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The crushing weight pressed him against the seat of the giant throne, his chest hanging half over the edge and only that allowing him to, just barely, pull in shallow breaths through parched lips, which did little to abate the dizziness, the spots that danced before his eyes.
All he could see was the floating stones that made up the footrest, and one of the Titan’s feet—the one not resting imperiously on Loki’s head.
Waves of pain rode up his leg from a calf cramp, one he couldn’t even stretch. The stabbing sensation that was surely a broken rib (maybe more than one) faded slowly beneath the growing headache and the dark buzzing that was starting to become his entire world.
“Well, my prince,” the Titan rumbled from atop him, shifting slightly and grinding in the agony of the broken rib all over again, “have you had enough of the throne?”
“Yeh-sss” he gasped out, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
“Yesss,” he managed, a little louder. “Plea-zzz.”
“Hmmm,” the Titan rumbled again, tapping his heel against the throne, jostling Loki just a bit more before he relented, and got up, leaving the half-crushed princeling to slither forward and fall into a heap on the floating stones that made up the footrest.
The Titan looked down at him dispassionately. “Any other demands?”
Loki tried to shake his head, but the movement was agony. “N-no.”
“Requests?”
Loki blinked blearily, his eyes scratchy and dry. There was every likelihood that this was a trap, and yet… “Wa-water,” he begged, long past caring how pitiful he sounded, and then added, in the hopes that it might help, “please… master.”
(It was the first time he’d used that term of Thanos. It wouldn’t be the last.)
“Well,” the Titan rumbled, “I suppose I could be a gracious host.”