eswareinmal | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

[ Loki's skin is pale; he, once again, looks human, his eyes green, his hair dark. His fingers are restless, tapping. ] Shall we have a tale?

Here, I believe the appropriate beginning is, let's see... Once upon a time.

Once upon a time, there was a little world. It had no boundaries, but it was small enough that it needed no boundaries. More on that later, I certainly expect. This world was made by balance between order and chaos. Order created and arranged, and chaos introduced an element of randomness. Evolution. Each required the other to innovate.

But, then, Order isn't so very good at innovation, is it? Perhaps inevitable that one day Chaos would begin to dominate. The balance reels, and the world changes -- or perhaps it's that the world changes, and the balance tips. Either way, each avatar, one of order, one of chaos, are locked in eternal battle. Thorns began to spread, and so Order had to try, again, to reach beyond itself. Literally, this time.

As we stand: order reached to heroes, but could not cope with the element of instability the heroes produced. Thus, it boxed them into confined roles, shaved off the bits of them that would not fit.

Take care, heroes, for chaos would destroy everything -- but order would destroy you from within.

This is, as it stands, all I know. Let you ignorants be satisfied with that.

[ OOC: Thread between Sif and Loki below includes NSFW content. Be thyself warned. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Am I thus?

[She closes her eyes for a moment, expression hovering just on the cusp of pleasure.]

What a trial, for you.

[ He is breathless. ]

Sif.

[ He wants her here. ]

Loki.

[His name comes out nearly as a song. She smiles, as the heat builds. So many times she has borne arms to get the trickster at her mercy -- this is even more fulfilling.]

[ His skin changes. He lets it change, knowing that it's difficult to hold on now, knowing that he'll need that control later. Breathing sharp. He wants to look away, but he can't make himself. ]

[For a long moment, there is only: the sound of Sif's light breathing, and the rustling of skin on the fabric of the chair as she moves. The profile of the maiden with her eyes closed.

Others might put on a show, here. Preen or exaggerate, as it is for Loki's attention that she does this. But such falsities would suit them both ill.

It is a trait in their coupling she craves: that the more Sif is herself, the more he seems to desire her.]

Ah--

[she breathes out, so close. She opens her eyes, surprised to see his Jotunn form -- rather than a hindrance, the shock acts as something as a catalyst. Sif doesn't mask her want. She looks him in the eye, in his red eyes, as she comes.]

Loki.

[ And he flinches from that, from the honesty. He is frightened of it and drawn to it.

He is hard, now, but he refuses to touch himself. He is not in that habit. ]

If you were here, I would kiss your throat.

[Sif does not know how to disguise her desires. She never has. It's just that, until recently, he wasn't the subject of them. She stares back at him, a gravel to her tone.]

And how would you manage that, with me holding you down?

Ah, my Prince, don't you know?

I'm slippery as an eel.

And a half measure skinnier, to boot.

[She looks down. Watches the light from the orb cast shadows across her hands.]

You know truer names for me than that.

My Lady? My Warrioress?

May I suggest, "my physically superior comrade?"

"My infinitely more talented warrior?"

"My eminently more commanding leader?"

What about -- just 'mine'?

[The point to him, then. Sif's head snaps up, and she is unsure weather or not he is jesting.

(It comes, unbidden: he laughs as Midgard burns.)]

Ah. And who would you belong to, then?

I belong in the space between two lies. The space of the rain in between cloud and earth -- I belong nowhere.

That presents something of a challenge, geographically. Nowhere doesn't exist.

Believe me: I know.

Then these spaces that would claim you sound unable to fit even one man alone. Let alone his possessions.

Then I suppose I'll just shave bits of myself away.

Or, less dramatically, we could simply find space enough for both our bits.

Preferably here.

[Hmpf. She shakes her head, exasperated, and shuts off the orb.

Which is clearly Sif's way of saying that she will be at his room soon enough.

...Several hours later, when she is sitting across the width of the bed, elbows propped up on Loki's torso, the thought occurs to her:]

What is it about my rooms that you so abhor? They are clean enough.

Edited 2012-09-06 05:57 (UTC)

I prefer to issue the invitation myself.

[ In his space, he is in control.

Though... he has not been entirely in control, this time. Sometimes, they've had to stop. To pause, while he centers himself, chases the blue away.

He is still a bit tense. He has not let himself go, not entirely. ]

[She knows the tension in the lines of him. Sif wonders if she has ever seen him truly let go, since they were children.

The image of Midgard burning comes again, and she wonders if that was letting go or forcing himself into yet another set of skin.]

I prefer to issue the invitation myself, [she repeats, mimicking his tone. She moves upwards, crossing her arms over his chest. She looks down at him, nearly perched.]

So formal.

[ She is so oddly affectionate. He doesn't know what he expected; perhaps that she would withdraw, preserve her dignity as a warrior. That she would be cool to him, after she had taken her pleasure. ]

I thought you liked my words formal, and lovely.

[ He sweeps his fingers through her hair, pushes it back from her forehead. ]

When you wish them to be. Other times, they are evasive things. Your words.

[He is not wrong to have been unsure. Sif can be mercurial, as a lover. She has certainly been distant to her partners in Asgard, when necessary.

They are not in Asgard, now. She leans into his touch, places a hand over his and remembers when they tinged blue.]

I like the moments that find you without speech. I like the parts of you that I can hold onto.