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The hotel everyone's been crammed into for Junior Worlds is part of some ancient mansion in Prague and the accommodations range in size from the cramped, slightly damp attic rooms that she and Loki have been shoved into to the massive suite that Team USA is set up in. Sif would be annoyed about the difference in their situations, but the Americans have almost twenty skaters competing while she and Loki are the first serious contenders to come out of Norway in decades. Besides, they're using the spacious rooms to everyone's advantage; with few whispered invitations before the medal ceremony, news of an after-party was spread around like wildfire and now that she's here, well…
Where Team USA found the truly staggering amount of alcohol and food that's been laid out all over the suite or how they paid for it, she has no idea, but Sif is honestly grateful for it. University parties tend to suck— being a world class athlete in a sport that no guy on campus actually takes seriously means a lot of challenges are issued and promptly lost in fits of drunken chauvinism— so impromptu post-competition celebrations like this are really the only ones where she feels comfortable letting loose. The kitchen area is overflowing with people grabbing snacks and drinks so she doesn't even bother trying to navigate it just yet, instead glancing around the room to see if she find where Loki's wandered off to.
They didn't arrive together, but she saw him talking with Fandral— a friend of theirs who competes for Sweden— a little while ago and she figures they should at least interact a little tonight, mostly for the sake of keeping up appearances. While five years as partners has certainly improved their teamwork on the ice to the point where they're considered some of the best in the world at what they do, they definitely aren't friends.
On days when she's feeling particularly realistic, Sif is able to admit that their fraught partnership is probably her fault. She wasn't the kindest to Loki when Thor announced he was trading in his dance costumes for hockey padding, and instead of directing her anger at the Odinson brother who deserved it, she'd taken it all out on Loki. To be fair, she'd been fourteen and desperately crushing on Thor, so his rejection had hurt deeply, but maybe if she hadn't been so wrapped up in trying to pull him back into ice dancing, she and Loki could've actually had a chance at becoming friends. Obviously she isn't proud of how she reacted, but any time she's tried to apologize or explain herself, Loki's rather handily brushed her aside, seemingly content to leave the whole thing unaddressed until the day they retire and never have to see each other again. It shouldn't bother her as much as it does it's just…things would be so much easier if they were friends, if their primary method of communication was actual conversations rather than biting words and pointed glares but at this point it's probably too late.
Sif almost thinks she catches a glint of Loki's long dark hair on a couch across the room, so she starts heading in that direction when suddenly someone grabs her arm and pulls her into a hug with an excited squeal. For a moment she tenses, but then she hears familiar laughter in her ear and relaxes into the embrace. If it were anyone other than Darcy who'd just pulled something like that, Sif might have a few strong words and possibly a fist for them, but she's known Darcy for a long time now and this is just how her friend is.
"Sif!" Darcy screams, a bit tipsy, but clearly ecstatic to see her, "Congrats! How are you? How's Loki?"
"Hey! Thank you, I'm good and he's good…I think." She looks around briefly as Darcy releases her, "I actually have no idea where Loki is right now."
They spend a few minutes chatting about the competition— Darcy took home a silver for Team USA, but it was closer than she would've liked— and naturally it circles back to talking about techniques and their routines for next year and Darcy's brow furrows as something occurs to her.
"Wait, how do you and Loki even find the time to practice?" Darcy yells over the thumping bass, "Aren't you at some fancy school in England now?"
Sif barely fights back a groan, "So is he! Applied and got in early. He's irritatingly brilliant."
"Damn."
"Yeah, when he heard I was thinking of applying to Univ, he accelerated his studies so we got in at the same time, that way we could keep practicing abroad together rather than having to take a break."
"Well that was sweet of him." Sif rolls her eyes at the word choice but Darcy just laughs, "So you must see each other all the time, no?"
"Pretty much only at practice. Thankfully our programs have no crossover and from what I've heard he splits his free time between the Medieval archives and the Bod."
"Come on, don't tell me you two still hate each other. There's no way you could have that much animosity and still leave the rest of your competition in the dust."
"Wow, thanks Darce." A dry voice intones from behind them as a petite redhead appears seemingly out of nowhere.
To her credit, Darcy pales immediately at her teammate's presence, "Shit, sorry Nat, but—"
Natasha's severe expression softens into something that almost could be a smile, "No, you're right, they absolutely destroyed us, those lifts were fucking crazy."
"Thanks!" Sif brightens, "And your routine was amazing too, I was actually wondering—"
"But also," Nat smirks, stopping Sif dead in her tracks, "I totally agree with Darcy, you and Loki definitely don't hate each other." She pauses in a way that's so dramatic it almost feels theatrical and then laughs, "They're desperately horny for each other, it's what makes their performances so good."
