In a very sudden moment filled with the rush of blood in his ears and the frozen, captured rage lighting Sif's face as she stood before him, Loki found it in himself, somewhere deep in his mind, to admire the way the corners of her lips curved up in anger, wondering why they did so. He found it in himself to trace the way the light waved within her grey irises, and the exact shade of warm rays beaming upon her flushed cheeks, aware of how the dark strands of her hair fell tangled and askew.
All before he was far too aware of the sharp jut of her knuckles slammed against his nose.
Loki rarely ever fell victim to broken bones, and Sif's young, meager punch, though brimming with indignation and fury, could only draw blood, rather than break bone, and he fell backwards, landing with a soft, dulled thud upon the wet grass as she yelled at him. It had been a crude comment, but it could hardly come as a surprise to Sif after flirting so shamelessly with him.
And so, Loki felt a grin spread, cancerous, upon his face, and watched how the rage only heightened in her fiery gaze as she stooped low enough to nearly look him level in the eyes before pulling roughly on his shirt collar to tug him to his feet. He steadied himself, trying not to fall, and noticed the glint of indecision, even hesitance, flashing across her features, pale skin flooded with color and long hair blown back by the wind. His teenage heart fluttered within the controlling confines of his chest, and he desperately wished to free it before she came closer, her fingers still curled about his collar.
"Sorry," she muttered breathlessly, her lush lips parted and glistening beneath the sunlight, and he thought that they looked all too inviting for him to simply refuse, but her eyes widened, and she beat him to it, pulling him forward as those intoxicating lips found his.
He wasn't sure if she was sorry for the punch or what came after, but the confusion was lost to the pleasurable sensation blooming within him as he crushed her to him, snaking his arms around her waist, but at the contact she pulled back, fast and unable to be followed, to rush away, and Loki was left standing in the grass, lonely and wide-eyed with his racing heart, his lips tingling.
He heard her quiet laughter carried on the wind as she vanished up the hill, and smiled at her retreating back.
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