Chapter 1
The gargantuan, hulking monster crept with contradictory grace across the desolate hillside as Sylvie awaited Loki’s return. She seemed completely oblivious to the giant’s presence behind her, her arms crossed firmly across her chest, impatient toe a-tapping. The creature’s terrifying jaw curled into something resembling a grin as it stretched a crooked claw towards her neck.
Sylvie suddenly reached over her shoulder to firmly grab onto what passed for the beast’s wrist. She flung herself into a crouch and used the momentum to swing the creature over her head. It had barely landed with a walloping “thud” on the ground before Sylvie leapt onto the monster, straddling it and pinning its arms.
The hellbeast’s slavering maw snapped and howled, thrashing against Sylvie’s weight. She held on with all her might, pressing into the creature, pinioning its arms with her knees. She reached up and grasped its face, holding it as still as she could.
The monster’s fierce, bloodshot eyes widened as she leaned down and kissed its mouth. It thrashed for one last moment before going still. In a final burst of energy, the creature managed to roll itself on top of its captor.
Sylvie wrapped her arms around Loki as his erection indented itself in her thigh. As soon as the game was lost he dispensed with the monstrous illusion so as to concentrate completely on the maddening woman below him. He and Sylvie’s tongues fought for dominance as she wound her fingers through his hair.
“Thought I had you that time,” Loki panted into her mouth.
Sylvie smirked. “You’ll have to do better than that. I’d know you anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” His banter turned to a groan as she ground her hips against him. They rolled to the side in each other’s arms.
“I could pick you out of a lineup of a th— mmm,” she hummed against Loki’s lips as he firmly pressed the heel of his hand into her clit over top of her leggings. But Sylvie rarely lost the plot, even under duress. “… a lineup of a thousand identical variants. Naked.”
“Naked? Them or you?” Loki purred into her ear.
“Wouldn’t want an unfair advantage,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “Better make it all of the above.”
“Could you now?” Loki hummed, a fresh glint of mischief in his eye.
“Course. I could do it blindfolded,” she said, palming his stiff cock.
He grunted in pleasure. “With one hand tied behind your back?”
Sylvie laughed again and kissed him. “Mmhmm,” she assented into his mouth. “At least one.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Loki murmured, nipping at her neck.
With satisfaction he caught Sylvie’s brief look of affectionate suspicion before their lips crashed together again. They fucked right there in the otherwise gloomy grass.
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They’d found themselves a little cave to call their own in this wasteland of the Void. It was a bit moist, but with plenty of décor from reset timelines to choose from – a throw rug here, a tapestry there, a Gauguin hanging above a couple of velvet armchairs in a rocky nook – it wasn’t so bad. Certainly miles better than a dingy old bowling alley. An ornate, canopied four-poster bed was Loki’s proudest score – and how thankful he’d been that he could magic it to their new abode instead of having to lug the massive wooden thing over barren hill and dale. After a lifetime of impermanence Sylvie wasn’t about to help, but Loki suspected she secretly enjoyed the novelty of nesting, and that her indifference was feigned.
Loki pushed past the scavenged animal furs that served as their front door and spied Sylvie lounging on her stomach atop his – correction: their – bed, in one of his button-down shirts and a pair of boxers. Loki found the simplicity of the uniform he’d been issued strangely comforting, and if one didn’t mind stripping the odd corpse, standard-issue TVA apparel was surprisingly easy to come by in the land of the pruned. He certainly had no complaints about Sylvie sharing his wardrobe, especially given her propensity for his unlaundered shirts; his heart – and other things – had swelled when she’d said she it was because she liked his smell.
Calloused fingers flitted and twitched as she magically rearranged letters in a gnarled word-find book they’d come across on an exploratory mission. When he’d first teased her about her new pastime she’d scowled and sniped that, as a hobby, it certainly beat failed attempts at world domination.