Sif pales, her mind spinning, her palms going slippery with sweat, "I— uh— we are not!"
"Sure Sif," Natasha drawls, "whatever you say…"
"Oh wait that makes so much sense," something dawns in Darcy's eyes that makes Sif feel queasy, "are you two dating or….oh! Is this like, a dramatic unrequited love thing?"
"N— no," her heart does a strange stuttery sort of jolt in her chest, "of course not!"
"So are you dating someone else then?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Natasha raises a sly brow, "That's a no."
"No, but I—"
"Oh wait is it one of those things where you're so obsessed with each other you like, haven't tried anything with anyone else?"
"I—"
Sif can hear her heartbeat in her ears. The things that Natasha and Darcy are implying make her hands shake and set a strange feeling writhing in her stomach that's something between nervousness and anticipation.
"Sif, what's up?" Loki suddenly appears beside her, not touching her, maintaining that careful distance they always keep off of the ice, and she nearly jumps out of her skin, "Want a drink?"
"I— sure."
She accepts the seltzer he's holding and takes a sip, trying to ignore the way Natasha and Darcy keep staring between the two of them. She can tell from the glances Loki keeps shooting her that he knows something is off, but she doesn't understand why he's come over here to do anything about it.
"Well, if you aren't dating anyone, Sif, there are some really cute guys on our hockey team that I think would totally be interested." Natasha says, breaking the silence that's fallen over them, a smirk still fixed on her face, "Or some skiers if you're more into the tall, slender, lanky sort of thing."
Beside her, Loki inhales sharply and out of the corner of her eye, she sees his fingers twitch.
"Nat, the problem isn't finding attractive people who are interested," Sif says, trying to both wrap up the conversation and not spill all her secrets, "the problem is that those guys tend to be complete assholes who I'd rather not waste my time with."
"Ah," Natasha's eyes flick over to Loki, though Sif has no idea what she's reading on him, "that explains it. Although I'm surprised there's no one you know who's hot and respectful and worships the ground you walk on."
When Sif looks over at Loki, he's flushed to the tips of his ears and his eyes are wide, almost seeming silver in the low light. It's the same face he makes whenever one of their coaches demands more emotion in their performances or, more recently, when Frigga unveiled the idea for next season's free dance routine, the doomed lovers themselves: Romeo and Juliet. She still doesn't quite know how to parse that expression, what to make of it all, and now here it is again and she finds herself just as confused.
"I— I should…" he trails off, disappearing into the crowd without another word while Darcy and Natasha give each other a knowing look.
Before either of them can start up again with their insinuations and unprompted recommendations about her love life, Sif starts chattering on about her upcoming training schedule, asking the two of them what their plans are once they head back to the states. Thankfully the girls seem willing to let her off the hook, though she isn't naïve enough to believe that the subject has been forgotten entirely, even as their small group breaks up a few minutes later.
As if on cue, Fandral finds her as the party is settling into a swing, a smug smile that raises her hackles inching across his face.
"So Siffy, how are you doing this fine evening? Proud to be one half of an record-breaking team?"
"Fandral, I told you, I hate being called—"
"And what's this I'm hearing about how you've supposedly never been kissed?"
"Oh my god so what?" She erupts without thinking. People at school have already made enough assumptions about her and now the community of people she really thought were her friends— regardless of how fierce the competition can be— are doing the exact same thing. "What does it matter if I haven't kissed anyone or gone on a date? It's not like it's some formative experience or anything! Who cares?"
"I mean…" there's a haze over Fandral's eyes, letting her know he's drunk enough that none of her animosity has really gotten through, "if it's the right person it totally can be. Your partner definitely knows a little something about that."
All that does is make her blood boil even hotter. Usually she doesn't care about what Loki does when they aren't together, but hearing the insinuation in Fandral's voice makes her feel…something. It's not jealousy or at least, not in that way. She definitely doesn't have any sort of romantic feelings towards Loki, but he's always been the more impressive one out of the two of them; an exceptionally talented skater, easily able to keep up with her despite being two years younger, a genius-level intellect he never lets anyone forget about, and now apparently, he's some sort of Casanova too.
Even though she knows how stupid it is to be comparing herself to someone else like this, especially when that someone is Loki, she can't help it and so when Fandral goes on, poking fun at her with little jabs that usually wouldn't even land in the first place, she crumples the empty aluminum can in her hand, throws it at him, and stalks away.
