"Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters,"
- Florence Welch
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My first story on and I'm rather excited! Not full of love for this piece but I've got to start somewhere. Written during a car journey last week and inspired by some of the excellent fics for this wonderful pairing.
Let it never be said that Sif was prim. But she preferred cleanliness to filth- as was a normal trait, she might add- and there was no more to it. Good hygeine meant good health, good health meant strength, quite simply put.
They were camped beyond the springs, in a clearing with the stars their ceiling; Thor, his brother, his warrior's three and she had set up for the night in a forest far north to the capital city. Alfar was one of Ygddrasil's largest realms, though sparsely and peacefully occupied, perfect for hunting stealthy game. They had been here a good three days now, and though Sif loved to hunt, and she loved her friends, she had craved time alone for some hours now. Cleanliness provided the perfect excuse (even if it was less an excuse than her dignity cared to admit) and she would not waste having such springs so close.
Gathering fresh clothes and her boots and the round bar of olive soap she carried when travelling, Sif elbowed out of her tent and stood to survey the camp. Thor and the warriors three she needn't look for; their hearty, half-drunk merriment was probably keeping the capital awake in their beds right now. Volstagg and Thor and Fandral half-sang, half-yodelled tales of old while Hogun sat off from the side, carving wood with his knife and smiling when they weren't looking. It made Sif happy to see.
She fancied, perhaps, leaving the camp unnoticed. It would spare her the friendly taunts of womanly sensibilities that usually arose when she made attempts to not be completely foul. She didn't mind the taunts; she returned them in such favour for the mens' cooking skills, but it would only serve to waylay her- or draw her in with their revelery. So her steps were light as she crossed the sprawl of the camp. But alas, it would appear Fandral's ears were large as ever, even when intoxicated.
"Sif-" He slurred. Somehow he made it so there were several syllables to the word. "There you are, Sif, we've been waiting for me."
"Have you now," Caught, she resigned and stepped closer, unable to hide her smile as she did so. They all blinked owlishly up at her, their faces oddly orange in the firelight, swallowed by shadows the rest of them. The embers crackled and hissed.
"Where is my brother, Sif?" Thor swivelled his head around, blinking into the dusk. "Where is Loki?"
"Oh, Hel knows."
"I thought- I saw him..."
"Join us, Sif!" Volstagg cried, throwing his arms into the air and slopping mead down his back for the trouble of it. "Join us and drink!"
"LOKI," bellowed Thor.
"Just take it!" Wailed Fandral to some unseen companion.
"Come, Sif, let us drink, the night is young!"
"If it's all the same to you wildebeasts," Sif said, catching Hogun's eye and trying not to laugh at how long his eyebrows hung. "I will take my wash first. Goodness knows when we'll have camped so close to a spring again."
"Wash? Bah!"
"They'll make a woman of you yet, my lady Sif!" Thor cried.
"And a housewife of you, Prince Thor, if your venison is anything to go by," She called over her shoulder as she turned her back to the fire and set off upon the thin trail through the woods.
The moon was so close here, it seemed, and the night brighter for it, for her path was lit even through the thickness of the canopy above her. Sif strode, enjoying the freedom of her shoulders from her pack. It had weighed heavy this last day of walking; the trinkets she had picked up were plenty and some large. Perhaps she would have Loki store them for the remainder of their trip.
Her companions' singing melted into a distant drone, and the fluid sounds of the spring came to her through the trees. Soon she stood upon the rocks, looking at the water and the strange shapes that reflected there. For a moment she contemplated putting her clothes to the side and flinging herself in with abandon, but she knew not the depth and did not fancy chancing a broken limb at this time.
She moved to the grassy bank. Glancing around her, she began to undress slowly, wondering how best to lure him out. In the end little action was needed. She began to unlace her tunic at the chest when her spine tingled and she paused, scenting the air. The cloth at her back moved and his hand, suddenly, was cool at her hip.
Sif smiled lazily. She dropped her shoulders and leant back until she could map his presence behind her.
"Well you certainly were in no hurry," She felt his voice on her skin, not just the breath of him, but the way her hairs rose in response.
