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Thor and Sif were an item, and had been for decades. Loki knew it, the Warriors Three knew it, Odin and Frigga knew it, all of Asgard knew it. Therefore, it made no sense for Loki to pursue Sif. He took his yearning heart and stuffed it below layers of sarcasm and mockery, for he would never do anything to harm his brother.
The only problem was Thor and Sif did not know it, as they had both agreed early on (after one lengthy kiss that left Sif’s lips tingling but did nothing to the state of her heart or soul) that they were better off as friends.
“I swear I am not with Sif,” Thor insisted, as he and Sif sat side-by-side sharpening their respective weapons.
“Mm-hmm,” Loki said, sharpening his own weapons.
“He speaks truth,” Sif said.
“Of course,” Loki agreed.
“I mean it, brother,” Thor said.
Pocketing his sharpening stone, Loki stood and twirled his daggers across his fingers. “I know you do,” he said, and left, blades still flashing.
Sif and Thor shared a look. “What must we do to convince him?” Thor said. “It has been decades of this nonsense, and he won’t spare you a single glance.”
“I would try kissing him,” Sif said, “but he would take it as a betrayal of you and snub me.” She sighed. “He is singularly obstinate. How your mother survived his childhood, I know not.”
“He wasn’t always this difficult,” Thor said. “He was actually quite pleasant as a child,” and he wagged his eyebrows suggestively at his friend.
She rolled her eyes. “It is meaningless to tease me about having his babies when I can hardly get him to look at me. I’ve better chances of procreating with a stone. It would at least be willing.”
Thor guffawed. “I’d love to see SifStone children. What grey little younglings they’d be, with thick skin and hard heads. Excellent warriors!”
Sif smiled at his joke, though she’d rather have babies with silver tongues and quick wits. Her look turned pensive. What would it take to convince Loki she and Thor were not together…? “We could try setting up scenarios to convince him we are not together,” she said slowly. “Tableaus. Situations. Small battles. Anything to show we are not in love.”
“You propose a game?” Thor said, stroking his beard. He grinned. “A challenge! I like it, with the prize being my brother and my best friend twining limbs.”
Sif plucked a dagger from her hip and threw it at her friend. He caught it easily, his grin widening. “Don’t be crass,” she said. “Help me plot.”
Sif spent three days having Loki followed so she could nail down his current routine. He was deep into researching some archaic bit of magic, which meant he was buried in the library. Early in the afternoon, she dragged Thor into the library and insulted his lovemaking prowess. Thor knew it was a barb, but it was enough of a sore issue that he was genuinely unhappy with her when he threw the first punch. It was the reaction she wanted, because Thor couldn’t play act to save his life and unless he felt he was the injured party, he’d throw any fight she instigated.
Thor was more than twice her size and that much stronger, so she made sure to keep her distance, throwing objects at him and dodging in between tables and chairs, making sure he was surrounded by furniture each time she went in to land a hit.
And if some of that furniture happened to be tables housing Loki and his work, well, that was the point.
“I can’t believe anyone thinks I would bed you,” Thor growled, lunging across a table.
“You should be so lucky,” Sif taunted, dancing behind Loki to use him as a shield. He brushed her off in annoyance, his eyes never straying from his dusty old tome.
“You see this, brother?” Thor demanded. “Battle. It’s all Sif is good for.”
“A lover’s spat, nothing more,” Loki murmured.
“Hah! I’d never condescend to be his lover,” Sif announced.
“You’re fooling no one, dear,” Loki said, finally looking up from his book. With an exaggerated sigh, he gathered up his things. “You’re disturbing my solitude,” he said, and left.
The fight left Sif as she glared at Loki’s retreating back, so she missed Thor sneaking up on her and landing a solid punch on her shoulder. “By the Norns, Thor!” she cried out.
“That is for insinuating I’m anything less than excellent as a lover,” he said, crossing his beefy arms over his chest in satisfaction.
“You’re both impossible,” she said, and followed Loki out of the library.
