[ Oh sweet winter king, as true and wondering now as he was the first night they lay together, when Thor rode him in tender passion and wanted to spill the plenty of his seed within him always, when he dreamed of him ripe and swelled, grown fat on abundance and love. Even now as he spreads his great thighs and opens himself to his lord, he is sought and pursued by the gentle white hands upon him and the heavy thickness of a gliding cock within him, so that Thor murmurs and takes Loki's face between his hands, pressing a tender mouth to the corner of his lips, to the hollow of his cheek and the fine arch of the bone; his arms open, generous and inviting, to take Loki within him, to bring him down further over him, and Thor buries his face in the raven hair of his love and moans with wanton longing for him.
For how hot, how feverish and slick and aching his cock within him, fucking him open, taking and taking of pleasure within him, as though the sacred body of summer is the vessel for Loki to cup between his fingers and drink his fill of verdant sweetness.
Their fingers entwine, and Thor lifts Loki's hand to his fervent mouth, pressing kiss after kiss to his beautiful white fingers, the tender inside of his palm. ]
Yes, Loki, my love, yes. Come inside me. Tell me how to open to you, that I might be within you, within your heart.
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For how hot, how feverish and slick and aching his cock within him, fucking him open, taking and taking of pleasure within him, as though the sacred body of summer is the vessel for Loki to cup between his fingers and drink his fill of verdant sweetness.
Their fingers entwine, and Thor lifts Loki's hand to his fervent mouth, pressing kiss after kiss to his beautiful white fingers, the tender inside of his palm. ]
Yes, Loki, my love, yes. Come inside me. Tell me how to open to you, that I might be within you, within your heart.