"I got caught," Sif murmured, "by the quartet back there."
The other hand now, coming around to her stomach, and she caught them both in hers and pulled him short, so she felt his chest against her back. It hadn't been so many days since they had held each other so. But here in these woods, so much that was strange and new stirring something inexplicably deep within her, and having to make do, in the company of the others, with just her imagination.
And oh, but she could watch him. And she had.
But now they were alone, and undisturbed, for Thor and the three had more honour than to spy on she whom they called a friend. Now they were alone and they could do what they wanted.
Sif had a thing or two in mind.
So did Loki, it would appear, from the suddeness of his hands that had her spinning on the spot so they were nose to nose- Sif let the clothes fall from her arms and stepped into him.
He was bare of his armour, but his shirt and leathers remained. Sif made light work of them and found his mouth with hers. Blind with want, she pushed him backwards into the soft grass of the bank. The blades scratched and stuck to her, and she closed in, trapped him beneath her.
In the distance, Thor and the Three continued to wail in song. To hear them so, innocent and oblivious in their revellery, singing and dancing so close to them without the darkest idea what their two friends were doing, stoked Sif's stomach. For they were not under cover, in any way; the moon lit and saw all that they did, in the tall grass of the bank. If one of them were to stray away, if Thor were to wonder off drunkely in search of his brother and burst onto the bank...
The thought of it should calm her. Sober her. But instead, it only served to fuel her, quicken her, and narrow her gaze. She wondered at that. But only for a moment, for thought was lost to her as her blood began to beat loud and hot, Loki's mouth was at hers and his hands and she was overtaken, undertaken, and the tops of the trees whispered above them.
.
"Might I share your bed tonight?" Loki murmured, his lips on the hollow of her throat. She could feel the pulse where her arm was at his neck, stroking the ends of his hair. He offered to spend the whole night tangled so, and here, in the sweet, hot twilight, she wanted nothing more.
And yet she pulled back a little so their eyes could meet, and said seriously, "If you are willing to leave before dawn. If you are able," She added, her voice low and teasing, for they both remembered the morning some nights previous, wherin Volstagg had stuck his head in Sif's tent at breakfast. Sleep had blurred his eyes enough that the shape of another, asleep in bed beside his friend, had remained unseen to him.
They had been lucky.
"I doubt tommorow will be an early start, if the singing is anything to go by," he tilted his head in indication to the camp some yards away, where a familiar, half-garbled war chant had begun.
He was right. She gave her assent with a kiss, slow and easy, to the corner of his mouth. His eyes were so very pale in the moonlight.
She sat up and drew her knees to her, feeling long grass stick to the damp incline of her spine. She watched him move silently about, gathering his things. He would head back first, inquire innocently as to her whereabouts, sidestep the attempts to draw him into the drunken melee by his brother, and return quietly to his tent.
And there he would wait for her signal. Bat the side of her tent with a boot three times, as though she were clapping the mud from them. And she would be clean and sweet-smelling and regally she would receive him in her bed. Sif smiled.
Loki bought her small pack with the soap to her, dressed now and lucid. He made to leave then, but turned back to stare at her, sitting naked and smiling, hair sticking to her back. He leant his tall frame over and kissed her head. Then he was gone, melting into the black of the woods. She waited to hear Thor accosting his brother before moving down the bank to the waterside.
Soap in hand, Sif let the water swallow her to the neck. The skin of shoulders prickled in the heat, her limbs tired and achey, her blood slowing. As if she had been sparring. Her hair spread on the surface behind her and her cheeks began to heat once more. Calmly, she began to rub at herself with the soap.
She wondered whether things would ever be different. Would they ever walk hand in hand for all to see? Sif and Loki. The thrill of secrecy was strong, true, but it was fickle. She was not much given to looking forward, but a small, strange part of her coveted the idea of something that lasted longer than an interlude by the spring's side, clandestine and by darkness.
One day, what they had wouldn't be enough. They would want more from each other. All of each other.
It wasn't today, though, Sif assured herself as she ducked beneath the water, eyes firmly shut. Today she was, in all things, perfectly content.
Thank you for taking the time to read! If you could review I would be very grateful x)