Deciding to be more direct, for Sif’s next attack she cornered Loki outside of his bed chamber, trapping him against the wall as she invaded his personal space. “You know,” she murmured, doing her best to sound sultry, “I’ve got a spare moment I’d love to spend with you.” She trailed a hand down his arm, intending to evoke a reaction from him and instead surprising herself with her own shiver.
“Yes, because betraying my brother with his lover is my idea of a good time,” Loki said dryly, plucking her hand off his arm and returning it to her side. “What a grand game you and Thor have concocted, but I will not be convinced. You’re too busy strategizing in close quarters for me to believe this is anything other than an amusing bit.”
That was insulting. The Lady Sif did not engage in amusing bits. “I love your brother dearly,” she started, and Loki interrupted.
“Yes, we are all aware.”
“—in the same way I love Fandral,” she finished intensely, glaring at him. “Do not make more of this than it is.”
Loki crossed one arm over his chest, bringing up the other to tap at his lower lip. “Do you, now,” he said, managing to sound unimpressed and suggestive at the same time. “Far be it from me to instruct you on how to behave, but I would not have expected such debauchery of you. Fandral, yes, but not you.”
She was so insulted Sif forgot to respond, staring at him in silence. There wasn’t—she couldn’t—she’d be with a bilgesnipe before she courted Fandral. That man was a great companion and excellent warrior, but he had the romantic sensibilities of a week-old rotting carcass. She’d be better off with an empty suit of armour; it would be more attentive to her needs and less concerned with itself.
Loki tapped her nose condescendingly and slipped out of her grasp while she stood there, glaring at his vacant spot.
Whirling around she stalked around the palace until she found Thor lounging about with Volstagg and Hogun, laughing over some antic performed by one of the Three. Stomping up to the prince, she jabbed her finger in a random direction to indicate Loki and said, “He’s impossible. It’s your turn.”
“Worry not, brave Sif,” Thor said, standing to his full height. He lifted his arms over his head and made a show of stretching his back, setting off his many assets. Unfortunately there was no one around to appreciate them. “I know my brother well enough that I can handle him.”
Thor, in fact, could not handle Loki. Though he loved his little brother, Thor had never quite understood him and lacked knowledge on the best way to convince the intelligent warrior-scholar that Sif was not Thor’s paramour and was, in fact, available to become Loki’s. Desirous of it, even.
So he did to Loki what Fandral always did to him, as it worked like a charm every time: extoll Sif’s many virtues. “Loki,” Thor said, sliding onto the bench next to him as Loki ate. It was a bit late in the afternoon for repast, but that was no need to be rude. Thor ordered a plate for himself, and it was brought to him forthwith.
“And here I thought I could enjoy a meal in solitude,” Loki said mournfully.
“Solitude is not good for the soul,” Thor responded, biting a large hunk out of his turkey leg. The skin crinkled in his mouth and its delicious juices gave a merry assault on his taste buds. Miracle workers, these cooks. “But you know what is good for the soul?”
“Silence?”
“Sif!” Thor thundered, pounding a fist on the table. “She is magnificent in every way. Beautiful, she shines like a gemstone whether she is in full battle dress and drenched in blood or wearing a shimmering gown in the halls of Gladsheim. Keen of mind, she is a brilliant strategist. What she does not have in brawn, she makes up for in wit and keeps us all on our toes. Had she chosen the path of magic and scholarship as you did, she would have been equal to you. Her sharp eyes spot trails and tracks even Hogun misses, and she is most ferocious in taking down quarry or foe.
“When anger draws her brow, she glitters like a polished gemstone. Rarely in the wrong, her retribution is swift and just, and when she is wronged, she apologizes most beautifully.”
“She often apologizes with a dagger to the throat,” Loki said dryly.
“And what a beautiful sight it is!” Thor said. He needed a tankard to punctuate, but had not yet been given one. No worries. He snatched Loki’s and pounded it against the table for emphasis, the liquid inside sloshing around most spectacularly. “No man can do better than our beloved Shieldmaiden.”
“Yes, brother, I am aware that you are besotted,” Loki said, standing up. “No need to extoll Sif’s many virtues to me. I have known her just as long, if not quite so well, as you.”
“So you agree she is quite the prize?”
