A much shorter chapter. Hope you like it I still own nothing ever. Cool? Cool.
When Lady Sif and Loki were thoroughly drunk, Thor and the Warriors Three were likely too wasted to breathe without being reminded by a barmaid.
The shieldmaiden and the dark haired prince steadily moved closer to one another while buxom, courtly blondes draped themselves over Fandral's arms, golden braids coming undone. Thor slammed a short, slender brunette against a pillar and smashed his face against hers with so much force that she might have fainted. Volstagg recounted stories with such gusto that he became even ruddier than usual and his gesticulations shook the glasses on the long dining table. Hogun laughed and smiled and generally watched on, dazed.
Either Loki became suddenly very bold or Sif grew tired of waiting and edged onto his lap.
Sif didn't sit like this. It was something Volstagg's waif of a wife and Fandral's slags did. It showed possession and no one possessed a shieldmaiden… except sometimes drunk Loki.
Loki generally had the wherewithal to blush and Sif had enough of her senses left to roll her eyes and tip her chalice into his mouth.
That was possessive too. Fandral amused himself by feeding girls as if they were truly incompetent.
Thor and his acquisition slam against the table and the hall shakes, so Loki puts a steadying hand on her waist.
Fandral and Thor's girls come and go, but it's always Sif and Loki. .
Heads pounding and ears buzzing they would catch each other's eyes across the dining hall on the morning after and blush. Sif's eyes might linger on Loki's long fingers and Loki might watch her lips curl around her goblet. Sif might jump if Loki's leg brushed hers and Loki might balk at the possibility of sitting next to Sif.
Conveniently everyone else was too drunk to remember anything but the general blur and buzz of revelry.
Conveniently everyone else was too drunk to remember anything but the general blur and buzz of revelry.