Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You have to go,” said Miss Potts.

“I am aware of that. I am just considering whether there is any way I could not go.”

“Mr. Stark, Prince Thor’s masquerade ball has been in the society papers every day for a fortnight.” Miss Potts held up a stack of the wretched things, two feet high, as evidence. “If Britain’s richest industrial magnate does not attend-”

“I am aware of that too, Miss Potts. The papers would report on my absence with almost religious fervor. The headlines would sell themselves and the journalists would make a mint. But, as usual, they are not in possession of all the pertinent facts.”

“Which are?”

“That Prince Thor is a werewolf and his brother Loki a vampire, and I have no desire to be eaten by either of them.”

Anthony Stark’s lady secretary smiled. “Well, if Britain’s richest industrial magnate were to attend the ball, and come to any harm in so doing, the papers would report with great fervor on that occurrence, too. The brothers Odinson would be run out of England, princes or not! Mr. Stark, I cannot imagine a safer place for you than at this very ball. Neither could lift a finger against you while you were their guest.”

“I am sworn to destroy such creatures, Miss Potts, not to eat their canapés and drink their wine.”

“Reconnaissance is never wasted. You have been studying them since they arrived. Only think of how much you shall learn from their own sanctum. They lose far more by this event than you do.”

Britain’s richest industrial magnate sighed heavily and looked over the invitation card again. It was quite old-fashioned, golden gilt and handwritten, better suited to the last century or the one before than the modern era. A nouveau-riche man like himself could never have gotten away with it; but when it came from royalty, even of a minor European house, the outdated became charming.

The Odinsons’ story, as picked up by the London gossip, was simple: their grandfather, Borr, was the present King of Norway. With two uncles and several cousins ahead of them in the line of inheritance, as well as any future sons of their elder sister, neither Thor nor Loki Odinson had much in the way of position to hope for. Fortune and title attended them, but no great destiny or fame, and so they had come to England seeking both. The London set received the self-exiled princes graciously: so sorry to hear of their troubles at home, they would surely find England far superior to Norway in every respect, they were most welcome to rent the grandest house in town and hire dozens of servants and host lavish parties at a word - and an enormous amount of money.

What Anthony, and his companions of the Society for Avenging the Wrongs of the Supernatural upon Mankind, had uncovered in their research was very different. Thor had been born a werewolf in Scandinavia, some time in the sixteenth century; Loki’s birth was a mystery, but he was certainly a fully-fledged vampire by the dawn of the seventeenth. They did not always appear in the historical records together, separating for a few years or - once - a few decades, but they always spent more time united than divided. The sympathetic story of nobility far from home was one they had repeated often: Slavic counts in Ireland, Irish barons in Germany, German dukes in France, French vicomtes in Norway… which brought them to the present ruse, Norwegian princes in England, and the masquerade their official debut - of sorts - to high society.

What a life! Traveling where and when they pleased, crossing a continent at their leisure, answerable to none but themselves. These days, Anthony never left London save if urgent business called, and he hardly had time to be feted by the local fine folk when it did. Thousands depended on him for their livelihoods, making him rich and influential, but less free than most to do as he pleased - and certainly less free than the werewolf and vampire he hunted now.

Whatever would the Odinsons be next, Anthony wondered, picking up the invitation card by the corners and spinning it between two fingers. English earls in Spain?

Assuming, that was, that they did not meet their end before they could move on to their next scheme. The Society had decreed that the Odinsons must be brought down as soon as possible, lest their highly visible success invite a flood of creatures to attempt the same bold infiltration of civilization, purchased with the blood of innocents.

Anthony sighed, almost regretfully. A fine life the Odinsons led, but the price paid was intolerable, and it was his solemn duty to bring it to a close - both brothers must meet their demise, at Anthony’s hand if the luck of the draw fell to him. He had been fiercely dedicated to the prospect since first hearing of their arrival, often thinking of little else for days at a time. He had spent uncounted hours studying the annals of history, hoping to find their tracks; hours more had been dedicated to reading the despicable society papers, learning of their habits. For the last month, he had accepted every invitation to a party where the Odinsons might be in attendance, hoping that finally meeting them would lend him clues to a winning stratagem.

He had hunted his fair share of supernatural entities before, but none had earned his fixation like the brothers Odinson. He seemed to have lost all passion or sensation but for this one pursuit, a restless, almost frantic impulse urging him onward. Others came to London to hide, to disappear, to sneak in shadows and attempt to escape notice. The Odinsons flaunted themselves openly instead, bold and shameless - they meant to outwit their foes, outwit him, and that he could not stand. Could he really pass up this chance to draw so close to them?

Of course not. Anthony knew that, and Miss Potts knew it too; she smiled patiently, waiting for him to come to the same conclusion she had already reached.

“Very well,” he announced. “Send my acceptance back and tell Jarvis to make whatever arrangements are needed for me not to disgrace myself. Dress, carriage, appropriately late arrival, the usual go-around.”

Miss Potts made diligent notes. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, that will be all, Miss Potts.”

~

On the surface, Prince Thor’s masquerade was everything such an event should be. The cream of London’s denizens mingled in the grand hall and the balconies above, masks and costumes carefully displayed, savoring the titillating promises of anonymity while still receiving credit where due for one’s appearance. Exquisite offerings of food and drink were circulated, and skilled musicians played tasteful minuets and mazurkas from just out of sight. Dancers swirled across the marble floor, skirts and coat-tails flying. The house was a convoluted warren, full of cross-corridors and connecting rooms, befitting an edifice of its age and grandeur. Only Anthony could see the signs of menace lurking beneath the scene: the unfashionable lack of mirrors on the walls, the absence of the newspaper photographers, the bouquets of wildflowers omitting the white blooms of allium buds or the purple-blue of aconite, heavy drapes ready to shut out the dawn, and the way every piece of silverware from the caviar spoon to the carving knife was not silver at all, but white gold.

Anthony nursed a glass of wine and watched the movements in and out of the hall from an isolated overview on the second floor. Despite Miss Potts’s optimism, he had gleaned little intelligence from his observations of the ball. There were too many eyes, and his name too well-known, for him to risk slipping away to explore the house more fully. He had not even spied his host, or his brother, amongst the crowd; werewolf and vampire could have been hiding behind any of the masks below. As for the party itself, it was just as dull as any purely human affair would have been, empty gossip and insubstantial business. His own mask, of moving clockwork in fine layers, was heavy and it itched. He was painfully conscious of precious, productive time slipping through his fingers with nothing to show for it. How much he would rather be properly armed and on the hunt, or drawing up some new technical blueprint! Instead he was held hostage here, rubbing elbows with the rich and useless, the vast majority of whom would bring most benefit to London by vanishing from its midst-

“Mr. Stark, I believe?”

Anthony turned about to face a man, tall, thin of frame and fair of skin; his hair was the shining black of a raven’s wing, the long length of it swept back over his head. His elaborate mask and attire were a glittering pale blue, shining with diamonds and whitest pearls, and what seemed to be a crown made of spun glass - an homage to all things frost and ice. His face, what was visible of it, and his dress alike were sharp and elegant, and he was taller than Anthony by a few inches, accentuated by his upright posture and regal bearing.

Anthony did not recognize the lilting voice, or the lines of the face beneath the man’s mask, but he was not opposed to the introduction. This seemed far better entertainment than anything else the night had offered.

Only an instant had passed since the man spoke - brief enough that the transition was seamless as he reached out to capture Anthony’s hand, and bow low over it to kiss his fingers in a smooth if forward greeting. Both the stranger’s hand and lips were cool, and combined with his appearance, Anthony’s instincts flared to life - this must be no man at all, but Loki Odinson, vampire, and Anthony’s sworn enemy.

Odinson’s kiss lingered quite too long for propriety, attentive and seductive. The steady, smiling way Odinson held Anthony’s gaze as he straightened, bringing Anthony’s hand with him, told Anthony he knew exactly what impression he was trying to give. Vampire, enemy, and shameless flirt besides!

Anthony cleared his throat and repossessed his hand. Surely the vampire would not be so courteous if he knew Anthony intended his end - Odinson might know his name, but he did not know his business. Anthony’s secret was safe, and if he could play his cards right, perhaps the night would not be a complete loss after all. “Prince Loki, I take it?”

Odinson’s smile bared his teeth - humanoid, for now, but gleaming whiter than any mortal man’s. “The very one. How delightful to finally meet you.”

So, he knew Anthony by reputation, but which reputation… “You say that as if you have been waiting for it.”

“Indeed I have. One cannot be in London long without hearing of Anthony Edward Stark - genius, millionaire, dandy, philanthropist - son of the famous Howard Stark - the Da Vinci of our time, some say.”

Ah. “People say all sorts of things.”

“And if I said you were worth waiting for, and asked you to dance with me?”

Anthony racked his brains for excuses, preoccupations, and came up empty. Denial would have aroused suspicion instantly - Odinson clearly expected that Anthony would be flattered by his praise and eager to accept his attentions. It would certainly have been true if Odinson had been any other handsome, wealthy noble. There was no safer choice, and nothing to be gained by a risky one - save the preservation of Anthony’s dignity in refusing to dance with a vampire.

