(MCU) Mistress Of Mage
July 31st, 2012 20:09![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Mistress Of Mage
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sif/Loki
Rating: R
Words: 490
Timeline: Pre-Thor
Notes: BDSM. Slapping. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "dominance".
Loki stares up at her, eyes narrowed and defiant. It is always like this, in the beginning. Sif knows he has no objections to her treatment of him, knows that he is the one who seeks her out each time, the one who craves it.
But he must be allowed his moment of rebellion against her. He must be allowed this chance to lie to himself, this chance to believe his own falsehoods, to tell himself he has no choice, although they both know the words that will make her stop are only a flick of that talented tongue away.
She watches, waits until he has bolstered himself on deception, and that is when her hand strikes his cheek.
His head snaps to the side, rocking on his knees, the mark she has left as pale as bone for a long moment before it begins to flood with pink. He blinks, slow and hazy, eyes wide and, for once, honest as his body remembers what Sif can do for him.
In that moment, he is simply Loki, the child she grew up beside, the man he has become, all his pretty words and distractions stripped bare.
He is ready for her.
She grasps at his hair, tilts his head back, and this time his gaze is unguarded, eyes dark and laced with fear.
Sif has long since learned that the fear is not for how she may touch him, not for what she may ask of him.
It is fear of how much he enjoys this.
She pets lightly at the flush of colour her hand has left on his face, letting an arrogant smirk pull at her lips. That is her part, her role, to be above him, to be a goddess he can only hope to please, and when she shrugs her robes from her shoulders to pool at her feet, the power she feels to stand bare before him eclipses even the rush of the battlefield.
“You will pleasure me,” she purrs, and Loki’s eyes fall obediently to her womanhood. She grins for the flash of tongue when he licks his lips. “If you do well, perhaps you shall be rewarded.”
A shiver races through him, and he is so eager to please, so eager to prove himself worthy. It is a side of himself he clings to desperately outside of the safety of her rooms, that he would not let the All-Father, nor Thor ever see.
But here, he can be naked, he can be raw. And Sif can hold his secret in her hands, can hold his submission, can be worshipped and adored. So different from the respect and trust she has had to fight for as a female warrior. Here she can be soft and hard, cruel and sweet, can indulge every facet of herself.
Here, together, they can truly be themselves, vulnerable and strong, honesty without judgement, exposed to each other and glorious.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sif/Loki
Rating: R
Words: 490
Timeline: Pre-Thor
Notes: BDSM. Slapping. For
comicdrabbles, prompt "dominance".Loki stares up at her, eyes narrowed and defiant. It is always like this, in the beginning. Sif knows he has no objections to her treatment of him, knows that he is the one who seeks her out each time, the one who craves it.
But he must be allowed his moment of rebellion against her. He must be allowed this chance to lie to himself, this chance to believe his own falsehoods, to tell himself he has no choice, although they both know the words that will make her stop are only a flick of that talented tongue away.
She watches, waits until he has bolstered himself on deception, and that is when her hand strikes his cheek.
His head snaps to the side, rocking on his knees, the mark she has left as pale as bone for a long moment before it begins to flood with pink. He blinks, slow and hazy, eyes wide and, for once, honest as his body remembers what Sif can do for him.
In that moment, he is simply Loki, the child she grew up beside, the man he has become, all his pretty words and distractions stripped bare.
He is ready for her.
She grasps at his hair, tilts his head back, and this time his gaze is unguarded, eyes dark and laced with fear.
Sif has long since learned that the fear is not for how she may touch him, not for what she may ask of him.
It is fear of how much he enjoys this.
She pets lightly at the flush of colour her hand has left on his face, letting an arrogant smirk pull at her lips. That is her part, her role, to be above him, to be a goddess he can only hope to please, and when she shrugs her robes from her shoulders to pool at her feet, the power she feels to stand bare before him eclipses even the rush of the battlefield.
“You will pleasure me,” she purrs, and Loki’s eyes fall obediently to her womanhood. She grins for the flash of tongue when he licks his lips. “If you do well, perhaps you shall be rewarded.”
A shiver races through him, and he is so eager to please, so eager to prove himself worthy. It is a side of himself he clings to desperately outside of the safety of her rooms, that he would not let the All-Father, nor Thor ever see.
But here, he can be naked, he can be raw. And Sif can hold his secret in her hands, can hold his submission, can be worshipped and adored. So different from the respect and trust she has had to fight for as a female warrior. Here she can be soft and hard, cruel and sweet, can indulge every facet of herself.
Here, together, they can truly be themselves, vulnerable and strong, honesty without judgement, exposed to each other and glorious.
