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In which Loki and Ingrid celebrate the Jól of the Old Gods. Where a sacrifice is demanded to bring an end to the darkness of winter.
"God Jól!!" The toast went up from Thor, who bellowed at the top of his substantial lungs, making the king's eyes roll slightly as the great hall shook with the returning cheers of "God Jól!" in return. The God of Thunder was deep in his cups and had been for the last three days. But tonight's feast was the culmination of Jól, which began on the day of the Solstice, and Loki, King of Asgard - and by default all the Nine Realms - was prepared to tolerate his friend's antics. The reason for Loki's new leniency was seated next to him- Queen Ingrid, his beloved wife, and mother to his twins. Who despite overseeing three weeks of celebration at the palace - which was flooded with dignitaries and nobility from across the Universe - was still flushed prettily and laughing at Thor’s exuberance.
But because he could not resist instilling awe and fear, the king spoke next. "Ah, yes Thor. This day we celebrate the return of the Sun with the Night of Sacrifice- the Jólablót." Loki's voice had deepened ominously, and a hush fell across the huge hall as his magically amplified voice carried to the farthest reaches. "The nights and days of darkness now begin to shorten, as the Goddess brings her sun chariot across the sky again." These stories were mainly myth, crafted for the mortals who still feared and worshipped the Æsir, not just on Midgard, but on several Realms who still clung to the superstitions of their elders. So, Loki's dramatic retelling was really just self-aggrandizement since the myths and legends focused mainly on him - and Thor - who was busy raising his gigantic goblet and gesturing for more mead. “But first, we must offer Jólablót."
Hundreds of guests shifted in their seats, murmuring anxiously and feeling the primitive, atavistic fear rise within them at their king's words. Loki paused, a splendid and terrifying figure in his dark armor- such a dark green as to be nearly black- his silver weaponry and magnificent crown. "But for that, it is not yet time. So, celebrate, our good friends! Eat and drink!" A huge and somewhat relieved roar of applause rose, and everyone got back to the business at hand: eating, drinking until they passed out, then reviving themselves to do it all over again.
Seating himself and kissing Ingrid's hand, Loki winked at her faint smirk.
"Really, my husband? You could not let Thor’s silly toast go unanswered?" His Queen's voice was low and teasing, and her eyes shone with love for him, something Loki sometimes still could not believe had been gifted to him.
"Of course not, my darling," he murmured, deliberately adding a purr under his tone, knowing it would make Ingrid shiver a little, "we cannot allow the unwashed masses to believe that my idiot friend brings the new year, when it is clear that the end of the darkness comes from the Allfather."
"Of course not..." Ingrid's eyes sparkled before she leaned in, clearly asking for a kiss, which Loki gladly granted.
A light, lovely voice spoke up next. "What is a Jólablót, Father?" Brynja, of course, was the one to lean forward eagerly, hoping for all the gory details. Her lavender eyes and her sweet voice came from her mother- but the conniving brain under that pitch-black hair was all her sire.
"Where a sacrifice is demanded from the Gods - a Jólablót," Loki smiled indulgently at his daughter.
"Wh- what kind of sacrifice, Father?" The concerned question came from his son Arne, his jade-green eyes wide and with an earnestness never seen in Loki's matching ones.
"The Goddess does not bring the sun again without an appropriate sacrifice, my son," he answered, "an offering is required."
Ingrid, picturing several weeks of nightmares to come, gracefully stepped in. "And something best explained when you are older, my darlings-"
"I'm old enough!" protested Brynja immediately, but her mother laughed and shook her head.
"It is very late, and time for you to sleep. We must bid farewell to all our guests tomorrow. Please go and tell your grandparents goodnight before retiring." Ignoring their half-hearted protests, Ingrid tenderly kissed their children, who went to their father for the same before heading off with their nurse Hannah, long gone grey from looking after the offspring of the God of Mischief, who insisted on living up to their sire's name.
Watching them reach the Light Elf contingent, Ingrid's eyes misted to see them enthusiastically hug and kiss King and Queen Leafstred, their Ljósálfar grandparents who were alight with love for the twins. Loki leaned in close to kiss her just under her ear, then whispering, "I am sorry your father is not here tonight, my love."
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and smiled firmly. "All things in their time, husband."
