eswareinmal | (no subject)

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[ 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. ]

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If he didn't think it beyond redemption, then why wouldn't he tell me?

[ His voice has become quiet, and tight, tense, full of emotion. Why wouldn't Thor say? Why was Thor so certain that the news of this would strike him so? ]

What drives any action Thor takes? I imagine he thought to protect you.

[She moves in closer, mindful that Loki is like to strike out at any moment.]

No cruelty was intended. You must know that.

And I wonder --

{ -- his tone so bitter -- ]

I wonder why he did not think I had been protected enough.

[ If only he had known the truth of his heritage earlier... if only they had not lied to him. ]

Because he is your older brother. I do not suspect he will ever think that you have been protected enough.

[In this, the royal family is not so different from any other. That is what is most maddening -- how common so many of Thor and Loki's conflicts are, and how neither of them can admit that.]

He is an ignorant lout, as usual.

[ In this moment, Loki hates him. He hates him, and that hate roils and twists in his belly. ]

And you see slight were none is meant. As usual.

[She know. She knows. Loki wears his hate as plainly as Sif wears her anger. She cannot fix what is broken between the two brothers. But she will not indulge his hate -- it is an ugly thing, that seeps in and distorts the best parts of him.]

In Thor, it was meant.

[ He is sure of it.

But he drifts a step or two closer to her. A reluctant ceding of his personal space. ]

Because Thor is so known for being malicious.

[She is on edge, now. But she leans in still.]

And I? Have I set out to cut you so? I am not like Thor, after all. I have been known for cruelty.

Am I wrong to be suspicious? You love me, and you yourself do not know why.

[At that, her head darts up. She looks to him for a moment, and exhales. Flippant.

Her skin is alight, now.]

Am I in love with you, now? I should think myself more sensible than that.

[ His eyes are level. ]

I thought so, as well.

You are not always kind to those that love you. To those whom you love.

Kindness is not in a serpent's nature, my lady.

No. No, it is not. Good that you are a man, then.

[She moves in still. Head angled under his, eyes intent.]

If I love you, then I would not set out to hurt you. If you love me, then you would grant me that belief.

[ He turns away. His hands tremble; he grips then tight. ]

It is too much to ask.

[ He does not specify what is too much: that he love her? That he say it? That he grant her what she asks? ]

I ask nothing of you, Loki.

[She is steady, where he trembles. And she is tired. Tired of a exercising a patience of which she is not in natural possession. Tired of being the one to wait, to give.

She rests hand on his back. It goes through the illusion, and settles flat against his skin.]

I only speak a truth. If I held your love, so too would I hold at least a modicum of your trust.

[ He shudders, a sudden and convulsive thing, as her hand touches his skin. ]

Trust is as silence, Sif. Speak of it, and it may be broken.

[ He trusts her with his back. But not with his heart. ]

You do not control my speech, Loki.

[Another fact, and spoken as such. She is not the one who brought love into the conversation. Surely, trust is no more taboo. The former comes easier to her, guarded though she keeps it.

She drops a kiss to his shoulder, half expecting him to flinch at the contact.]

In thought or deed. No more than I control yours.

[ Impulse takes him. Movement that he does not plan, does not consider, with no weighty thought on its consequences. Just cups her jaw in his hands and yanks her into a harsh and wanting kiss. Pressing his lips to hers like he could only find air from her lungs, fingers tight in her hair as though he fears that she will pull away and disappear. ]

[Now that she has given speech to truth -- let the deeds that never happened air out in the space around them -- there is a moment where his breath catches in her lungs and she thinks she can smell the soot as it falls from the city skyline. While he looks on, agent of chaos and powerless spectator all at once.

But no. There is only Loki. The taste of him, familiar now. The smell: a combination of the two of them, more familiar still. She grabs at him, hungrily. Fingernails dig into skin as lean, muscular legs move with purpose, pushing them both back towards the bed.]

[ He goes, his clothes dissolving into air, and his touch is fervent, passionate, raw. He himself does not know why. ]

[Sif is more methodical, in her movements. No less enamored, but more channeled -- taking his passionate, frantic energy guiding it. Not unlike the more complex of their battle formations. Though usually, it is Sif that gives way to battle lust and Loki that exercises control.

She pushes him to the bed and follows soon after. With little fanfare, she wrenches his arms above his head, deep into the mattress. Holding them, wrists together, with one hand while she takes his cock into her fist with the other.

She doesn't break eye contact while she moves -- she knows his body well enough now that she has no need to.]

[ His eyes have gone dark and vulnerable. And as she touches him, they close, and he arches up -- a convulsive, involuntary movement. He can't help but crave her touch. He craves her all too often, and all too keenly, and he hates himself for that weakness and he doesn't want it to stop, either.

Hates being held down, and doesn't want to escape.

He feels all too exposed, and lets his head fall to the side, lips parted, as though he could avoid what he sees of himself reflected in her eyes. ]

[Were she less in control, now, Sif's throat could goes dry at the image before her. Loki prone. Arms raised, neck out. Weak with want.

Instead, she works him slowly, running callused fingers along the shaft before swiping a thumb across the head. She leans down, her own body held inches aloft his.

She brings her mouth to the pulse point at his bared neck, but does not touch. Does not kiss. Simply breathes, soft and warm, watching his face intently.

The grip on his wrist does not loosen, and the hand on is cock is agonizingly, purposefully, slow.]

You have grown skilled at torment.

[ His voice is struck through with want. His hips rise and he tenses against her, though not to escape. ]