5Countenance
by Sorrow
Loki freezes in mid-step as the sing of a drawn sword precedes the cold bite of its blade against his throat. Ah Sif. As fierce as he remembers her.
"Betray him, and I'll kill you."
And as loyal to Thor as ever.
For a fleeting moment he contemplates knocking the sword from her grasp. He imagines catching her wrists between his own shackled hands; tugging her to his chest and forcing her to repeat that threat. Repeat it with her lips against his throat in place of the blade, and see then how well she means it.
And how they've been in this predicament before. She, threatening to cleave his head from his neck. He, grinning in the dark as her empty threats snarl against the hollow of his throat - her thighs pressed tight around his hips.
Of course, her threats were for a different cause back then. ("If you tell anyone of this - if you betray me - I will end this.") And the echo of her words anger him still. It was she who betrayed him first. It was he who never wanted it to end.
("Tell the truth you never wanted me. Tell me.")
But he will not dwell upon this now.
Instead he laughs, because he knows how well it will anger her. There is little humour in his laughter these days, but it tumbles from his lips without second thought; long has it been used as defence against threat. A means for disarming others.
He turns with casual grace to face her, ignoring the sword still honed at his neck. Her eyes betray nothing but her jaw is tense. Unforgiving. Her expression has been cast in iron and set in stone, and he almost wonders if she's serious this time. But there is a waver in the blade that betrays a tremble in her body, and the laughter lingers on his lips because of it. There is some real amusement to be wrought from this after all.
"It's good to see you too, Sif."
Holding her gaze, he remembers the smile she once kept - just for him. No, too painful. He remembers her body moving against him and the press of her fingers against his flesh; pulling him closer, holding him tighter, wanting him deeper. He allows the memories to take shape upon his mouth; shifting his lips into a slow salacious smile.
She stands stock still, her eyes hard and savage against his long deliberate gaze.
And the touch of the blade is once more at his throat, reminding him to know his place. ("Why must you take something that was beautiful, and make it ugly?") Dear predictable Sif. Always so staunch. So unable to bear the burden of affection. Or emotion, for that matter.
The smile slides from his face. He hardens his gaze. The memories of their friendship (and of those times, in darkened corridors and dead of night, when it had been something more than that) are little more to him now than motes of dust. Dead air cased in empty husks.
This is how he erases her. How he purges himself. How he musters the strength to turn his back and walk away. And should their paths cross again, she will be the one with a blade to her throat. Oh yes.
And oh, how well he can lie.
She has to steel herself to look at him. Even when the mortal slaps his face, she refuses to offer her attention (but still his answering smile catches the corner of her eye and causes her to remember how well he enjoyed such play. And in that moment she doesn't know who she hates more: Loki, the woman, or herself.)
It's the way he turns to leave, without acknowledging her, that causes her blade to find its way to his throat. She wants him to look at her. She wants him to see how she loathes him. She wants to see the monster he has become. To see it has been inside him all along. To know nothing she could have done would have changed him from becoming this hated, hateful creature.
She needs to feel vindicated.
The smirk he delivers is both familiar and alien, and it's all she can do to keep the sword steady in her hand. Oh Loki, what has happened to you?
His smile is just as she remembers it; full of mockery. And lust. (Yes, there was always that.) He laughs at her threat with both calm self-assurance and bitter spite, and that too is no surprise. His gaze lingers on her longer than is comfortable, and she finds her breath catching in her throat because of it. How many decades have passed since he has looked at her in such a way? And why now?
She swallows hard, drawing herself taller and willing her arm to stay steady as her sword hovers before his throat. Their past is exactly that, and he's an idiot if he expects her to care for these games now.
Even so, she still can't help but search his face, realising in this instant that she was wrong. She does not want to see him made a monster. She wants to see remorse. She wants to see some trace of the boy she once knew. She wants hope.
But his countenance shifts, and there is a terrible remoteness in his gaze. He wants her to believe she was naught but a conquest to him. A way of taking something from his brother. A petty revenge. As if she had ever belonged to Thor.
But in that moment before he turns away, she sees the truth.
And the only person he is fooling, is himself.
End note: I've never written Loki/Sif before, but between the odd hint of UST in the comics from time to time, the beautiful Loki/Sif fics I've come across while looking for recommendations to add to the God of Mischief (dot org) fansite, and that moment between Loki and Sif in Thor 2... Well, I decided to write this. I had hoped to kind of explore something of what Loki and Sif's history might have been - all in that one look he gave her as she held her sword to his throat. Whether or not I achieved that, I enjoyed dipping my toes into the Loki/Sif ship. Thanks for reading! :)
And thanks to those who encouraged me to write this, at godofmischief-dot-org (tumblr)
