Chapter Text
The wind howled ferociously, and Loki’s hair whipped maniacally against his cheeks. His gaze lingered on the dark and haunting manor.
According to legends and old tales, this manor is home to a bloodsucking entity.
A vampire, a viscous Viking, a god—you name it.
But the ladies from the traven have different ideas; the juxtaposition of the rugged natural beauty of the coastline with the mansion’s grandiose and imposing presence creates an unparalleled aesthetic appeal. Some believe he is a ravenous incubus, craving flesh and the feel of skin.
Loki was in a trance; the play of light and shadow on the dark stone facade adds to the sense of mystery and allure. As an amateur architect and explorer at heart, he just couldn't resist, like a moth to flame.
His hands were clammy; sweat gathered between his brows; the only thing that was holding him up metaphorically was his sheer will and passion.
This mansion was like none other he has ever seen; the intricate stonework, stained glass windows, and ornate details showcase the craftsmanship of the past, contributing to its architectural significance. It stood as a beacon of intrigue and mystery, drawing him in towards its enigmatic form.
What he should be afraid of was the owner who resided in it.
Because he smiled menacingly from the high window, staring at Loki. His stare was lecherous and serpentine.
He swept the blond strand away from his eyes, which was potentially obscuring his view from his little mouse, so lithe and dainty; he was ready to devour him.
“Very soon, little one, just a few more moments," he grinned to himself. A malevolent smirk overtook his countenance, his heart beating treacherously.
He was so close to me.
He coveted him and waited patiently for centuries.
_
Loki has been walking for what seems like an eternity; his feet are aching, and even the smallest huff of breath appears perilous and insurmountable.
A thin fog encircled him, making his vision hazy and unclear. Loki was extremely dehydrated and enervated.
His eyelids droop heavily, and his gaze is unfocused. He was struggling to keep them open. Breathing became difficult, irregular, and occasionally punctuated by deep sighs.
A chill ran down his spine; he could feel a stare on his back. It was quickly approaching dusk, and waning crescent and mammatus clouds adorned the endless sky.
The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness were ruby eyes and blue-tinged skin, tall and imposing, looking down at him.
"Hello, little one, I have been waiting for you," a whispered promise, euphonious and feathery, reverberated through the fog.
A fearsome and powerful figure towered over him, and blond waves draped over his shoulders. Loki was certain he was hallucinating.
_
The long table is set, creamy brocade tablecloths falling in heavy folds over the mahogany, silver, and gold rimmed china, which glinted in the glow of a thousand candle weighted chandelier. But the table was empty; there was no edible material in sight. The platters were vacant and hollow.
Loki was confused; his memories betrayed him.
_
The dishes clattered when he jolted violently. There was someone at the other end of the table, staring at him with ruby eyes.
Everything seemed stationary, pin-drop silent; he was afraid to even breathe.
Ruby eyes just cocked his head, watching him. Silvery strands escaped from the bun at the top of his head, and Loki was apprehensive by the intense look in his eyes.
The creature growled, leaping; his hands, the size of Loki's entire head, crashed the plates and tureen to the floor.
“You will be my feast tonight, little mouse," he groused in a deep baritone voice.
In an instant, Loki was bent backward over the table under his inexorable weight.
Loki didn't even see when the creature walked all over from the other side of the table. His mind was jumbled; not a single coherent thought resided.
The creature had fangs, but he didn't hurt Loki. He licks, oh, he licks at his neck, chasing his essence with his rough tongue, then deeper down his decollete.
Loki’s legs were shaking like bambi, and the creature grabbed his arms to wound around his neck. The broad expanse of his back was overwhelming; Loki’s mind pirouetted.
Loki’s hands did not meet, nor did his ankles.
The creature almost whined, his nose pressing against Loki’s neck as if scenting him. A slight feel of teeth on his sensitive region made Loki gasp; it was ecstasy and anguish in a labyrinth.
Loki is still gasping, still melting, and then there is a pop.
The sound of fabric ripping reached his ears. The cold air nipped at his skin, goosebumps prickling. He realised it was his shirt that was torn apart, but he doesn't even remember wearing something like this, verdant silk with a deep neckline. It was obscene.
The creature tears through his shirt as if it were the thinnest muslin, baring Loki’s naked chest to his eyes.
“Stay with me, little one. Where's your head?” The creature whispered in Loki’s ears sinfully.
“Wha- i don't- “
Loki could finish his sentence; rough fingers rolled his nipples, and a sudden jolt of pleasure roused deep in his belly.
It had to be a nightmare; Loki wasn't in control, and his limbs were not his own. He felt like a puppet on string, grasping at the last vestiges of hope.
“Fear not; you are mine. You will be mine. I have been waiting for a millennium.”
This ruby eye bored into Loki’s emerald ones, full of passion bordering on dangerous territory.
"Stop," Loki gasped out; his tongue felt heavy-“What did you do to me? I don't feel-” A metallic taste enveloped his mouth.
The creature said nothing and just leered at him; lust and desire clouded his eyes.
He laps at his arched neck and his heaving chest. The delicious friction of his scratchy beard on Loki’s nipples was gratifying.
Loki cried out loud when he bit his left pectoral, teeth marks blooming on his delicate skin, red and angry.
The creature's grip on his waist was unyielding, and his other hand gripped his dark locks with so much strength that Loki could feel a few strands tearing.
He was distracted by Loki’s cries, the way he writhes, his hands fisted the blond mane, and the heels of his feet dug into the creature's back.
He found Loki’s hands with lightning speed, pushing him deep into the table, pins his arms above his head, and a hand holding his arms together.
The body underneath him was so responsive, so pliant—hips rolling together.
Because Loki could not stop, his body betrayed him.
He could feel the ginormous tent in the creature’s breeches.
“Fuck,” small sounds escaped his lips against his will as the giant leaves lovebites all over his neck and chest, to the curve of his shoulder.
Loki was shamelessly humping his well-muscled stomach because that's the only friction he could receive.
He cried out loud as the creature licks his nipple into his mouth, sucks, and bites on it like it's ambrosia to him.
And then, a simple calloused graze on his cock, subtle yet rough, was his undoing.
_
With a violent jolt, Loki realised he was just dreaming.
It was not real.
It couldn't be.
He can't be real—that creature.
His breath came out in short bursts.