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Fic: Metaphorically Speaking

Title: Metaphorically Speaking
Fandom: Thor
Rating: NC-17/M (for foul language and some… intriguing yet pleasant memories)
Genre: (attempted) Humor, (mostly) Romance
Characters: Loki, Sif, Thor, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg. Pairing? Obviously Loki/Sif.
Summary: Every time Loki's Silver Tongue is mentioned, Sif tries, with all her might, not to flush and act normally. "Are you alright, Sif? Your face is red." She tries, really. Loki/Sif.
Disclaimer: I don't own Thor or any involved materials.
Warnings: Grammatical mistakes and some other mistakes. There are a lot of mistakes, actually, but I hope you find this enjoyable. Slight sex, nothing too explicit, but still.
And, fyi, in my opinion—and maybe in the opinions of those who read this—this is the lamest and probably worst thing I've ever written.


"Come on Loki, just this once." Thor pleads childishly in an unusually low and begging tone. He’s also using his best puppy face (bright wide-eyed, lips curve slight downward into a pout that might look cute if not for his age, tone perfectly in sync), and the second prince wonders if his brother is actually a better actor than he is.
 
Loki stares at his brother's face and sighs, his eyes flutter close and his lips purse into thin line.
 
Of all people in Asgard, Thor has to ask him a simple favor of creating another genius plan to steal the beverages from their father's cupboard—which, by the way, is currently being guarded by some tough high-class guards and several other guards including Heimdall himself—and it makes him wonder why in the nine realms, did his brother tell him that it was simple.
 
"I said no is a no, brother. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I do not want to do it?” he replies calmly and sees that the others' shoulders have shrunk down in disappointment.
 
"What is this?" a feminine voice calls out from behind, and they all turn to see Sif marches down the hall and into the room.
 
Their eyes meet, for a second, and Loki swears that he can see her cheeks turn red before looking away. The corner of his lips twitch, threatening to break into a smirk or worse, a grin, but he holds back and tries to keep his poker face on.
 
The conversation started innocent enough; about Asgard, about Thor, about fashion, about everything. He then excused himself from the feast, saying that he was tired, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her told her otherwise.
 
Following her drunken-state instinct, the only female warrior Asgard’s ever known left the hall a few minutes later.
 
"Thor is still trying to get Loki in," Fandral answers her question smoothly and continues to laugh along with Hogun and Volstagg. Sif frowns at this; confusion is written all over her face as she turns to Loki, her expression clearly states that she’s asking for a more proper explanation from the sorcerer.
 
When her warm hazelnut eyes clash against his bright emerald ones though, the images of the previous night they were together flood into her head, and the blood in her entire body rushes up to her face.
 
As if reading her minds, the dark-haired prince smirks—very typical of him, she thinks—and Sif crosses her arms on her chest, afraid that he might hear the loud pounding of her heart against her ribcage and the flips her stomach does when she looks at him.
 
She knew that he was fully aware of her presence as she followed him quietly in the dark, because if he wasn’t, then he wouldn’t have hid himself in the dark, waiting patiently until she passed.
 
It didn’t surprise her when he suddenly pulled her close to him, claiming her lips hungrily with his as if the feast wasn’t enough, and it didn’t surprise him either when she kissed back with the same ferocity and passion. What surprised him was when her hands tore at the tunic of his shirt, and slowly, he let go of all the masks he wore and the restraints he put on himself.
 
“You guys are still trying to steal the Allfather’s beverages?” she asks, trying to distract her thoughts from remembering the events of the night before even further and acts as normal as she possibly can.
 
She has to admit that it doesn’t look as easy as it sounds, especially when the said prince appears out of nowhere right behind her, his breath ghosts coolly against the sensitive skin of her neck, electing goosebumps on her skin.
 
Both of his hands are planted firmly on her shoulders—and for a moment, for a brief passing moment—she thinks that he’s going to take her right here right there, with Thor and the others as their witness, and flushes harder.
 
What the hell is she thinking about?! There is no way, in all nine realms in the universe, that he will actually do something like that. She should’ve known that he’s using her as a shield to escape from the torment of his brother.
 
But then, he moves slightly near her ear, and in a deep seductive voice, he whispers;
 
“It seems that My Lady has come to me for more?”
 
Sif shudders and inhales sharply. Her head becomes dizzy, and both her stomach and that part between her thighs are set aflame at hearing his offer.
 
There are other things he says, like that it’s already lunch time, but she doesn’t quite hear it. It’s hard to concentrate on something else when he’s around, really.
 
They somehow managed to enter his room without making too much noises, and he didn't hesitate to tear her dress away; the ripping sound mixed with his groan as he kissed her turned her on even more, and she felt like she's going to explode anytime soon, despite the fact that they hadn't even started yet.
 