She never knew how a stab of fear went through Loki's hardened heart when Ingrid spoke of her father- the brother of King Leafstred and unwilling consort to the vicious Queen of the Dark Elves. Ingrid - who could only speak the truth - possessed incalculable power and was the last of the Fairie in this universe. And how she had predicted her father and the Fairie would return, followed by a ... Something. Ingrid couldn't explain further than a Something. Something unspeakable.
Forcing a smile back to his mobile lips, Loki kissed her again before leaning back to survey the great hall, not noticing that his Queen continued to watch him, smiling lovingly. Loki was her king, her husband, the father of her children. Her savior. Thinking back on their beautiful, tumultuous history, Ingrid didn't realize the exhaustion of creating the massive celebration of the past three weeks was finally catching up with her as she dozed off.
Ingrid woke with a start, sitting up abruptly and anxiously rubbing her eyes as she looked around her. She'd fallen asleep at the banquet... but this was not her bedchamber. She was alone on a massive snowy field, stretching as far as she could see under a night sky so black that not a sliver of light could be seen- no moon, no stars, nothing. Rising to her feet, she walked for a moment, flicking a charm with one hand to keep her feet from sinking into the deep snow. Her heavy ceremonial gown trailed after her as Ingrid turned in one direction, then the other, trying to spot any kind of a structure, the smoke from a fire, perhaps. Whatever brought her here was powerful magic. Her own should have grounded her in the great hall- or Loki would have surely blocked any attempt at abduction. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, sending her senses soaring in all directions, trying to discover where she'd been brought. The answer was not a comforting one.
This was a hunting ground.
The baying of hounds and distant shouts galvanized Ingrid into moving, racing across the snow. Another flick of her fingers changed her useless gown into heavy boots and leather pants, a thick coat. With a grim smile, she kept moving. She didn't need to conjure weapons, because she did not need them. Whoever was hunting her would discover that soon enough. Still, the Queen of Asgard had taken the vow a century before to no longer take life if she could avoid it. But returning home to her family was paramount. The sounds of the animals hunting her and their masters grew closer, and Ingrid gritted her teeth, feet flying over the snow. How could any animal run this fast? She knew her speed could be nearly supernatural if required, but the heavy beat of hooves and paws grew closer still.
"There she is!" The roar went up, making the hounds howl and the shouts of the other hunters were cruel, eager. "Do not let her slip away! The king will tear us to pieces for animal fodder!"
Ingrid groaned. A king. Who else would be insane enough to challenge her husband? Loki would dismantle this place down to the last molecule when he discovered her disappearance. As she squinted, she could just make out a line of trees, if she could make it into the woods, she could-
"We have her!"
She heard the wild singing shrill of the noose before she felt it, a loop of shining energy that landed over her head and wrapped instantly down her body, binding her arms to her sides and legs together, making Ingrid fall ignominiously face-first into the snow. A string of harshly growled words- something from one of the Dead Languages stole her consciousness before she even hit the ground.
It was the heat of the fire Ingrid felt first as she forced herself back into awareness. She was still bound in the glittering bindings, but she was naked underneath it. 'At least I'm comfortable and warm,' Ingrid thought bitterly. Shielding her from the cold stone floor was a massive white fur from some unimaginably huge creature. It was thick and soft. Forcing herself upright, she looked around her. The fur was in the middle of a towering throne room, lined with fireplaces large enough to roast several oxen at once. There were hundreds of torches battling away the darkness outside.
"Ah. Awake at last, my prize." The voice was beautiful, sonorous like her husband's but with a jagged edge of cruelty. "I've been waiting for you, and patience is not a virtue I possess. You will pay for that."
Whirling, awkward in her bindings, Ingrid's jaw dropped. "Loki?"
The man on the throne was Jötunn. Soaring black horns with delicate silver chains adorning them rose from his forehead. Luxuriously thick ebony hair, braided with beads and jewels and- were those bones? Long blue limbs stretched on from broad shoulders and a narrow waist. And the markings... Ingrid had only seen her husband's beautiful display on his cobalt skin once when he had changed for her, just before their wedding. He'd refused to show her his Jötunn form again, no matter how many times she'd begged him. But the dots and lines along this giant's body were exquisite, spiraling and sailing along his limbs in a pattern of unspeakable elegance. This exotic creature wore silver-plated Schynbald -armor covering his shins and heavy boots, a jeweled chest-plate and some kind of leather kilt or loincloth. When her eyes finally rose to his ruby red ones, the Jötunn grinned, showing the tips of razor-sharp fangs. "Do you like what you see, slave?"
