It's days like these, where the books that he's read hundreds of dozens of times no longer hold any interest, where his guards could not be provoked any further because they'd already disappeared out the door to leave him alone to his thoughts, where he's left to his thoughts, creating his own demons and solutions to the worlds problems that he thinks on her. He remembers the way her hair felt in his hands, silky and smooth and as dark as his thoughts about her, the way her eyes cut through him and see through the bullshit the others seem to wade in. He remembers the quirk of her lips and his name on her tongue, passing her lips into his mouth where he inhales it as though it's the blessed smoke of the Midgardian temples. He used to breathe her in, mouth traveling down the curve of her pale skin, marking her as his own as he went, his fingers teasing the edges of her armor before he deftly and quickly removed it.

He remembers holding her bare body loosely against his, doing nothing but taking her in, amazed at how confident she was in front of him, more comfortable in her own skin than he'd seen women who were draped in furs and jewels could ever be. She would take his chin in her hands, her skin calloused and rough and perfect as she would stroke the side of his face and pull his lips down to meet hers, to buck her hips into his, taking control far quicker than any other maiden Loki had ever met.

As he sits in his cell his breathing turns labored as he remembers how she could ride him for hours, her hips straddling his and her breasts bouncing in front of his face, begging for his attention. She would never let him give it, though, holding him captive with her eyes as surely as if she'd tied him down with the strongest rope, and he would give in to her whims and desires because he loved her, as damnable as it was. He would give her the moon and the stars around it if it made her happy, so what was some restraint on his behalf in comparison?

On the rare day she would allow him control it was only at the demand that he make her scream, and scream she did. She would keep him guessing, whimpering his name as he earned his namesake while lavishing her cunt, and pull away after her first climax, telling him he hadn't done a good enough job. The hurt and disbelief in his eyes would be more than enough, and as he began to babble his apologies she would yank him down atop her and tell him to try again, one eyebrow cocked.

"Are you really going to give up that easily?" She would ask, kissing down his jaw and sucking on his Adam's apple. He would shake his head, promise her no, and she would allow him to keep worshipping her, more free with her compliments from that point on.

He would remember how they would lay on his bed or hours, spent and fingers intertwined as she murmured to him about her day, and her desires to be useful, or else they would lay outside under the stars, Sif reclining in Loki's lap as he recited stories to her he'd learned from the thousands of books he'd paged through. She would listen intently to each one, tensing with the nerve-wracking parts and grinning with the good, as though she could see them played out on the inky, diamond-studded canvas above them.

He's pulled from his thoughts at the sound of his door opening, his eyes dark and distrusting as he watches his brother step into the large room containing his cell. He has a somber look in his eyes, one Loki has not seen for some time and he reeks of Midgard. Even through the glass he can smell it.

"Brother," Loki smirks, his hauty conviction and confidence returning in spades. "You must be truly desperate to come to me for help."

Thor explains of a problem with a dark elf named Malekith, of a threat on Midgard and Asgard, of the battles he and the Lady Sif-Loki stiffens at the name-had just finished fighting against those of Svartalfheim who sought to take over their lands and enslave those around them, of the pains Thor's Lady Jane had gone through at the hands of these monsters. "I need your help, brother," Thor murmurs at first. "But know that when you betray me, I will kill you."

Loki is not thinking of betrayal, though, his mind still clinging to the name Thor threw out before, as though it were casual enough to be mentioned only in passing. Freedom meant Sif, it meant holding her in his arms and against his body, it meant kissing her and running his fingers through her mane of black hair.

"When do we begin?" He asks, an easy smirk playing on his lips. Whatever his brother wishes him to do is a small price to pay to have his lady love in his arms again.

A/N: This is a prompt fill for DamnitDesiree on Tumblr, who wanted me to give writing Loki/Sif smut a shot, and I thought what the hell why not?
And then a little bit of story wormed its way into my writing and wtf is happening to me?
Either way-title comes from the song Little Bit by Lykke Li, who I am fast discovering writes music for my Loki. Bless her.
Hope you enjoyed!