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He meant only to show her the gleaming gold of the repaired throne, the one that was now truly his and soon to be hers as well. She had said yes to him, to all of this. He had never felt happier in his long life. His insistence that she should sit on the throne had been in jest and merriment after sneaking off from their engagement feast, but the sight of her sitting upon the seat now, makes his heart beat quick and steals his breath. She is glorious.
His humble, brilliant, fiery Jane, shifting self-consciously under his gaze, soon to be his forever, looks absolutely majestic in the flickering light of the fires and perched upon Hliðskjálf in view of all the realms, and him alone.
It is enough to bring him to his knees.
“Your majesty,” he crosses his arm over his chest and bows his head from his position at her feet, his voice reverent. He fights the smile that pulls on his lips at the sound of her warm laughter echoing through the empty room.
“Well that’s a sight I could get used to,” she laughs.
“I feel exactly the same way,” his voice rumbles in his chest and he reaches forward to set his hands against her waist, dragging them down her legs and sneaking under the gem-toned fabrics of her skirts to rest on her ankles. She gasps, part laugh part moan.
But he can still see a line of apprehension creasing her brow. Thor lifts her foot, pressing a kiss to her ankle. “You will be a fine queen.” He flicks his gaze back to her. “This realm is fortunate to have you, Jane Foster. I am most fortunate.”
“Thor,” her hands flutter anxiously.
“It’s alright,” he soothes, dragging one hand higher up the outside of her calves, lifting the blue silk of her gown. “It’s just us. No one will bother us.”
He slows his movement, keeping his eyes on hers, until she gives him a small nod, trusting him.
“What do you desire, my queen?” His voice is deep as thunder.
“Thor,” the word is different in her mouth this time, gone is the anxiety. “Thor, please.”
He lifts her skirts higher, running his hands and his mouth along one of her smooth legs. His beard leaves patchy red marks against her delicate skin, and she squirms. He drapes the leg over his shoulder and lifts her other ankle, tracing the same slow path until her skirt is pooled around her waist and both legs are settled and he can run his hands up her thighs to her undergarments and back down again.
“Like this?”
She nods once. He slides his fingers under the thin fabric covering her and pulls, ripping the garment from her body.
“Like this?” he asks again, knowing she can feel his breath against her, close enough to see how wet she is.
“Yes,” she is breathless. The angle, the sight from between her legs is dizzying, Jane’s head thrown back against the gold, her hands flexing on the arms of the throne.
“Your wish is my command,” he lowers his head to her.
Her moan echoes across the throne-room, repeating her pleasure again and again while her legs twitch and jump next to his ears. Thor wraps his hands around her waist and presses his mouth to her more firmly, hot and wet, dragging his tongue against her folds. He teases her outer lips before moving in, licking from her entrance up to her clit.
Her fingers find his hair at that with a shout, threading her hand deep into his braids. He licks in a steady, slow rhythm, as if no pressing matters await them, all the while feeling his blood pump fast at the exhilaration of the moment, something perverse, knowing they could be caught at any moment. Even with one hand pressed against her own lips, Jane’s cries ring around them, build with each pass of his tongue, broad and firm, her voice raising louder, higher.
He’s making noises too, he realizes, the slick of his mouth against her, how wet she is for him, groaning at her taste and the way each tug at his scalp feels like lightning down his spine. He know she’s getting close, her hips start to buck and jump, her thighs trembling uncontrollably.
He wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her open to him, anchoring her to the royal seat. Still, tiny shifts of her hips bring her up to meet his mouth, rubbing against his tongue, taking what she wants, needs, like the queen she was destined to be.
“Thor," her voice is wrecked and rough. He gazes up at her again meeting her undone gaze, sucking on her clit and she is gone, her body snapped tight and rigid around him. He keeps licking her through every uncontrollable shake and roll of her hips for a few blissful moments until she pushes his head back gently. He pulls back, licking his lips and watching her bright eyes.
Drowsy and loose-limbed, she sits draped across the throne, their throne, a sated smile on her face while she smooths a hand against his hair, his cheeks. “Your turn, my king?"