[ Loki's eagerness is to be appreciated, even if he is yet too new at this to have developed proper technique. Thor would hardly know what to do either, though he has been given such service often enough that he might be able to find his way well enough. He hisses at the graze of teeth against his most tender skin, lets out breath in quick huff of laughter before his prince of winter can tell him not to, but there is nothing in him but the warm glow of tenderness for him; his fingers stroke his cheeks and Thor smiles, reassuring, a thumb brushing at the brightness of tears gathered in the corner of Loki's eyes. ]

Never mind, beloved. You are so pleasing, so beautiful on your knees for me, so sweet and loving, my very own. I can be patient for you. I have wanted nothing so much as you; I would wait and tremble a hundred years for you, only for your touch, your kiss...

[ So murmuring a soft flow of endearments, he strokes his fingers through Loki's raven hair, shivers as his mouth brushes again the hot skin of his belly, the upthrust swell of his cock, and when Loki's lips come back to his thick cockhead Thor traces the soft stretch of them with his thumb, and urges the press of himself slowly, slowly into that sweet dampness and heat, gently, tenderly. There is no need to rush, nothing to rush for; they are each other's, always. ]