[Fic] Go Too Far (Fandral/Loki, R)

[locketofyourhair]

Go Too Far
Fandral/Loki | R | 1.4k

Loki doesn't know what to feel

Notes: movie!verse, set during the events of the movie. Written for kink_bingo, prompt body alteration/injury. Thanks to saystheheart and wholedamntree for their help. :D
Disclaimer: No profit is being made; characters are the property of Marvel Comics among others.

Warning: (skip) Depictions of putting fingers into wounds both for gratification and to cause pain

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Loki feels as a man gutted when he comes to the healing room. He is smarter than his brother, smarter than his father; he has known this for centuries. He is used to considering and thinking three steps ahead. He knew that goading Thor to Jotunheim would anger Odin; he knew that Odin would punish Thor. He had even wanted to see his father look at Thor with true disappointment, as he did just before.

He had not intended this; he had not thought such a thing would ever happen.

He cannot decide his feelings on it, because too much has happened. This night, his skin turned as blue as any jotun from the touch of one. Volstagg was wounded from such a touch, but Loki looks at his pale skin and it is unmarked, perfect. This night, he watched Fandral be nearly heart-pierced from the long pikes of ice. Loki does not enjoy the way that makes his stomach turn. He has seen worse; he has seen Fandral heal from worse.

But they would not have gone to Jotunheim if Loki had not goaded Thor. It is easier to remember that he had tried to pull them away when Laufey had given them a chance to flee. It was Thor whose honor had been slighted, being called Princess. It had been Thor who forced them to fight. Thor was the reason that Fandral had nearly died.

Loki pushes the door open, and Hogun and Sif are flitting between Volstagg and Fandral. Both wounds are severe, though one was nearly mortal. The cold burn could have cost Volstagg his hand, and then he would be crippled as a warrior.

He pushes all of that from his mind to come beside Fandral. Hogun is applying a potion to his wounds. The bleeding has yet to stop, but Fandral is breathing more evenly, more color to his face. “Loki,” he whispers, and Loki is not so foolish as to think that the others miss the look on Fandral’s face.

“How are you?” Loki’s voice only shakes once before he is sitting beside Fandral’s chair. He has changed into an open tunic, one that displays the red, angry wounds.

Fandral smiles, and it is pained. “I will heal.”

Loki looks to Hogun, and Hogun sighs. “He has lost much blood. The wound is too close to the heart and closes too slowly.”

“I will heal,” Fandral says again. He frowns at Hogun. “You should not concern yourself.”

Loki nods, and he puts his hand beside Fandral’s, so their fingers touch. Then he turns to look to Sif, where she is rubbing at Volstagg’s arm over and over. “How is he?”

“The cold seeks to grow along his arm,” Sif whispers, and her eyes are furious. “There has been no mention that their powers could work as thus.”

Volstagg flexes his fingers. “Jotun tricks are no match for Asgardian technologies. They were not at the last war, and such things have not changed. I would stake the pride of Asgard upon it.”

Loki looks to Hogun, offering his free hand. “Go help Sif with Volstagg, so that he does not dishonor us all in his boastfulness.”

Hogun gives over the ointment easily, and Sif seems pleased for the help. Volstagg’s lips quirk; it is no secret what Loki is to Fandral. He does not care. In this room, they are as safe as they ever shall be, as the healers have been sent away. The four of them prefer to do their own healing when possible, which Loki usually finds to be the height of foolishness.

He tells this to Fandral as he begins to trace his fingers in the ointment and gingerly touches the edges of the holes in Fandral’s chest. He can feel the magic working here, and it is working as fast as it will. Still, though, the wounds remain. The holes are large enough that he could push his fingers into them, feel Fandral’s body healing around him.

“I know,” Fandral whispers. “But we usually have secrets fit only for the All Father and Heimdall to hear.” His voice is more strained now that Hogun is gone, as if now that they are alone on their side of the room, he can let the pain show.

Loki nods. He does not say Usually you have travelled with Thor. Thoughts of his brother’s face when he was banished bloom unbidden in Loki’s mind, and he cannot think of it. Suddenly, it is now Loki who will be the King of Asgard, and something very like panic fills him at the thought.

He spreads more of the ointment on Fandral’s skin, and then he traces both wounds, the hot skin around the punctures. It is enflamed, so much darker. He lets one finger slip into Fandral’s body, and his response is immediate. He shudders under Loki’s touch, drawing in a sharp breath. His fingers grip the arms of the chair, so tightly that his knuckles mottle.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and there is pain in his voice, making it strained and tight. Loki expected that. What he did not expect was the thread of heat beneath it.

Loki does it again, to the second wound. He dips his finger into the ointment and then pushes it directly into the wound, and Fandral’s eyes close, mouth open but the barest amount. Loki has seen that look before. “You enjoy this?” he asks. He uses magic to muffle his voice, so his words do not travel to the others.

Fandral’s eyes open, and his pupils are large, face barely flushed. “You could make the wounds worse.”

He smiles, bowing his head. “I am merely applying more ointment to the wounds directly.” He does it a third time, carefully thrusting his finger in and out of Fandral’s body and the movement is deliberate. It earns a gasp from Fandral, his legs moving.

“Please,” Fandral murmurs. “Do not start something we cannot finish.”

Loki lets his hand rest against Fandral’s chest, where his skin is so sunkissed and Loki’s so pale. He concentrates on the feel of Fandral so hot around him, the warmth of his blood. Were they alone, he thinks he would lick around the wound, perhaps taste Fandral’s blood.

He draws his hand away and comforts himself with the thought that there is always another day. Fandral is a warrior and loves his battles and hunts. There will be other wounds. Loki is content to wait until such a thing happens, should it be months, years, or decades. Near immortality has its advantages.

Fandral watches him warily, his cheeks still almost pink. The wounds are healing better now, faster. Loki smiles. Increased bloodflow can be a miraculous thing. “Do you plan to sleep here tonight?” he asks Fandral. The spell to keep the others out is holding well. He can be bold.

“I don’t know,” Fandral drawls. “Can I trust you to be gentle?”

“As gentle as you wish me to be,” Loki says in a low hiss, because he can see plainly that Fandral did very much enjoy the attention. He licks one of his fingers, and Fandral shivers in something that is not pain.

“Loki,” Sif says then, and her voice is laced with irritation. She is standing beside them, her hand on Loki’s shoulder. It is that contact that shatters the spell. “Loki,” she says again.

“Yes?” he asks, and he must wipe his hand on the edge of his tunic before fussing with the ointment.

“I asked you: where is Thor?” She looks at the door. “Is Odin very angry with him?”

Loki sighs, and everything comes crashing back, the same hollow feeling. He stands, because he is a prince of the realm and he cannot deliver such news sitting down. He must appear regal, imposing. He must be as his father.

“No,” he says slowly. “Thor Odinsson has been banished for his direct disobedience to the All Father. He has been stripped of his titles and sent from this realm, and only Odin knows where he has fallen.”

“No,” Volstagg says, and Hogun.

“He cannot,” Sif cries.

Fandral is quiet, and when Loki looks to him, to see his reaction, there is the beginning of something in his eyes, something too much like consideration of this terrible happening, for Loki to be comfortable.