[ A rough voice, a promise made that perhaps he cannot keep, but Thor is reckless and relentless both, following Loki to where he has sprawled back against the simple mattress, made of clean linen and stuffed with down. Dried bunches of herbs fragrant between the sheets; a soft reddish-brown animal pelt which was once a gentle-eyed doe. He has lived simply here and sadly, but sweetly, too, filling his days with the quiet fulfillment of work and crafting. Now Loki lies upon the bed of the only home he could bear to make for himself, and he realizes now how he had always hoped to have his love in his arms here. How he had hoped to share its peace with him.
His mouth brushes at his inner thigh, his beard, and Thor nuzzles then at Loki's cock, kisses, noses and plays at the underside of the shaft; his hands brace themselves upon the bed with the beautiful, desolate lord of winter between them, and he climbs up the length of his body, pushes him down to the mattress, settles his own weight, the great breadth and length of his body down against him. Thor kisses him slowly, catching his face between his two hands, while all his body knows desire and wanting and more than that: the urge to shelter him, to caress and cradle him to wholeness.
He leans upward at last, rearing upright upon his knees, and Thor makes swift work of his own garments, stripping them away. Naked and golden, he bends again for another kiss, then shifts up against the headboard, drawing apart the pelt and sheets so that he and Loki might slip beneath them. ]
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[ A rough voice, a promise made that perhaps he cannot keep, but Thor is reckless and relentless both, following Loki to where he has sprawled back against the simple mattress, made of clean linen and stuffed with down. Dried bunches of herbs fragrant between the sheets; a soft reddish-brown animal pelt which was once a gentle-eyed doe. He has lived simply here and sadly, but sweetly, too, filling his days with the quiet fulfillment of work and crafting. Now Loki lies upon the bed of the only home he could bear to make for himself, and he realizes now how he had always hoped to have his love in his arms here. How he had hoped to share its peace with him.
His mouth brushes at his inner thigh, his beard, and Thor nuzzles then at Loki's cock, kisses, noses and plays at the underside of the shaft; his hands brace themselves upon the bed with the beautiful, desolate lord of winter between them, and he climbs up the length of his body, pushes him down to the mattress, settles his own weight, the great breadth and length of his body down against him. Thor kisses him slowly, catching his face between his two hands, while all his body knows desire and wanting and more than that: the urge to shelter him, to caress and cradle him to wholeness.
He leans upward at last, rearing upright upon his knees, and Thor makes swift work of his own garments, stripping them away. Naked and golden, he bends again for another kiss, then shifts up against the headboard, drawing apart the pelt and sheets so that he and Loki might slip beneath them. ]
Come here, come lie in my arms.