Ingrid leaned forward with a snarl, still managing to look dangerous while securely bound. "I am no slave. I am Her Majesty of Asgard, Her Royal Highness of Alfheim and Niflheim and you will die for this. How dare you-"
With a growl, the Frost Giant cut her off. "You will be silent! Slaves do not speak and believe me. You are a slave," he leaned forward with a cruel grin, "mine, in fact. To do with what I please. And oh, pretty thing, I have so many things planned for you." He rose then, and Ingrid looked up, and up and up until her neck cracked as he strolled down the steps of his dais and stood before her, legs arrogantly apart in just the way her Loki would. "You blurted out a name," he hissed, "my brother's. Do not utter it again. I am the rightful King of Jötunnheim."
Ingrid ground her teeth in fury. What madness was this? Loki ruled the frozen world of the Frost Giants. He had no siblings. No one to aspire to the throne. No one certainly, powerful enough in magic to abduct her from Asgard and to here. Was she in a parallel universe? What could possibly be happening here? She shook her head, eyes narrowed. "You do not silence me, pretender. My husband rules Jötunnheim. Loki," she emphasized tauntingly, "rules the Frost Giants."
This time the Jötunn answered her with a roar, arms stretching towards her as if to throttle the life from her. But Ingrid had no reason to hide her gifts any longer. With a resounding "crack!" that felt like the air in the massive room was somehow displaced, magnificent, snowy white wings shot from between her shoulder blades, exploding her enchanted bonds as she flew at the Frost Giant with a hiss that made the several ton slabs of stone beneath them rumble and shift. They crashed together with a fury, twisting and turning in mid-air as they tore at each other, both attempting to land a blow that would incapacitate the other. The blue King smashed into a wall, leaving a sizeable dent and a shower of granite chips and dust cascading down as he shot out with a howl, leaping at Ingrid and squeezing her between his impossibly long arms, folding her wings back inwards. But she laughed breathlessly, slamming her forehead brutally into his and stunning him briefly as she twisted loose, one wing slamming him sideways and halfway across the room. He groaned, having smashed head first into his own ice and ebony throne, exploding it into pieces. But the Jötunn was already up and thrusting one cobalt fist towards her and shouting, "Slaven blir straffet!"
Ingrid screamed, in rage, pain, and frustration. Lightning blue streaks of fire shot out from his fingers and encircled her, humming and sparking ominously and she twisted and writhed, trying to break free from the net of energy that was racing up her body, slithering along her skin and spiking nerve endings. To her horror, she could feel her center begin to warm as the enchanted fire moved along it, making her lower lips swell and eagerly moisten. She was furious. How could her body betray her like this? To an enemy?
That enemy was strolling towards Ingrid, absently smoothing back his hair in an unconsciously sensual move. One she'd seen her husband use many times and it never failed to arouse her. "Pretty little Fairie. You did not think I knew? Your kind are meant to be subjugated. Under my foot. Writhing on my cock. And you will be, slave."
"Skitten dyr! Monster! Feil ting!" Ingrid shouted, focusing her power in a way that should have torn her assailant into a thousand pieces. It did not, and he continued his inexorable stroll towards her, crimson eyes examining her beautiful, wiggling form.
Instead, he raised one huge hand and made an almost negligent gesture. "Åpne nå for din konge, lille fugl." To her horror, Ingrid found herself on her back on the massive fur again, and her legs- as directed by this arrogant blue bastard, were indeed spreading wide for him. And then he was standing above her, loosening his chest plate and armor and tossing them away carelessly. Ingrid's breath caught in her throat. Even shielded by his heavy leather coverings, she could see his cock begin to rise. It was suitably- and terrifyingly enormous. The Jötunn knew where her gaze was caught, and he grinned insolently. "I begin to think mounting you will not be such a battle, Fairie."
This time, Ingrid's foot broke loose and shot up viciously, heading for the gigantic bulge in his kilt and the Frost Giant turned enough to catch the blow on his thigh. Still, it was clearly painful and he growled, showing his sharp canines in warning and pounced on her, shoving his knees between hers and blocking the elf's furious attempt to close them. "Off me, beast!" she hissed, "Or I swear I will tear you limb from limb. I do not need the true king to destroy you!"