Loki smirked. “Oh, brother, nothing would bring me more joy than to witness you saying that to her face.”
There was an insult in there, Thor knew, but he couldn’t quite parse it out. It did not worry him, though, for Loki had agreed that Sif was the greatest prize of them all. “So long as we are in agreement,” Thor said.
Loki patted him on the shoulder and left. Confident that his little brother would now seek out their mutual friend, Thor set about demolishing the remainder of his meal. It would dishonour Volstagg to leave it unfinished.
Just as he was licking his fingers clean, Sif sat down across the table from him, staring most intently. “Finished already?” Thor asked, surprised.
“What did you say to him?” she demanded.
“I merely told him what a gift you are,” Thor said, “and that he would be lucky to have you.”
“No, Thor, that is not what you said,” Sif said. “Whatever you did say had Loki telling me that he never knew I possessed so many virtues, and could I please keep my lover to myself rather than let him ruin the air quality of poor, innocent magicians?”
Thor stared at Sif. “I…how did extolling your many merits and qualities result in that?”
“Oh, Thor,” Sif said, crossing her arms against the table surface and resting her chin atop them. “You extolled my virtues to a man who thinks you are already in love with me? You might as well have handed him a written proclamation that we are together.”
Ah. In hindsight, Thor did see how his words might have been taken that way. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder if Fandral was secretly in love with every maiden he introduced Thor to. “Well. That simply proves how daft my brother is.”
Sif muttered something unflattering and then left.
The next attack came in the form of Fandral, who was always happy to engage in mischief of any sort.
He bombarded Loki in his chambers early in the morning, waking the prince from his deep slumber. No doubt awake late working on some spell or bit of scholarship, his brain would only be partially functioning, the better to implant thoughts of and feelings towards the lovely Sif.
Jumping on Loki’s prone form, Fandral made himself comfortable as Loki blinked blearily at him. “Loki, my friend!” Fandral cried in rapturous joy. “I come with good tidings of great joy: our very own Shieldmaiden, the Lady Sif herself, fancies you.”
“Piss off,” Loki slurred, closing his eyes and rolling over, which dislodged Fandral. Not a problem; he stretched out and made himself at home on Loki’s bed. There were a great many silks and furs here, just to Fandral’s liking.
“She talks of you all day long,” Fandral said. He turned on his best high-pitched lady voice. “Where is Loki? Why isn’t he by my side? I long to run my hand through his shining raven locks and to kiss his beautiful mouth. Every second he isn’t here is a waste of time. My loins yearn—”
Loki kicked him, and Fandral grinned. That was two ridiculous compliments more than he expected Loki to let him utter. The prince must be exhausted indeed. “Imagine having her here in your bed,” Fandral said. “I’ve heard she’s excellent for a kiss and a cuddle.”
“Woman is made of sharp blades,” Loki muttered from his side. “Cuddle her at your own risk.”
“That is true for most of us, but you she would let discover all her soft bits.”
“...Thor for…” Loki mumbled.
“She is rather fond of Thor,” Fandral said, “which is good for you. She already likes your family. And your mother adores her! It more than makes up for the fact that your father will hate whomever you bring home.”
A solid kick landed on his side, pushing Fandral out of the bed. “Let me sleep,” Loki growled.
“Just remember Sif loves you!” Fandral called from the floor.
Loki at last threw back the covers and sat up, glaring at Fandral. “Whatever amount my ridiculous brother and his stupid paramour paid you to participate in their game, I will double it if you will just let me sleep.”
The amount was zero, but Loki did not need to know that. (Fandral engaged in mischief for fun and for free, but he was always willing to acquire a gold coin or two.) “They offered me fifty gold sovereigns to accost you in your sleep,” he lied.
With a wave of his hand, Loki made a pile of gold appear on the bed. Fandral grabbed one coin and bit it; he had been tricked too many times by Loki’s illusions to leave without confirming it real. He couldn’t tell in the dim light if there was a tooth mark, so Loki impatiently conjured a bit of light so Fandral could verify the authenticity of the gold. “Thank you, my prince, and I bid you good rest,” Fandral said, scooping up the rest of the gold into his tunic and leaving Loki’s chambers with a flourish.
