ThorxJane fiction - Suspended in Starlight.
The heavy gates of Asgard unfurl, her hand tightens in his. Fingers curled around one another, hearts held, and palms kissing.
Like the threshold of the golden age, gleaming - the beauty of the richness on display, rivers and lakes below them, still holding the last light. She is awestruck, yet his eyes shine only for her.
And he wonders, just what it is that might hold her attention; he wonders if she knows that in her presence, he shines brighter than the Northern lights. His father once told him, that every great dream begins with a dreamer. The words comfort him, sure as he knows that this moment is fleeting.
She turns her head and smiles at him, and he knows that he will savor this scar for happiness.
“…Thor.”
The brightness in her face is so charming to behold. And it takes his breath, such steadfast exclamation, just one word, just the whisper of his name.
There is certain majesty in the simplicity.
And his loins burn, cast out like wildfire, his body consumed. He swallows thickly, and wonders what it might take to sweep her away to the confines of his bedchambers. To sweep the wisps of soft tresses from her face, to lay her down. He aches to bed this maiden so fair.
He watches her fingers trace the gilded surface, sweeping a line as she follows the ebb and flow. His own fingers curl, his hands ball into fists by his side and he stifles a rumble that comes from the back of his throat. His senses are sharp. He will know when she is ready.
She tugs at his cloak, trying to trap his attention; he is absentminded, carnal thoughts weighing heavily on his person. He chastises himself - this is Jane. She deserves better.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s breathtaking, Thor.”
He chuckles beneath his breath and they stand so close that she can feel each exhalation as is ghosts her temple.
“My father, he is very proud of Asgard. Consider this your home, as it is mine, Jane.”
She steps forward, dainty feet making nary a sound despite the echoes that come from the great hall that lingers in the distance. She leans up on tip-toes, the palms of her hands pressed, flat, against the rugged plains of his chest. He holds her gaze, the scent of musk fills his nostrils and he inhales deeply.
He collects her hand, thumb caressing her nimble fingers, and places his lips against her knuckles. Whisper soft, barely there.
He fits thick digits into the space between hers, laced together, and beckons her to follow, pleads for her to trust his judgment.
She feels the breeze as it whips around her ankles. She can try to fight it, but the combat would be in vain. They are magnetic, and she knows above all else, that she and Thor are inevitable.
He pushes through the door to his quarters; his lips bruise hers, his tongue tracing the line of her lips as he backs her towards the spacious mattress. Cloaked in fine linens, rich burgundy and steely blue contrasts against her pale, mortal skin. He maneuvers her with such finesse, that she doesn’t have time to consider the probability that this act may not play out her happy ever after.
It takes him time to unclasp her bindings, but he calms his desire and thinks only of her fervent pleasure. He parts the silken fabric, shucking his own cloak, with the flick of his wrist; his armors retract and bares himself, truly, to her wanton gaze.
The cradle of her thighs welcomes him, the backs of his fingers caress her knee and he follows the trail to the very apex. She is damp where he strokes her, and he grits his teeth. Because though she is mighty, and fierce and clever, here, in his world, she is fragile, vulnerable. She is everything that he would sacrifice himself for.
He cups her breast, and she clutches his arm. His execution belays his strength, and she could be forgiven for believing him a man amongst Gods.
She gasps when he enters her and he whispers as he nuzzles the arch of her shoulder.
“Look at me, Jane. Look right here, at me.”
So she does, and he smiles, and she adjusts and he moves with the ease of practice.
He draws her closer, into his body, long and taut, muscles contracting as he coaxes from her. And when she falls, his name is on her lips and he offers her his promise for the future, for life, and for love.
They are still joined together when he wakes to the desperate calls of his mother, even still when he rouses Jane from her slumber.
She nods, he delegates, and together they scribe a plan of action.
He captures her lips and as he withdraws from the lodgings of her heated flesh, he is quick to assure her that no matter what, he will always be one step ahead.
Like the threshold of the golden age, gleaming - the beauty of the richness on display, rivers and lakes below them, still holding the last light. She is awestruck, yet his eyes shine only for her.
And he wonders, just what it is that might hold her attention; he wonders if she knows that in her presence, he shines brighter than the Northern lights. His father once told him, that every great dream begins with a dreamer. The words comfort him, sure as he knows that this moment is fleeting.
She turns her head and smiles at him, and he knows that he will savor this scar for happiness.
“…Thor.”
The brightness in her face is so charming to behold. And it takes his breath, such steadfast exclamation, just one word, just the whisper of his name.
There is certain majesty in the simplicity.
And his loins burn, cast out like wildfire, his body consumed. He swallows thickly, and wonders what it might take to sweep her away to the confines of his bedchambers. To sweep the wisps of soft tresses from her face, to lay her down. He aches to bed this maiden so fair.
He watches her fingers trace the gilded surface, sweeping a line as she follows the ebb and flow. His own fingers curl, his hands ball into fists by his side and he stifles a rumble that comes from the back of his throat. His senses are sharp. He will know when she is ready.
She tugs at his cloak, trying to trap his attention; he is absentminded, carnal thoughts weighing heavily on his person. He chastises himself - this is Jane. She deserves better.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s breathtaking, Thor.”
He chuckles beneath his breath and they stand so close that she can feel each exhalation as is ghosts her temple.
“My father, he is very proud of Asgard. Consider this your home, as it is mine, Jane.”
She steps forward, dainty feet making nary a sound despite the echoes that come from the great hall that lingers in the distance. She leans up on tip-toes, the palms of her hands pressed, flat, against the rugged plains of his chest. He holds her gaze, the scent of musk fills his nostrils and he inhales deeply.
He collects her hand, thumb caressing her nimble fingers, and places his lips against her knuckles. Whisper soft, barely there.
He fits thick digits into the space between hers, laced together, and beckons her to follow, pleads for her to trust his judgment.
She feels the breeze as it whips around her ankles. She can try to fight it, but the combat would be in vain. They are magnetic, and she knows above all else, that she and Thor are inevitable.
He pushes through the door to his quarters; his lips bruise hers, his tongue tracing the line of her lips as he backs her towards the spacious mattress. Cloaked in fine linens, rich burgundy and steely blue contrasts against her pale, mortal skin. He maneuvers her with such finesse, that she doesn’t have time to consider the probability that this act may not play out her happy ever after.
It takes him time to unclasp her bindings, but he calms his desire and thinks only of her fervent pleasure. He parts the silken fabric, shucking his own cloak, with the flick of his wrist; his armors retract and bares himself, truly, to her wanton gaze.
The cradle of her thighs welcomes him, the backs of his fingers caress her knee and he follows the trail to the very apex. She is damp where he strokes her, and he grits his teeth. Because though she is mighty, and fierce and clever, here, in his world, she is fragile, vulnerable. She is everything that he would sacrifice himself for.
He cups her breast, and she clutches his arm. His execution belays his strength, and she could be forgiven for believing him a man amongst Gods.
She gasps when he enters her and he whispers as he nuzzles the arch of her shoulder.
“Look at me, Jane. Look right here, at me.”
So she does, and he smiles, and she adjusts and he moves with the ease of practice.
He draws her closer, into his body, long and taut, muscles contracting as he coaxes from her. And when she falls, his name is on her lips and he offers her his promise for the future, for life, and for love.
They are still joined together when he wakes to the desperate calls of his mother, even still when he rouses Jane from her slumber.
She nods, he delegates, and together they scribe a plan of action.
He captures her lips and as he withdraws from the lodgings of her heated flesh, he is quick to assure her that no matter what, he will always be one step ahead.