A necessary sacrifice to the cause. “That would be very kind of you, sir.”

Odinson bowed to him again, and then offered Anthony his arm. “The honor is all mine. Join me downstairs for the next?”

Abandoning his glass of wine on a nearby table, Anthony reluctantly placed his hand in the crook of Odinson’s elbow and permitted Odinson to escort him back to the main hall. The vampire clearly enjoyed having Anthony on his arm, lingering on the staircase to let the crowd see them, and his free hand atop Anthony’s as if to keep him close. The whispers rose swiftly, masked faces all turning to whomever was lucky enough to catch a prince’s eye.

“Ah,” Odinson said, pausing them before they reached the dance floor proper. “Thor has poor timing, as usual, but - Mr. Stark, allow me to introduce you to my brother.”

The elder of the pair was standing just to the side of the staircase. Thor Odinson was of a height with Loki Odinson, but there the similarities ended; Thor was broad in the shoulder and blond of hair, bearded, skin well-touched by the sun. His costume spoke of storms, honoring his pagan god namesake: dark grays and blues edged with flashes of gold and white; its cut was of riding-dress, fit for a hunt, as a werewolf would always be.

He nodded greetings to his brother, then turned his attention on Anthony with laughing eyes. “You have found a prize, Loki?”

“Perhaps,” Loki replied, smooth as oil. “He will have to be won, first. Mr. Anthony Stark, my brother and our host tonight, Prince Thor of Norway.”

Anthony made to bow; Thor surprised him by offering his hand to shake instead, in the modern fashion of gentleman equals. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Stark,” he said warmly. “And now I find you are most handsome besides. It is the greatest pleasure to meet you.” He squeezed Anthony’s fingers, making his presence felt, and winked from behind his mask.

Not one, but both were seducing him? Good grief! In all his expectations of the night, this had not made the list - that werewolf and vampire alike would not only desire him, but do so openly. Anthony had never wanted for lovers, and had always reveled in the fact, but at this moment he rather wished they did not gather around him so easily. If only charisma were like an electromagnet and could be turned off at will - he surely willed it now!

No - no, he must think clearly, and seize the opportunity at hand. Their fascination and attention to him could only serve him well; had he not regretted, earlier, not being able to see over more of the house? In their company - soon to be elevated to a private audience, if they had their way, Anthony suspected - he could learn far more than even Miss Potts could have anticipated.

Testing the waters, Anthony returned Thor’s gesture and injected warmth into his tone. “The pleasure is all mine, your highness. I hope to speak more with you.” With a deliberate look at Loki, he added, “But your brother has claimed my time first.”

Thor finally permitted their hands to separate with a last caress of Anthony’s wrist and a lingering look. “Enjoy your dance.”

Loki did not need a further word, reclaiming Anthony and drawing him away. They gained the center of the floor, and other pairs flocked to form up around them, bees surrounding a flower. Loki surveyed them, waiting until the number suited him, before making some signal to his brother; it was he who called to the musicians, “Play a waltz!”

Well, well, Thor did not seem to be the jealous sort, if he willingly set the stage for a romantic dance for Loki. Could Anthony keep both of them interested in him? He had bedded two women at once before - two men would be new even for him, but the Greeks and Romans had made it work often enough.

Loki turned to him with an impish grin. “Shall we?”

The music swelled before Anthony could reply, and in an instant he was caught in Loki’s embrace, his right hand in the small of Anthony’s back, left hand holding Anthony’s right aloft. Commandingly, Loki set them into motion, his steps smooth and elegant, his hold on Anthony not hard, but forceful, permitting Anthony no path but to follow him exactly. This close, Anthony’s trained eye could see the way Loki did not breathe, and neither their closeness nor the exercise put a blush into his pale cheeks.

The vampire danced excellently, every step in the perfect place, positioning textbook, flawlessly in time. Fluid grace permeated his whole body, tempered by a restraint that only heightened the display of his technical skill. Anthony, meanwhile, had to make a show of enjoying himself; but he found it easier than anticipated to keep up with such a partner, Loki leading so well that following seemed natural. If he forgot who Loki was, the dance was pleasant, even pleasurable; never before had Anthony danced in such synchronicity with his partner. Behind his icy mask, Loki’s piercing gaze never left Anthony’s, and it was no great feat to hold those verdant eyes - Anthony almost felt the opposite, that he would have been hard-pressed to look away.

“Your mask is a masterpiece,” Loki murmured at length. “Your own creation?”

“It is.”

“What an exceptional mind you possess. Gears and wires and metal, all crafted into nothing less than artistry. What else lies within, I wonder?”

Anthony could not deny his ego was flattered by Loki’s appreciation - Loki was over two centuries old, and for Anthony’s work to make an impression upon him was something. But that way, madness lay; Anthony could not afford to find his foe charming, or to be touched by his sincerity.

Yet, he must make sure to give the appearance of it. “You may examine me at your leisure, your highness, though I cannot say you will find anything to surprise you. As you have observed, I am known quite well.”

“Oh, yes - in fact, I forgot to mention, earlier. There is one other thing people say of you, Mr. Stark.”

“And what is that?”

It was no trick of the light, though Anthony dearly wished it were: Loki blinked, and his deep green eyes opened bright and purest red. “Hunter.”

Chill dread sank through Anthony’s body like a stone as he realized the precarious position in which he found himself. Anger followed it, so deep and fierce there could be no concealing his true feelings. Loki was toying with him, and had been all along - had set the trap and watched Anthony walk into it with eyes open - wanted to gloat, and wanted Anthony to know it.

The nerve!

“People say all sorts of things,” Anthony said, holding to bravado in lieu of any shield enough to save him now.

Loki laughed, a cold, malicious sound. “Oh, yes! You, for instance, have said several very unpleasant things about my brother and I. Murderers, malevolent, soulless… Rather impolite of you, considering we did not meet until tonight.”

Anthony glared even as his feet continued moving through the steps of the waltz, now a mere mechanical necessity. “You know well they are all true.”

“And I suppose you cast such epithets thinking yourself above them. Oh, my dear Mr. Stark - I must call you Anthony.”

“You must not, and I certainly am above you and your brother added together.”

Where was Thor, now? Anthony turned his head to catch sight of him - the werewolf stood where they had left him, watching them closely. A smile crossed his lips when he saw Anthony looking at him, and he raised a glass of wine in his hand in acknowledgement of the unwound deception.

Smug prick! Anthony refused to look at him any longer; inevitably, his gaze fell back onto Loki. “Are you?” the vampire asked, smiling, resuming their conversation as if uninterrupted. “Let us examine the charges. Soulless - if you have a soul, a man of science such as yourself disregards it. Malevolent - admit yourself no great lover of the vast majority of those with whom you share this earth. And as for murderer, well.” Abruptly, Loki’s tone lost all levity. “We both know the ledger of your enterprise is dripping - it gushes red.”

Rage flowed like molten steel through Anthony’s veins, shutting out danger and common sense. “That was an unkind comparison.”

Loki grinned, reveling in having seized the upper hand. “Industry is a dangerous business, Mr. Stark, and your looms and mills and smithies are no exception. How many lives have been lost to them? Are not your dreams haunted by the ghosts you kill?”

“That is not the question you need to be asking.”

“No?” Loki jerked them together, chest to chest, hands like shackles around Anthony’s wrists pinning his arms to his sides, and let them stand motionless. In a blur, the other dancers continued around them, seemingly heedless of the conflict at the center of the floor. “What should I ask, then?”

“You should ask how you can hope to equal what I have bought with that ledger.” Anthony raised an eyebrow coldly. “Every industry - metalwork, fabrics, construction, weaponry, electricity, chemistry - there is nothing in this country’s ambitions I have not touched. They call this time the industrial revolution, and it is my hand turning the wheel. When I spend lives, it is not cheaply. I doubt you or your brother can say the same.”

With savage joy, Anthony watched Loki’s expression jar, like an engine sticking while changing gears. The vampire had clearly not expected that response - had planned to shame Anthony and drag him down into iniquity, only to find Anthony proud of his darkness, fully aware he had fallen from grace long ago.

“If it is legacy you want, you are a few centuries behind us,” Loki said, recovering his composure.

Anthony grinned in challenge of his own. “Give me time.”

“Oh, yes. I would like to see that.”

What? Anthony’s head spun, trying to find footing on shifting sands. The world outside rushed past likewise, Loki twirling Anthony in a full circle before moving them back into the dance. The music had shifted, a volta this time, and just as Anthony realized what that meant Loki had both hands on his waist and had lifted him into the air.