He wouldn’t quite say his mission was accomplished, but it had definitely been successful.
“You are the most useless friend I ever had to misfortune of befriending,” Sif sighed, watching Fandral dance his recently acquired gold coins across his fingers.
“Hardly,” Fandral countered. “I did tell him you love him.”
“In a half asleep state.”
“Loki was half asleep; I was fully awake. It was like hypnotism, my dear Sif.”
Sif shook her head and dismissed Fandral with a flick of her fingers. He waltzed away clinking, and she couldn’t help but smile.
Dear Loki, proving to be so stubborn. It was time for something a little more drastic…
Sif lay stretched across Loki’s bed, wearing naught but what she was born in.
Loki stood frozen in his door way, not blinking, but also not really taking her in. Sif smirked; she could wait for his brain to restart. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Sif,” Loki said at long last.
“Loki,” she purred.
He looked upward, a pained expression taking over his face. “What nonsense is this?” he asked.
Sif plucked the bow from beside her on the bed and fashioned it into her hair. “I’m just offering you everything you’ve ever wanted, gift-wrapped and yours exclusively.”
“Sif,” he said patiently, refusing to look at her. “This is ridiculous, even for you and Thor.” He waved his hand a blanket draped across her form. Sif pursed her lips, looking down. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed that he wasn’t taking advantage, or insulted that he wouldn’t take a second look. “I’ll be in the front room,” he said, and left.
She settled on feeling insulted. Rising from the bed, she dressed and joined him. “Really?” she asked. “Not tempted even a little?”
He looked up at her from his position on the sofa. “Tempted is an understatement,” he said, “but I am not so faithless as to betray my brother’s trust.”
Sif rolled her eyes and dropped onto the sofa next to him, though not so close that they were touching. “There is no trust to betray. I am not with Thor.”
“And when he comes to me weeping, I will believe it. Until then, I find your games amusing but pointless.”
Sif paused, considering sending a weeping Thor to Loki. If it would prove their point… but Thor couldn’t playact to save his life, and she wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever shed a tear. There was no way to contrive that scenario and have it be believable. Curse Thor and his proficiency in weapons; he should have spent more time in their youth working on the arts.
So instead she pivoted and went for humour. “Would finding a naked Thor in your bed be convincing?” she asked.
“His nude form might send me to an early grave,” Loki said.
“Mm, don’t tempt me,” she teased. There was a drawn out silence between them as she considered what to say next. “What will it take to convince you Thor and I are not in love?”
“Stop spending so much time together, stop extolling each other’s virtues, spar with the Einherjar on occasion instead of always with each other, don’t share meals together, don’t be such a common sight that everyone knows that to find Sif one must first find Thor, and vice versa.”
“But Thor is my only friend! If I cease all that, I will be forever alone!”
Loki snorted. “Says the woman who sent her friend Fandral to my bed.”
“I sent him to speak with you, not to your bed.”
Loki tapped his lip speculatively. “You do seem to have a thing for sending people to my bed.”
Sif rolled her eyes. “I will not cease my friendship with Thor just to assuage your sensibilities. I will continue trying to convince you another way.”
Loki smiled at her. “And you prove my point. You cannot bear to be parted from your beloved, and thus ultimately your game will fail.”
Sif rolled her eyes yet again, and stood to leave. “I will convince you, Silvertongue, one way or the other,” she announced.
“I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labours,” Loki said.
The next attempt came in the form of the Allmother.
“Loki, darling, Thor says you refuse to believe he and Sif are not involved.”
Loki was having tea with his mother at her request, an activity he usually enjoyed, but she had just soured his mood. It was annoying enough seeing Sif and Thor together at every opportunity, but to now have everyone in his life constantly remind him of it was getting to be a bit much. Perhaps it was time he vacationed on Vanaheim for a season.
“I believe what my eyes tell me,” he said mildly.
“And your eyes tell you of long, lingering glances, hands that cannot stay away from the other, and a love so palpable it is evident in every look?”
