[ And even with his plea to slow the rise of pleasure stoked by the thrust and parry of body against body, Loki is not satisfied — still he knows that minutes hence Thor will fall apart above him, and soon after he too will spill and spill until he is emptied of the night's first communion.

No, he thinks, and already his hands jerk free of their places upon thigh and cock, sliding up past the curve and jut of buttocks and hip, until they settle tightly upon Thor's waist, holding him still. The ice burns below his skin, but Loki dare not release it, armed now with the remembered sight of Thor's golden skin blackening under his touch. ]

Thor — [ Loki's voice is as sweet as the trill of summer birdsong, pitched low and breathless. ] Will you trust me, now that I have mastered myself? I would have you upon your hands and knees, so that I may control the plunge of my cock within. [ His gaze dips, and a flush rises to his cheek — the shallowness of embarrassment, nothing more. When he speaks again, it is a murmur halved again in volume. ] Please, my love. You would end this too quickly for my liking.