Chapter Text
“BROTHER!”
The explosive rumble of Thor’s voice behind him made him start suddenly, nearly falling down the porch steps. Thankfully, Loki’s uncanny reflexes kicked in and he turned smoothly, annoyance darkening his gaze as he faced his great oafish sibling. His annoyance only grew further when Thor had the decency to grab his shoulder to steady him, as though he might actually have gracelessly tumbled to the sidewalk.
Thor was wearing a satin bedsheet toga, draped ridiculously across his broad muscled chest with the hem stopping well above his knees, displaying his legendary thews quite prominently. A little gold circlet with vines wrapped about it adorned the top of his head, his shoulder-length blonde tresses flowing freely. He had completed the outfit with sandals and a smile brighter than lightning, declaring himself (at top volume, naturally) to be Zeus at anyone who asked. When Loki had sniffed earlier about dressing as a lesser god, and besides, togas were Roman, not Greek, Thor had merely laughed and declared, “Veritably ironic, brother! Irony is the fashion here, and fashion is the irony!” Loki didn’t think he had any idea what he was talking about, but after catching Thor dressing like the local hipster lumberjacks a few days ago, manbun and all, it wasn’t surprising. Leave it to the bastard to look damn good in a sodding bedsheet, though.
The big god’s face took a grave cast on seeing Loki’s expression. “Brother. Are you well? Are you in need?” He leaned in, looking serious. “Did you see one of those terrifying jesters? A…what do you call them?” Thor made a gesture behind him at one of his companions, wearing loose gowns, matching gold leaf crowns, and plenty of jingling jewelry, pointing at his face. “The jesters, with the terrifying makeup?” The girl tipped her head, hiccupped, and giggled. “Juggalo?”
“YES, BROTHER, did you behold a JUGGALO? They would induce shock indeed.” Behind him, both girls started yelling something about magnets (or magnates?) at each other before dissolving into pools of drunken laughter.
Loki had regained some of his senses at this point, if not perfect control over his annoyance. “No. I did not.” His green-and-gold flecked eyes flicked to the Greek Wonder Twins. “Don’t you and these…goddesses,” he stressed the word sarcastically, “have a party to attend?”
Thor looked almost chagrined for a moment, and Loki felt a little surprise twinge of guilt. He forgot sometimes that just because Thor could be an anachronistic labradoodle of a deity, he wasn’t completely daft and might care, somewhere in that lunkish head of his, about what Loki thought. Thor lowered his voice, sounding less like a cheerful storm and more like the grumble of thunder. “Won’t you come with us? There will be plenty of company to share,” he said, inclining his head a few times to the girls. He was not at all subtle, and they did not care.
“Oh, come ON, tall dark ‘n’ broody!” one of them pleaded. “We got an extra bedsheet and…and…” She waved her hand at the trees in a happily confused drunken gesture. “There are trees. Lots of ‘em. They have LEAVES…for…for your headthingy.”
Loki cocked one eyebrow. “My…headthingy.” He sighed, looking over the three of them. “Behold, the great conquerors. Your Olympus awaits. Give me a moment to change. And I am driving.”
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Loki, of course, was not about to go out in a bedsheet. Beyond the absolute absurdity of trying to look dignified standing next to Thor wearing one, he was a god of illusion. Once he entered the house, it only took a moment’s decision and a snap of his fingers to make his costuming choice. On his way back out, he plucked an apple from a bowl in the kitchen, spinning it on the tip of his left index finger as it pinkened and rounded.
As he re-emerged, both girls immediately ceased their chatter to stare at him. He was wearing a short-sleeved tunic in pitch black with a matching fabric draped from his shoulder to his knees. Delicate embroidery picked around the hems of the tunic in bright emerald and silver, and if the trio had been less sauced, they might have noticed that the patterns looked almost familiar, like symbols. Loki’s dark hair still brushed his shoulders, but atop his head rested a simple silver circlet. As he extended his right hand for Thor’s keys, a large signet ring glittered in the porch lights.