She spends time on the margins of a few conversations, barely contributing, mostly because she doesn't have the patience for one more person probing into her love life. On the outskirts of the party, she catches a few hints of gossip, and hears her own name come up a couple of times, and just as she's resolved to find Fandral or Natasha and give them a piece of her mind, their hosts start calling for attention. Quickly someone kills the music, and Natasha's partner Clint climbs on a table and starts talking about party games. An uneasy feeling settles in Sif's gut that she can't explain until the moment Nat interrupts, finding her eyes easily across the room.
"You know, I actually think we should spice things up a little! How 'bout seven minutes in heaven!"
Around them, skaters cheer and titter in excitement— par for the course when you get a bunch of hormonal teenage athletes together— and Sif absolutely wants to die. She knows exactly where this is going.
"And who better to kick us off than our new Junior World Record holders, Team Norway, Loki and Sif!"
"That's certainly not—"
"Guys, come on—"
But her and Loki's protestations are lost to the crowd as a room full of people pushes them towards a closet that barely looks big enough for the both of them and before she knows it, they're inside. The closet is so narrow the only way they can both fit in is if they're facing each other, and it stinks of cedar and mothballs. Sif can feel her fury rising until she's genuinely considering punching one of the sturdy-looking walls.
"I am going to kill Natasha. And Darcy. And Fandral." Loki hums noncommittally which only serves to make her angrier, "Aren't you pissed they've locked us in a closet together? Isn't that annoying to you?"
"I mean I don't object to the game."
"Just to me then?"
He has the decency to look a bit abashed in faint light. She can hear his fingers tapping out a rhythm that she recognizes from their free dance song and, just as she considers humming along to help pass the time, he looks down at her, the faint sliver of light from the floor barely illuminating his eyes as they narrow intently.
"So, uh…is it true?"
She bites the inside of her mouth hard to stop from letting out a heavy sigh, "Oh please don't tell me you're asking about that moronic gossip."
He smirks, but there's something tentative in his voice that softens her anger a little, "I am."
"Yes, it's true." She pinches the bridge of her nose, suddenly grateful there's no way Loki should be able to see her blushing, "Not that anyone deserves to know my reasoning, but when would I even find the time?"
"I…never thought about it that way."
"And why is it such a big deal anyway, I mean really, I'm nineteen and a wildly successful athlete, isn't that way better than a measly kiss?"
"I—"
"That was rhetorical, Loki."
"Uh huh, of course." He ducks his head, his voice caught in a strange tangle of embarrassment and sarcasm that she doesn't fully understand.
They stand there in silence, the muffled beat of some pop song thrumming through the heavy door that separates them from the crowd, and in her mind she begins imagining how they'd skate to it, the turns, the lifts, the intricate sequences, even the costumes they'd wear. It's a good way to pass the time until she starts thinking about all the moments where she and Loki would be close enough to kiss. The thought is so sudden and intense that she shakes her head a little, and she sees Loki's eyes flash in curiosity. Bravery wells in her chest and she clears her throat, looking into his eyes with what she hopes is a confident air.
"I think I already know the answer to this one, but have you kissed anyone?"
"I don't think that's—"
"Loki…"
"Yes," he whispers and she can feel his exasperated sigh on her lips, "I have…you know, there are plenty of things one can do in a library."
She wills herself not to feel embarrassed that he clearly overheard her earlier, focusing instead on what he's just revealed, "It's someone at Oxford? Who? Are they in your program?"
"Now that's certainly none of your business."
"Fine." She tries to refocus on the music, creating choreography in her mind, but it's harder this time and instead of the insistent beat outside relaxing her, it only makes her more conscious of how slowly time seems to be passing. "How much longer?"
There is a soft glow lighting his cheekbones as Loki checks his watch, "Four and a half minutes."
She sighs and feels their knees knock together. It sends an odd sensation up her spine and suddenly an idea occurs, terrifying on its own, but in the dark of this cramped closet, oddly easy to voice.
"Can I ask you to do me a favor?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Kiss me."
"I— what!?"
"Shh!"
"I'll make noise if I'd like! What do you mean 'kiss me,' Sif? Are you mad?"
"No I just…you've obviously kissed people and I'm sick of everyone making fun of me, like I've missed out on some quintessential life experience just because I haven't made out with a guy."
"So you're asking me."
"Be realistic, who else could I ask? The guys on the circuit are either definitely not interested or, after this little stunt, would literally never stop making fun of me and our friends in other sports would do the same thing even if they thought it was just friendly teasing."
"Surely someone at school with could—"
She scoffs at the suggestion, "None of those idiots have a shred of respect for me, they all treat me like who I am is an act because if I'm an ice dancer I must be hiding this hyper feminine, girly side. I can't stand the lot of them. Even if you hate me, you're decent, you wouldn't make fun of me around people, and I…I trust you."