Now Sylvie’s acknowledgment of his presence consisted of a side eye and a small but genuine smile.
Positively vibrating with energy, Loki hovered near the mouth of their cave.
“What’s got you all worked up?” Sylvie asked.
Even through the gloom of the cave, his eyes gleamed with boyish glee in the lantern light. Sitting up, Sylvie’s brow furrowed with wary curiosity.
A 90-watt grin broke out across his face. Sylvie was usually three steps ahead of him, so Loki savored this moment of incomprehension, however brief it was to be.
Her expectant stare turned to an impatient glare. “Well?”
Loki practically giggled. Sticking two fingers into his mouth, he gave a mighty whistle.
“Oi!” Sylvie cringed as the piercing noise echoed through the enclosed space.
Loki perched his fists on his hips in anticipation of the big reveal.
Only silence followed.
“What the hell are you up to?” Sylvie groused, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as if to stand.
“Just… just wait,” Loki said quickly, then called confidently behind him, “C’mon in, boys!”
After another moment of silence, an irritated voice replied from outside the cave. “We’re not dogs, you twat.”
At this Sylvie jumped to her feet, instinctively landing in a defensive stance. “Who’s that?” she demanded.
Under normal circumstances Loki would have appreciated how fetching Sylvie looked in this pose, his dirty shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal the sensitive skin between the tops of her breasts.
In this case, panic followed by vexation flicked across his face as he held placating hands up towards Sylvie. This was not going to plan. Loki screwed up his face and took a deep breath, trying to convince his very nature that diplomacy was key.
“Gentlemen,” he finally shouted out with feigned confidence, “would you be so kind as to enter?”
Murmurs and mutters came from outside the cave before finally the furs were drawn back. Sylvie coiled like a spring. Three men pushed their way in past the hides. She squinted at the intruders in the dim light. Loki watched with relief and satisfaction as Sylvie’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline in recognition.
Not three men. Three Lokis.
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Sylvie’s jaw dropped momentarily before she snapped it shut with a clack of her teeth. Her instincts fought against her rational mind – Loki had very clearly orchestrated this, invited these… variants here. She scrutinized them as she tried to piece together why.
Two of the Lokis flanked her lover, their face all identical to his. One wore a lab coat, the horns on his crown similar in scope to her own as he regarded Sylvie with a calm, calculating, and – if she was honest – enticing stare. The other dressed in little but knee-high boots, a green Speedo and cape. His horns jutted long and proud from his forehead. She found his leer unsettling even if, despite the ridiculous outfit, his smooth, bare chest called out to the animal in her.
The third variant peeked shyly out at her from behind the others. He wore a green sweater vest and bowtie over a simple button-down shirt. There wasn’t even a crown on his head to hold back the curtain of hair that fell across his face, obscuring one eye. Sylvie found his bashfulness oddly enchanting.
There was a pregnant silence as everyone took in the scene. A lightbulb went off over Sylvie’s head as she recalled her unintentional challenge to Loki that day on the hillside.
Mr. Cocky in the Speedo broke the silence.
“When do we get to the shagging?”
Sylvie blinked a few times as she took in his words. The rest of the Lokis turned to look at him.
“What?” he countered defensively. “Captain Khaki over here didn’t invite us over for a tea party.”
“No,” agreed the Scientist, straightening the lapels of his lab coat. He appraised Sylvie from toe to top, lingering on her tits. “Tea was not on the menu.” Despite her calm exterior, Sylvie’s nether regions fluttered at his stare. She shoved that feeling into the mental bin marked “inconvenient reactions.”
Unsurprisingly, the bashful one simply tensed behind the others like a little rabbit about to bolt.
Sylvie pursed her lips. It appeared they really did mean business. She frankly hadn’t thought Loki – correction: her Loki, and how odd did that sound in her head – had it in him. Only she could see the faint veneer of concern washed across his features. He kept a vigilant eye on her, as if trying to divine the future from her expression.