With prodigious strength, Loki held him dizzyingly high for what seemed like an age. Anthony stared down at him, vulnerable and at Loki’s mercy, and yet…

Anthony’s hands found Loki’s wrists, felt the power there that balanced him instead of crushing him. His pulse raced, burning with fury and threat, but perhaps not those alone. In this position, Loki’s head fell back to look up at Anthony, just as it would were he kneeling at Anthony’s feet instead - Anthony shuddered at the image. Loki’s red eyes grew heated, and a hungry smile played at his lips, knowing far too much of Anthony’s private thoughts. Anthony raised his head, unable to hold that expression-

And found Thor instead, still watching, eyes a stormy sea from across the room. Mask and beard could not hide his desire, or the parting of his mouth to exhale a heavy breath. After what seemed many moments, Thor pressed fingertips to his open lips, and blew Anthony a kiss from them; it seemed to land in Anthony’s chest as a bolt of lightning.

Another bolt struck, stability disappearing - Loki lowering Anthony down his body and sweeping him off his feet again.

Anthony grasped to snatch back control of the conversation. “You are being exceedingly civil towards a man who wants you dead,” he said. “What game are you playing?”

“And you are being exceedingly harsh towards those who have done nothing to earn it,” Loki returned. “Predators we might be, but we hardly leave a sea of corpses in our wake. What difference does it make to the harlot if she spreads her legs or bares her neck? Why can I buy a day’s backbreaking labor, but not five minutes’ bloodletting? Do you believe, truly, that none of your peers have beaten a servant to death or forced one to their bed? Why should we die while they live?” Loki’s eyes shifted, green, then red, then green again. “You have done us no ill, and so my brother and I mean you no harm, Mr. Stark. Pray extend us the same courtesy.”

Anthony shook his head. “It is far too late for that. One corpse is enough, when it is one of my workers.”

“Ah.” Loki moved them through a complicated sequence, turning around each other; Anthony suspected it was an excuse to hide his face for a moment. As Anthony emerged from under Loki’s arm, Loki said, “Well, I would never do it again.”

“No, you will not. I am sworn to destroy the unnatural.”

Loki merely scoffed. “And what is natural about the steam engine, or glass? About gas-lamps or the telegraph? Did your factories grow out of the ground, without design? Your life is nothing but unnatural things, Mr. Stark. You covet them, you embrace them. What is one more? Or two, since I must slip in a good word for my brother?”

Loki spun them apart, their arms outstretched and fingertips the only point of contact - yet the gravity of that point was so immense that Anthony could not break away. With the slightest, inexorable, pressure of his touch, Loki drew Anthony back in, winding them together until Anthony’s back was to Loki’s chest, Anthony’s arms crossed at the wrist and Loki’s hands taking his. It was worse than facing him all through the waltz, worse even than the lift of the volta, for Anthony could feel Loki’s lips hovering above his neck but could not even see a bite coming if Loki decided he had had enough.

“And what do you have to say for Thor?” Anthony asked. Much as Anthony did not wish to hear it, if Loki was talking, he could not fill his mouth with Anthony’s flesh instead. “I know where you spent the full moon - that country manor of yours has not escaped my notice.”

“Of course it has not, you clever thing,” Loki murmured. “Hunting on one’s estate is a perfectly seemly occupation for a gentleman, is it not?”

“That depends on what, or whom, the gentleman is hunting.”

Loki laughed like a gunshot. “The local deer live in terror, no doubt, but one extra wolf on the moors is hardly going to trouble the farmers. Show me a wolf who can open a locked and bolted door - especially a wolf as stupid as Thor - and I will give your scorn its due. No, they have not even noticed his little nighttime pursuits.”

“I have only your word for that, or anything you have said tonight.”

“So you do.” Loki shifted their positions through the dance once more until they stood facing each other, a hand indecently low on Anthony’s hip and the other, even more indecently, settling on the side of Anthony’s neck, thumb claiming the soft spot behind his jaw. “It is yours to do with as you wish. I hope you will value it highly.”

Why did the Odinsons care so much what Anthony thought of them? Why were the creatures, who had convinced all of London they were royalty, so concerned with Anthony’s good opinion?

Unless… it could not be that their trap had gone unseen because each word - delightful, worth waiting for, the greatest pleasure, my dear - was truth?

Anthony had spent weeks obsessing over the Odinsons’ every movement, their history, their interests. Had they been doing the same, all along, from the moment they heard his name - for a very different purpose?

It was a theory worth testing.

Loki lowered his other hand to Anthony’s hip to lift him again, and this time, rather than resist or obey unfeelingly, Anthony leapt into it. Loki caught him up high once more, pleased surprise showing behind his mask.

Anthony was not finished. Deliberately, he hitched one knee to rest on Loki’s shoulder, holding himself there, and braced his other foot on Loki’s waist. Performing his part of Loki’s spectacle, he raised his arms to the sides in dramatic fashion, outstretched, and then slowly above his head, as if given in to the music. Loki turned them with steady gait, promenading Anthony before the assembled crowd - or was that, before Thor, the werewolf’s eyes never leaving Anthony’s face and his hands flexing in and out of fists, craving something he could not take. Anthony met his gaze and granted himself the touch that Thor wished to give - one hand sliding down the other arm, then caressing his face and throat in erotic mood, and ah - Thor visibly tensed, whole body like a plucked string.

Anthony lowered his arms again and Loki lowered him to the floor in alignment, both Anthony’s hands coming to rest on Loki’s shoulders while Loki did not release his waist. Anthony’s breath was caught in his chest and he was distinctly hot under the collar. Loki was smiling faintly, not the malicious trickster’s satisfaction of before, but something pensive, somehow unfinished. And it was Loki who stepped back as the music faded, bowing with exquisite courtesy to Anthony.

“Consider my words,” he said. “I will be at your service should you wish it.”

Then he turned on his heel and was gone, folded into the crowd, leaving Anthony to hasten for a quiet corner to make sense of himself.

He snatched a tumbler of Scotch whisky from a passing waiter, and sipped at its rich warmth to steady his nerves. Perhaps Loki’s seduction was genuine, perhaps it was not, but did it matter? Loki’s actions were a calculated - and frighteningly convincing - attempt to make Anthony abandon his hunt of them, and not through chicanery or force, but by his own choice. And Loki’s arrows had found their mark, for Anthony could not simply put aside his words.

No, he was turning the logic over and over and finding few faults; he did not want to give Loki’s arguments credence, but it seemed what he wanted mattered little.

If they did not deserve to die - no more than anyone, Anthony included, who rose high upon others’ backs - then what did Anthony gain from their deaths? Vengeance would not bring back his lost man, whereas there might be much to be said for allying with them - could Anthony turn the tables, and make the Odinsons choose to leave those under Anthony’s hand be?

Why did his heart quicken when he remembered Thor looking at him with eyes of fire, or Loki’s cunning wit? Why was it compelling to think of them learning of Anthony’s reputation, as hunter and as industrialist, and seeking him out - why had he enjoyed exceeding their every expectation?

If he did kill them, others would take their place soon enough, and what good would Anthony have done? Yet lives were lost to them, Anthony’s countrymen and women - were those people not owed his protection? Could he let himself fall to the Odinsons’ desire for him, stand aside, and still look himself in the eye while they preyed upon London as they pleased?

In this state, could he stop them even if he tried to?

He had nothing but questions, and no answers to give himself. Perhaps the best approach was to follow through with his original plan and permit no alteration: take what he had learned and escape with his skin and honor intact. Put aside this night and its disturbing unorthodoxy, forget his dance in Loki Odinson’s arms under Thor Odinson’s watchful eyes, and return to his duty, easy and unthinking…

“My brother had words with you, I see.”

Too late.

Anthony threw back the last of the whisky, and bid it give him the strength to face his other foe. Out of place, sympathy was written on Thor’s face behind his mask, and he proffered Anthony a replacement glass, filled two fingers deep.

“Loki is too clever by half, and you should never trust him, but his intentions are honest, I assure you.”

“Oh, you do? And why should I trust you?”

Even so, Anthony drank what Thor had brought him.

“Because I have no reason to lie to you,” Thor said. “Deception will not succeed with you. What I want, what we want, you must give freely.”

“Well, I am no stranger to being wanted.”

Thor tilted his head to one side, examining Anthony, and took a step closer. “No, I imagine you know it well. A man of your gifts and graces. I am sure half of England wishes to be in your bed.”

Anthony lifted his glass in a toast. “And the other half has been.”

Thor barked a laugh, surprised and gleeful. Something warm lit in Anthony’s chest, a struck match flaring to life, at the sound.

Just as quickly, he smothered it. It was far too easy to talk to Thor - blunt and straightforward and comfortably crass, rather than Loki’s twists and turns of razor-sharp logic. Where Loki undercut and maneuvered three, four, five steps ahead on a chessboard, Thor spread his cards on the table at the first hand. Anthony could not forget that both were an attack with the same outcome: the end of his hunt, and the Odinsons free to run riot.

Anthony shook his head and moved away. He had chosen his retreat poorly; with Thor standing between him and the main hall, he could not leave without passing him closer than he would have liked. The best Anthony could do was could put enough distance between them to breathe. It left him staring out of a wide window facing the street, gas-lamps and the lights of the houses opposite turned to streaks of gold by a heavy rain that had started falling since he arrived at the masquerade. “You ask a great deal of me, you and your brother. Even to hear you out is betrayal of at least three oaths I have taken. To give you more is… wrong.”