Did she have to state it so poetically? He put a lot of effort into not noticing things. There was only so much his poor envious heart could handle. “What a spectacular day it is,” he changed the subject. “The leaves are turning majestic shades of crimson and gold this year.”
Odin’s eye, did he have to mention those colours? And attached to silver trunks. Even all of nature was proclaiming the union of Thor and Sif. Forget Vanaheim. He could vacation on Jotunheim, land of their enemies and a dreary, colourless landscape.
“It is all right to go after that which we want most,” Frigga said serenely, taking a sip of of her tea. “There is no shame in wanting.”
Loki huffed but did not respond. He would quite happily go after that which he wanted, if it did not mean the ruin of Thor’s heart. Loki often straddled the line of being heartless, but not even he was so depraved as to ruin the happiness of a beloved brother.
“Tell me, son, are Thor and Sif known for deceit? Or should we give their words and actions the merit they deserve?”
“I do, Mother. They spend most of every day together. I have not seen either with another paramour in decades. Sif stores her spare dagger in the back of Thor’s armour. If they do not wish to be perceived as being together, then perhaps they should not be so together.”
Frigga took another sip of tea. “Your words have merit,” she conceded. “But is it not also worth noting that Sif spends just as much time with you as she does with Thor? That she often seeks you out before she seeks out Thor? And did she not try and store her spare dagger in your armour, first?”
Loki shifted uncomfortably. “It had a crimson handle,” he muttered. “It clashed with my apparel.”
“Mm,” Frigga replied. She took another delicate sip of tea. “Lovely, isn’t it, how beautiful nature becomes as autumn arrives?”
They moved on from discussing Thor and Sif, but Frigga’s words would not leave Loki’s mind in peace, and he pondered them long into the night.
The autumnal equinox was celebrated, as usual, with a grand ball. Gladsheim was bedecked with golds, crimsons, and ochres, the plant-like decorations shimmering with a touch of seiðr. In every previous year, Sif dressed to match the decor: deep red, highlighted with threads of silver, looked spectacular on her, and always complemented whatever Thor chose to wear.
When she had realized that, she couldn’t help but feel slight consternation. No wonder Loki paired her with his brother, as she seemed to go out of her way to pair herself with Thor. This year, however, she was determined to prove that she and Thor were not a matched set, and what better way to do that than with an emerald gown?
“That is a very Loki green,” Hogun commented, admiring her silken gown as he escorted her to the ball.
“It had better be; I stole his best cloak for it,” Sif said.
Hogun’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. He gave a low whistle. “You are playing with fire, Sif,” he said. “Loki is the most nitpicky man I’ve ever met when it comes to his clothes.”
“He’s particular, and it sets him to great advantage,” Sif corrected.
Hogun shook his head. “When this gambit of yours backfires and Loki hexes you six ways to Yule, I’ll come visit you in the healer’s wing.”
“Bring Loki with you.”
They entered the ball, and while the whole party didn’t quite come to a standstill, a great majority of the attendees mistepped as they took in Sif’s attire. She smiled in satisfaction; green was not a colour she often (or ever) wore, so her statement was not going unnoticed.
“I’ll leave you here,” Hogun said, “and go stand next to the Allmother. She’ll protect me from whatever curse Loki sends your way.”
Sif waved him on and moved farther into the room, searching out another of her friends, preferably Loki or Fandral. Neither seemed to be in attendance yet, but she spotted Volstagg piling his plate high with food, his two older children trailing along after him. “Sif!” he cried in pleasure as she approached, then eyed her dress. “Now that is a bold statement. I hope it is well received.”
“It will be,” Sif said firmly.
“And that is the confidence I was talking about,” Volstagg said, directing his words at his children. “It’s amazing how many things happen simply because you expect them to.”
The two children looked up at Sif in awe, but she hardly noticed as her eyes roamed the crowd looking for—and there he was, entering the ball in resplendent emerald, matched in shade to Sif’s gown. His nose, however, was in a book, and his face looked pinched, like he was displeased with what he was reading, or perhaps displeased with the social event he was forced to attend.
