of the death of his other love.

Wiping his hands on his breeches and letting down his tunic, Thor joined Sif with a frown.

"Quickly. Tell me what needs be done."

It was the depth of emotion that worried them, that was what was unseemly about this, and she did not want her friend to be disgraced by something like this. She glanced about to be sure that their conversation would not be overheard, so that he would not be shamed by that either.

"You are falling for your slave and it has caused gossip already."

She did not believe in edging around an issue, but rather attacking it head on. It was what made her such a wonderful warrior.

"He is a possession, Thor, do not do this. If you continue this way then when Odin Borson returns, he will surely strip you of him to stop this before it goes further. You bed him where all can see, you care nothing for the bedsport of others, and you speak with him as though he were your lover."

There was a problem here. He did love Steven. He might even be in love with Steven. But that said, he understood that the other man was property. He understood that he owned him. He did not want to free him. Love was not as simple as the romances might have you believe, that was for certain. He was not ashamed to have this unrolled so easily with Sif though. He had always appreciated it when she made sure to tell him exactly how she was feeling and why.

If there were already rumours, that would be difficult to unravel.

"Sitting upon the throne is stressful. I do not care for pillow talk with others. He has been a help to me in these stressful times, Sif. I know it is unseemly but I desire him more than any other."

"Then you're going to have to learn to desire another, because you cannot do this. If you cannot keep your relationship with your slave in the realm of propriety, then you should do the right thing and sell him."

It wouldn't be the first time that an owner had fallen for their slaves. Many were bred for beauty or witty conversation, a slave saw you at your worst and did not judge. Yet mostly these affairs were hushed up or among the lower classes where things were not so strict. To have the current and future All-Father love a slave in the wrong way would be a disaster.

"You know that I speak truth, Thor. I do not want you to suffer, nor to cause you anguish, but this is how it must be. Learn to put him back in his proper place, or get rid of him."

Sif was right. Thor surrounded himself with people that loved him, that offered him good counsel, that were fun in the furs and with whom would make an ideal replacement. But his equals though they may be were not Steven. Thor was strong in many ways, however, and now he would just need to be strong in all ways, No matter how this hurt.

He'd let himself grow attached,

That did not mean that Thor was happy with Sif's words or her truths and so he departed her company with an angered growl. He would normally bring up these matters to his brother, but there was shame in this weakness of his and Loki was out for fresh blood. Anything in the water would alert him and draw his interest and Thor was in enough pain.

He didn't understand when he had turned so broody and though he had already caused some controversy when it came to James and his funerary rites, he could not afford to cause more. He cursed his first loyal servant for making him desire the love of a slave and was immediately apologetic...to James' memory and to the bench he broke in his anger.

Only then did he return to his chambers. The sun was up and bright by then. His slaves were at their duties and he bar kingly sent them all away. All save his Steven.

Poor Steven had no idea what might be coming his way.

He had served to the best of his abilities since the day he was born. He had strove for more knowledge, more strength. He was always polite, always friendly, and he had a strong sense of honour. He had come to love his master dearly, even aside from the bed sport they enjoyed together, and he believed that he had worth for his master in return. That Prince Thor might have been falling for him wasn't something that even crossed his mind.

Steven had returned to the bed chamber and drawn a bath, as instructed.

He had to reheat the water once in order to keep it at the right temperature for when his master did appear, but that was just one of his duties. He stood up straight when his master entered, smile at his lips and clear blue eyes earnest.

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