In the reflection of the windowpanes, Thor shrugged his great bulk. His costume included a thick gray fur - wolf, Anthony suspected - wrapped around his shoulders like a barbarian king, and it rippled with the movement. “Right and wrong are words for priests and lawyers. We need not concern ourselves with them.”

Anthony scrubbed a palm over his face. He felt as though he needed to wake up, though the hour was not that late and the whisky not that strong. “I thought you said that Loki was the clever one whom I should not trust.”

Thor chuckled; it was a low, rolling sound like the rumble of distant thunder. He followed Anthony to the window, and stood beside him. Numbly, Anthony could muster neither the panic nor the urgency to flee again. “You mean well in your actions,” Thor said. “But tell me, what harm is done if we three share pleasure? None of us will hunt the other tonight. Why should we not enjoy what else happens?”

“You tie me in knots.”

“Gladly, if that is your taste.”

Anthony drew a sharp inhale, mastered himself, and withheld from his first impulse to throw his drink in Thor’s face. “Why me? No, I retract that - I am not a modest man and I know damn well why me. Why like this? You clearly know who I am and why I came here. You and your brother have made a great effort persuading me to take you willingly, and bestowed me with a truly painful degree of honesty in so doing. There were easier ways to get me into your bed, we both know that. You want me, well and good - but you want me to want you, too, and that is what I cannot understand. Why waste your time on the longer route?”

Thor opened his mouth to speak; another voice beat him to it. “Time, we have in abundance, Mr. Stark.”

The window reflected nothing, but that did not prevent Loki from standing there when Anthony spun around. He had abandoned his mask and glass crown, and the full sight of his visage did not disappoint; cheekbones, nose and brow were as well-wrought as promised by the lips and jaw that the mask had left exposed, carven as if from marble. His expression was sober, no longer the gloating or teasing mood of before, and there was no telling how long he had been in earshot or what he had overheard. He approached slowly, joining Anthony and Thor until the three stood together, points of an equilateral triangle.

“Yes, we could have forced your company - tricked you, or mesmerized you, or threatened you. A hollow victory, to win at a rigged game. There can be no satisfaction, no triumph, in that.” Loki spread his hands, laying out a logical proof. “But what a prize it would be to earn your regard, England’s brightest mind and fiercest hunter, after a fair fight!”

Thor nodded. “As Loki said earlier - you must be won.”

Had they won? He always tried so hard to make the right decision, to be worthy, to come to London’s defense at great personal risk - and for what, if he could not draw upon his good credit from time to time?

If they had truly been princes of Norway, Anthony would have let them seduce him far earlier, or set out to seduce them himself. Did their inhumanity really tip the scales? Or was it his humanity that the choice hinged upon?

“What if I say no?”

Vampire and werewolf looked at each other for a long moment. “You will not,” Thor said.

For some reason, Anthony believed them. It was no stranger than anything else the masquerade had brought - and if he was in error, and his life forfeited to his mistake, he would not need to live with the consequences. That optimistic nihilism gave him the surety needed to speak again. “And what if I say yes?”

Loki grinned wide, cold features animated, taking Anthony’s question for an answer. Thor removed his mask; the face beneath looked like the hero of a romantic novel, worthy of Adonis or Apollo. “Then the night is ours,” he said. “And you will be well rewarded for it.”

Anthony expected his hands to shake, but they did not as he reached up to lower his own mask and bare himself to them. Being relieved of its weight seemed to relieve him of other burdens besides; he had made his decision, seen it through, and now merely had to continue as he had begun. Alea jacta est.

“Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Anthony had expected a bedroom of some sort: either a palatial chamber worthy of their pretense of being royalty, or a dark cellar under the townhouse turned into crypt or cage. Instead, the Odinsons led him up one flight of stairs and then another, and onto one of the balconies overlooking the main hall. The ball had continued while they had pled their case to Anthony; the dance floor still full, the household staff still attentive, the music still lifting through the air even up to this third floor. The balcony itself was almost more like an opera box, a small, intimate space with an excellent view, gas-lights and fireplace burning low, and comfortable furnishings for settling into.

And a sheer black curtain hanging just past the railing, letting them three see out, but no other see in.

Anthony raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Looking down at the mere mortals, I take it?”

“Do you like it?” Loki murmured from close behind him, not laughing at all. “Perhaps you are not above us, but you are above them. Generous benefactor or lord and master, see it how you will, but you are no ordinary man - Anthony.”

He shivered at the sound of his given name in that voice. This time, he allowed the use of it to go unchallenged, and the sop to his pride. He had given himself over to the darkness already, and the time had passed for half-measures.

A swelling refrain of music reached them, and Loki caught him up in his arms again. It was a thin pretense at dancing, this time, simply holding Anthony from behind, arms around his waist and touching from shoulder to ankle, the privilege of a lover. The steps, such as they were, were minimal: forward, then back, the slightest turn to left and right, an excuse for his hips to sway purposefully against Anthony’s. Loki seemed to enjoy the veneer of plausible deniability, even here where he did not need to fool anyone; he hummed along to the music and took care to keep them in time with it.

Slowly, Loki took one of Anthony’s hands, entwined their fingers, and lifted their arms aloft so that Anthony was shown off to Thor, who was once more watching them with intent, intensity. Anthony let himself lean into that hold, his hand to rest in Loki’s, and his body to feel the strength of Loki’s against him. The vampire was all hard planes and sharp lines, no softness to be found on him; Anthony looked across at Thor, and resolved to feel his embrace soon, that he might compare them.

A brush of Loki’s thumb across Anthony’s throat was his warning, before he slowly lowered his head to Anthony’s neck, and placed a closed-mouth kiss on his hammering pulse-point. The touch of Loki’s lips was cool and light as a feather, yet Anthony’s skin roiled beneath it. He had more than once felt the live electrical current of his inventions; that was the only comparison that could come close to the way he reacted to Loki’s kiss.

Thor’s eyes slid from Anthony’s to Loki’s instead, and his brow furrowed. “If you mean to bite him, brother, stop teasing and do it.”

Anthony’s heart jolted, beats skittering together. Loki noticed - how could he not, with his lips at Anthony’s carotid - and he shh’d softly. “Not yet. Thor has no patience, but I do. You will ask me for it, before we are through. It feels like nothing else, nothing you can imagine.” Delicately, the tip of his tongue stroked across the spot of his kiss. “Anticipation will only make it better. I can wait.”

“Glad to hear it,” Anthony said, and looked across at Thor with a slight lift of his chin that said, Come and get me.

Thor smiled and closed the little distance between them. One wide hand came up to cradle the base of Anthony’s skull, warm and steady; the other wrapped around Anthony’s and Loki’s where they hung in midair. Anthony was not sure what happened next - there was simply a whirlwind of movement all around him, and when it stopped he was in Thor’s arms instead, Loki standing opposite him with the expression of a man who had bitten into a lemon.

“What? I thought you liked tricks,” Thor said to him, with the cheerful arrogance of the elder brother. Supernatural strength and speed, Anthony concluded, had allowed Thor to rip him away from Loki, and yet it had been done so smoothly and gently that Anthony had barely felt it. Anthony closed his eyes, letting the thought consume him: what else must Thor be capable of?

Thor did not share his brother’s taste for dancing, or for the shield of decency to cover his actions; the roll of his hips against Anthony’s ass was pure obscenity, and the thick rise of his cock in his trousers not concealed in the least. When he buried his nose in the join of Anthony’s neck and shoulder it was not to make veiled promises of what was to come; Thor inhaled deeply, openly taking in his scent, as if making up for the fact that Loki did not breathe at all. It was heady, to be so openly lusted after, to feel the strength coursing through Thor and know how carefully he wielded it. Consciously, Anthony pressed his hips back into Thor’s, seeking out his cock and beginning to take his pleasure from it.

Thor growled his delight, and pulled Anthony harder against him. His hands began to roam Anthony’s body, wandering and grasping at every part of him in reach, fitting his touch to the shape of Anthony’s frame beneath his clothing.

Another pair of hands brushed Anthony’s neck, cool and fine, and Anthony’s eyes snapped open to find Loki before him, untying his cravat. Loki wore a satisfied smirk and a commanding air, deft fingers stripping Anthony’s neck of the silk and then moving to unbutton his collar. This part of the proceedings, Anthony knew very well, and he readily assisted Loki in divesting him of jacket, waistcoat and shirt. The greatest impediment to Loki’s work was Thor, unwilling to separate from Anthony for long or to aid Loki in any way, though he did appreciate the results; his hands, warm and broad, took in every inch of Anthony’s skin once bared. Thor’s touch was most enjoyable, caresses rough and hungry in a way that spoke of how fierce was his desire; Anthony willingly let the sensations flow through him, igniting sparks in his blood, going to his head and to his cock.

In a fluid rush, Loki knelt at Anthony’s feet to take off his boots. He was just as fine a picture there as Anthony had imagined, haughty poise making clear that his submission was only another expression of his will. Trousers followed, then undergarments, until Anthony was naked from head to toe between the Odinsons, neither of whom had removed so much as a watch-chain.