Ingrid's taunt hit home, and his eyes lit with an unholy fire. Yanking his leathers loose, he pulled his cock from them and arched his hips at her, stroking the massive organ. It was glimmering cobalt and like the rest of him covered with swirling marks of his clan, ridged lines.
"...That will rub along the tender silk of your cunt, slave. Adding to your pleasure until you beg me to come." Chuckling unkindly at the look of fury on Ingrid's lovely face, he continued, "Yes, I can hear your thoughts, slave. And I will sink into you to the root. Shoving my spear through your body until you feel skewered upon my cock. Hmmm... even wetter, slave. You want this, don't you?"
She couldn't speak- why? Ingrid grappled with the rising arousal and confusion. She should be screaming at this filthy bastard, using her powers to dissolve his brain and make it drip from his ears as he howled in agony, so why-? "AAAH! You do not dare!" The rest of her protest was cut off as the Jötunn fastened his frozen mouth against her heated quim. His shoulders moved in laughter but his tongue was occupied in tracing along her clitoris and tickling the entrance to her cunt. His hugely broad shoulders shoved her thighs wider, painfully wide and held them open as his frigid lips closed over her cunt in a filthy, carnal kiss. Ingrid was shaking and writhing, trying to move and dislodge this bastard, this invader from her body but he didn't even twitch. And oh, by the Nornir, his long, chilly tongue was sliding up her fiery channel, stroking in a terrible, knowing way that told her he was quite familiar with Elven physiology and knew exactly what he was doing to her. Ingrid continued to try to fight, to move away but her eyes closed, unable to look at him. Because this Jötunn was beautiful. Thick black lashes in a fan on those cruel cheekbones, and his hair- so wonderfully thick and silky stroking along her sensitive belly and tickling her breasts. His detailed musculature under that smooth cerulean skin begged to be traced, and his hips were mindlessly thrusting against her knees. Without thinking, just trying to shove him away from her somehow, Ingrid flailed out, grabbing one of his horns.
This was a mistake. With a long, shuddering growl, his head rose from her quim, chin wet with her slick and a snarl on his face. The Jötunn's huge chest was heaving and he moved swiftly up her body, his cock trailing surprisingly hot lines of the moisture oozing from it along her thighs. Ingrid's gaze was wide and startled. His horns, his long, shining ebony horns were blazing with heat in complete contrast to the rest of his polar-cold body. The Frost Giant was desperately trying to keep a hold on his sanity. The infuriating little Fairie had touched the one thing that made him vulnerable- his horns. The strokes of her soft hands and her initial, desperate grasp of it had stiffened his cock to an impossible length and it was everything he could do to not simply shove it up inside her as hard as he could, hammering himself into that sweet quim until she-
Groaning, his head dropped between her breasts, those long horns bracketing her face and holding her immobile. With a muttered curse under his breath, the Jötunn magicked her hands over her head and drew in a breath. Leaning over her, he grinned insolently. "I'm going to take you now, Queen of Asgard. Elf. Fairie. I'm going to force my cock inside your heated little body and split you wide. And when I am done, you will beg me to take you again." He laughed when she hissed at him, baring her teeth. Angling his beautiful, chilly body over hers, he took his indigo cock in hand, sliding it up and down her wet lips, enjoying the conflict in her expression as Ingrid tried to close her thighs against him. "Open up, little slave, I own you, and I own this." He plunged into her as he finished his taunts and Ingrid bit back a scream, ending in more of a strangled shriek. "There we are..." he crooned in that deeply sonorous voice, so deep that it rumbled in her bones like a bass drum, playing along her spine and making her arch helplessly against his frigid chest.
Ingrid was gasping and moaning, so overwhelmed that she couldn't speak, couldn't fight. There had been no one for her but her husband, no cock that invaded her narrow channel but his. But this! The Jötunn's shaft was cool, cool as well water and so wide, splitting her just as he'd threatened and then those lovely, raised markings rubbing against her wildly sensitive channel, making her stomach muscles tighten, her toes point helplessly, her nails sink into the tough skin of the Frost Giant's biceps. He growled, thrusting up into her harder, enjoying the quivering silk of her, her sweet-smelling slick flowing to help him drive in deeper. Reaching one black taloned finger down, he slid it around the strained entrance to her cunt, enjoying the feel of it stretched so tightly around him. Holding the blue digit up to her eyes, he laughed tauntingly. "Protest all you like, sweet slave. You want this. You want me."