“Children, go kick Prince Loki’s shins until he looks at Sif,” Vosltagg instructed his children, and they ran off to do as their father bid. Selecting a berry from the banquet table, Sif plopped it in her mouth as she watched the unfolding drama, savoring the sweet fruit as Loki yelped at the two attacking gremlins. Sif swallowed and grinned, waving at Loki when he looked in her direction.
And what a satisfying look it was. He glowered at her, looked away, then performed a double take to take in her dress. Sif performed a box step to show off the silk skirt, half-twirling as she smiled at Loki.
She could pinpoint the exact moment Loki realized precisely what it was she was wearing, as his expression turned from shock to a glare. Shaking off the two miniature Volstaggs, Loki stalked to Sif, carving a path through the dancing crowd so he could come to a halt directly in front of her. He crossed his arms and deepened his glower. “I’ve been looking for that cloak,” he seethed.
“It looked good on your floor, but better on me,” she said cheekily.
“My things are never strewn across my floor. You are mistaking me for my oaf of a brother.”
“My, what a pair you two make!” Volstagg interrupted. “Such summery greens make a beautiful contrasting statement to the autumn surrounding us. You should lead the next dance so all may see your finery.”
“Excellent idea,” Loki said, and with a snap of his fingers, turned Sif’s emerald gown crimson.
She stared in horror at it. “You’ve ruined my dress!” she cried.
“You first ruined my cloak,” he said.
“I improved your cloak,” she rebutted, “and now you’ve ruined the image that I am here to match you!”
“I’ve ruined the mirage,” Loki corrected. “It is best for your constituents to remember where you truly belong.”
Sif saw red, and for a moment she considered stripping out of the gown here and now and parading around in naught but what she was born in, but immediately dismissed that idea as she feared too many would associate her with Fandral.
“Why are you so impossible?” she demanded, fists jumping to her hips. “Why won’t you see a gesture for what it is instead of turning it into what it is not? Must I tie you down and rewire your brain to make you understand?”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“If I tied you up, I would—”
“And that is my cue to leave. Come, children!” said Volstagg, and herded his children—who had followed in Loki’s wake, though Sif had not paid them any mind—away.
“Change it back or I will leave at once,” Sif hissed, gesturing to the dress.
“No,” Loki said obstinately.
Without another word Sif stormed back to her rooms, where she shed the dress and threw it in a crumpled heap against the wall. It took her nearly an hour to gather the supplies she needed, and while Loki was still at the ball, hopefully suffering miserably, Sif took her red dress, nailed it to his bedroom door, and then threw a bucket of green paint on it, watching in satisfaction as the paint fell in uneven lines and pooled on the floor. A nearby servant scurried over to clean the mess, but Sif left orders that the paint was to remain until Prince Loki did something about it.
Finally satisfied, she strolled back to her rooms and remained there until morning.
Loki immediately felt contrite as he watched Sif storm off, but his pride demanded he let her go and instead remain to enjoy the ball.
(He did not enjoy the ball. He very much wished he was on Jotunheim, especially when his mother turned her perceptive eyes his way. He immediately turned around so he could not see her.)
Finding Sif’s dress nailed to his bedroom door further reminded him what an idiot he was. She made a grand gesture and he ruined his own favorite cloak. It was particularly stupid, for despite his harsh words, it had lit up his insides to see her wearing it.
He owed her an apology, and only a grand gesture of an apology was going to cut it.
Thinking of his mother’s words from weeks ago, Loki started sketching out a design to take to the armourer.
Sif successfully avoided him for weeks, making it rather difficult to offer a grand apology. He carried the first half of his gift with him everywhere he went, just in case he caught her alone—or caught her at all; she avoided him so thoroughly he would settle for seeing her across the way in a crowded room—but it was to no avail.
The first snows of winter were touching Asgard before Loki finally caught Sif lounging in front of a fire. She wasn’t alone, of course; Thor was right there with her. However, the two weren’t conversing, or even acknowledging each other’s existence; Sif was idly tossing a ball back and forth between her hands, and Thor was tonsils-deep in a female. It was impossible to identify her, as wrapped up in Thor as she was.