Loki positively oozed gratification, the cat that got the cream, and he put his hands on Anthony too, running both palms up his thighs before pushing him to stand a little wider. Occupying the new space between Anthony’s feet, Loki held him firmly by the hips and ran his thumbs across Anthony’s iliac crests, down towards his hanging cock; his shoulders swayed forward as if drawing himself in at the same time.

Right beside Anthony’s ear, Thor chuckled. “As you see, my brother does not only crave the taste of your blood. What do you think, will you give him what he wants?”

Anthony’s cock seemed to answer for him, throbbing at the prospect and stiffening without a stroke; he nodded assent all the same. Loki hummed appreciation, and moved in to take him in his mouth.

His tongue and lips were cool and moist, and curled around Anthony’s length without shame or hesitation. Loki swallowed him as if nothing else on Earth could please him, Anthony pulled deep from the first, cock-head sliding down Loki’s throat with ease. Loki’s lips came flush to Anthony’s pelvis, an obscene kiss before he slid away, until only the very tip was still within his mouth.

“I told you not to tease him,” Thor grunted, and fisted his hand in Loki’s hair to drag him back down onto Anthony’s cock. Anthony jerked, caught unawares that Thor would use force against Loki - and yet the sardonic flick of Loki’s gaze upwards said he went only where he pleased. Loki’s hands, in soothing gentleness on Anthony’s hips, reassured him further, and the slow, determined sucking of his cock left Anthony no other alternative but to return his mind to pleasure. His cock was laved with attention and skill, unrelenting and unceasing - Loki did not breathe, Anthony remembered, and his whole body shuddered at what that meant for him, knees going weak.

Behind him, Thor was a solid wall, effortlessly holding him upright, and now Anthony felt the frame he had seen before; not so lean as Loki, wider and his flesh more curved with the muscle and fat of a well-fed predator. The outline of Thor’s cock was clearer now, less fabric between them and Thor’s arousal heightened; Thor rubbed his hardness against Anthony’s bare flesh, stealing a taste before the banquet to follow. Anthony twined his arm around Thor’s, resting a hand atop the fist that held Loki by the hair, and reveling in the touch. The power flowing through that thick limb was extraordinary, as was the way Loki did not simply crumple beneath it.

Loki hummed around Anthony’s cock, drawing his attention like a compass swinging North, and began to move his head back and forth, Anthony’s cock gliding over his lips and tongue. Again and again Loki swallowed him, until Anthony felt like a boat riding the waves in a storm, up and down in free-fall, tossed where the elements willed. His head fell back to lie on Thor’s shoulder, and the werewolf turned to kiss his temple, his lips burning like a brand.

“So lovely in your pleasure,” Thor said, voice rich with praise. “You are flushed all crimson, like I spilled wine on you.”

Anthony moaned - it was a good idea, a very good idea, and Loki’s hands on his hips tightened as if he agreed. The blissful sensations of Loki’s mouth grew stronger, as Loki redoubled his efforts. Energy flowed between them, Loki’s hands and Thor’s the source, all of it poured into Anthony until, at last, he could contain no more.

He burst with a gasping cry, air driven from his lungs, hips surging as he spilled his pleasure onto Loki’s tongue. The swirling supernova behind his eyes blinded him to everything, leaving him boneless in the afterglow. Burning embers pulsed with his breath, flaring brighter with every inhale and warming him to his toes.

“You taste delicious, Anthony,” came Loki’s low, velvet tone, close and just above him. Anthony opened his eyes; Loki was standing again, freed of Thor’s grip, his hair smoothed back and his eyes once more openly scarlet, seemingly brighter than before. His cheeks and lips were still shockingly pale, no visible effect of his sucking Anthony’s cock for the last several minutes.

The impulse arose as if from nowhere, and Anthony yielded to it without compunction; he raised a hand to pull Loki in, and kissed him.

Loki took his kiss as well as he took his cock, passionate and deep. It was not a tender, sweet exchange of first affections; Loki kissed without restraint, every gesture of lips and tongue claiming Anthony’s mouth for his own. It suited Anthony very well, urging Loki on with the hand at his nape. He could taste his own seed between them, filthy, and filthier still for both of them enjoying it so.

Loki’s hands found Anthony’s waist, cool touch almost making him jump, and reminding him that he had a second hand, too. Boldly, he slid it between their bodies, and did not stop at Loki’s waist; he descended straight down to cup Loki’s cock.

A good size, but soft as if wholly unmoved, and for an instant Anthony was almost offended that he was not to Loki’s liking as much as Loki had indicated.

“Ah,” Loki said, breaking their mouths apart. “If you want that, you will have to give me something first.” And he leaned in to bring his teeth near Anthony’s throat in demonstration.

Of course, Anthony was dealing with the undead, and why should he expect Loki’s cock to swell when his heart did not beat to fill it?

After everything they had done this night, the decisions Anthony had taken and the battle-lines he had crossed, it seemed a small thing to nod agreement, and tilt his head to the side to make room for Loki’s bite. He could not remember why he had protested against the idea so fiercely, the day he had received their invitation card.

Loki’s teeth, still humanly blunt, tested his mettle, the slightest force applied to the tendon standing out in his neck. “I will enjoy this,” Loki whispered in low, elated promise. “And you will too, I will make sure of it.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Anthony could not hear it, nor see it, but he could feel Loki’s teeth lengthen, and then pierce his skin.

For an instant it hurt, dull and sharp at the same time, and then Loki sucked at the wounds he had made. The rush was dizzying, a flood of something very sweet inside Anthony all at once, and he thought he heard himself cry out. His hands found Loki’s shoulders, steadying himself, and the more blood Loki drew the more ecstasy seemed to replace it. It was a glittering, incandescent delight rushing through his veins, and he arched into Loki’s mouth, urging him onwards.

Anthony’s body seemed to float, buoyant as if he hung suspended in deep green water, until he scarcely could have said which way was up. Loki was his only anchor, a solid pillar, while the rest of the world melted like wax brought near a flame.

From behind Anthony’s shoulder came a low growl, a stormcloud on the horizon. “Loki, enough.”

Anthony’s arms, weightless and yet so heavy he could no longer lift them, slipped from Loki’s shoulders. He felt Loki swallow, and then drink from him again, deeper, longer-

The stormclouds burst. “I said, enough!”

Anthony gasped, shaken by an earthquake, and came to in Thor’s hold, one thick arm wrapped tightly around him, the other outstretched and keeping Loki at bay. The vampire’s eyes were the very shade of blood, and there was blood on his mouth, a thin trail of it spilling down one side. His teeth were still extended, points soaked scarlet, and he snarled and made to come at Anthony.

Thor caught Loki by the throat and, with a powerful shove, hurled him across the room. Loki’s back hit the wall hard enough to shake the furniture, the force of the impact reverberating in Anthony’s chest. He felt also the deep rumble of Thor’s anger, pressed together as they were, and the force with which Thor shielded him against his own brother.

How much danger had Anthony been in, for Thor to react so?

Loki righted himself, straightening up with a face of icy rage. One hand, the fingers arched like claws, hooked a fallen strand of hair back into place. With menacing precision, Loki licked the pad of one thumb, and slowly wiped clean the trickle of blood on his chin. He was beautiful and terrible, like an avalanche or a wildfire; and he looked all the more inhuman for his cold perfection, heartless and hollow, no knowing what he would do next.

Ever so slightly, Thor shifted Anthony further behind him. Loki followed the movement, and looked back to Thor with a mocking laugh. “How you love to play the guard dog. The mighty Thor, with all your strength!”

“I will not give another warning, Loki.”

Loki’s gaze shifted to Anthony, still in Thor’s protective shadow, and his expression rippled, unreadable. “I think he will be the judge of that.”

A great tightness around Anthony’s ribcage dissolved all at once. Perhaps it was the blood-letting clouding his judgement, perhaps pure and simple lust, but he found himself ready to forgive; he knew he held the leash of a tiger, and one could not be surprised if that was not enough restraint to master it. A tiger that did not bite, that did not have predatory instincts that ruled it, would have been no tiger at all.

And if Anthony’s calculations were right, he had purchased something far more interesting with his blood than recriminations and guilt.

He stroked Thor’s arm to reassure him of his recovery, and raised his head to stare Loki down. “Are you going to stay over there all night, or are you going to follow through and give me what I came for?”

Loki’s smile spread across his face like acid eating at metal. “You heard him, wolf. Heel.”

Thor grunted, and loosened his grip on Anthony so he could look him over. Anthony felt well enough - it had seemed at the time that Loki drank a great deal of his blood, but the effects now were no worse than a third glass of liquor would have been.

Thor seemed to concur, relaxing the longer he looked at Anthony, and when his eyes fixated on the bite at Anthony’s throat, it was not with repulsion or anger. His tongue wet his lips, and he asked in a low voice, “May I?”

“Why not? I have enough to go around.”

“I am not so greedy,” Thor said. Behind Thor’s back, Loki rolled his eyes at the veiled critique, suddenly every inch the put-upon younger brother.