Fandral and Volstagg somehow manage to engage her into a conversation about the big day tomorrow. Of course, she does feel grateful to them for distracting her from thinking about him (his wet warm tongue on her neck, his sharp white teeth on her lower lip, and his smooth cool skin against her warm ones…)
 
Two slender fingers brush softly against the crook of her neck, and she freezes abruptly on her track. Her breath is caught in of her throat, and she knows that he’s smirking when he speaks without even have to look at his face.
 
“I know you're angry, but at least leave a slice or two of meat for me, brother.”
 
He’s talking to his brother, but those hints in his sentence make her stomach knots, and not only her face; her neck and ears are flush as well.
 
She decided to stop messing around and take the lead, because she needed this more than anyone else, probably even Loki himself, and pushed him on to the bed. He looked surprised, but pleased otherwise, and she wasted no time to crawl back to him and straddled his hips, her lips found his once again, and when his tongue swept across her lower lip, she parted her lips without any hesitation and let him in.
 
Their tongue met and they wrestled for dominance. She was much stronger than Loki, so she thought that victory was clearly hers, but he was clever and tricky. Of course when his palm touched her backside, she thought nothing of it but an act of affection, like he usually did the night before and the other two nights, and the other nights they spent together. Suddenly, he knead her rear hard enough to leave a bruise and she moaned, loudly and breathily against his lips, her back arched until her breasts pressed flat against his chest, and not-so-surprisingly, he had the upper hand.
 
Sif sits down on her usual seat beside Thor and Volstagg, directly in front of Loki. He’s keeping his face as calm as usual, and she stares at his face—mainly his lips and his throat—when he doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes trail up to his cheeks, then his eyes, and she loses the ability to breathe when he catches her staring, those emerald eyes of his are filled with amusement.
 
She doesn’t realize that their food is already placed on the table until one of the maids asks her whether she wants to drink or not. Sif refuses and smiles lightly at her, feeling absolutely grateful for distracting her thoughts from Loki’s lips, or Loki’s fingers, or his eyes, or simply Loki in general.
 
Furiously, Sif digs into her food, taking twice the portion she usually has and waves off Fandral’s comment about her being eager and stuff. Eating has always been a perfect distraction, but just to be safe; Sif counts how long she can actually last without thinking of him.
 
She wasn’t used to be dominated, especially by him, so when he left her lips to kiss and nip at her neck, her ear and back to her lips again, her brain refused to work and she kept moaning his name, whimpering under his cool touches and warm tongue.
 
“Another fish, thin slices of meat, vegetables and fruits, brother? No wonder you’re so thin.” Thor comments plainly and blinks. “And I can’t believe that they brought those grapes for you. I heard from mother that they are extremely rare these days.” He adds, and Volstagg laughs.
 
“Well, his silver tongue did quite a good work on those maids.”
 
Loki chuckles softly, and the insides of her stomach flip again at hearing his voice and the mention of his tongue. She is reminded then, of the time when he whispered words of adoration and love against her ear, and how she came down hard before he could even finish, and when he chuckled (his breath cool, his voice smooth, like a beautiful but sensual melody) and licked her ear lobe, the hunger came back and he was more than willing to satisfy her all over again.
 
The thought sends a violent shiver down her spines, and when she’s about to storm away, she sees Loki plucks a dark-purple grape into his mouth, keeping it between his lips for a while before swallowing it whole. The juice from the fruit smears on his lips and trails down to his chin. His tongue darts out to lick it clean, and he turns his head slightly to watch her expression.
 
Sif looks down to her plate quickly, face burning, her heart thumping, and the urge to jump across the table and kiss him senseless like there’s no tomorrow fills her head.
 
He went down to kiss her collarbone, taking a painfully sweet time on her breasts, her stomach, and when he gave a long lick at her center, she cried out in shock, her back arched forward, her hips bucked, and she grabbed a handful of his black raven hair to keep him in place.
 
She felt his smirk against her, and it didn’t take long really; for him to make her come down hard and scream his name loudly in pleasure.
 
Thor starts swallowing the nearest food he can find one by one noisily. His hand finds its way to a large portion of chicken legs on Sif’s plate, and he freezes when the memory of her fist connected with his nose comes back to him.
 
He draws his hand back and is going to apologize, when he finally notices that something’s wrong with her.
 
“Are you alright, Sif? Your face is red,” he asks confusedly, startling her from her thoughts, and the others look at her in mixture of worry and surprise (she doesn’t usually get sick, none of them are, so it’s kind of weird).
 
From the corner of her eye, she can see Loki smirks, devilishly and amusedly, and curses inwardly to herself.
 
Damn him.

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