Chapter 8
Loki never thought an Aesir could make such sweet noises.
His new husband is larger than most of his kind, but a mere flicker of a candle flame to Loki’s roaring fire: he had to bend down almost at the waist to kiss Thor at the handfasting.
And yet he takes Loki’s cock as surely as any Jotun lover that he has ever had, soft whimpers spilling from his lips to drip into the air, thick as honey.
Thor’s eyes are closed in sheer bliss as he plants his feet on Loki’s thighs, his entire body small enough to be cradled against Loki’s chest. Loki did not even have time to take his vambraces off before Thor was crawling into his lap. He is conquerer, but not a tyrant, and he takes Loki’s cock as if he wishes to be ruled himself.
Loki will give him what he needs.
“More, darling?” Loki asks, smiling indulgently.
In reply, Thor nods, slow and dazed. In truth, he is a tender thing, Loki’s Aesir king. Strong and beautiful, of course, and that was what had drawn Loki to him in the first place. But so pliant as well, a supple thing of sighs and moans.
Then Thor rocks down Loki’s cock with a gravelly laugh that Loki feels in the back of his own throat, that roughness of having eaten too much sugar. But Gods, Loki could eat him whole, could drink him down everyday and never tire of him. Which is just as well—they have the rest of their lives to live together, after all.
And Loki is a greedy thing himself: in this they are well-matched.