Disclaimer: Owning Thor would be nice. If that was the case, I'd be less worried about how the upcoming movie might suck. Not that I think it will or anything...
Anyway, I own nothing.
She tastes her war in his ashes atop Odin's great chair. Desire, nightmares, rough lines as he pushes inside, the bones of her hips made raw by his thumbs. She burns herself to the king's throne, to cold and splendid shadows, gold above and gold below them, where they'd yet screamed songs for the ruin of their ancestors - but no, no, that was a cursed dream.
That was the time she took a blade to his breast and (hush, hush, hush); and Sif can just as easily draw his blood as kiss him, but that's the same with everything you love, isn't it (oh, but this war is not yet won, child)?
She snarls and mixes her blood with his magic and he smiles with his teeth like Sif; and for a moment, they know weakness. A bitter taste, steel and his salt, blood or an urge to further drive him into her (life, life, I'm alive). But still she will not sleep this night.
He might rule a dead kingdom, she thinks, but now her killer's hands grip his cock and they are so alive, his mouth and tongue wicked and her fingertips blushed faintly with his blood. Only victory, and Sif will dream again of war and love.
I'll come for you, she says and twists; and his release is the death of a king.
When he pulls away his lips are torn and sticky and he tastes like betrayal, and Sif pushes him into his throne and grins. His crown is at her feet, ruined with dust, and as she leaves she whispers to his shadows that she will bring his end. He will fall and she will live at last, will sleep and dream, and gold beautiful once more.