Thor bowed his blond mane, and licked across the wounds Loki had left. Thor’s tongue was impossibly warm, like sinking into a hot bath, the stroke of it going down to Anthony’s toes. It was a pleasure quite different to the overwhelming bliss of Loki’s bite, felt more clearly and more easily comprehended.

“Better,” Thor pronounced, on examining his handiwork. Anthony reached up and felt at the spot; damp with Thor’s saliva, yes, but his fingers returned clean of spilled blood.

“If you are quite finished,” Loki said, somewhat waspishly, and flew between them to take possession of Anthony once more. It was rather entertaining, letting them squabble over him, passed from one to the other in turn while neither wanted to relinquish him. Being the center of attention always suited Anthony, and the brothers Odinson made it so easy.

Anthony was still smiling his satisfaction when Loki swept him off his feet, literally, one arm behind Anthony’s shoulders and another under his knees to lift him bodily. Loki carried him effortlessly, seeming to not even notice Anthony’s weight, to a chaise with its long back to the balcony railing. Anthony glanced down at the ball still underway, ignorant of the goings-on above them, as Loki spread him across the plush velvet seat. Anthony played his part, reclining decoratively with a roll of his hips and arching his back, head falling aside to bare his neck - less because he expected Loki to bite him again, more for the thrill of making himself vulnerable to it.

Loki, standing over him, smiled at his wanton antics and let him display himself, red eyes burning as they drank in the sight. Thor was close behind Loki’s shoulder with a good view of the chaise, seemingly unwilling to yield Anthony entirely; he had unbuttoned his trousers, and one hand dipped inside openly fisted his cock. Anthony caught just a glimpse of the head, pink and wet, above Thor’s curled fingers.

It was a delectable promise of more to come - but Loki took back center stage in Anthony’s attention as he cast aside his jacket, and began removing the rest of his clothing. Nimble fingers, almost ghostly in the low light of the dim lamps and banked fire, undid buttons and ties with ease, and then slowly pulled aside the pieces. 

Chest, arms, legs, were each revealed to Anthony in turn. Nude, Loki’s inhuman beauty was even more apparent, marble-white skin unblemished and hairless, lean flesh casting shadows in the gaunt dips and valleys of his body. He would have been an anatomist’s delight, every muscle and bone visible beneath the surface, a fine study of the perplexing beauty found when perfection exceeded the bounds of nature.

Thor, behind Loki, took his bared shoulders in his massive hands, stroking the smooth skin there, and then leaned in to press a kiss to Loki’s jaw - a tender, romantic, sensual kiss, followed by the same blatant roll of Thor’s erection against Loki’s ass with which he had favored Anthony.

Anthony found his curiosity unable to be silenced. “Are you truly brothers?”

“Yes,” Thor avowed, at the same instant as Loki snapped viciously, “No.”

It was fortunate Anthony had not planned for the answer to change anything, as there was no direction he could possibly have taken on this information. Perhaps a more dedicated, more honorable hunter would have delved further, tried to find a fault line along which to divide and conquer; but clearly Anthony fell short of both, such stratagems far from his mind.

But who could have remembered duty when Thor was the next to undress himself, layers falling to the floor like so many sheets of rain. His skin glowed a warm, radiant golden, and he looked twice as broad and thick as Loki, mouthwatering like ripe peaches.

The sight was interrupted, Loki crawling over Anthony now, pinning his wrists to the chaise and taking Anthony’s mouth in a kiss, swiftly consuming him. The slide of their lips together was indulgent, passionate, Loki stroking every bit of tender flesh with his tongue. Anthony’s blood seemed to have wrought much change in the vampire, a new sense of urgency in his movements, not desperate, but invigorated, brooking no more delay. Anthony hooked a leg over Loki’s hip, trying to either pull himself up or Loki down; he felt Loki choose to indulge him, lowering himself until he lay atop Anthony, now trapping his whole body. Between the kiss and Loki’s weight on his chest, Anthony felt himself grow breathless, lungs tight and head slowly spinning. On it went - and just before it became intolerable, Loki broke the kiss and straightened upright. But Anthony did not find that it brought him relief, as Thor, grinning, came to take Loki’s place.

He seated himself right by Anthony’s hip and bowed over him - the first time tonight their lips had met. Thor was forceful and domineering, clearly accustomed to having whatever he wanted, which suited Anthony very well indeed. His mouth was warm, sunlight on bare flesh, warmer still by contrast with Loki’s coolness. Wrists freed, Anthony ran one hand into Thor’s thick, tawny hair, cupping the back of his hand and steering the kiss. Thor growled, a pleased sound that urged Anthony on, and he placed his other hand on Thor’s shoulder to feel the enormous breadth of it.

Anthony’s whole body was surging with energy, stimulation - but still it was impossible to miss Loki’s fingers, slicked with some sort of oil, reaching between his cheeks and rubbing at his entrance. Anthony was eager for the offer made; he was far from inexperienced himself, but in his long existence, Loki ought to have learned a trick or two that would make this something indeed! Anthony hitched his leg up to make room and show willing, and bid himself relax as Loki pressed in with one finger. Gradually one became two, and then a third, skillfully working him open.

Thor released Anthony’s mouth and shifted down to kiss his jaw, then his throat, then his collarbones. Tongue and teeth played lightly over Anthony’s skin, igniting thrilling sparks in his blood. It was nothing that a human lover might not have done; but Thor was not human, and Anthony wanted to know it.

“More,” he gasped, aiming for a command; perhaps it was more a plea by the time he voiced it. Nevertheless, Thor obeyed, darkly - he bit down harder and with intent, bright bursts of sweet pain, Anthony’s flesh bruising beneath his maw. There would be marks when he was finished, a bouquet of bloody roses for Anthony to carry away alongside the twin wounds Loki had left him.

Loki’s fingers disappeared, and Anthony’s legs were pushed wider to make room for Loki’s body between them. Anthony’s bare flesh met Loki’s own, his skin smooth and cool everywhere Anthony touched him. With sure aim, Loki positioned himself, and sank his cock into Anthony’s body.

The world narrowed, everything disappearing save the bone-deep sensation of being filled, of pressure building in his core, of the strange coolness of Loki’s flesh. Before Anthony’s mind had cleared or his eyes opened, Loki began moving, slow, deep strokes in and out, a standing wave through Anthony’s nerves. Loki fucked like he danced, rhythmic and precise, perfectly calculated for the finest performance. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, save the long thrusts of Loki’s cock opening Anthony’s body for itself. It could have been mere moments, or hours, before Anthony realized the thrusts were in pace with his own heartbeat, and found he could not say whether Loki had matched him, or whether the vampire had somehow drawn Anthony’s pulse into time with his own design.

“Is that good, my dear?” Loki murmured, barely audible over the slow pounding of Anthony’s blood in his ears. “Have you made a worthy trade? It is your blood that makes me strong, that brings you pleasure - what do you think of that?”

Anthony could not speak, but the words made his body arch, hips pushing down to take Loki’s cock deeper and wring more satisfaction from it. His hands grasped to take hold of something he could brace against. Loki’s pace did not shift; he did not stumble or falter, and he did not tire. Nothing in Anthony’s power would change Loki’s choreography; he could only submit and receive what Loki deigned to give.

But what he gave was exquisite, a rich, simmering ecstasy that Anthony sank into greedily; it was easy to become unmoored and simply drift amid the waves. Loki’s thrusts rocked through him, steady, like the ticking of a clock, the seconds stretched out long and slow. Loki’s cool hands were unyielding on Anthony’s hips, angling him just so to meet Loki’s thrusts, thin fingers reaching around to prise his cheeks open. Loki looked more the ice-prince than ever, features still white and cold, chest unmoving with lack of breath and not a drop of sweat lining his bared skin. But his red eyes were lit with fiery passion, a hunger only stoked by the lifeblood he had drained from Anthony, and his teeth were bared in a domineering grin as his wielded his mastery over him.

Anthony had not noticed Thor leave, but he did notice his return; Thor resumed his seat and stroked Anthony’s hair with one massive hand, then reached under his back to prop him half-upright. “Look.”

Over Loki’s shoulder, Anthony’s eyes fell on a mirror he had not spied before, a sheet of black fabric lying at its feet suggesting it had only recently been revealed. The mirror reflected the lounge perfectly, and Anthony sprawled upon it - naked, flushed, hair mussed and composure ruined - and nothing else.

Loki, atop him and fucking him into pieces, cast no reflection, even as Anthony stared at the proof of his handiwork - his thighs held up and apart, his cock bouncing on his belly with each thrust, the dark, gaping circle beneath where Loki penetrated him. Anthony clutched at Loki’s shoulders to hold himself upright, unable to look away from the sight. He could see himself breathing heavily, see where his hairline was darkening with moisture, see the strain in his body as it took Loki’s pounding strokes.

He felt the vampire grin against his neck. “Do you like the view, my sweet thing? Are you not exquisite?”