Sylvie tried to conceal a little smile. Playing trampoline atop a pile of variants would either be a grand old time or an utter disaster. Was this really something she wanted to--
Mr. Cocky’s voice shattered her deliberation. “What are you… chicken?” he asked with a sneer across his stupid, handsome face.
Sylvie’s eyes sparkled with immediate and visceral fury. She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to flatten her hackles. It was bait, it was so clearly bait.
Her deep-breathing exercise was interrupted when Mr. Cocky began clucking and squawking. As he gained confidence he made flapping wings of his elbows and strutted around in a circle.
The outrage flared up in Sylvie again and her desire to dampen it evaporated. She coiled down into her stance, ready to attack. She hardly noticed her Loki’s concern now clearly plastered across his face, blue eyes darting about while his mind likely spun through all possible courses of action, landing on none.
Sylvie sprang forward. Her Loki thrust out a Let’s-be-Reasonable hand as he bounded up to intercept her. Exasperated at Loki’s intervention but unwilling to hurt him, Sylvie screeched to a halt, her chest landing solidly into his hand. Both stared down at his palm on her breast, then up at each other. A little vine of lust twined itself around Sylvie’s rage at the heat of his skin through the thin material. Flaring nostrils huffed in Loki’s maddening scent. His eyes widened and with a very deliberate movement he pulled his hand away.
“Sylvie...”
She hadn’t really wanted him to stop touching her, but she had business to conduct. Distraction removed, her eyes flashed over Loki’s shoulder to Mr. Cocky, who watched the results of his play with caustic interest. The variant resumed his clucking under his breath.
“Maybe I should ask our... guests to go,” Loki murmured gently. “I wanted to… erm… didn’t think, um… well... this was supposed to be—”
Sylvie was just able make out Mr. Cocky muttering to the Scientist. “These two are rubbish Lokis.”
“—fun,” Loki finished lamely.
Sylvie gritted her teeth. It was true that she didn’t want to be called a one, but she was ten times the Loki this buffoon was.
And nobody talked about her Loki that way.
“Fun?” she growled. “Oh, it’s going to be an absolute riot.”
She shoved Loki out of her way and sprang at Mr. Cocky. The Scientist stepped casually aside and Bashful fled to a dark crevice in the cave wall as she slammed into her target. Mr. Cocky let out an “oof” as he hit the ground, and a chortle as he rolled with the momentum and found his feet again.
“Now that,” he smirked, “was sexy.”
Letting the anger blaze through her, Sylvie roared as she leapt at him. Laughing, Mr. Cocky dodged her attacks, bobbing and weaving his way across the cave.
Near the bed, Sylvie finally managed to tackle him. They rolled on the floor, scrabbling for dominance until she finally pinned him, straddling his prone body. Sylvie bared her teeth in a vengeful smirk of her own as he struggled beneath her.
Suddenly Mr. Cocky went still.
“Do you yield?” she demanded, panting.
A smug look crept across his face. Through his tiny green briefs she felt his hard-on pressing into her core. His bare chest glistened with sweat. It was an involuntary movement when she ground herself into him, breath catching.
“Do I yield?” he scoffed. “I don’t think that’s what you want at all.”
Her pussy pulsed, damp with her exertions and now this infuriatingly delicious friction – a distraction of which Mr. Cocky took full advantage. He knocked her to the side and just barely managed to scoop Sylvie’s writhing form up, flinging her onto the four-poster bed. She twisted deftly about to escape him, almost reaching the far edge of the mattress, but he landed heavily atop her, cock denting into her backside. Though Sylvie thrashed to and fro, Mr. Cocky kept her pinned with his weight, caged in by his arms and muscular thighs. Out of the corner of her eye Sylvie caught sight of Loki, held back by the Scientist’s hand on his shoulder.
“Now the question is, do you yield,” Mr. Cocky purred in her ear, “and in what positions would you prefer to do so?”