Thor was sick, regrettably and intensely so, and, for the first time in a long while, Loki found himself alone and without Thor's familiar company, his only constant ripped from his view as he struggled to figure out how he'd hunt without his brother's brawn and pure earnestness.

Just before he would have passed through the Bifrost, though, Sif came running through the archway, her attire oddly absent of the heavy, clinking armor she often wore on almost all occasions, her hair swaying back and forth within the confines of its strict ponytail, her leather cloak wrapped tightly about her body as she rubbed her arms to stave off the chill of the breeze outside, a bow and quiver of arrows strapped securely to her back. He stared at her as she approached, and Heimdall's watchful golden eyes followed her movements, curious.

"Last time I saw you in leather," Loki murmured amusedly, grinning wickedly as his eyes scanned over her outfit, "it was quite a different circumstance."

Sif moved forward to slap a hand across his arm harshly, glaring pointedly as she gestured with the tilt of her head toward Heimdall. Loki waved a dismissive hand at them both.

"Oh, he knows I'm kidding. What are you doing here, anyway?" Loki asked, green eyes shining with mirth as Sif put a hand on her hip, aggravated.

"Thor requested that I go in his stead, to keep you from shooting an arrow into your own foot."

Scoffing, Loki shook his head, swiveling to face the opening of the Bifrost as Heimdall readied his sword above the device.

"I am fully capable of taking care of myself," Loki explained, seeming offended, and turned to glare at Sif, "but if you insist."

…

They arrived in the middle of a forest in Vanaheim, some location Loki had pinpointed for Heimdall, with trees towering around them and bowing from time, foliage scattered across the ground and rainclouds hanging heavily in the sky. Loki reached behind his back to grab his own bow and quietly pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped around his shoulders, nocking it. Sif glanced at him, assessing.

"Are you sure you can manage without shooting yourself?" Sif asked mockingly as she did the same with her own bow, readying it before her as they began maneuvering between the trees and bushes. Loki rolled his eyes as they stepped over a fallen log, and he noticed a loose lace hanging from her leather boots, eyes roaming upward to trace the way they blended with her black leggings and the way her dark skirt brushed against her knees with each movement.

He observed the delicate embellishments upon her cotton blouse, small strips of leather protecting her sides and partially hidden by the cloak that fluttered about her body in the wind. His gaze trailed further until it stopped at her eyes, which were fixed on his, irritation shining in those grey irises as he blinked, averting his stare to search for any animals around them.

He doubted that she minded that much anyway, after all the times she'd gazed at him in almost that exact way; he was merely returning the favor.

After walking for a good ten minutes, they finally came across a small alcove in the side of a rock formation, something looking as if it had been sliced in half ages ago, and what he guessed was part of a cliff shrouded by the trees around the opening, reaching out to some distant place that he couldn't see. Sif was the first to enter, her hair damp from the drizzle starting to fall around them, her cloak coated with miniscule droplets as she hunched down to step through the opening, her bow posed and ready for danger as she inspected what looked to Loki like absolute darkness, and she beckoned for him.

He followed and, after making sure there wasn't any threat, crouched down to sit on his knees, uncaring of the dirt staining the leather and green fabric of his pant legs. Sif did the same, taking a seat across from him, but the space was so small that she was nearly pressed to him in the shadows, frowning as he smirked down at her. She rested the arms holding her bow against her lap, and he traced the light dancing across her face, watching it flicker in faint, disappearing waves over the expanse of exposed milky skin stretched taut over her collarbone, all thanks to the low neckline of her shirt.

She shook her head and turned her eyes away, not wanting to see the entertained smile on his face, and curling, frizzing strands of ebony stuck to the corners of her forehead as she did. It was a long wait, by both Asgardian's standards, and Sif was just about ready to leave in search of a new spot, but Loki stretched out a hand to both halt her complaints and stop her from leaving, cold fingers wrapped securely around her arm, relishing, if only for a moment, in the warmth found there.

She took a slow breath, and he watched the tremble of her lips, chilled, against the backdrop of falling rain outside the cave, her eyes bright in the shade cast over her features. The sunlight vanished behind grey clouds, and her gaze darted around her for any sign of game, but to no avail. With the hand resting on her arm, he reached out and tucked those stray strands of hair behind her ear, and she turned to him, surprised, before swallowing thickly, licking her drying lips.

With her body so close, he could feel the warmth emanating from it, and had never felt so empty of it himself in all of his life. It might have bothered him, on any other day, but he only felt the desire for the heat beneath her skin, and, perhaps instinctively, leaned forward, closer to her face, as she did the same, her breath held.

He watched her close her eyes, and his hand absently slid to rest on her thigh, but a twig snapped and they broke apart, turning with their bows raised and arrows drawn, ready to shoot at a moment's notice, but it was only a deer before them, young and curious as it stared at them for a moment before flitting away on fragile-looking legs, disappearing past the trees.

They lowered their weapons, and Sif sighed inwardly, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the cave wall, and Loki made sure that she didn't notice him watching her.

By the time they got back to Asgard, worn from the weather and drenched from the rain, they were empty-handed, and Sif felt disappointed at the absence of something they might have killed on their trip, but Loki hardly minded going to Thor to tell him of the lack of success, listening to his brother's cough-riddled boasting that he could have done it easily within minutes.

Loki merely distracted himself with the memory of Sif, her chest heaving with nervous breaths as she leaned toward him in the shadows, grey eyes bright and yearning, his skin tingling at the prospect of her touch.

No, Loki didn't mind at all.

Based on a prompt given over on Tumblr.

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