Bracing his feet, the Jötunn pushed and slid, moving deeper inside her, deeper than Ingrid imagined her channel could possibly accommodate. The force of his thrusts was pushing her backward against the fur, and as her silver hair flowed dangerously close to the fireplace, he growled and went back on his long haunches, pressed against his heels as he hauled Ingrid upright, balancing her in front of him as her hands grasped blindly at his shoulders. The huge hands slid up her waist and behind her to cradle Ingrid by her shoulder blades, leaning her back as his glacial mouth landed on one pink nipple, pulling it with his lips, enjoying her startled squeal. As he moved to her other breast, the Jötunn chuckled low in his throat. "Such bounteous breasts..." he rumbled, "so full and soft."
"My- my mother hated them, she said I had 'the teats of a peasant,'" Ingrid suddenly volunteered, shocked at the words coming out of her mouth, confiding to this- this bastard, this arrogant blue villain who was vigorously hauling her up and down on that thick staff of his.
He looked up suddenly, his eyes glowing a vicious crimson again. "Fortunate the monstrous bitch is dead and gone. It would have pleased me to end her myself." He arched his hips up aggressively as he brought her down against him, bringing himself to the hilt inside her, the coarse hair at his pelvis rubbing against her swollen clitoris. The Jötunn suckled at her breasts again, growling low like an animal, a wolf perhaps.
At some point, Ingrid found one hand gripping tight to a handful of his thick hair as the other one slid gently along one of his horns, enjoying his snarl of pleasure and feeling the heat of it against her fingers. The hard ebony of it was smooth, sleek and boiling hot- warming her as the rest of him chilled her flushed skin and smoldering center. Ingrid was half out of her mind, horrified to realize she was about to come around his invading shaft, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Jötunn must have felt it, because his hands went to her hips, pulling her down more tightly as his thrusts shortened, sharpened inside her. "And now delicious, perfect slave it is time. On the Night of Sacrifice, you are my Jólablót. I will not impale you on my dagger but upon my cock. Come now, soak me with your come, Ingrid. Your pleasure is mine to own, and I will have it from you. NOW!"
Wide, mesmerized lavender eyes met glowing vermilion, and Ingrid, the Queen of Asgard and the last of the Fairie, found herself obeying this pillaging Frost Giant and came. Screaming, writhing, clutching his horns and ignoring his groans as she arched and shrieked through an orgasm so powerful that the heavy stone walls shifted and cracked, and the flames roared out from the fireplaces, sending wild shadows against the stone walls and nearly setting the fur beneath them ablaze. And he came too, so powerfully that Ingrid could feel it warm her belly, her chest as she fell against him, panting and moaning, still coming as his finish seeped from her flooded channel. The two wrapped their arms around each other tightly, still attached and rocking slightly.
"You were perfection, my beautiful, exquisite wife," Loki finally managed to croak.
Head still resting on his shoulder, Ingrid giggled weakly. "You were far too convincing, husband. I nearly brought the stones of this hall down on top of you before I realized it was indeed, Loki, the God of Mischief."
Groaning as he gently disengaged from her and watching the flood of his slick and hers pour from his wife's somewhat battered quim, Loki kissed Ingrid. "And the Night of Sacrifice is finished, Jólablót has been made." Waving a hand to tidy his wife and dress her again, the King of Asgard lifted her in his arms. "I have used you roughly, my darling. I shall make amends with great tenderness when we are alone in our bed."
Ingrid laughed, hiding her face in his neck. "I would do it again, every Jól. God Jól, indeed!" Loki shook his head at his wife's little dirty joke and the Frost Giant's throne room disappeared.
Later in their shadowy bedroom, Loki kept his promise, luring his wife to bed with sweet words. He kissed her over and over, whispering of the loveliness of her face, reflected in the firelight, the perfection of her body, the tightness of her quim, and they finished together with sighs and moans. Loki murmured, "I love you, wife," falling asleep still inside his beloved Ingrid as she whispered her love in return.
"Slaven blir straffet!" - "The slave is punished."
"Skitten dyr! Monster! Feil ting!" - "Filthy animal! Monster! Foul thing!"
"Åpne nå for din konge, lille fugl." - "Now open for your king, little bird."
While it might almost be sacrilegious to compare Loki to a goat, there are certain breeds that have blood vessels in their horns, rather than just cartilage, and their horns are surprisingly, startlingly hot.