Sif woke as the dawn light filtered in through the drapery; limbs stretching lazily and drowsy eyes cracking open. However, the arm stretched across her abdomen remained motionless, its owner still oblivious to the break of daylight. Sif turned, facing the prince who slept so soundly amongst her blankets. She pushed his long locks away from his face gently, letting him rest before she kicked him out of her bed. He had a bad penchant for staying up until all hours of the night; and when he would wearily slip into her chambers and crawl into her bed she was usually too exhausted to be angry at him. Later he would sometimes claim that her chambers were simply closer to the library, but Sif knew that was not the reason he chose to sleep there.
Sif prodded his leg, watching the rise and fall of his chest to see if he woke. But his breathing remained deep and slow. Either he slept deeply, or he was up to his usual mischief; seeing what she would do to get him to stir. Rolling her eyes, Sif rolled on top of him, straddling the prince's ass as she grabbed her pillow and pressed it to the side of his face visible, smothering him.
Sif counted seventeen seconds before he woke flailing, his long limbs moving erratically before he pushed up off the bed, dumping her off of him and rolling over on top of her to trap Sif's wrists beneath his own. His green eyes flashed dangerously, his dark hair mussed and curled in every direction. "And what, pray tell, have I done to so provoke the Lady Sif's ire so early yet?" He said darkly, pressing himself against her as she grinned at him evilly.
"My dear Loki sleeps away half the morning", she responded, struggling lightly against his hands. His gaze darkened, and he leaned in, catching her bottom lip with his teeth and bit down sharply enough for her to kick him in the shin, his usual grin plastering his face as he rolled away from her. "Ass," she swore, fingering her swollen lip lightly and punching him in the arm. Loki only smirked, standing to gather his robes from the floor.
"Coming to the sparring grounds with me?" Sif questioned, pulling on a tunic and leggings.
"Perphaps later," he said silkily, sliding on his boots and eyeing her as she slid on her sparring garments.
"You're only afraid I'd beat you to a pulp," she challenged, grinning as she stuck a foot out to trip him as he strode past her. Dancing around her limbs easily, Loki only chuckled, sticking a few of his throwing knives back into his tunic.
"As if you could catch me, my dear Sif."
Her eyes flashed, and she lunged at him, almost making contact before his body flashed out of existence, and Sif quickly shouldered a roll, turning in a crouch to face a smiling god of mischief, perched upon the edge of her bed.
"Why do I put up with you," she wondered aloud, glaring at him.
His expression softened, and he came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he whispered warmly in her ear, "because I'm the only one who can keep your interest," and Sif knew his words were true. Many men could challenge her on the battlefield (not that they would best her), but Loki kept her mind working in ways few Aesir valued; she was always searching for double meanings to his words, and the tells to his enchantments he sometimes left in her chambers. So she relaxed into his embrace, not agreeing, but not dissenting either. And that was usually enough for him.