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Loki had expected the punch. He had not, however, expected the kiss, or the one that followed it, or the five more inexperienced-but-utterly-perfect-in-their-sheer-enthusiasm kisses that followed that one. And he certainly had never expected in his wildest dreams that Sif would loosen her fingers from his tunic and splay them out on his shoulders and push him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the ledge of the alcove in which he had been ensconced. So, needless to say, it was with great pleasure that, as he resumed his seat and she curled into his side and continued placing careful kisses along his jaw line, he declared his Quest to Annoy The Lady Sif Until She Can No Longer Resist My Charms to be a rousing success.
Her hand rested on the ledge near his knee, and he started tracing idle patterns across the back of it. She kissed him again, full on the lips, slow and lazy, and this was better than any possible outcome that he had contemplated while staring up at his ceiling at night before sleep claimed him and wondering if only. He felt as though he had drunk too much mead at a feast, unguarded, vulnerable, laid bare before her, for all that he remained completely clothed. His fingers twitched as they brushed over hers, and he pulled back out of the kiss, needing to dial down the intimacy a little. Too much, it’s all too much.
“I would have put snakes in your bed months ago if I had known this would be the result,” he whispered just to the side of her mouth, his breath ghosting across her cheek, making her shiver before his words penetrated the haze she was in and caught up to her.
But of course they did, as he had intended, and she groaned in disgust, punching him hard on the shoulder she was not currently leaning against. “You are a wretch, Loki Odinson. An absolute wretch.”
He laughed brightly, unbothered. Hardly a day went by without Sif tossing an insult his way with merry disregard for his place in the royal family; it would take all the fun out of life and their relationship if that changed now. (Loki had always adored how Sif, unlike practically every other girl of noble birth in Asgard whom he had met, was completely unimpressed by his and Thor’s status as princes of the realm. When they had first met Sif, years and years ago now, they had been near a canal running alongside the palace grounds, and after their mothers had introduced them and left them to get acquainted, Thor had insulted Sif’s shoes and her hair ribbon and Loki had informed her very seriously that she had a horse face and her knees were oddly knobby, and in response she had unceremoniously pushed them both into the canal. Frigga had to call a squad of Einherjar to fish them out, a job which had been made exponentially more difficult by Thor’s and Loki’s delighted laughter and flailing, for it had been a blisteringly hot summer day and an unexpected swim in the cool waters of the canal had been most invigorating, and they had all been friends ever since, a bond forged out of mutual insults and cemented by shared merriment. It remained one of Loki’s fondest memories.)
“Indeed I am, my lady. But you have hardly given me disincentive to be one,” he murmured as his fingers leisurely but with deliberate intent crept around to settle on her waist.
Sif shivered again despite the oppressive heat and curled further into his side. “Well,” she began, pausing to drop a kiss on a patch of skin left bare by the open laces of his tunic, “it seems that I manage to derive some benefits from your wretchedness, so I cannot pretend that I am too bothered by it.” She kissed him again, just to the right of his heart, before nipping lightly. “But did it have to be snakes in my bed, Loki?”
Now he was the one who could not suppress a shiver. “What fun would it have been otherwise?” He was inordinately proud of his ability to articulate even that much, so intoxicated he had become on the cinnamon-smell of Sif’s hair and on the weight of her pressed against him.
Sif just hummed, more vibration than actual vocalization, as she stretched slightly to lick at the sweat pooling in between his collarbones. By the Norns, this was the best plan I’ve ever had, Loki thought as he let his head fall back against the wall and he wrapped his arm fully around Sif’s waist.