It was cold out, so cold that Thor thought his fingers might break if he were to uncurled them from his cock - the thought passed through his sleep fogged mind.
He had woken with his fist wrapped around the hard flesh and desire twitching and shuddering over his body like a hot tide. The dream was wrapped just as tightly around his mind.
Red eyes like flames, cerulean skin like ice and words like poison.
Bites that send pleasure to the point of pain shuddering through him, and racking nails that threaten to unmake him - The wild Jotun was still vivid in his mind; solid in his hand.
Wind struck the stone tower and went booming around the roof. The wood paneling creaked. A chilly draft crept in through the tight gaps between the stones, making him shiver.
The fire in the hearth had died out in the night.
Thor could imagine that he smell the Jotun’s scent of blood and frost on the soft furs beneath him.
The memory of his strength, his vigor and aggression…the memory of taunting words that were whispered against his ear…He groaned.
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