"And that's your criteria?"
"It's the criteria that matters." He doesn't make a sound and if she didn't feel his arms moving restlessly, she'd think he had teleported out of the closet, "Come on Loki, please. Just kiss me once and we'll never have to talk about it a— mmph!"
His hands frame her face and his lips are on hers and Sif can no longer say she's never been kissed. There's a moment where it feels awkward as she tries to do what she's seen in movies or at the parties she's been to, to prove that she's as good as him, but it's like she's missed a step in their rhythm dance and now she is a beat behind. His lips pull away from hers and above the rush of blood in her ears, she hears him whisper, "Relax, Sif. Not everything is a competition, it's more like what we do, a team sport."
His breath against her lips makes her shudder involuntarily as he leans back in and changes the angle, his tongue slipping into her mouth and then she really, really understands the appeal of kissing. Endless seconds later, they part for a few gasping breaths and she hears herself let out a whimper. In the darkness she can only see the way his eyes flash before he kisses her again, something possessive in the way his hands curl around her, grasping at her t-shirt and tangling in her hair. It's heady and wonderful and she finds herself immensely jealous of whomever it was who taught him how to do this.
She doesn't quite know what to do with her hands, running them down his chest, curling against his forearms, but then she lets one trail up to the nape of his neck. Without thinking— because really, how is she supposed to be thinking now— her nails scratch against the soft skin there and Loki moans, his teeth nipping at her lower lip in response and Sif feels something burning through her. She wants more of this, forever. It's a terrifying thought that's easily shoved aside in favor of kissing him some more, following his lead as they settle into what feels like a natural extension of their partnership.
There is no awareness of time passing, in fact, perhaps because of the darkness and the cramped quarters, this moment feels like it exists outside of time, even outside of memory. The thought is intoxicating; that they will do this now and then walk out of this closet like nothing's ever happened between them. Sif's fairly certain that that will be easy for Loki— he already acts like he's above it all, how could a single kiss possibly bother him— the question is will she be able to do it?
She feels his thigh pressing between her legs and they've definitely been in a similar position before but it's never felt so charged, so intimate, and just as she's about to start searching for the hem of his shirt, he releases her, pulling as far back as he can in the small space.
Sif has to try several times to find anything to say, her body feeling alarmingly similar to a sparking wire, her breath dangerously short, "Why'd you—"
"Thirty seconds left," Loki's voice sounds oddly strained and she finds herself strangely proud she's affected him this much, "and I wouldn't put it past them to check on us early."
"Oh, right." Sif bites her lip, trying not to think about how it felt when he did it, trying to ignore the taste of vanilla in her mouth and wondering if it's leftover from his chapstick, "Well…thanks, partner."
"Don't mention it. Please."
The door swings open, both of them squinting as light floods their vision. She can hear exasperated shouts and several boos that she and Loki haven't been caught in the middle of anything. Still, they are allowed to get out of the small space, though they nearly end up falling all over each other in their haste, and out of the corner of her eye, Sif sees Darcy pulling a very eager-looking Fandral by the collar to take their place.
"Well," she sighs, once again furious to be around this group of people who've made her feel so unbelievably uncomfortable, "I think that's enough of this party for me."
"Oh come on Tyrsdottir, don't be a spoilsport, it was all in good fun!"
Whoever said it she staunchly ignores, turning and heading towards the door, barely turning her head to shout over her shoulder, "I have exams to prepare for!"
Once she gets out of the suite, she breaks into a run, heading up to her room before anyone has the chance to find her.
Alone in her small room, she showers, dresses for bed, and packs, all the while trying to forget the taste of Loki's lips on hers. It's strange knowing they've done…that when the Odinson that she always wanted to kiss was his brother. It doesn't prompt any sudden realizations, she won't suddenly become friends with Loki, no matter how good of a partner he is, but it still leaves her feeling…unusual. On the nightstand, her phone suddenly vibrates.
Loki
March 28 ⬝ 12:09 AM
Hey, you left pretty quickly, everything okay?
Never in their partnership has Loki deigned to check on her like this before and she's stuck between confused, touched, a bit irritated, slightly endeared, and a million other emotions that feel impossible to identify.
Sif
March 28 ⬝ 12:10 AM
yeah, like i said, i've got exams coming up soon. also i still need to pack for our flight.
Loki
March 28 ⬝ 12:15 AM
Understood, see you in the morning.
The coldness in his response is strangely comforting, tacitly confirming that their kiss was just a kiss and nothing more. Sif likes the message and shuts off her lights, but doesn't manage to fall asleep before her alarm goes off.