When they finally regained their tongues, one of the girls slurred, “Are you, like, a cosplayer or something?” Thor grinned as he clasped his keys and Loki’s hand in both of his meaty paws. “Splendid, brother. You have joined the Toga Party as…death?” Loki rolled his eyes and extracted his hand and the keys as easily as thinking it, and tossed the now-pomegranate in the air with his left hand, catching it deftly. “It’s a himation, not a toga. One of us should be doing this right, at least.” He smiled, and it was as chilly and edged as Thor’s was bright and warm. “And you can call me Hades.”
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The party was already in full swing by the time the foursome pulled up in Thor’s enormous Bentley Bentayga. Loki didn’t begrudge his brother’s desire for extra room, and though he still used a few tricks for lights and getting past the eyes of any suspecting officers of the law, he hardly needed to with an SUV that could go 180 miles an hour. They had whipped their way up into the dark hills in hardly any time at all to arrive at what appeared to be an actual castle blazing with light and sound. The place had turrets, for crying out loud. A DJ that Loki thought he recognized from a billboard was spinning in the backyard with dozens of partygoers cheering and gyrating on the fancy temporary dance floor spread over the grass. The bass vibrated through the bodies as lights pulsed hypnotically on the swaying bodies. He would have been happy to prowl the edges here, but Thor beckoned him into the house, a goddess on each of his heavily muscled arms. Loki followed like a nonplussed shadow.
The house was a crazy jigsaw of pieces, a McMansion of elegant features thrown together with too much money and not nearly enough sanity to know when to stop. Dark woods and ornate carpentry greeted them in the foyer with a heraldic crest laid into the floor, as though the deranged builders felt the need to establish their lineage on entry. Beyond the entryway, Loki could see throngs of people in an elegant indoor oasis bar, cuddling in corners, and crowding on overlooking balconies. Thor and the girls quickly made their way to get drinks, immediately being swallowed up by the crowd and the reaching hands of many guests ready to welcome the newcomers.
Not wanting to remain in Thor’s rowdy wake, Loki deftly side-stepped the flow of people into the central bar and instead made his way to an elegant spiral staircase and more interesting sounds above. Not far from the top landing, he found a darkened private movie theater with partygoers sprawled out along couches and two tiered viewing platforms. A few of the guests were making out, getting handsy, while others simply leaned on one another in affectionate drunken stupor. Loki noticed the movie they had chosen, that was inciting some mixed laughter and comedic jeering, was a recent one that had depicted rough bedroom play rather badly, as he had heard and was now witnessing. He tsked at the actors, who had absolutely no chemistry, what help were they to relieving the charged atmosphere in the room? He slid into the theater and insinuated himself with little trouble next to two girls wearing very skimpy representations of Black Widow and Supergirl. Both were quietly whispering and giggling to each other, pretending to watch the screen in amusement, but he could smell their excitement even from his vantage point. They would take very little nudging.
“It’s a shame,” he murmured, projecting his voice to just curl around Black Widow’s ear. “The movie would have been much better with your delicious friend starring instead, wouldn’t it?” At the same time, Supergirl felt a soft vocal buzz against her earlobe. “You’re both far hotter than anything happening onscreen. Entertain us.” The voice in her ear dropped an octave and the girl shuddered. “Entertain me.”
The two girls rose, initially garnering some boos and a “hey, down in front!” Black Widow grinned at the men on a center couch who made the yell and said, “You mean like this?” and pulled her friend’s tiny tube top down around her waist, freeing a beautiful set of full breasts with a considerable bounce. The energy in the room shifted almost instantly, the soft thrum of sexual tension under the mocking of the movie suddenly becoming overpowering. “Fuck, please,” whimpered Supergirl, as Black Widow’s scarlet-painted lips sucked at one of the girl’s already hard nipples. The sound of at least three costume zippers opening buzzed in the room simultaneously as the two girls in front slowly kissed and fondled one another, skirts and tops being dropped to the floor with sly knowing smiles, ending up shortly in nothing but panties and heels. Outlined by the light of a dungeon scene behind them, much of their faces and bodies remained in shadow which only added to the seduction of the unfolding performance.
