Fic Title: Lying Tongues
Rating/Warning(s): NC-17 / sex
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Why This Must Be Read: The sex scene in this piece breaks my heart every time I read it, with Loki so absolutely certain that Sif will never return his feelings. mekosuchinae does a amazing job showing the complexity of their relationship, and this piece serves as a wonderful prologue to the events of the movie.
Loki stepped out of the shadows. He scraped his heel on the floor. Sif turned slightly. Her jaw flashed through her locks. Then she turned from him again and gathered her hair in her hands.
Wordlessly he came to stand at her back. Her fingers twisted her hair. He touched her wrists, stilling her, and slid his arm around her. The ribbon unfolded from his hand; it dripped from his thumb.
"I believe this is yours," he said.
Sif let her hair tumble freely again. Strands brushed his face; they tickled his lips. She smelled of sweat and earth and alien blood, still spattered across her shirt where it lay on the floor. Loki wanted to bury his nose in her nape.
She caught his hand. The ribbon folded between her palm and his wrist; the cloth rasped over his skin. Turning, Sif fit against him. The nearness of her was a blade fitted to his ribs. Sif twisted a finger in his curls, low on his neck, and tugged. His scalp pricked.
"And what was that about?" she demanded. "What if someone had seen my ribbon in your hair?"
"Do you mean Thor?" he asked. "Yes. My brother's keen eye for fashion will find us outed."
Her lips flattened. Under her arching brows, ever severe, her eyes were beautifully dark. The finger in his hair crooked. She pulled at his head and Loki bent to her. He slid his free hand down her side, her long, naked side, her ribs faint suggestions beneath corded muscle.
"You're the one who wanted it kept secret," she said against his lips. The warmth of her breath shivered along his chin, a promise.
"And you agreed to it," he said. He ran his thumb back and forth along her lowest rib, tracing the curve of it beneath skin and muscle. "Why is that?"
"You're changing the subject," she said. "I won't let you."
He turned his head and nuzzled her cheek, the long angle of it. His lips grazed her jaw. In the cell, he had put his hands on her, felt the fractures in her ribs, and wanted to steal her away, diplomacy be damned.
"I only wanted to tease you a bit," he said to the corner of her jaw, where it hinged, where it locked.
Another finger in his hair. She tightened her grip on his wrist. Her lips at his cheek, mirroring him. When he breathed in, he smelled the salt dried upon her throat. Her breasts rose warm against his chest. The hand in his hair tightened, tightened.
"Everything's a game to you," she said. "Something you can play with others whether they want to or not."
He stroked her side, the swell of her breast.