One of Loki’s hands, nails hard and pointed, raked down the back of Anthony’s thigh; in the mirror, red streaks formed in its wake as if from nowhere. Anthony moaned, and saw his chest rise and fall, his hips tip to meet Loki’s, the muscles in his arms working to hold his position. In the mirror, he could not watch Loki himself, could not become lost in his sharp features or blood-colored eyes; Anthony could only watch what Loki was doing to him, see himself wanton and undone.

What a vision it was!

He marked every detail until his strength gave way, and he sank back against the lounge. Loki continued on, driving into him like an engine, every stroke matching the one before.

Thor, beside him, reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down Anthony’s cheek. “You will decide when this ends,” he said. “When you wish Loki to finish, you need only bid him to. Until then, he will continue as he is.”

“A neat trick,” Anthony gasped, unable to muster more intelligent commentary. He tried to imagine this lasting for hours - days - would Loki need to drink more blood to maintain his erection, to penetrate Anthony with his teeth and his cock simultaneously?

He found Loki’s mark on his neck, achingly tender as he pressed down on it, and drew out an echo of the sweetness he had felt at the vampire’s bite. He waited as long as he could, savoring every moment, until the promise of more to come was no longer enough. “Do it,” he cried, insatiable, needing to feel this new offering - would it be as good as all that had come before?

Better - Loki abruptly seized one of Anthony’s legs behind the knee and hitched it high over his shoulder, then turned and bit the soft flesh of Anthony’s thigh. Again that dizzying rush of blissful ecstasy, free-fall into Loki’s hands, this time coupled with the sudden shock of Loki’s spilling inside him. Anthony felt it as ink sinking into the parchment of his body, a spreading mark seeping through him, the chill of winter rime marking its advance. Even this frostbite was a delight, cool water soothing his overheated system, reaching his very fingertips and toes.

He felt Loki withdraw, first teeth and then cock, and for an indeterminate moment he felt utterly bereft. Then a thin, firm body was lying along his and he was gathered into strong arms, his head pillowed against Loki’s chest.

“My precious Anthony,” Loki murmured to him, the low and affectionate voice of a lover. “You took me so well. What I would give to keep you like this - you outshine every sunrise.”

Thor laughed. “As if you would know. You have not seen a sunrise for, what, two centuries?”

Loki hissed, swiping at Thor with a clawed hand, which Thor casually batted away. Anthony allowed their bickering to float over him, relaxing now into the languid afterglow of Loki’s embrace.

While it lasted - by right, it was now Thor’s turn with him, and indeed, he felt the wide and warm hand of the werewolf low on his back. Anthony shifted, pressing into Thor’s touch. “I have not forgotten you.”

“You could never,” Thor declared, the defense of truth saving the statement from unbearable arrogance. Loki had accused Thor earlier of having no patience, but he seemed willing enough to wait until Anthony was ready. It was Anthony who wanted to waste no more time, and find out what the other of the pair had to offer.

He tilted his hips back, boldly presenting himself, and looked over his shoulder with a coy eyebrow raised; the creatures were not the only ones who could wield temptation to get what they wanted. Loki chuckled. “Our guest is yet hungry, brother.”

“Good. As am I.”

Thor manhandled Anthony into position with ease, stronger than even Loki and more keen to show it. When Thor was done, Anthony knelt upright on the chaise’s padded velvet seat, leant forward over both its back and the balcony railing. Through the sheer black curtain that formed a veil between the three of them and the world outside, he looked down to the ballroom and the teeming, swirling mass of guests. London’s fine folk did not seem to have noticed the absence of their hosts; the party continued apace everywhere Anthony’s eye fell. Music and dance had now turned sensual and erotic, intermixed with rich imported delicacies and the green flash of absinthe in glasses. On the landings and in secluded corners he could spy other amorous liaisons underway, skirts rucked up and trousers pushed down. The excuse of the masquerade made everyone daring, willing to indulge in all matter of things they would condemn come the daylight.

He felt Thor’s great bulk settle into place behind him, knees inside of Anthony’s and nudging his stance slightly wider. “What are you thinking about, pet?”

Anthony could not admit, even to himself, what the morning might bring. “How much pleasure is found in a night used well.”

“Have no fear, I will make very good use of you.”

“Indeed,” Loki said, a smiling smirk in his voice. When Anthony turned to him, he had found another lounge to drape himself across, gleamingly nude and darkly elegant, watching Anthony with a lascivious gaze. Then the twin rubies glanced at Thor, and Anthony too returned his attention to the werewolf.

Ever Loki’s opposite, heat radiated from him that Anthony could feel even before he was touched; and Thor breathed, stirring the air around him, a heavy susurrus in and out reaching Anthony’s ears. Thor hummed satisfaction as he leaned in, pressing Anthony down over the balcony railing, and rubbed his bearded cheek across the nape of Anthony’s neck. It was a pleasant sensation, a bristle just at the right point between soft and rough. No stranger himself to the complexities of grooming one’s facial hair to a precise design, Anthony could safely say that Thor had spared no effort in achieving the particular effect he had wanted. Anthony savored the result, his skin warming beneath Thor’s beard and the thrill of it stoking the lingering desire that Loki had ignited in his nether regions. Delightful as it had been, Loki had taken him too soon after his last release for his cock to make a worthy response; but it seemed prepared to answer Thor, an electric capacitor only now fully charged.

Thor’s hands took him next, massive paws sliding down his flanks and squeezing his thighs. With Anthony held in place, Thor brought himself closer still, pressing his chest and hips flush to Anthony’s back. Thor’s cock, hot and huge and half-mast, nudged into the crease of Anthony’s ass. It was almost overwhelming already, to be surrounded by Thor so completely - he filled every one of Anthony’s senses. Flashes of blond hair and golden skin in the corners of Anthony’s vision came alongside the rich, almost spicy scent of him; the heavy exhales of breath in Anthony’s ear carried the heat of a furnace. And his bulk overpowered Anthony in a very literal, physical meaning of the word; Anthony was entirely pinned in place, unable to escape had he wanted to.

But nothing on earth could have persuaded him to be anywhere other than where he was. No temptation could have exceeded this, having Thor rutting against him in preparation to fuck him outright, while Loki sat nearby, cock still wet and Anthony’s blood still in his veins.

He turned his head and announced to Thor, loud enough for Loki to hear, “I am waiting, your highness.”

“Oh, dear,” Loki crooned. “We cannot have that.”

Thor moved quickly; one hand found a jar of oil, which must have been the same that Loki had used, and slicked his cock liberally with it, stroking himself fully erect at the same time. “Spirited,” he said as he worked, closed fist nudging against Anthony’s behind as he worked himself in the small space between their bodies. “Demanding. Arrogant.”

“Also volatile - self-obsessed - shall I go on?” Anthony offered, grinning. “You know my reputation - I came by it honestly, as you see.”

“We would not have you here were you anything less.”

Anthony had heard plenty of Loki’s flattery tonight, compliments to his craft or his cunning; hearing the same from Thor affected him just as deeply. These creatures were centuries old, their power unthinkable, their beauty awe-inspiring - and of every living thing in London, it was Anthony whom they sought out, whom they brought into their sanctum, whom they made themselves vulnerable to. How could he not feel and appreciate the weight of their esteem? They would not have been easily impressed; just as they had wanted to earn Anthony’s good regard, it mean something that he had gained theirs.

Anthony was still basking in the praise, smug and proud, when Thor’s hands parted his cheeks and the head of his cock nudged between them. “Are you ready?”

“Very.”

There came the usual slow, stretched moment to find the right combination of force, angle and leverage, and Thor’s cock pushed into Anthony’s body. The intrusion was enormous, all at once knocking the air from Anthony’s lungs and fairly splitting him in two. He had taken his fair share of male lovers; Thor was without contest the largest, and despite preparation there was pain, dark and sweet. He seemed to tear at the seams, and would not have been surprised if it was true. 

Anthony choked as Thor worked himself in another inch, only one word coming to mind. “Monstrous.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor said. “There is a reason that Loki goes first.”

Indeed - Anthony could think of more than one - even as Thor took his privilege to the hilt, pulling Anthony’s hips back into his own until they were flush and his cock as deep as it could go. Anthony almost looked down at himself, expecting to see his abdomen distended as his organs made space for the huge length and girth inside him. His head spun with the intensity of it, pain softening and giving way as he finally adjusted to the pleasure it brought instead. He could feel every heartbeat in his body from head to toe, a pulsing rhythm centered around where Thor broke him open. And Thor was not moving, only holding them together and keeping his cock buried. Just that presence had Anthony trembling, muscles fighting to hold him in place and not collapse entirely under the strain.

“More,” he pleaded, “more, do not hesitate-”

“I will ruin you,” Thor rumbled, threat and promise, and then his body coiled and drove hard into Anthony.

That first almighty thrust broke the floodgates - Thor fucked him brutally, a predator feasting upon his prey, all his strength narrowed to wielding his cock like a weapon. Anthony braced himself against the balcony railing and took each pounding, bruising stroke, and his cock rose hard between his thighs from the intoxicating ecstasy of it. Echoes of light danced behind his eyes, his blood burning as Thor fucked him, pleasure so great he could not contain it.