As Supergirl seized a handful of Black Widow’s red hair to press their mouths closer together, Loki grinned widely, lazily taking in the room. A cowboy was gripping a Waldo by the chin to hold his mouth open, beginning to slide his cock back and forth between the other man’s full lips. As the cowboy began to jerk in a rapid rhythm, Waldo groaned and grabbed at his partner’s hips to get him deeper in his throat. A pirate lass was smiling blissfully, her leg draped over the thigh of a Jedi Knight as he wrapped her long dark braid around one gloved hand, his other up her violet skirts. She had planted her other boot on the back of a Goblin King who’d buried his face between an Elsa’s legs, and the Snow Queen was definitely “letting it go” with every scream and tremble, an impressive vocal performance around Jared’s clever tongue. Others merely watched, enjoying the scene. Not a soul left the room, though they could make that choice. No, this was his kind of party, full of wicked chaos and willing playthings.
A vampire ran her blood-red stiletto fingernails over Loki’s calf, starting up the sensitive skin of his thigh. His gaze turned to her throat, where he could hear her pulse throbbing and whispering to him, her heart speeding in excitement even as her heavy-lidded eyes belied calm seduction. “And what shall I call you, darling?” he murmured. “Call me Bianca.” She bit her bottom lip in the artful way that the movie playing had tried to make A Thing, and on her plush mouth, it worked. “Are you my Bacchus?” Loki couldn’t help but laugh. “You and my brother. Wrong pantheon entirely, you lovely thing.” Twice. “I’ll be your Hades, but a pomegranate can hardly compare to something…so…sweet.”
Each of his last words was punctuated in movement, as he reached forward, entwined his long fingers around her throat, and pulled her to him, up between his legs, until they were nosetip to nosetip. His eyes were locked on hers, her pupils blown wide in the dark with craving. “I wonder,” he murmured an inch from her lips, “what you taste like, my pet.” Bianca shuddered out a thready little breath. “Is your blood as sweet as that you would take?” She closed her eyes as he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers, sliding in a caress across her cheek, her jaw, down to the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Loki’s tongue laid long, flat licks along that spot as she whimpered and twisted in his lap like she couldn’t get comfortable.
But as Loki inhaled her scent, his brow furrowed. What should be sweet, especially tonight, for Alfblot, the night of blood sacrifices, was…wrong. It was as though the sweetness of champagne remained behind, but the bubbles had gone, leaving what was left flat. He pressed his mouth harder against the spot, eliciting a squeal from his companion, but even her pulse now hard against his skin brought him no mad rush of need. He noticed, belatedly, that her hand had strayed higher and was trying to fumble for his member, and Loki was barely more than flaccid. Frustrated, he scraped his teeth along her skin, hoping that the primal action would inspire him. Instead, it reminded him of that single drop of blood on Anna’s chest, her taste, her smell. It all flooded back and he felt ravenous.
“Oh, yes,” cooed Bianca, stroking his suddenly engorged cock. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He looked down to see that he had sprung to full life, just thinking about that delicious girl on the porch. This vampress was not going to satisfy his hunger tonight. “My simply stunning girl,” he purred to her, “I cannot keep you to myself.” The tendrils of his voice stroked over her confusion, soothing her to contentment. By now, Supergirl and Black Widow had progressed to the little raised stage before the screen. Widow was straddling Supergirl’s face, grinding down with abandon as she drove her fingers repeatedly into the other girl’s pussy, thumb rapidly thrumming the lower girl’s clit. Both were moaning and swearing in increasing volume as their movements sped toward climax. “Beloved Bianca, both of those lovely ladies have brought life to this party, wouldn’t you say? Would you be my good girl and make sure they are rewarded properly? I’ll be along shortly to show my gratitude to all of you.”
His words were gently commanding and quickly effective. “Of course, my lord Hades,” she whispered, turning to crawl towards the stage. Loki gave her rump a fond, if regretful smack as she left him. Sighing, he rose and surveyed the orgy around him with the pride of a job well done. Partners were moving and switching, writhing and screaming, and soon, the whole room would be one spent pile of warm, sticky bodies. He smirked.
Bacchus WISHES he was this good.