DAY ONE: LACE

Loki often wondered what Lady Sif wore besides her precious, shining armor, which dutifully decorated her body on most days and nights, clinging to every curve as she sparred with Thor.

He'd see her skidding across the grounds after a particularly hard shove from his brother, locking her knees and planting her feet so that she wouldn't topple over, her red, layered skirt flapping with the motion as she swiveled to parry one of his blows. The tarnished silver of her breastplate gleamed like gold as she moved, so very fluid and natural that it nearly made him jealous, the dark strands of her hair catching the bright sunshine as she smiled, the fallacious color reminding him of the golden hair she once donned, that glow of vanity now a ghostly thing haunting her features.

He'd watch, probably for hours, with a book of spells splayed open on his lap, ancient scribbles scattered in black ink across the parchment, but his attention always wavered, glancing up at her through the strands of inky hair falling in front of his jade eyes. She never knew, of course, her concentration and heart and very soul poured into sparring with her friend, into becoming as gifted a warrior as all those around her, into being the best she could be. Only on certain days, when Thor was tired and worn, could she truly defeat him, but she always put up a long, arduous fight.

That's when she'd vanish, going off to some unknown place to be left to her own secretive devices, and Loki wanted to know where and what that was. He wanted to know absolutely everything about those in his company, especially the one woman deemed worthy in Thor's eyes, the one person that had gained the full approval of his brother. And so, Loki found himself following her, learning her routine to appropriately and quietly trace her every move.

It started with a mere, innocent turn of the head to watch her with his wandering eyes until she was out of sight, but as his magic progressed, he began to master the ability of being in two places at once. It was a handy thing, duplicity, and it allowed him to follow her all the way to her bedchambers. She usually wandered around, taking her dual swords to spar with the dummy figure in a corner of her room-littered with mats and armor and weapons.

He wasn't one for spying, and usually turned away after that, but tonight was different. He stayed long enough to watch her strip off the layers of metal, the chain mail carefully placed on a hanger, as if she cared for it like she would her own child, the swords put on shelves, the various straps about her limbs peeled off one by one. Loki had to wonder if she knew he was there, since the suspense and curiosity was killing him, and the tedious process of removing her shoulder plates began. He rolled his eyes, annoyed, and leaned against the wall (he was glad he'd learned that invisibility spell), waiting as patiently as he could. She removed the last of it, putting each and every piece in its designated place with the utmost precision, and the care she held for the armor was apparent in the light shining through her grey eyes.

Loki, for the most part, was surprised at her underclothes. Thor, who carelessly threw his armor to the floor whenever he was too exhausted to care, only wore cotton shirts and comfortable trousers beneath his armor, but Sif's clothes were complicated.

Her black leggings crawled up to the thin, crimson skirt resting on her slim hips, the material looking soft to the touch. Tucked beneath that was a lacey shirt with short, shoulder-length sleeves, made of delicately patterned satin as dark as Loki's hair, and he could see the milky color of her pale skin beneath its fabric. His eyes widened, and he held his breath so she wouldn't hear him, and she turned from her place near the bed to glance in his direction, the softest curve at the corners of her lips.

Surely, he thought, she could never see him, but she planted a hand on her hip, smirking teasingly.

"Spying, are we?" Sif murmured lowly, her voice silken, and he gaped.

Sif woke with that feeling of panic, so familiar to her, coursing through her veins like liquid fire, burning her up from the inside. Her heart pounded furiously, aching against her rib cage as her cheeks flushed with heated blood, her throat dry.

"Daydreaming, Lady Sif?"

That voice.

It wasn't often that Sif was caught by surprise, but Loki's mocking voice pulled her far from her reverie, and she turned to gaze over at him, sprawled out on the stone steps overlooking the palace gardens as Fandral and Thor sparred beside them, an open book in his lap, smirking in her direction. She fixed him with an instinctual, automatically icy glare, and huffed condescendingly before turning back to face her friends, her heart still fluttering like some trapped butterfly, yearning and longing for something, the memory of her dream replaying vividly, just like it was real, in her thoughts.

She could only hope that Loki wasn't a mind reader, too.

Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;) I'm going to have my own fic themes for each day, one of which will be AU. I've never written AU before, so...that'll be interesting. xD

All rights go to their respectful owners. And though I desperately wish that I owned Loki, I do not-and that is perhaps the saddest fact of my life...