Loki should have kept his mouth closed, but his tongue betrayed him and he spoke before he thought. “I didn’t realize you were so into sharing. No wonder Thor’s reputation for a warm bed has not abated.”
The first time since the equinox she deigned to look at him, and if looks could kill, Sif’s eyes would be the sharpest of daggers, inserted into his spleen and his heart before he could blink. He couldn’t have possibly uttered a mild greeting, or commented on the state of the weather. No, he had to be himself, and now he was getting exactly what he had asked for: Sif’s undivided attention.
In one smooth motion the Shieldmaiden leapt from her seat and had a blade pressed against his throat. It would have been terrifying, if he weren’t so damn attracted to her in that moment. This is why he could never turn his attentions elsewhere: no other woman thrilled him as did Sif.
She leaned in so close Loki could have shaved himself with a sneeze, and said slowly and deliberately, pressing her blade in deeper to punctuate each word: “I. Do. Not. Share.”
Loki barely held back from shivering, and only because to do so could spell his demise. He was sorely tempted to breach the narrow gap between them and land a solid kiss on her, but to do so before apologizing would only mean his ruination. He waited for her to release the pressure of her blade and vacate his immediate person before he spoke. “I have something for you,” he said, procuring the long silver box from his extra-dimensional pocket. He offered it to Sif. “An apology, if you will.”
She eyed him, her dark eyes glittering with emotion. He liked to think there was attraction in there, hidden behind the irritation.
With a cautious step forward, Sif took the box from his hands, his long fingers sliding along the top as it left his grip. It was heavier than she expected, and she nearly dropped it, but she recovered with grace and stared at the package.
“Gifts are best appreciated when opened,” Loki said mildly.
“I’m debating whether or not there is a snake inside, waiting to bite me,” she said. A fair worry. Loki had certainly played such pranks before.
“It is safe enough,” he said. She eyed him, clearly decided he was trustworthy enough, and slid open the top of the box.
Nestled inside in crimson velvet was a dagger made to her exact specifications. The detail work on the handle was ornate, but did not interfere with grip nor jut out in a manner that would make it difficult to conceal. It was a perfect weapon for hiding upon one’s person, kept out of sight and out of the mind of the enemy. It was intended to fit stealthily into a hidden pocket in the back of one’s armour, where it would be difficult for the wearer to reach but perfect for a second person to grab.
Sif’s eyes snapped up to his. She knew exactly what it was, for there was a sister weapon just like it hidden in the folds of Thor’s armour. “I give you leave to use my back as a pocket,” Loki said.
The meaning of the dagger was not lost on her. The weapon clattered to the floor as she pounced, bringing his mouth to hers in a kiss that left Loki weak-kneed. He, of course, was all too happy to reciprocate.
A loud whistle interrupted them, and Loki tore his mouth from Sif’s to see Thor grinning triumphantly, his well-kissed companion looking a bit confused. “This moment has been years in the making,” Thor announced. “Well done, brother!”
Loki flipped him an undignified gesture and returned to making sure the Lady Sif was thoroughly kissed. She seemed in no hurry to dissuade him.
They emerged some time later to find the fireplace vacant, Thor and his side piece long gone. Loki was having a bit of trouble making his brain focus.
Sif, however, seemed to have no such trouble. “You finally believe me?” she asked, tucking a strand of Loki’s hair behind his ear, then smoothing out the rest of the hair she had so delightfully mussed. Loki considered returning the favour, but couldn’t think well enough to move his hands.
“Yes,” he said simply. He was incapable of further speech at the moment. The dagger and its promised hiding space would have to suffice for now.
Thankfully, Sif did not seem to mind. “Now that we have established you are mine, I owe someone a bit of retribution.” She leaned in close and kissed him once more before drawing back and moving away. “I’ll see you later, mm?” and she was gone.
Loki collapsed into a puddle on the floor, a smile gracing his lips. His brain needed to restart before he could move, but he didn’t mind luxuriating in the feelings curling around inside of him while he waited. He was Sif’s, and she was his.
Perfection.
(That night, Loki found a naked Thor in his bed.
Sif laughed over her ‘bit of retribution’ for years.)