[Fill] [Loki/Sif] Incarnation [character death] [2/2]
anonymous
September 20 2012, 07:13:03 UTC
::
The first snow falls light as a lover's kiss, pooling in her hair to frost the dark strands stiff with ice. At the first touch of it, his skin goes a deep, craggy blue, but he's too busy maintaining the witch fire to give a damn what she thinks about the Frost Giant she's been fucking. The fire scalds his blue skin and he pulls his bedroll deeper into the shadows, but she follows, voracious. Her wetness leaves slick smears across his belly that pull and crackle when he wakes alone; it's frozen to his skin. She glares at him over the fire defiantly.
::
He's found a rabbit; she's killed and skinned it, and the pink flesh is dripping fragrant juices into the fire. Her skin is flushed from good food, a full belly improving her mood and manners tremendously.
"What makes you happy, Lady Sif?" he asks. She gnaws a leg bone contemplatively.
"You're not an incompetent hunter, though my knives are quicker," she says finally. He has her slow that night, nearer the fire than they've been for months.
::
He finds the shoot amid the melting snow on the same day he can no longer lie to himself. There will be apples in the autumn, a beautiful golden tree where today there are only pale leaves clinging desperately to a slender twig. He considers for a long moment ripping the tree out by the roots while he still can, ending the cycle in the only way he can, but he knows the Norns weave their threads tighter than that.
Sif's belly is swelling fast. Twins, by his reckoning, both of them named Thor, likely. He smiles at her and pretends he doesn't know what's coming.
::
She stands in the rain, all the power of the storm behind her and blood dripping down her thighs. Any other woman he'd be ushering to the birthing bed, but Sif reaches one shaking hand to him and Loki bares his throat.
The Aesir are reborn in his blood, and it seems this cycle won't be as different as he'd thought.
The first snow falls light as a lover's kiss, pooling in her hair to frost the dark strands stiff with ice. At the first touch of it, his skin goes a deep, craggy blue, but he's too busy maintaining the witch fire to give a damn what she thinks about the Frost Giant she's been fucking. The fire scalds his blue skin and he pulls his bedroll deeper into the shadows, but she follows, voracious. Her wetness leaves slick smears across his belly that pull and crackle when he wakes alone; it's frozen to his skin. She glares at him over the fire defiantly.
::
He's found a rabbit; she's killed and skinned it, and the pink flesh is dripping fragrant juices into the fire. Her skin is flushed from good food, a full belly improving her mood and manners tremendously.
"What makes you happy, Lady Sif?" he asks. She gnaws a leg bone contemplatively.
"You're not an incompetent hunter, though my knives are quicker," she says finally. He has her slow that night, nearer the fire than they've been for months.
::
He finds the shoot amid the melting snow on the same day he can no longer lie to himself. There will be apples in the autumn, a beautiful golden tree where today there are only pale leaves clinging desperately to a slender twig. He considers for a long moment ripping the tree out by the roots while he still can, ending the cycle in the only way he can, but he knows the Norns weave their threads tighter than that.
Sif's belly is swelling fast. Twins, by his reckoning, both of them named Thor, likely. He smiles at her and pretends he doesn't know what's coming.
::
She stands in the rain, all the power of the storm behind her and blood dripping down her thighs. Any other woman he'd be ushering to the birthing bed, but Sif reaches one shaking hand to him and Loki bares his throat.
The Aesir are reborn in his blood, and it seems this cycle won't be as different as he'd thought.
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