A torrent of filth poured from his lips, unthinking, wordless, incoherent moans and cries, punctuated by Thor’s thrusts. Thor’s thick arms wrapped around his chest and pulled him upright, kneeling and seated on Thor’s cock; now gravity pulled him down onto it, the earth itself undoing him. Anthony’s head fell back onto Thor’s shoulder, eyes staring sightlessly outwards, mouth open and still letting out the voice of his pleasure.

Until Loki’s cold hand snapped across it, silencing him mercilessly. “Enough of that, my darling,” Loki murmured. “We would not want to be overheard, would we?”

Anthony shuddered at the idea of it - he had forgotten the masquerade going on below them, and the dark curtain shielded them from sight but not other telltale signs.

Loki chuckled. “No, this is too good to share with them. We shall keep you to ourselves, our secret, our gift.”

His other hand reached down and wrapped Anthony’s cock, and began to stroke him. So aroused and so aflame, the chill of Loki’s flesh bit like Arctic winter - invigorating, sharpening his mind, only making him more aware of the enormous heat Thor was pumping into him.

“Oh, yes,” Loki said, grinning down at him. “Look at you, how well you take him. One of us could not satisfy you, hm?”

His long, thin fingers worked Anthony’s cock like a musical instrument, playing him with skill and confidence, a master performing for his captive audience. His other hand was unyielding over Anthony’s mouth, iron wrapped in silk, forcing Anthony to swallow his gasps and groans. And always his eyes were on Anthony’s, intense, burning, compelling.

“Tell me how he feels, Thor.”

“You know. You had him minutes ago.”

“Yes, I did,” Loki said, not withdrawing the command.

Thor grunted. “Tight. Hot.” His thrusts became punctuation between his words. “His heart - beats strong. Without - fear.”

“Mm. We chose well.”

Anthony heard the words, though distantly, as if from the next room. His being was consumed by the physical sensations flooding him, the burning swell of Thor’s cock within him, the press of his wide chest to Anthony’s back, the twin cold counterpoints of Loki’s hands. Each powerful thrust shook Anthony’s whole body and filled him with ecstasy, a great swirling bonfire of pleasure and lust. His own arousal, stroked by Loki’s grip, was more than he had ever felt in his life. He rose and fell in the storm of it, writhing helplessly, thoroughly ensnared - any harm or ill they wished to do him, could have been done then, without resistance or defense.

But none such came, his trust borne out at least this far, as they continued to use him as they had promised for the night’s proper purpose. They took and took, but Anthony gave freely, and was well rewarded. He was a conduit for a torrent of pure, unrelenting hedonism, every drop of satisfaction squeezed from him like juice from a ripe fruit.

Loki stirred himself, lifting his palm from Anthony’s mouth only to replace it with his own in a kiss. The metallic taste of his own blood flooded Anthony’s tongue; even that horror was pleasurable, on this night, amidst these temptations. Loki’s hand, now free, twined into Anthony’s hair and angled his head this way and that, to align with Loki’s kisses just so. The pull was gentle, sensual, one more thread they tugged upon to unravel him. With what leverage remained to him, Anthony deepened the kiss, claiming the vampire’s lips and tongue for his own. Thor seized his share, laying open-mouthed bites down the side of Anthony’s neck; there would be marks come morning, if there were not already.

Anthony’s desperation rose to their urging; he could not last much longer, body crying out for release. Each stroke, each thrust, drew tension tighter through every fiber of his being, charged energy that would have to find an outlet somewhere-

The spark caught, Anthony’s whole body flaring at once as he spilled into Loki’s hand, conflagration stoked by the heavy thrusts of Thor’s cock inside him. It was a high peak, soaring and elated, and drawn out in long pulses by Loki’s touch and Thor’s pressure. His slow fall into relief was a sweet ache, the strain of their activities beginning to tell, and he collapsed quite completely into the Odinsons’ keeping.

“Oh, my dear,” Loki murmured, his lips brushing Anthony’s as he spoke. “Spent, are you? Fucked out, as the English say?”

Loki’s hand slipped down the back of Anthony’s head to cradle the nape of his neck, and he rested their brows together. “But, I believe, my brother is not.”

Thor, already buried to the hilt in Anthony’s body, gave a short twitch of his hips that made Anthony feel the whole massive length of him in shocking detail. His breath caught in his throat at the implications of that presence, unfinished and hungry for more, and the werewolf’s looming bulk behind him, prepared to take it.

“Go on, then,” Anthony goaded him, “you will not frighten me off now.”

Thor gave a pleased growl, a low rumble that Anthony felt in his bones as much as heard. His great hands took hold of Anthony’s hips, strong and sure. “As you wish.”

All night, Thor had been a thunderstorm; slipping the very last of his restraint, he was a hurricane. The pounding he subjected Anthony to now was brutal, unrelenting, until Anthony was punch-drunk on it. His skin was wet with sweat and it slicked the way as Thor moved against him, bodies surging together. The mask of the gentleman was well off now; Thor fucked like an animal, wordless and thoughtless, wolf-nature emergent, as though he wished to consume Anthony entirely.

In the midst of it was Loki’s grip on his neck and the grounding rest of his forehead, anchoring Anthony in place; Anthony clung to his shoulders to stay upright. His head spun with sensation, one thrust barely registered before the next struck it out. Breath came in short, shallow gasps that did little to ease his need.

Without warning, Thor spilled - a keening cry almost like a howl in Anthony’s ear, and a flood of wet heat drenched his core. And then again, a second rush, and a third, Thor’s cock still hard and pushing deeper all the while as if ensuring Anthony was filled with him. Nothing let up, not the weight of his cock nor the fierceness of his thrusts, and the liquid fire inside Anthony’s belly only strengthened. Thor continued to rock his hips, sinking deep and drawing back, his cock hot and heavy as it moved through his pooling seed. Never was the smoldering fire allowed to die into embers, flames licking up Anthony’s flesh to claim every inch of him.

Anthony curled over, his head falling to Loki’s chest, bowed by the intensity of the onslaught, clutching at Loki for support. His whole body trembled, left weak as a kitten from the strain of the evening, all culminating at this point of the arrow. “Monstrous indeed-”

“Well, yes,” Loki purred in Anthony’s ear. “That is why you came here, is it not?”

Cold fingers stroked the raw wounds and layered bruises that the Odinsons’ teeth had left on Anthony’s throat tonight; the sting punctuated the swirling, searing pleasure where Anthony was impaled on Thor’s cock. Once again, Anthony could not deny the truth of Loki’s words; the vampire saw right down to his foundations, leaving him without defense or excuse. Anthony knew himself their prey, just as he knew the danger he stood in even now. And he knew that he did not know the meaning of the words too much.

He braced himself on Loki’s firm shoulders, and met Thor’s next thrust with an answering shove of his hips.

“Yes,” Thor snarled, and fucked him all the harder for it. The loud, obscene slap of their flesh together snapped in Anthony’s ears, and every crease of his skin was dripping with sweat. Thor’s cock felt the size of a fist; Anthony already knew he would feel it for hours or days afterwards. His power and strength poured into Anthony, overflowing him without compunction - but even the werewolf’s immense stamina was not without end.

His thrusts slowed and gentled gradually, and that massive cock began to soften. With each stroke he withdrew a little further, until at length Anthony was left empty, the lake of Thor’s spilled seed leaking down his thighs.

“Truly exceptional,” Loki crooned, cupping Anthony’s flushed face in his cool palms. “We have not taken a lover like you in an age.”

Thor leaned down and licked at the seam of Anthony’s neck and shoulder. “Indeed, you are something special.”

Earlier in the evening, Anthony would have smirked and flounced under their flattery; exhausted and spent now, he merely smiled and allowed the gray clouds to roll over him.

He seemed to fall into some kind of hypnotic stupor; not asleep, though it felt as if he should have been, and aware of events occurring without them attracting any weight or analysis in his mind. He was laid down, gently and with care, into a comfortable recline across the chaise. Though sightless, he could sense their presences around him, one warm and one cool, the sun high and steady in the sky, the moon orbiting in rapid arcs.

“Well, what now?”

“We have to kill him.”

“Loki…”

“He knows what we are - he serves others who know it, too - he wants us both dead, he told me so himself! We have no other choice.”

“If you believed that, you would have killed him already.”

Loki hissed between his teeth, moving restlessly back and forth across the room with swift steps. “He is a grave danger to us. He is a master hunter, we cannot forget that, no matter how clever and charming he is. We have to do something.”

“We have waited long enough for one like him. We will not find another, mark my words. No killing.”

“What do you propose we do, then?”

Thor caught Loki by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Trust him, as we asked him to trust us. We tasted his blood, freely given, and that is not a door that can be closed again. More than that, he enjoyed it. Is he the sort of man to turn his back on any source of pleasure? I think he is already ours, body and mind, and we need fear him no longer.”

“Hm. I wonder if he thinks that.”

There was a lacuna that could have lasted an instant, or an hour, as both creatures regarded Anthony where he lay.

“Perhaps not. But he will.”